Now his pitifully frail voice came on the other end of the phone. “Hello.”
“Tucker, what is wrong with you?”
“I’m sick, Mama.” His fake cough blared through the earpiece.
She pulled the phone away from her ear. “Well, this is what I have to tell you. If you are sick, this is what your week is going to look like. You ready to hear?”
He hesitated. “Yeah.”
“If I pick you up, you will go straight to your room and get in the bed. I’ll bring you your dinner. There will be no baseball, no basketball, no football. There will be no dairy because dairy makes coughs worse. And if you forgot, ice cream falls into the dairy part of the food pyramid. Then, if you’re still feeling poorly on Sunday when you go to church—and you will go to church—you will sit with me in the service, and when it is over, we will—”
That was when she heard a commotion on the phone. “I think I’m feeling better, Mama. Just talking to you has done something for me. Maybe I was just missing you or something.”
She shook her head. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. I’ll see you when you get home.”
“Bye, Mama.”
The school nurse got on the phone. “Well, I’m not sure what you said, but the color came into his cheeks while you were talking.”
“It’s a miracle, I guess.” They laughed and the nurse hung up. Scarlett Jo pressed the End button on the phone and shook her head again. This was her payback for passing along her drama gene to Tucker. At least that’s what Jackson loved to remind her of.
She picked up her pink-flowered key chain, grabbed the caramel pecan round she’d picked up that morning from Merridee’s, and headed out the door. A jogger’s dark-brown ponytail slapping against a slim back caught her attention.
The jogger’s name was Amanda. She lived a few streets over, had a couple of little ones who rode the bus with Scarlett Jo’s boys, and she ran every morning about this time. Dark curls bounced at the end of her long ponytail. A pretty woman, though Scarlett Jo was convinced the child needed food. In fact, one day she had pulled up beside her and invited her to breakfast. The girl’s thighs needed biscuits.
But something else about Amanda concerned her. In twenty years of ministry, Scarlett Jo had encountered all different kinds of women. There were those like herself, completely satisfied with the men they had, though not unable to appreciate a fine specimen like George Clooney or Brad Pitt. But there were other women who seemed to walk around with an Open sign. They had that inviting way. And even though Amanda was a wife and a mother, there was something about her that Scarlett Jo discerned as available for more. Scarlett Jo hoped for the day when she could get Amanda over for biscuits or something and maybe get into her heart at the same time.
Scarlett Jo started down the steps, then stopped, turned, and hurried back inside. She pulled a small crystal vase from the cabinet above the refrigerator. She was grateful in moments like this for her height. Her poor mother was just under five feet tall, and the woman practically had to carry a step stool everywhere she went. Scarlett Jo half filled the little vase with water, then grabbed some scissors and went out the door, breathing in the beautiful Tennessee spring morning.
Franklin was pretty quiet today. It usually was this time of morning, right before the lunch crowd took over the restaurants and the streets. Jackson had told her to wait until the weekend to visit the new people on the block, but that seemed ridiculous. Being neighborly meant you were there when your neighbors needed you. These people had just moved in, so they needed food, fellowship, and friends. They needed to know that the people on their street were amiable and inviting.
She clipped a couple of yellow daylilies from the plants that were flowering beside her porch and carried them inside. She stuck them in the vase, grabbed the pastry box again, and headed back outside to make a new friend.
A knock on the door startled Miss Daisy from Grace’s feet, waking Grace as well. She had fallen asleep hard. She looked at the clock on the newly installed cable box. It was eleven thirty. She had slept for about forty-five minutes, and the fog was still heavy on her head. She was in no way ready for company. She zipped her sweatshirt up a little higher. Her bare feet made their way to the foyer, and she saw her bright greeter through the glass-paned door as soon as she rounded the corner. Miss Daisy was standing at the door with her head thrown back, barking. Her barks came out more as a howl sound. That sound had been one of Grace’s favorites for years.
