The Night the Lights Went Out

by Karen White

  Lily tugged on her mother’s elbow. “I’m right here, Mom.”

  Merilee looked relieved. “Great. Why don’t you show Mr. Kimball where the router is while I warm the pizza up in the oven? Assuming Colin has left us any.” Ducking her head, she headed toward the kitchen.

  She’d made it to the doorway when Wade called her name. She faced him, her expression reminding Sugar of an actress on one of her soaps, waiting for her doctor to give her the prognosis.

  “West. William and Sharon West. Did you know them?”

  After an almost imperceptible pause, she shook her head. “No. I don’t think so.” She quickly disappeared into the kitchen.

  Wade stared after Merilee for a long moment. “I’ve definitely seen her before. I’ll think of it. She has one of those faces—the kind you don’t easily forget.”

  Sugar frowned. “Now, don’t be stirring up trouble. I think she has plenty enough on her plate.”

  Wade turned to her with a smile. “Don’t tell me you’re getting soft in your old age, Sugar. Since when have you involved yourself personally in the lives of your tenants?”

  She almost said that she wasn’t, until she remembered not only her presence in their house but also the fact that she’d come bearing brownies, something he was likely to discover. It irked her that she’d succumbed to whatever it was that had dragged her down the road, and the fact that Wade had caught her annoyed her even more.

  “I’m tired,” she said. “I’m going home now. I’ll leave a bag of my tomatoes on the front porch steps for you to pick up on your way out.” She stood on her tiptoes and gave him a perfunctory kiss on his cheek.

  “Can I drive you?”

  She held up her arm to display a black wristband, a soul-stealing device he’d given her last Christmas despite her well-publicized disdain for most new technology. It was one of those newfangled ones that displayed everything right there on the screen. Wade was always telling her about all sorts of things it could do if she’d learn how to really use it, but she figured she already knew all she needed to. She’d pace the house each night just to get in her recommended number of steps, despite how much her hip hurt or how tired she was. It was evil, pure evil. “I need to get my steps in. But if you see me face-first in the road on your way back, I give you permission to lift me into your truck and take me home.”

  Lily, who was almost hopping up and down with her impatience to get working on the router, stilled for a moment as if trying to figure out if she was being serious.

  “Hopefully I’ll see you before I run over you.” He winked. “And thanks for the tomatoes.”

  The furrow between the girl’s brows deepened with concern as he moved in front of Sugar to open the door. Sugar put her hand on his arm and spoke quietly. “Don’t go digging where you’re not wanted. Most people have secrets. And most of them should be allowed to stay hidden. No good has ever come from poking a stick down a hole. Sometimes you get a garter snake, but sometimes you get a rattler.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “How would you know anything about secrets?”

  She stepped carefully out onto the porch. “Good night, Wade. Don’t forget to pick up your tomatoes.”

  She moved down the steps in the twilight, then headed down the drive, sensing him watching her until she heard the snap of the screen door closing out the approaching night.

  Four

  THE PLAYING FIELDS BLOG

  Observations of Suburban Life from Sweet Apple, Georgia

  Written by: Your Neighbor

  Installment #2: Where Is General Sherman Now That We Need Him?

  I saw a chicken hawk yesterday (that’s a red-tailed hawk for my neighbors who aren’t from around here). I haven’t seen one in years, not since all the building started up here in Sweet Apple. The thwacking of hammers and the constant roar of earthmoving equipment is deafening to me, and I can only imagine what it does to a hawk.

  I heard its raspy scream from my car while I was stopped on the road behind a long line of SUVs in front of the elementary school (is there a shortage of buses? I don’t understand why there were so many cars clogging the road at pickup time) and opened the window just in time to see the large bird swoop down and pick up a small brown bunny innocently chewing grass by the side of the road.

  A young mother behind the wheel of her SUV actually dropped her cell phone from her ear so she could throw her hand protectively in front of the eyes of the little boy sitting next to her. I wanted to tell her that she should let him see it because this is the natural world and the circle of life and all that. And it’s bound to be a lot more G-rated than what he probably sees every day on the Internet.

  I was admiring the bird’s proud profile and spread of red-stained tail feathers as it soared away with its prey, continuing to watch it until it ran smack-dab into the side of an oncoming moving truck approaching the intersection from the opposite direction. It dropped the rabbit, which had the good sense to scurry away, but the poor hawk lay in the middle of the road like a sacrifice, his talons lifted in silent supplication.

  A woman in a Lexus convertible jumped out, jabbering loudly on her phone and probably calling some rescue group, while a young man wearing overalls and a John Deere hat climbed from a pickup truck and approached the bird with an eye out to eat it, I suspect. The moving van had long since left the scene. I wanted to stay longer to see who’d win that fight, but the woman in the SUV behind me had begun honking. She looked as if she needed that Starbucks grande latte with double whip more than I needed to see the argument, so I moved forward.

  It was then that I noticed the cow pasture on the corner was devoid of cows, and a large backhoe sat in the middle of the empty field, along with a big sign announcing a new swim/tennis community. I think I preferred the cows. They don’t drive on our roads or send their children to our already-overcrowded schools.

