A Summer Romance

by Tracey Smith

  Now this was one room she felt at home in. It had been so long since she’d been able to read for pleasure. She circled the room scanning the wall to wall bookshelves and finally picked a random point to start. Just as she was selecting a book to settle down with for the night she heard the front doorbell. She jumped at the sound. She wasn’t expecting anyone and wasn’t sure if she should answer. After a moments debate she headed cautiously to the front door. She opened it a crack to peek outside.

  “I hope I’m not intruding.” Andi smiled at her through the crack in the door. Maggie relaxed and let the door sway open to rest against her shoulder. “I brought wine!” Andi declared holding up the bottle. Maggie smiled and opened the door wide as she invited her in.

  “Wow, this place is amazing!” Andi exclaimed as she examined the unique circular foyer.

  “You’ve never been in here before?” Maggie asked as she opened the set of French doors that led to the parlor.

  “Nope. Got close once, but I chickened out,” Andi explained distractedly as she looked around the sitting room, wandering over to the love seat near the unused fireplace.

  “What do you mean ‘got close’?” Maggie asked, joining her at the couch with the two wine glasses that she’d retrieved from a china cabinet.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Andi shook off her bewilderment. “It’s just so weird to be in here.” she explained cryptically, as she sat on the sofa and poured the wine.

  “You see, growing up in Sweetwater no one ever saw old Ms. Devereaux. Oh, we’d all heard of her and knew of the house of course, but no one I knew had ever actually seen the old woman.

  “Some believe she died years ago but had paid her staff well enough to stay on for decades and just pretend that the mistress still ran the house. We all see the staff comin’ and goin’, the house and yard always kept picture perfect. But we never see the woman, and no one, at least no one I know, has ever been in the house,” she said with another awed glance around the room.

  “No one?” Maggie practically whispered. What would cause an old recluse to reach out halfway across the country and invite a stranger into her home when she didn’t even reach out to people in her own community?

  “Nope. So I guess this place was kinda like a haunted house to us kids growin’ up. A very well kept haunted house,” Andi laughed. “Anyway, I went off to Savannah State University a couple years back. I only came home this summer to help my daddy at his store. When I got back to town all anyone was talkin’ bout was the strangers that were coming to stay at the old Devereaux place.”

  “You mean she’s never had anyone else come to care for the property before now?” Maggie asked. This entire scenario was getting stranger by the minute.

  “Never,” Andi confirmed “Like I said, we never even saw the woman. Truth is I was starting to believe that she really was dead and gone. There were stories that maybe she didn’t want the house sold off after she died so she just made arrangements to keep it lookin’ like she still lived here. You know, that way no one else would get the house. But obviously she’s still around. I mean, she invited you here.” Andi left the statement hanging in the air and looked at Maggie expectantly.

  “I’ve never met her,” Maggie admitted when the silence drew on and she realized Andi was waiting for her to share what she knew about the mysterious Ms. Devereaux. Andi looked a little disappointed as if she’d hoped to learn some great secret.

  “Oh well, here’s to another mystery left unsolved.” She smiled as she raised her glass in toast.

  Maggie tried to calm her nerves as she raised her glass to clink against Andi’s, but she couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that perhaps she hadn’t just answered a random ad, but instead that she’d been intentionally brought here. But why? How? It seemed too ridiculous to be possible.

  The wine had a strong earthy flavor that reminded her of olives. Maggie didn’t recognize it. She glanced at the bottle but saw no label.

  “Muscadine,” Andi said, noting her gaze. “Homemade.” She winked.

  Maggie took another sip. It was very good.

  “I like it. I’ve never had muscadine wine before,” Maggie admitted.

  “It’s a Southern specialty,” Andi boasted proudly. “So tell me, if you don’t actually know Ms. Devereaux, how on earth did you end up in Georgia?” she asked as she topped off Maggie’s glass.

  ~5~

  Aside from the bizarre events that brought Maggie to Sweetwater, her first week at the plantation was rather uneventful and she quickly fell into a comfortable routine in her temporary new home; coffee on the veranda in the morning, tea in the library in the afternoon. The mornings were cool enough to take short walks around the property, but the afternoon heat usually kept her indoors. Maggie decided to enjoy her time here, rather than spend it chasing after answers she may never find. Even if she didn’t understand Ms. Devereaux’s motives, she knew her own motives. She needed the reprieve and that’s exactly what she’d found.

  Andi became a regular visitor, stopping by most nights after work. When she realized how poor Maggie’s cooking skills were she made it her personal mission to teach her how to prepare a proper meal. She would always show up with an arm full of groceries and as Andi would show Maggie how to prepare some new dish she would bring her up to date on all the local gossip. Her social chatter reminded Maggie of her mother in some ways. Maggie felt like she already knew everybody in the town, just from Andi’s stories, although one name had been notably absent from all of her tales: Aaron Miles. Maggie tried to pretend she wasn’t listening for it.