“Hush, Miss Daisy.” She nudged the fur ball back with her foot and opened the door to the beaming face of the statuesque blonde in front of her. As soon as there was room, the woman’s hand shot out with a vase of yellow daylilies. “Here, sugar, these are for you.” The voice came out like any true Southern voice—sweet, more syllables than necessary, and accompanied by an endearment commonly associated with baking products.
Grace took the vase. “Thank you. They’re lovely.”
The vase’s relocation allowed her to catch sight of the huge daisies perched atop the woman’s flip-flops. They had to be the largest shoe flowers she’d ever seen. But that might be appropriate since they graced two of the largest feet she had ever seen. Were they tens? Twelves? Bigger? The woman herself was pretty big. She stood a good head and shoulders over Grace’s five-foot-three-inch frame. Grace always marveled at how people were fashioned so differently.
The woman’s hand was still extended, and her smile widened. “I’m Scarlett Jo Newberry. I live just four doors down from you, and I wanted to come introduce myself.”
“Grace Shepherd.” Grace offered a smile of her own. She couldn’t help it. The woman was so animated.
She also looked a little confused. “But you sound . . . Southern.”
Grace laughed. “Born and raised.”
“Well, I’ll be. I thought—” Scarlett Jo stopped midstream as if catching herself.
“My husband is from New York, though.”
The visitor gave an amused nod. “So y’all have a mixed marriage then.”
Grace laughed again. She knew all too well how different Tyler’s and her worlds were. He still made fun of the way she greeted most people with a hug, and he refused to use the word y’all. But he had gotten used to a lot of the things that she loved about the South, especially her cooking. Five years ago, she would have officially pronounced Tyler a naturalized Southerner. Now they seemed to be back in Civil War territory. Civil. Yet still a war. “Yeah,” she said, “every now and then a Yankee will be brave enough to snatch one of us.”
Scarlett Jo snorted slightly as she slapped her hand at Grace. “Well, where’bouts?”
“Where’bouts?”
“Yeah, where’bouts were you born?”
“Oh. I was born in Atlanta actually, but my family moved to Knoxville when I was in high school.”
Scarlett Jo’s eyes widened. “Ooh, I love Atlanta. Oh, and Savannah and Charleston. I swear, if I believed in reincarnation, I would want to be reincarnated as Scarlett O’Hara so I could wear those fancy dresses and corsets and ride in carriages and all.”
“Doesn’t get much better than the South.”
“Only I can’t imagine trying to confine all this in a corset.” Scarlett Jo gestured toward her ample chest. “Could you imagine being the poor soul who had to strap me in?”
Grace wasn’t sure quite how to respond to that. Fortunately Scarlett Jo’s mind seemed to wander for a moment, then focus on the item in her other hand.
“Oh, silly me, I brought you this too.” She stuck out a white box with a cellophane cutout on the top. Some kind of gigantic sticky bun peeked out at Grace through the window. “These caramel pecan rounds are sinfully good, and I’ve always thought moving is a perfect excuse to eat sweets.” Scarlett Jo’s half laugh, half snort came out with no apologies. “That’s why I’ve declared every day is moving day. Hey, I’m always moving something from one place to the other.”
“This does looks delicious,” Grace offered
. “My husband and I will enjoy this.”
“Just the two of you?”
Grace shifted, but with her hands full, she couldn’t shift far. “Yes, just the two of us. And Miss Daisy here, of course.”
Miss Daisy seemed to raise an eyebrow as if to make sure they knew she was listening.
“Well, I have five boys who are completely rentable, and on some days I will be more than willing to send them over for free. If you need lawn services or gutter cleaning or you simply want to be entertained, they are at your service.”
Grace smiled. “I’ll definitely remember that.”
“Do you need anything? I know how hard moving is. I could fix you a meal, get you some groceries—honestly, anything you need.”
Grace could use all of the above. “No, we’re good, I think.”
“All right. But remember, I’m just a few doors down, and I’m always available. Whatever you need—you come get me anytime. I just wanted to let you know you have neighbors who’re glad you’re here. That’s all.”
“That’s very kind of you. I really appreciate it.”
