Homecoming in Mossy Creek

by Debra Dixon

  Even though everyone else in the audience sat enthralled by the novelty of Romeo and Juliet being told from a Mossy Creek/Bigelow perspective, Matt fell asleep in my lap a few minutes after the play started.

  When Ingrid noticed a few minutes later, she leaned over and whispered, “I should take him home.”

  “I’ll do it,” Jayne whispered from my other side.

  I shook my head emphatically. “This play is too good to miss. He’s not making a fuss, so he’s fine right where he is.”

  A laugh from the audience drew my attention back to the stage in time to see Romeo entering Mt. Gilead Methodist Church instead of the Verona Cathedral. There he spoke with a teenager pretending to be Reverend Phillips, not Friar Lawrence.

  A moment later, I felt Jayne’s gaze and turned to find her searching my face. I smiled and wanted to reach for her hand, but Matt held it down.

  Jayne attempted to return my smile, but the effort was clearly half-hearted.

  “What’s wrong?” I whispered.

  She shook her head and returned her attention to the stage with a quiet, “Nothing.”

  I knew enough about women to know that Jayne’s “Nothing” held volumes of meaning.

  The play receded as panic seeped into me. Something was wrong.

  Suddenly every odd moment in the last week played across my mind. Things seemed to have changed last night when I’d been late picking up Matt. Was that it? Was she mad because I felt I needed to accompany Tag to the football team meeting at the dance studio? I’d been so tired, I’d put Matt to bed, then fell asleep waiting for Jayne. I woke the next morning on her sofa, and stumbled into the kitchen to find her and Matt eating breakfast. She said she’d hated to wake me, so she covered me up and let me sleep. I recalled what I’d thought then were distant tones in her voice. I’d put it down to my own lack of coffee, and had beat it home to shower and shave.

  And today, I hadn’t seen her until I picked everyone up to go to the play.

  Then I recalled Betty Halfacre’s cryptic comment that afternoon about how little I’d seen Jayne. But then, Betty was always cryptic, so I hadn’t read that much meaning into it.

  Was that it?

  I searched my memory for any other possible transgression, but could only conclude it was the lack of attention during the past couple of weeks.

  I had been feeling so comfortable in our relationship, so certain of Jayne’s feelings, so certain of my own, that I’d assumed she’d understand I had duties to the town now that I was President of the Town Council. She’d helped me campaign, for Pete’s sake. Encouraged me to run. Celebrated when I won.

  Had Jayne changed her mind, now that we saw what this new job was going to require of me? Of both of us? Was Jayne the type of woman who had to have her man’s attention 24/7?

  No, that wasn’t Jayne. That type of woman would’ve searched for a new husband almost as soon as her husband had died. Not only had Jayne waited three years, but she’d had to be cajoled into dating. I’d finally resorted to bribery, finding a dog to solve her mouse crisis.

  No, Jayne was far too independent to need a man. That was one of the traits that had drawn me to her. Winning the heart of such an independent woman had turned out to be incredibly satisfying, because I knew without a doubt that she was with me because she wanted to be, not because she needed a man around.

  Then my own phrase caught my attention—winning the heart.

  Had I won her heart? I’d never considered things in quite that way. I never knew that I wanted her heart.

  But now I knew with absolute certainty that I did.

  And that begged the question—did she want my heart?

  She’d never said anything. But then again, neither had I.

  We’d fallen into such a comfortable relationship so quickly, that it seemed a given that we were a couple. That we were a couple in love.

  In love.

  A keen sense of wonder flooded through me. My heart felt like a hot, whistling pressure cooker. How was it possible that no one around me realized I might explode at any moment?

  I’d never been in love before. I’d never felt such gratitude, awe and incredible lightness of being. I’d never felt as if there was a physical connection, like a tendril of energy linking me to her, and also to Matt. I loved both of them so much I knew I’d do anything to keep them well and happy.