  The cleaning crew came on Thursday. Maggie tried to be as unobtrusive as possible as the women buzzed around the house vacuuming, dusting, and polishing the furniture. To Maggie’s surprise she noticed that the cleaning crew also steered clear of the East wing. Apparently no one was allowed down those dark deserted halls.

  The house cleaning staff was well-instructed and efficient, working around Maggie as if she wasn’t there. Growing up they’d had a housekeeper, but to Maggie she’d always seemed like part of the family. As a child, Mrs. Burton would let Maggie help with the chores as long as she promised not to tell her mother.

  It was strange to simply sit around while these women worked. Maggie felt as if she should offer some sort of help but knew it was not proper etiquette. Instead she retreated into the library and withdrew into the world of a well-crafted novel. The library was quickly becoming her favorite room in the house.

  Monday brought an unwelcome call from Sam, the local mechanic who had towed Old Betty to his shop last week. From what Maggie gathered out of the conversation she needed some new belts, some sort of pump, and something for the transmission. None of that really made any sense to her, but what she did clearly understand was the grand total of $2000.

  That was nearly all of the money that she was being paid for the summer, there was no way she could spend that much.

  Sam had offered her two options, she could pay to fix the car or he would purchase it from her for scrap parts. He offered her $500, which she thought was fair considering the car didn’t run. It was a heart wrenching decision, but one she knew she needed to make.

  Old Betty had been the first thing Maggie had ever bought with her own money. She’d secretly worked at a bookstore her senior year of high school to save up the money. Her mother had believed that she was on the prom committee. It was an acceptable cover, an extracurricular activity that her mother could approve of that also offered enough after school time requirements to hold down the part time job. Luckily for Maggie her mother believed that it would take the entire school year to plan the dance, so Maggie was able to use those after school hours to work at her favorite little bookstore in town. It was also to Maggie’s advantage that neither her mother, nor anyone from her mother’s social circle, would ever have enough interest to step into the shop where she worked.

  She’d secretly stowed away her small earnings until she had enough to purchase Old Betty. She’d pla
nned it perfectly so that she could buy the car immediately after graduation, the same week that she would be informing her mother that she would be leaving for college rather than attending a Finishing School in Switzerland. Maggie knew her mother’s intentions were good, to groom her for a life of wealth and privilege. It was the only way her mother knew. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t the life that Maggie wanted.

  Her mother had been offended by Maggie’s interest in science and discouraged it at every turn. In her opinion a woman should not aspire to be a doctor, she should aspire to marry one, but only a very wealthy and well-renowned doctor of course. Maggie quietly disagreed.

  She eventually learned to stop trying to talk to her mother about her true passions and instead participated in the superficial socialite chatter that she preferred. She attended cotillions and debutant balls. She paraded around in the beautiful dresses that her mother bought for her and took lessons in proper etiquette for high society. She jumped through every hoop her mother put in front of her and did it with quiet grace. But she never gave up on her dreams, secretly applying to universities in Boston and planning the future she really wanted.

  Perhaps that was where she’d gone wrong. Maybe if she’d stood up to her mother from the beginning and insisted that she understand what she really wanted, then she might not have been so shocked by the revelation that Maggie had been accepted into Harvard University’s pre-med program. For most parents learning that your child would be attending Harvard would have been a moment of great pride. For Corrine Overton it was a slap in the face. Every plan she’d ever had for her daughter had shattered in that moment and she had been irate.

  It was the first time Maggie had ever seen her mother lose her composure. Maggie had taken the berating with silent grace as her father sat helplessly to the side rubbing his temples. He’d never really participated much in his daughter’s life and now would not be the time for him to step in. Maggie allowed her mother to speak her piece, and then quietly and efficiently had packed her few belongings into Old Betty and drove away. It had been over six years since she’d last spoken to her mother.

  Letting go of Old Betty was both painful and liberating. That car had carried Maggie from her childhood home to Boston, where she’d once believed all her dreams would come true. That same car had also carried her away from Boston when those dreams had been shattered. Maggie’s instinct was to hold onto the car no matter the cost, to hold onto the security that it represented.

  So for that reason Maggie let the car go. She decided it was time to step out of her comfort zone. Coming to Georgia had definitely been completely out of her comfort zone and so far Maggie felt like it was one of the best choices she’d ever made. She had already begun to feel like a different person, which was exactly what she needed.

  Old Betty was the last remnant of her old life and she was ready to say goodbye. For the first time Maggie had no plan for the future. It was absolutely terrifying, so she refused to let herself dwell on it. Instead she was going to live completely in the moment. One day at a time.

  When Tuesday arrived Maggie realized just how much she’d been anticipating this day. She tried to deny that it had anything to do with the Aaron Miles, but even she couldn’t deny the extra skip in her step as she took her morning coffee to the balcony. It had been exactly one week since she first saw him, surely he was due back today.

  She’d woken early and had already showered and dressed for the day. Her long white dress ruffled in the morning breeze as she looked out over the peach orchards. She tried to pretend that she hadn’t dressed up for any particular reason today, but as she sipped her morning coffee her ears were tuned in for any sound: a car door, a lawn mower. She was waiting for him and she knew it.