“Okay, well, I’m off to go to Harris Teeter. It’s super doubles week.”
“Super doubles?”
“Oh, child, do you not know about couponing?” She seemed to stop herself, then laughed as if she realized it was a stupid question. She flipped her hand at Grace. “You don’t need to know a thing about couponing if it’s just two of you. I’m feeding a pack of wolves at my house. If I didn’t know how to coupon, my children would have had to eat me by now. But if you ever want to learn how to do it, you just let me know. It is crazy, girl! I can go to a store and leave and they’ve paid me money.”
Grace did know about couponers. Recently, her station had even aired a clip of a woman dressed in a cute jacket and nice shoes, digging through a recycling bin in search of coupons. She wondered if she’d ever catch sight of Scarlett Jo in a Dumpster. It didn’t seem out of the question. “I’ll remember that,” she said.
“Okay, I hope to see you soon,” Scarlett Jo offered as she headed back down the sidewalk. She turned sharply. “You look so familiar to me. Have we met before?”
Grace got that a lot. “No, I don’t think so. I’m sure I’d remember.” She eyed Scarlett Jo again. There was no way she could forget.
Scarlett Jo shrugged as if she wouldn’t worry about it anymore that day—sort of like her namesake. “Well, you have a wonderful day, sugar.”
“You too.” Grace watched her new neighbor as she walked up the street. She had a sneaking suspicion this wouldn’t be the last time Scarlett Jo Newberry knocked on her door. She smiled at the thought. Grace was neighborly by nature too. It was in her DNA. Tyler could be out trimming the hedges and completely ignore a neighbor walking by. Grace couldn’t. Making connections with people was one of the ways she kept herself feeling alive.
That’s why she still cried at sad news stories, even if she was the one delivering them. Her first two years of being a broadcaster, she’d thought she might get fired for it. But when the viewers started calling in about the new “anchor lady” who shared their sorrow, she’d figured she could let the tears fall if they needed to.
She brought the pastry box to her nose as she made her way to the kitchen. Ignoring the boxes at her feet, she opened the one in her hands. She took out the large round bun and cut off a section, which she placed on a paper towel and stuck in the microwave. The whir of the motor was the only sound in the quiet house. She stared at the spinning pastry through the glass and watched as the edges of the caramel icing began to melt and a few pecans slipped down the side. Then she popped the door open, poured a cold glass of milk, and carried her treat out to the back porch.
Miss Daisy followed closely. The dog could smell food like a reporter could find bad news.
Five boys . . . Grace settled into the porch rocker and curled her feet under her. What would she have done with five boys? She wished she’d had the chance to discover that. The icing dripped on her finger. She licked it off, pulled off a little piece of bun, and stuck it down for Miss Daisy. The dog threw her head back and chomped as if she were eating a pork chop. “You’re supposed to savor it, Miss Daisy. Not scarf it.”
The door to the porch opened. “Morning, Gracie.”
She turned. Tyler’s brown hair stuck out all over his head, though that was pretty much how he wore it most of the time. His eyes were bloodshot, his gait slow. He leaned down and gave her a peck on the cheek, his five-day scruff rubbing against her skin and the stale smell of last night’s activities as familiar as Miss Daisy’s attitude. The disappointment she felt over this new friend he’d invited into their marriage over the past few years was no longer a passing feeling. It was as consistent a presence in her heart as the empty Santa dishes were in her moving boxes.
“Morning,” she said. “How did you rest?”
“Good. Good. Whatcha got there?”
“Oh, it’s a pastry. A neighbor brought it. She lives a couple of doors down. Sweet lady.” She stuck another bite in her mouth.
“Smells good. But I know it can’t be as good as the ones you make.”
Grace usually made homemade cinnamon rolls every Monday for Leo. They were his favorite. She always left a few on the counter for Tyler. He loved her cooking. And she couldn’t deny that her cinnamon rolls were good. On her darker days, in fact, she would make a batch and eat most of them herself—then she’d climb onto the treadmill and work it off for an hour. It was a sad way to self-medicate, though better, she supposed, than Tyler’s choice. But she said, “Don’t be so sure. This is pretty wonderful.”
