Tupelo Honey

by Lis Anna-Langston

  The sky-blue Buick was parked in front of the group home after school. I ran over, excited. “Judy Dennis came to talk to me today. She said that I can live with you forever.”

  Nash nodded. “That’s not why I’m here.”

  My face fell a little. “What does that mean?”

  “I got a phone call today.”

  That didn’t sound so good. “From who?”

  Nash leaned against the trunk of his car, looking serious. “From some dude calling to collect on his free vacation.”

  It took me a minute to grasp what he was saying but his smile gave it away. “Oh my god. He called? It worked?”

  “Like a charm.” He put his arm around my shoulder. “That was a brilliant idea.”

  So, two weeks later the married couple sailed away. Nash and I drove over after midnight with a trunk full of shovels, bags, flashlights and a metal detector. There still weren’t any neighbors so Nash parked out front. Moochi stood guard. I looked around remembering what it was like to live there. I remembered playing with Inca and climbing trees. I remembered reading my library books and trying on new clothes. I remembered the rubber people buried in the yard.

  I looked over at Nash. “What happened to Inca?”

  “Oh, he’s staying with Louise. My apartment complex doesn’t allow pets.”

  We got out of the car and walked to the trunk.

  “Here, help me carry some of this stuff.”

  I looked over at the window that used to be my bedroom. “Okay. How many of these things do we have to dig up?”

  Nash stuffed the metal detector under one arm. “Fourteen . . . maybe fifteen.”

  “What?”

  He shrugged. “Sorry. I never liked banks.”

  It took six hours to dig up the metal canisters. Nash had a pretty good system for marking his treasure. At first we looked east of every bush but then when he’d run out of bushes, he’d just buried the cans everywhere. The sunrise glowed purple on the horizon. I looked around the front yard. I remembered waking up this early to eat cereal and watch cartoons.

  “I’m hungry.” I looked around the backyard at all of the filled-in holes. Hopefully the married people would think it was aliens.

  “Me too,” he said, closing the trunk.

  He put all of the metal canisters into a trash bag and took them into the apartment to count. I unwrapped my egg-and-cheese biscuit and watched. He pulled stacks of money from each one. It was fairly impressive. Fourteen containers with roughly twenty thousand dollars in each. I glanced at my suitcase in the hall closet. That’s when I knew it was going to be okay. We weren’t millionaires but we had enough to get somewhere and start a business and have a home. I would be okay.

  Nash looked up at me, flashing that smile. “A free cruise. Geez. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Actually, Moochi came up with it,” I said, trying to be honest.

  Nash poured two tumblers of cranberry juice. “A toast to a new life,” he said.

  The plastic cups clacked. “I’ll drink to that.”

  And that was that. Ten days later I was released from the group home into Nash’s custody. We drove away in the sky-blue Buick with Mr. Hester standing at the curb waving. I had all of my belongings in the backseat. Nash had half of his cash stuffed into a sleeping bag crammed in the trunk. I’d talked him into getting travelers checks for the other half. It was quite a milestone for him.

  We drove straight for the highway. “So what’s the plan?” I asked.

  Nash winked. “First we’re going to visit Randall.”

  Randall and I sat out at the little table and he told me he was sorry. I could see he was content and settled in at the group home. At first I was really jealous and kind of mad about the fact that he wanted to live there more than with me. But eventually, knowing he was in a safe place, with a comfortable routine, filled me with a sense of relief. I waved goodbye. Then I ran back for a hug.

  The sun was setting as we headed west. I turned around in my seat, looking back at the city fading away. I wondered if I would ever see it again. A blue sky dipped low into the horizon, melting into a creamy apricot sunset. I wanted to remember my grandmother forever. Staring at the colors I conjured up an image of her standing on the front porch, looking off into the distance.

  We were headed south in our sky blue Buick. My entire life was in the trunk.

  I had no idea what was next. And for the first time in my life, I was okay with that.

  Epilogue

  Later on, people asked me about the rest of my family. For starters, I never saw my mother again. I always thought that one day she might go back to my grandmother’s house looking for me. She wasn’t alone in the disappearing acts category. Thursgood was never seen again, either. Two years after we moved to Mexico the police showed up at Randall’s group home. The police said the Texas State Highway Patrol had found Thursgood's car idling on the side of a two-lane highway in west Texas. The report said the driver’s door was open, the radio was playing static and no one was to be found anywhere.

  My magic spell worked.