  When the sound of a lawn mower rang through the air her heart skipped a beat. She jumped up from the rocker and leaned over the banister. She told herself it was the boredom and the solitude that had her acting like a lovesick teenager. Not that she really knew how a lovesick teenager acted. She’d never been one of those girls. She’d always had her nose buried in a book.

  She reasoned with herself that it was pure curiosity causing her to seek him out this way. He couldn’t possibly be as handsome as she remembered from that first brief encounter. She just needed to get another look.

  And then he was below her, navigating the large mower in even rows across the backyard. The sun glinted off his blonde hair. She could see the muscles in his arms working as he maneuvered the levers. She leaned her elbows on the banister, crossed her ankles behind her, and just watched. There was something very exciting about watching him this way. She felt very brazen and little wicked. In short, she felt nothing like her boring old self which was completely exhilarating.

  Once he was gone from her view she made her way downstairs to the kitchen. As she’d indulged her voyeuristic inclinations on the balcony she’d hatched a plan. She needed to see him face to face again. She remembered the way he’d made her feel last week. It was the first time she’d ever been rendered speechless by a man. She told herself again that it was scientific curiosity that pushed her forward. She needed to understand what it was about him that turned her brain to mush. She’d been surrounded by men at Harvard but none had affected her this way. Perhaps that’s why she felt so drawn to him. He was definitely outside her comfort zone.

  However as she stepped onto the front porch her bravery vanished and all of her old familiar insecurities came crashing back. She would have turned around and headed straight back into the house if he hadn’t been right in front of her pruning the azalea bushes.

  “Good morning, Ma’am.” He smiled up at her, casually flashing his charming dimples. Her knees felt a little weak. It must be the dimples.

  “Please call me Maggie.” She was impressed with the strength of her voice. Her insides were quivering.

  “Maggie.” The sensuous way her name rolled off his tongue made her heart beat a little faster. Maybe it was the southern accent.

  “Would you like some lemonade? It’s awfully hot out here.” She remembered her plan and was grateful that she’d come up with something to say. She may have been turning to mush on the inside, but she felt like she was holding it together on the outside pretty well.

  “Sure.” He smiled up at her again. “I’ve actually got something for you. I’ll be right back.” He turned and jogged to his truck that was parked in the driveway. She admired the view from behind.

  She stood perfectly poised on the front porch as he retrieved a small paper bag from his truck and returned to the house. He climbed the steps and stopped in front of her, lifting his sunglasses from his eyes and resting them on top of his head. His sparkling blue eyes looked straight into hers and stirred something deep inside her. She had to turn away and walk into the house before she whimpered out loud. Without question, it was his eyes. That was definitely what made her forget her own name.

  “How’s our patient doing?” he asked as they entered the kitchen.

  “What?”

  “Fred,” he said, gesturing to her plant near the window. She felt absolutely mortified that he not only knew that she’d named her plant, but actually remembered the name. Perhaps he was just humoring her the way kind people do when they meet someone crazy.

  “Oh… um… he seems alright,” she stuttered as she handed him a glass of lemonade. Why couldn’t she form an intelligent sentence around this man?

  “I brought this for him,” he said, holding up the paper sack. Speechlessly she accepted the bag and looked inside. It held a small brown plastic bottle.

  “It’s rooting hormone,” he explained. “It should help with re-establishing a new root system. Works well for re-potting.” He leaned against the counter casually as he sipped his lemonade. He seemed completely at ease.

  Maggie was so touched that he’d thought to bring this for her. She didn’t know what to say. Just then the cat came wandering into the kitchen and jumped onto the counter. He immediately crossed to th
e potted plant and circled around it once before laying at its base.

  “They seem to have made up.” Aaron smiled, nodding toward the cat curled around the pot.

  “Yeah, Killer’s made himself right at home,” Maggie muttered irritably. She couldn’t seem to keep him off the kitchen counter.

  “Killer?” Aaron laughed. “Oh, come on, I don’t think he quite deserves that name. I mean, Fred did survive after all,” he teased her playfully. Maggie still couldn’t believe how easily he’d accepted her silly little name for her plant.

  “I guess you’re right,” she said, watching the peacefully sleeping cat. “He doesn’t really look like a Killer.” She hated to admit it, but the cat was growing on her. He’d taken to sleeping curled up at her feet when she read in the library and often accompanied her on walks around the property in the mornings. His company was kind of nice.

  “So what should we name him?” he asked.

  “Maybe Barney?” she suggested. Aaron laughed loudly. It was such a genuine carefree laugh that Maggie found herself smiling with him instead of self-consciously analyzing what she’d said the way she normally would.

  “Fred and Barney? Really?” Aaron laughed.

  “I think he looks like a Barney,” Maggie defended. She couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

  “That he does,” Aaron agreed. “Barney it is.”

  Maggie smiled as she sipped her lemonade. She wasn’t really sure if he was flirting or just being nice, but she liked the way he teased her. She liked that there wasn’t a need for formal etiquette between them. They were just being themselves. Two people sipping lemonade and naming a cat.