“I’m going to grab one, then head out to the Sportsplex for some PT,” he said. “And I’ve got that fund-raiser fashion show tonight for Vanderbilt Children’s Hospital.”
She felt her body stiffen. “Tyler, I can’t unpack this house by myself.”
His jaw twitched. Then his words came out with a familiar edge—an edge she never got used to, one that turned quickly into seething or an outright explosion. “We’ll get it done when we get it done, Grace. You might just have to live with a little clutter for a while.”
She hated clutter. She hated undoneness.
He reached down to scratch Miss Daisy’s head. “You girls have a good day. I’ll be home in a couple of hours, and we can take back the truck. But I won’t be able to start unpacking until tomorrow.”
“What time is the fund-raiser?”
He ran his hands over his face and through his hair. “I think it’s seven. But, Gracie, you don’t have to come.”
“I already RSVP’d before I knew we were moving this weekend.”
“That’s silly. You know you go to bed by seven thirty. And you look awful. I mean, exhausted.”
His way with words never ceased to amaze her. “I want to come,” she said more firmly. “You don’t do that much in Franklin, so when you’re here, I like to come. You know that.”
He hesitated just a second too long. “Okay. Cool.” He leaned down again and gave her another peck. “Now I’m going to go eat whatever that is you’re eating and then get some therapy for this beat-up old body of mine. I’ll see you later.”
She didn’t respond. He closed the door behind him.
Why did everything have to be an issue? She let out a deep sigh. She hadn’t even realized she was holding her breath.
Zach walked into the large conference room at his office. He caught a glimpse of the old-but-new Franklin Theatre marquee before turning his gaze to the woman who sat at the table. Her fear was as palpable as the chair he had just pulled back. He extended his hand. “Hello, I’m Zach Craig.”
She barely moved. “Marissa Martin. Thank you for seeing me.”
He studied her striking blue eyes. They stood out in stark contrast to the white hair that framed her face. It wasn’t a gray white, but a frosted white or something. A beautiful woman for her age. Classy. But her expression made it evident she didn’t feel beautiful today.
He sat down and tried to be wise with each word he chose. “Would you like to tell me why you’re here?”
She shook her head. The tears that filled her eyes made him suspect that gestures might be all he’d get for a while. “Tough day, huh?”
She nodded this time and dabbed at her eyes with a wadded tissue.
He placed his arms on the table. The sleeves of his white button-down creased in the folds of each arm. “Am I the first lawyer you’ve consulted about this matter?”
She dabbed again. The nod followed a moment later.
“Well, why don’t you just start wherever you need to, and we’ll go from there. I’m in no hurry, so take your time.”
The corners of her mouth turned down in an effort to hold back the surge that could erupt at any moment. Zach had seen it more times than he could count. They’d try so hard to stop it, but pain wouldn’t always bow to sheer will.
She exhaled slowly. “I’ve been married for twenty-five years, Mr. Craig.”
“No formalities here. I’m just Zach.”
She brought her hands down, resting them on the edge of the planked-wood conference table. Her fingers laced as if by instinct. He noticed the white tips on her nails. “Zach. My husband and I have walked a long road, a road I would have walked with him anywhere. But I think it’s far worse than I ever imagined.” Tears raced down her cheeks. She let them fall without apology, then took took a deep breath and collected herself.
“I have one beautiful daughter. She’s in college now and will be devastated by all of this, so I am trying to take care of it as quietly as possible.”
His leather chair squeaked slightly as he leaned back and listened.
“My husband admitted to me quite a few years ago that he was struggling with pornography. I’d known that in my gut for years—known something was wrong. But whenever I asked, he tried to make me think I was crazy. I’ve learned since that denial runs pretty deep and wide with such issues. But once he finally told me, I felt like we had a real chance. That we could really put it behind us and heal.”
Secrets over Sweet Tea Page 4