  Including resigning from the Town Council, if that’s what was bothering Jayne. I felt instinctively that it wasn’t, but I had no idea what else it could be.

  Unless she’d found someone else.

  A moment of fear shot through me at that possibility, then I realized how impossible that was. The Mossy Creek grapevine was too efficient. If there were someone else, I’d have heard.

  That eased my mind somewhat, but I felt the need to make that physical connection real.

  Shifting Matt to the other side, I reached for Jayne’s hand. As I wound our fingers together, she glanced at me.

  I wanted to tell her right then that I loved her, but knew it wasn’t the right place. Instead, I held her gaze and smiled with all the warmth inside of me.

  She seemed to relax a little, and she returned my smile.

  I felt the pressure cooker ease just a little.

  Jayne unlocked the door to her apartment, then turned as if to take Matt from me.

  I pushed past her and went up the stairs.

  “I can put him to bed,” she said, following. “I know you’ve got a busy day tomorrow…”

  There was no plaintive tone in her voice, so I still had no clue if that was what was bothering her. Even so, I was determined to find out. But first things first. “I like doing it. Why don’t you pour us a glass of wine?”

  “Wine?” she asked as if she’d never heard of the stuff. “Really? This late? Don’t you have to—?”

  “It’s only ten o’clock, and I have to spend time with my lady.” Realizing that I’d made it sound like an obligation, I turned to face her. “I want to spend time with my lady. I’ve missed you.”

  Her face brightened and softened at the same time. “I’ve missed you, too. We’ve missed you.”

  I grinned, then turned toward Matt’s bedroom. The work on Jayne’s apartment over The Naked Bean had been completed a month ago. She’d added a large master suite and a new bedroom and bath for Matt in the space she’d taken in over what was formerly Beechum’s Bakery. I made quick work of changing Matt into his Bob the Builder pajamas.

  “Night-night, Win,” Matt murmured as I tucked the blanket around him.

  I leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Goodnight, little buddy.”

  I wanted to promise that I’d find time tomorrow to help him build something with his Legos, but I knew I’d be busy from dawn until late into the night. Besides the pep rally and the game and who knew what else would crop up, I still had a business to run. And Saturday was going to be even busier with the parade in the morning and the dance in the evening.

  “Sunday, little buddy. I’ll be here all day Sunday.”

  But Matt was already fast asleep.

  I entered the living room to find Jayne already seated on the sofa. A tray sat on the coffee table with the opened bottle of wine and two half-filled glasses. I sat and grabbed them both. Offering one to her, I clinked mine against it.

  “To us,” I said simply.

  She frowned slightly and took a sip of her wine, murmuring, “To us.”

  “Okay, that’s it.” I took her wine from her and placed both glasses back on the tray. Then I faced her. “I’m sorry I haven’t had much time to spend with you and Matt this week, but I have obligations now that I’m President of the Town Council.”

  “I know that.” She looked offended. “Have I said anything about you not being here?�
�

  “No, but you’re acting all…weird. Like you’re mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad. Not at all. I know you’ve been busy. We’ve been busy, too. I would never resent the time you give to the town. Never.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I…” She looked away. “I’d rather not say.”

  “Tough. You have to.”

  “This is my problem. Not yours.”

  I lifted her chin. “Jayne, this is me and you. Your problems are my problems, and vice versa. We share everything, including problems.”

  She blinked in surprise. “We do?”

  “Absolutely. At least, I hope so. I want to know anything that’s bothering you. Even if it’s something stupid I’ve done or not done. Especially if it’s something stupid I’ve done or not done.”

  “It’s just…” She looked away again. “I…”

  “Jayne, please. I’ve never known you to be so uncertain. You usually tell me exactly what’s on your mind. Right now, I’m imagining all kinds of bad things, so please tell me which one of them I need to worry about.”

  “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s… Okay. You asked,” she warned. “The entire town seems to think we’re… well, that we…”

  “What? Sleep together?”

