Homecoming in Mossy Creek

by Debra Dixon

  She sniffed.

  “You think I’m making the wrong choice, too, don’t you?”

  “Have you thought about counseling?” Anna asked, as if I was divorcing my sister. I guess that’s how it looked. Did Spiva feel that way, too?

  I shook off the fleeting sympathy. “This visit isn’t about me. I wanted to see if there was anything I could do for Maggie and Tag.”

  “They’re good,” Anna said. “I, on the other hand, would love some herbal tea, but I promised Tag I’d stay right here in case he needs me. He’s afraid he’s going to faint and Maggie will be without a coach.”

  “No problem.”

  I followed the signs until I reached the cafeteria deep in the bowels of the hospital. Quickly, I walked down the line, grabbed a cup, filled it with hot water, and selected an herbal tea. I paid the attendant and turned to find the man who stood me up sitting ten feet away.

  Perhaps karma had taken the scenic route with me as well. The odds of running into a person I hadn’t seen in over twenty years twice in one day led me to believe we had some unfinished business. But I was a chicken. I’d mail the stupid guitar pick to him and be done with it.

  Two more steps and I’d be past eyeshot. Whew! My shoulders relaxed. It wasn’t like he’d recognize me from behind.

  “Pearl?” Allen called out, his melodious voice filled with confusion.

  I faced him. “I’m not following you. I’m getting a friend some tea.” I held up the Styrofoam cup and foil-covered tea bag.

  “Is your friend okay?” he asked, which was pretty nice considering he probably still thought I was stalking him.

  “She’s fine. It’s for Anna. Maggie’s in labor.”

  “Oh, right. I heard.” He shook his head. “I can’t imagine having a baby at our age. Can you sit for a minute? I’d like to explain.”

  I debated, then took the empty plastic chair across from him.

  “I would have shown up if I could have. My daughter Allison twisted her ankle at the game. My only thought was to carry her to the car and drive to the emergency room. Bonnie met us here.”

  “Did she break it?” I asked, hoping she didn’t.

  “Most likely it’s a bad sprain. Bonnie was making me feel so guilty about letting it happen that I ducked out to get that cup of coffee that I never got. She’s going to call me when the doctor comes back.”

  I summoned all my remaining courage. “So why weren’t you so keen on Spiva’s suggestion before your daughter hurt herself?”

  He looked down at his cooling coffee. “I have, or should I say had, parent duty this weekend. That was my only hesitation.”

  How I wanted to believe him. Even though my outside wasn’t as chubby, I still felt that men found me lacking because of my size. “Thanks.” I lifted the cup of hot water that had cooled. “Looks like I need to replace this.”

  Allen followed me to the hot water urn.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t think to have someone tell you I wouldn’t be able to make it after the game.”

  “Apology accepted.” I turned to leave, but Allen blocked my path.

  “Pearl, we grew up together. I dated one of your best friends. We both love chocolate meringue pie. You own a bookstore. I like to read. I’m curious about what else we have in common. Aren’t you?”

  The mother-of-pearl guitar pick came to mind. My face heated like I was standing in the sweltering sun. I had to confess. I couldn’t hide my mojo thievery from him any longer.

  “I’m not so sure you’ll still feel that way when I tell you something,” I took a deep breath. Just do it. “I’m the person who stole your lucky guitar pick. I’m the reason the band never made it.”

  Allen laughed, and I wanted to slink away. But I didn’t.

  “I’m glad you find this so amusing.”

  “I’m not laughing at you,” he said. “I’m laughing because the guitar pick became a convenient excuse for me over the years when people asked why the Charmers disbanded. The truth is we never made it because the times changed and the Charmers sound didn’t change with it.”

  He touched my shoulder affectionately. “I don’t want you thinking what you did jinxed the band. Promise me you won’t.”

  “I won’t.” As much as I hated to admit it, Spiva was right. It felt good to get that guilt, short-lived as it was, off my chest.