  Speaking of moving trucks, there have been quite a few on the streets of Sweet Apple these last few months as families do their best to get settled into new homes before school starts. In one neighborhood, a family moved down from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, bringing with them an impressive assortment of snow shovels and other snow-removal equipment. A mutual friend said that they’d heard about the ice storm in Atlanta a few Januaries ago and wanted to be prepared. I hope somebody told them that the only thing they should be prepared for is to watch those shovels collect dust and go unused for at least a decade, since that’s when the next storm will hit.

  Another new resident has come all the way from Fullerton, California, and was overheard at the Pilates studio saying how excited she was to experience the real South. Honey, Atlanta isn’t the real South. It’s a hodgepodge of people from all over the place living in houses that have been built in the last twenty years. If you want to see the real South, watch Driving Miss Daisy or Steel Magnolias. Better yet, head to Rabun County. That’s where that Burt Reynolds movie Deliverance was filmed. And if you hear banjos, keep driving.

  I met another of our new neighbors recently—a young divorcée with two children. She’s not new to the area, but she’s moved from one side of town to the other for a change of scenery, I suspect.

  Her children are enrolled in a local private academy (I’ll let you guess which one), and from what I know of the other moms there, this could be interesting, as this young mother seems very unaffected so far, and not all that interested in the politics of parenting as so many of us practice it here. But it’s only the first week of school, and a lot can happen in the span of a nine-month school year. A lot of time for surprises. A lot of time for things to happen.

  This blog is coming to you late, as you are probably aware, because of the power outage we had last night due to one of our powerful summer lightning storms. I opened up all the windows and put towels on the windowsills just so I could smell the rain and catch the breeze, which smelled of summer nights. I sat on my front porch
and watched the lightning zig and zag across the sky before leaving us all in complete darkness, smelling the burnt ions and the steam from the hot earth and cut grass, enjoying the earthy scent of the wet red clay.

  The storm brought back so many memories of my childhood that I found myself wishing the electricity would stay off a little longer. I remained outside until the storm moved away with the clouds and the stars came out. And then the electricity came back on in all the houses nearby, flooding the sky and streets and yards with so much light that I couldn’t see the stars anymore.

  • • •

  MERILEE

  Merilee had just finished throwing on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts and was trying to hang up the dress she’d worn to work when Sugar knocked on the front door. It figured she’d be early. She heard Colin racing toward the door to throw it open, giving Merilee a few extra minutes to stash the dress in the closet carefully so it wouldn’t get wrinkled. She’d accidentally put the iron in the box of things for Michael to take and she refused to ask for it back. She’d also drag her feet on buying a replacement, knowing that as soon as she did, Michael would show up at her door with the iron, since it was more than possible that Tammy Garvey didn’t know what an iron was and entirely likely that she sent out all Michael’s shirts and anything else that looked like it might wrinkle. Including the silk underwear Merilee imagined that Tammy wore.

  She hurried into the hallway, realizing too late that she was barefoot. She usually did go barefoot inside in the summertime, but there was something about Sugar Prescott that made her think that adults would be expected to wear shoes. Merilee was about to turn around when Colin ran into the hallway.

  “Mom! Miss Sugar’s here!”

  Merilee wondered how long it would be before one of the children would make a comment about how misnamed their landlady was. She spotted the older woman standing in the entranceway, holding two Kroger grocery bags. Rushing forward, she took the bags, noticing as she did the Fitbit on Sugar’s arm. She looked twice, just to make sure that’s what it really was. The woman didn’t know what Wi-Fi was, for crying out loud. What on earth was she doing with a Fitbit?

  Merilee smiled. “I didn’t hear your car or I would have brought this in myself.”

  “I walked,” she said with a frown. And then, most likely in response to Merilee’s confused stare, she added, “I’m old, not dead. Exercise is good for me, according to my doctor, who I think might have been kicked in the head by a mule when he was younger.” She headed toward the kitchen as if it were still her house, which, Merilee realized, it was.

  Lily sat at the table with her laptop and greeted Miss Sugar with a smile. Feeling the need to explain, as if Sugar’s opinion about her mothering skills mattered, Merilee said, “She’s checking her Facebook page and other social media accounts. She’s only allowed to do that when I’m with her.”

  Sugar regarded her with a blank face.

  “Oh, sorry. Social media is what all the young people are into these days.”

  “Like talking but without the bother of being face-to-face.” Without waiting for a reply, Sugar began unloading the bags onto the counter and storing a few items in the refrigerator, including what appeared to be sandwiches on white bread cut diagonally in half and wrapped in plastic, and several plump, dark red tomatoes that made Merilee’s mouth water. A large clear bag of green okra was emptied into the sink. Sugar looked pointedly at Lily. “In my day we didn’t have time for ‘social media.’ There were too many chores.”

  Feeling as if she’d just been scolded, Merilee turned to her daughter. “Lily, would you please wash the okra?”

  Lily looked up, her expression like that of a sailor about to walk the plank. “But I still have half an hour of computer time. You said!”

  Merilee kept her voice calm, aware of Sugar listening behind her. “You can finish your half hour when you’re done. It won’t take but a few minutes.”