  “Well, some of them might, but I told Ingrid we haven’t.”

  “Do you want to? I haven’t wanted to push it, especially with Matt in the picture. We’ve been in such a fishbowl, with the election and all. But I’m certainly all for it. Have been for months. No, strike that. Years!”

  That made her smile. “Really? Now who’s keeping things from who?”

  I shook my head. “That’s a discussion for another time. Tell me, what does the town think we are?”

  She took a deep breath. “In love.”

  “Aaahhhh…” Relief washed through me. Finally, something I could deal with. I took both of her hands in mine. “Aren’t we?”

  “Are we?”

  “Well, I am. Aren’t you?”

  “Well, yes, I guess I am. We’ve just never mentioned it before.”

  She looked so serious, I chuckled. “You’re right. Let’s take care of that. Jayne Austen Reynolds, I love you.”

  Her smile was warm and wonderful. “And I love you, Winfield Jefferson Allen.”

  “There. It’s official. You can tell Ingrid and Josie they were right.”

  She chuckled. “They’ll be relieved to know.”

  “I’m relieved to know, too,” I said softly.

  She smiled. “Me, too.”

  “Now we can start planning our future. Are you ready yet to become engaged?”

  “Is that a proposal?”

  “Unequivocally. But if you want the proper words, here goes… Will you marry me?”

  “You know what?” she asked brightly. “I think I just might.”

  I shook my head. “Sorry. The proper question needs the proper answer. Is that an unequivocal yes?”

  “Yes.” She wrapped her arms around my neck. “Yes. Yes. Yes!”

  Emotions I’d never known existed swept through me, and I kissed her with every one of them. “Now, about that other discussion…”

  PART EIGHT

  The Great Time Capsule Caper

  Louise & Peggy, Saturday morning

  “Charlie, I need your old fishing waders.”

  My husband looked up from the crossword puzzle in this week’s Mossy Creek Gazette, adjusted his bifocals so that he could actually see me, and said without a hint of curiosity, “In the storage closet in the garage. You need a rod and reel, too?”

  “I’ll take what I need, thank you.”

  He went back to his puzzle. “Louise, what’s a seven letter word for insane? Starts with a ‘b’.”

  “Bonkers,” I said and headed for the garage. I pulled two of his yellow hard hats off pegs. He uses them when he consults at construction sites. I unearthed the leather welder’s gloves he used when he took up building metal bird cages, added the waders and suspenders, a couple of respirator masks he used when he varnished his furniture, plus two pairs of the goggles he wears when he cuts wood. I’ve known Charlie long enough to realize that his lack of curiosity about my doings is a game he plays to drive me nuts. So I ignore him. I didn’t even go back to tell him goodbye.

  The honey bunny Bouviers were dying to go with me and fascinated by the stuff I accumulated on the back seat of my SUV, but I hardened my heart, suckered them into the back hall and shut the door on them. The last time I let them dig, they’d unearthed a dead body. I put my small cooler of cokes and iced tea on the back seat along with a roll of plastic bags and called Peggy on my cell phone. “I’m on my way. You ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  Peggy practically scuttled down her back steps and dove into the passenger seat of my car. She had on her gardening hat, gardening gloves, a heavy long-sleeved denim shirt, baggy jeans and her knee-high rubber muck boots.

  “Do you have any idea how ridiculous we look?” she asked.

  “We are going to dig in a garbage dump. I’m not wearing Donna Karan.”

  The Bigelow county dump is far enough away from Mossy Creek that its odors don’t waft to the good folks who live here. Part of it has already been turned back into a landfill and planted with grass and wildflowers. If everyone recycled, we’d still generate a great deal of debris, but most people still don’t.

  Even this far from the Atlantic, flocks of gulls aided by crows and turkey buzzards searched for edibles among the debris. God’s real cleanup crew.