  “Good.” Allen’s phone beeped. “This is probably Bonnie.” He glanced down at the screen. “Yup, I need to head back for the doctor’s verdict. Listen, would you want to meet me for coffee at the Naked Bean later in the week? That coffee’s a heckuva lot better than this stuff.”

  “Sure,” I said, not quite believing what I was hearing.

  “Is Thursday evening good?”

  I quickly thought of what I had planned. Nothing. “Yes, that’s fine.”

  “Great. See you then. I’m looking forward to finishing our conversation and to finding out what would make you want to move to Bigelow.”

  “How did you—”

  “Nothing announced at a football game snack bar remains secret.”

  Happier than I thought possible considering the events of this evening, I brought the tea to Anna.

  “Ooh, cinnamon vanilla. That looks good. Thanks.”

  “Can you call me in the morning to give me an update?” I asked, glancing up at the big contemporary clock.

  Now that I had only an hour left to accept the counter offer, I wasn’t certain the move was right for me. Instead of walking to work, I’d have to drive. I wouldn’t run into friends like I did now when I strolled to the bank or post office. And would moving really change any of Spiva’s domineering behaviors? Not unless I moved to Mars.

  “Will do,” Anna said.

  “And tell Tag and Maggie the parenting books came in,” I called out as I left. “I’ll personally deliver them to the house once mama and babies are home.”

  Home. The word resonated with me. As nice as I imagined all my things would look in the condo and how Twinkie would love all the space, I couldn’t picture myself there. The house where I’d grown up no longer gave me the happy home feeling either.

  About fifteen minutes later, I pulled into the driveway. Spiva’s light was on even though I’d told her not to wait up.

  Decked out in her cherub flannel pajamas, she opened the door and ushered me inside and out of the chilly air. I took my usual spot on the couch.

  “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” Spiva said.

  I checked the time on my watch. “Can this wait? I have to call Julie.”

  “What I have to say needs saying before you make that call. Just give me a couple minutes to plead my case.”

  “Okay.”

  Relieved, Spiva sat down at the other end of the couch. “What I said earlier at the snack bar, I meant. I am sorry. I don’t want to drive you away.”

  “But I can’t live like this anymore.”

  “I know. I think we should put the house up for sale and maybe get two houses next door to each other, or across the street from one another, or maybe even a block away. That way we can be close, but also have our space.”

  I remained noncommittal.

  “I know you had your heart set on that fancy condo, and I’m not trying to bully you into doing what I want. Even though I do want you to agree.” She gave me a slight, self-deprecating grin. “It’d be great. If we want to have dinner together we can, but we don’t have to. If you still want to do movie night on non-football Fridays, we can. We can decorate our own places. I can go ultra modern without worrying about clashing with your traditional style.”

  I thought about the duplex flier in my purse.

  “I won’t be as tempted to meddle if we’re not living under the same roof,” she added. “You don’t even have to gi
ve me a key to your new place. And you won’t have to be tempted with my bad food, but if you want to borrow my treadmill at a moment’s notice, you can. Plus, if we do this, you don’t have to leave the town you love.”

  The truth was I didn’t want to leave Mossy Creek. And maybe I was crazy, but Spiva’s announcement about my impending move may have proved to be a blessing. That stranger wouldn’t have given me the flier if he hadn’t heard about my potential move to Bigelow. When it came down to it, my friends’ protests weren’t necessary to convince me against the move. All I had to do was look deep in my heart to know where home for me would always be.

  “You’re awfully quiet, Pearl. Do you have any thoughts about my solution, which doesn’t necessarily have to be the one you choose? I’m being too bossy again, huh?”

  “Yes, you are. Nevertheless, your solution has possibilities.”

  Spiva’s dark eyes lit. “It does?”

  “I’m going to tweak it, though.” I pulled the flier out of my purse. “What are your thoughts about a duplex?”

  She ran a hand through her ultra short hair. “Well, that’d be less expensive than two properties, but I don’t know. What do you think?”