  With a sigh, Lily slid back her chair and walked heavily to the sink, as if she wore leg shackles. Merilee refrained from saying anything, aware again of Sugar’s scrutiny, and second-guessing her decision to ask the older woman for help. Her only alternative would have been to go to the local bakery, but, even if she’d decided to put the cookies on one of her own serving dishes, the other mothers would be sure to know they were store-bought, which was apparently not done at Windwood Academy.

  It was a tidbit of wisdom passed on from Bailey Blackford to Lily from Bailey’s mother, for which Merilee was absurdly grateful. It was bad enough that her children were from one of only two families in the entire school to come from a “broken home.” Something else that had been passed on via Bailey. She would not bring store-bought cookies to a party so that her daughter from a broken home could be ridiculed or pitied. Even if it meant inviting Sugar Prescott and her disapproving presence into her kitchen to learn how to bake cookies from scratch.

  Sugar was already rummaging under the cabinets, which annoyed Merilee. The house included clean and functional yet outdated kitchen appliances—so it made sense that Sugar would be more familiar than Merilee with what the kitchen contained. But still, it was technically Merilee’s kitchen—even though so far she’d used only the utensils, cups, plates, refrigerator, oven, and microwave.

  A movement out the window distracted her, and she looked up in time to spot Colin running in the direction of the woods. She quickly cranked the casement window latch to open it and called out, “Colin—stop! Where are you going?”

  He stopped suddenly and faced her, and she tried not to cringe when she noticed he still wore his white socks—without shoes—and his uniform shirt, untucked from his pants, was streaked with something she couldn’t identify. “I saw that dog again right by the woods and I was trying to catch him. I think he’s lost.”

  “I told you to stay away—it could have rabies or something. And you know you’re not supposed to go near the woods. Come back here. You are not to go past the tire swing.”

  He sent one last look toward the woods before turning back to the house. “Yes, ma’am. But if I catch that dog, can I keep him?”

  Merilee snatched back the word “no” even though that’s what she wanted to say. According to Lily and Colin, they were the only two children in the history of the world who didn’t have a dog. Their father had allergies, which was why they’d never had one before, but now her only excuse was that she was too exhausted to add one more thing to her plate. An excuse she knew wouldn’t be understood by anyone under the age of eleven. “We’ll see,” she said instead, closing the window.

  Sugar continued to bang things around under the cabinets, pretending she hadn’t heard the exchange. “Please preheat the oven for the cookies, and I’m pretty sure there’s a cookie sheet in the drawer under the oven.”

  Merilee stood in front of the avocado green oven, trying to make sense of the knobs. “What temperature?”

  Sugar stopped for a moment. “The universal temperature for baking cookies, of course. Didn’t your mama teach you how to cook?”

  Merilee kept her focus on the immaculate oven, clean not because it had never been used but probably because Sugar was an expert at cleaning. And baking. “No. She was a great cook, but she didn’t like me to be in the kitchen because she said I got in the way. And then . . . well, she stopped cooking altogether. That’s when I learned how to pour spaghetti sauce from a jar and turn on the grill.”

  When Sugar didn’t say anything, Merilee looked down at where she was crouched in front of a cabinet. The elderly woman’s eyes were focused on her, but her mouth was clenched in determination that had nothing to do with their conversation. “Do you need help?” Merilee asked.

  Sugar nodded tersely and Merilee grasped her elbows to haul her to her feet. “Thank you,” she said.

  “You’re welcome,” said Merilee. “But it might have been easier if you’d just asked me to get whatever you
need.”

  “I wasn’t sure you’d know what mixing bowls are.” Her lips pressed together, but not before Merilee was pretty sure she’d seen what might pass as a smile. “Three hundred and fifty degrees,” Sugar said, indicating the oven. “At least by the end of the day you’ll know how to bake cookies and fry okra. Because it might be against the law for a Southern-born girl not to know how. Along with changing a tire.”

  Lily, her hands still immersed in the sink with the okra, looked at her mother with a worried expression. “Really? You mean like we could go to jail?”

  “No, sweetheart,” Merilee explained. “It’s just an expression. But Sugar’s right—women should know how to do all sorts of things.”

  “So if their husbands leave them they can hang pictures and stuff?”

  Sugar spared her from answering. “No, Lily. So women can make the choice to do it for themselves or ask for help.” It looked like she was going to say more, but instead she turned her back and began opening up a sack of sugar. She slid it and a bunch of mixing spoons down the counter toward Merilee. “I need a cup of sugar. If you spill any on the counter, don’t knock it on the floor. We can put any stragglers into a corner of plastic wrap and save them for your morning coffee. Waste not, want not.”

  Before Merilee could point out the handheld vacuum she’d brought from their house, which now sat on its charger on the counter, Lily asked, “I’m done with the okra, so can I do the measuring?”

  “Absolutely,” Merilee said, happy to have her daughter’s attention diverted from her laptop. Turning to Sugar, she asked, “Where’s the recipe? I could get to measuring out the next ingredients.”

  “There’s no recipe. My grandmother on my daddy’s side taught me how to make these and she didn’t know how to write, so I learned by watching. Never saw the need to write it down.”