  When I was growing up—which was before DDT was outlawed—dozens of buzzards roosted nightly in a dead tree in my grandfather’s pasture. Then they all but disappeared. Now, they’re back on duty, cleaning up road kill, so we don’t have to. I know they look ugly on the ground, but when the day is clear, I swear they go soaring for the sheer joy of it.

  We, however, are not buzzards. I find no joy in the mess we leave behind. Nor in the smell. Nor, as it happened, do I go in for scaling small mountains.

  “My Lord, Louise, where do we start? This thing must be thirty feet tall.” Peggy sounded as appalled as I felt.

  At least thirty feet tall. Maybe more. And unstable. I wished now we had brought the dogs. I couldn’t see them running for help like Lassie if we were buried alive, but they might attempt to dig us out.

  “Look at this logically,” I said.

  Peggy snorted. “That’ll be a first for you.”

  “Don’t start. If we walk around the base, we can tell where they’ve been dumping recently. Wolfman said construction debris would be in its own area. Surely we’ll recognize it.”

  “Uh-huh. Can’t we ask somebody? Doesn’t anyone oversee this dump?”

  “Not on weekends. We’re on our own.” I started off to my left. Charlie’s waders were hot, the feet were so big they flopped like clown feet. If Peggy hadn’t grabbed me, I’d have taken a header in the first twenty steps. I had no wish to land face down in a welter of rotting food, filthy plastic and broken glass.

  “Take those things off before you break your neck,” Peggy said.

  “But…”

  “Don’t you have your sheepherding boots in the car?”

  “My good leather ones?” I squeaked.

  “They’ll scrub up with saddle soap. Go put them on and lace them all the way up to the knee. This place is probably crawling with snakes.”

  My favorite animal. I stashed the waders in one of the plastic trash bags. I’d have to sterilize them before I put them back in the sports closet or Charlie would kill me, and the smell would drive the dogs nuts.

  I had to run to catch up with Peggy.

  Over the next couple of hours we twisted our ankles, banged ou
r knees, suffocated in our masks, endured sweat running down our faces from under our hard hats, and became so used to the stink that we barely noticed it. I kicked two garter snakes out of our way and saw one diamond-patterned tail as thick as my wrist disappear into an old washing machine. The birds flew away from us, but landed again the moment we’d passed.

  “I feel like Luke Skywalker in the trash compactor,” I groused. “This is useless and it’s long past lunchtime. In October without daylight-saving, it’ll be dark in a couple of hours. If we don’t find the thing in the next twenty minutes, nobody else is going to find it either, agreed?”

  “Agreed. I’m too old for this,” Peggy said. She is in much better shape than I am, although she’s a good ten years my senior.

  “Look,” I said, pointing halfway up the hill. “Isn’t that some broken concrete blocks?”

  Peggy shaded her eyes without touching her face with her gloves. “Looks like an old ‘y’ painted on that one. For Mossy, maybe?”

  I felt a frisson of excitement.

  “You want to crawl up there and check or you want me to?” Peggy asked.

  “I’ll go.” I didn’t want to, but I felt I owed Peggy that much. She’s older than I am. So, using my gloved hands—thank God for Charlie’s welders’ gloves—and my feet, trying to keep my knees off the ground, I climbed. I froze several times as whatever was underneath me shifted, or when I heard the scrabble of something alive. “Do rats still carry the plague?” I called down to Peggy.

  “Not in North Georgia.”

  Finally, I reached the pieces of concrete and tried to move them. They didn’t budge.

  “I need a lever,” I called down.

  “To your right,” Peggy called back. “A piece of rebar.”

  At first I missed it, then I saw it sticking out like a lance ready to impale me. I braced my feet and pulled. It didn’t budge either.

  Then it did. Fast. Suddenly I was holding the end of six feet of steel rebar flailing in midair.

  Me too.

  I went over backwards and slid head first down the mountain. Peggy may have screamed. I definitely did. Above me I saw the whole pile begin to sag and shift. I must have removed some sort of key that had been holding everything in place.