  I motioned for her to scoot closer. “I should have said luxury duplex. Look at all the amenities. Master suites on opposite sides of the building so we’d have privacy, garages. A cute courtyard. Porches.”

  “Ooh and fireplaces. And it says right here, ‘completely remodeled kitchens.’ This is in Mossy Creek?” Spiva shook her head. “Doesn’t that beat all. This place seems like it was built with us in mind.”

  Oddy enough, it did.

  I took her plump hand in my own. “I don’t want to cut you out of my life completely, Spiva, but I need to make my own decisions and mistakes. I need you to stop talking at me and listen. I need you to stop interfering. If you can promise to do those things while living next door to me, then yes, this place would be perfect for the both of us.”

  Spiva crossed her heart like when we were kids. “I promise.”

  I pictured Josie Rutherford helping us decorate the courtyard we’d never seen as I texted Julie.

  Tell the owners “no” on the Bigelow condo. And let’s make an appointment for you, me and Spiva to look at a duplex off Laurel Street.

  WMOS Radio

  “The Voice of the Creek”

  Just a reminder to all of y’all—

  When all the Homecoming hullabaloo is over, y’all need to head on over to the Masonic Lodge’s Annual Harvest Haunt. This year’s Haunted House theme is The Headless Ram, in honor of Rammy the Ram—mascot of Mossy Creek High School. And yes, you’ll see gory scenarios involving Rams, but I ain’t saying any more on that subject.

  Some of your favorite grisly rooms are still there, but located in different spots, so you won’t be expectin’ them.

  Joel Stanton is back from college again this year to head things up because he’s just so fiendishly clever when it comes to spooky things and making y’all scream. I say “y’all” because I don’t ever scream. Nosirree, not me.

  (A snort is heard in the background)

  Okay, okay, maybe a howl or two, but nothing girly like screaming.

  But most of the Haunts this year are completely new, Joel says. He’s been designing and engineering the Haunted House since he was in high school.

  “He’s just got such a knack,” said Will Taylor, head honcho over at the Lodge. Will added that what they don’t need to keep in the till for seed money on next year’s Haunted House will be donated to the Stadium Fund this year, instead of to the Masonic Charity, which is usually the case.

  So y’all go on out there and scream!

  Wild Goose Chase

  We’re fools whether we dance or not, so we might as well dance.

  —Japanese Proverb

  Amos Royden, Saturday

  As yet another whispered phone message offered a lead on the time capsule, I tried not to draw parallels between the hunt for the capsule and my ridiculous pursuit of Ida. Both the capsule and Ida were proving illusive. I had yet to get my hands on either.

  Frustration, thy name is Amos. Truth be told, I’d feel less frustrated if I knew Ida was just as unsettled by the situation, but I suspected she was delighted by the demands of our lives. The interruptions to intimacy gave her excuses to slow things down without having to actually ask me to go slower.

  I suspect if she thought the relationship was going to crash and burn, slowing down would have been the last thing on her mind. She’d have sped things up so she could put it behind her, efficiently dust her hands off and say, “Yeah, that didn’t work. Told you. Moving on.”

  Ida liked tidy. I was anything but a tidy fit for her life.

  Over the summer we’d progressed from a public kiss to a few bona fide dates interrupted by previously scheduled vacations, babysitting of Little Ida during Rob’s second honeymoon, double shifts to cover Sandy during her pregnancy leave, a two-week mayor’s conference and a three-week FBI course paid for by the town and for which I’d practically had to kill to make the short list of accepted participants. Cancelling hadn’t been an option.

  The minute I got back in town, the time capsule situation exploded. The first words I had hoped to hear from Ida weren’t, “Oh good. You’re back. We have a problem with Homecoming.” But those were the words I heard.

  Sometimes I wondered if my love life was some sort of cosmic joke. I live in a small town and had still managed to find myself in a long-distance relationship that struggled to find its rhythm every time one of us left and came home. If I’d wanted to communicate with my woman through email, I would have signed up for NetMates and filled out forty-seven screens of compatibility questions. If all I’d wanted was warm comfort on a cold night, I’d have registered at Matchups and filled in a short profile. I’m not sure if owning handcuffs is a plus or a minus in a profile, so it’s just as well I didn’t go the Matchups route.

  Instead, I’m left sporadically pursuing an aggravatingly busy public figure now that the actual traveling is done. Unless I change the game. Yep. Time for a game change. I wasn’t waiting for Capsule Frenzy and Homecoming Fever to die down. If the constant interruption and crisis of our lives made carving out time to be together difficult, then it was time to rely on some of the oldest wisdom I know: haunt the ones you love.

  Tracking Ida down wasn’t difficult. She was behind her desk in the Mayor’s office, a spider in the middle of its web. Her dark hair was loose, shiny as a shampoo commercial and speared by a pencil perched on the top of her ear. She looked up and gave me a sudden, unguarded smile. I got those more frequently these days. Especially if it was just the two of us in a room. She waved me in and pointed to the phone. Then she made circles with her index finger, asking me to give her time to wind up the call.

  I nodded. Fine with me. I shut the door, but couldn’t lean against it. She had her dry cleaning hanging there. Or maybe not her cleaning, because there were black strappy heels—tall heels—in the bottom of the clear bag. Looked like the Mayor intended to change into a “little black dress” for what we hoped would be the unveiling of the time capsule tonight. I approved. I liked Ida in any little thing. That got me thinking and then thinking got me in trouble as soon as she hung up.

  “What are you smiling about now?” she asked. “No! Don’t answer. I don’t want to know. I’ve got a lot of work. Just keeping people calm seems a full-time job today. I don’t have time for whatever is behind that look on your face, too.”

  She looked serious, forgetting that I rarely take “No” for an answer to anything. Especially not now that I was home again and the calendar was clear of excuses to moving the relationship forward. I did my best to remove any hint of ulterior motive from my expression as I suggested, “Then maybe you’d have time to run out to the Harvest Haunt with me to retriev
e the capsule.”

  Ida flew out of her chair. “You found it?”

  “Not yet, but there is a reliable tip that someone dug it up a long time ago and reburied it in a root cellar under the barn the Boosters are using for the haunted house fundraiser. The folks who dug it up thought it was treasure and when they saw it was just, and I quote, ‘Old junk,’ they shoved the box in the root cellar of some barn out on the abandoned end of Pankie Road. That’s where they’d gone to open their little treasure chest. We’ve got enough time to get out there and back if we hurry.”

  “There’s only one barn out there.”

  “Yep. Makes perfect sense our teen thief would dump it there at the spot where his or her hopes for loot were dashed.”

  “That’s where a lot of the teenagers go to make out. It makes more sense than some of the leads we’ve had.”

  “Yep. That’s why I thought you’d like to go, too.”

  She snorted. “To make out?”

  “Why? We can do that right here.” I reached over and found the lock behind the cleaning bag. I flipped it to the horizontal position and waited for the reaction. She always had to find her balance with the relationship anytime we’d had a break. She trusted me. I just don’t think she trusted herself. She recognized a kiss for the gateway drug it was and usually treated kisses with caution at first, warming up slowly. Fighting with herself over whether she was ready to “go there.”

  I expected skittish. I’d locked the door as a signal that I might be her Police Chief but I was far from tame. I wasn’t prepared for the spark in her eyes and that had me reassessing my options. If Ida had skipped wary altogether and was anticipating our welcome home kiss, I wasn’t going to waste that moment inside an office with paper thin walls and her assistant just outside the door.

  Unlocking the door, I said, “But we really don’t have time for what I’m thinking, so let’s go maybe be the Heroes of Homecoming and find the capsule. Unless you want me to find it and go through it myself or find someone else to supervise me? There really should be two people making decisions about what’s in that capsule.”