  Randall had the staff at the group home help him put an ad in the newspaper and sell Thursgood's old car. He mails me a ten-dollar bill, wrapped in notebook paper, every week because I’ve never been able to explain to him what a trust is.

  Preston Brown did not become a minister as his parents had anticipated. He said that after all the time he’d spent praying for me he finally knew God listened. And that was enough for him. He moved to New York when he turned eighteen and became the lead singer of a famous punk rock band. He’s still my best friend. I have all of his albums.

  Nash and I go see Randall once a year and take him presents. He loves to show me every new thing in his room. He loves that group home so much. Who knew? His favorite night is Wednesday. Karaoke night. I’ll leave that to the imagination. Randall clutching a microphone to his chest singing “Love me Tender” is a sight every human being should witness at least once.

  And Nash Andrews. I see his bright smiling face everyday when he knocks on my door announcing breakfast. A few months after we settled in I was sent to the English-speaking school. For my entrance I was asked to write a 500-word essay describing my life as an Event. I titled mine: The Most Awesome Adventure of the Brave Tupelo Honey. That about summed it up for me. I studied really hard, took the SAT’s, and was accepted at five colleges. The University of South Carolina and Brown University gave me huge scholarships, but I’m not sure where I’ll go yet. Nash and I are going to go visit them.

  For years I worried Nash incessantly to find a girlfriend, but he just smiled and said, “I’m married to my work.” And he was. His work was a beautiful little restaurant he’d bought and renovated in the middle of the town where we lived. The people loved Nash and every night the tables were filled with laughing, well-fed diners. In the evenings I’d go and sit and drink coffee. The candles sparkled and twinkled on the crisp, white tablecloths. Nash would come over and refresh my coffee.

  Then he’d pull up a chair to take a break. “How ya doing?”

  “Good.”

  He smiled. “Penny for your thoughts.”

  “Oh, I was just thinking about the opera. I’ve been studying La Bohème. Maybe we could drive to Mexico City next month and watch it on the stage.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  And that was how a lot of our days went. Nash cooked and washed dishes and made flower arrangements, all the while, content as he could be. It wasn’t a fairy tale. From what I can tell owning a restaurant isn’t for the lazy. Plus, I had to learn Spanish along with everything else I had to learn in life. I didn’t speak the language and I was thousands of miles away from Randall and Preston Brown, but I had a Dad. For the first time in my life I had a real Dad who tucked me in at night and made me pancakes for breakfast and said, “Good job,” to every single little thing I did right. And it was wonderful.

  And even though Nash wouldn’t entertain the thought of da
ting right away he let me name the restaurant. I named it “Maria’s.” I figured if he was going to be married to something it might as well be named Maria.

  Everyday when I get home from school I see Moochi out in the garden, sunning himself in the golden light. His fur glistened and whiskers twitched when he dreamed. Sometimes when I’m out there with him and it’s really quiet I can hear my grandmother calling my name. It’s like she’s right there. In the late afternoon sunset I can still hear her say, “If wishes were horses, I’d ride away.”

  Acknowledgements

  While books are written by one person, it takes an army of people to bring it to life. I would first like to thank my classmates and workshop participants from over the years, especially J. Thomas Meador who I have workshopped with every week for almost a decade now and has single handedly read every draft of this manuscript. He's a fine writer and makes me a better writer everyday.

  This manuscript owes considerable thanks to the hard work and oversight of Maureen Brenner who is just about the best Editor a girl could ever hope to work with. I'd also like to thank Eric Lasher for digging my query letter out of the junk folder and responding.

  A special thanks is in order for my husband Mark who has read every single draft and is the President of my fan club.

  Thanks to Kristen Ebert-Wagner who combed through this manuscript for continuity and formatting and, in general, is something like a proofreading goddess.

  And I would especially like to thank all of the contests that so graciously placed this novel as a finalist and a winner. Tupelo Honey placed as a finalist in the prestigious William Faulkner Fiction Contest and in the Amazon Breakout Novel Award. Both contests are run by such amazing individuals who champion the work of the authors. And a special, special thanks to Chanticleer Book Reviews for giving this novel First Place.

  About the Author

  Lis Anna-Langston is the author of Tupelo Honey, Skinny Dipping in a Dirty Pond and the short story collection, The End of the Century. Born in the South she loves writing about misfits, screw ups, outlaws and people who generally don't fit into nicely labeled boxes. She loves zany, wild rides and is the recipient of many fancy awards.

  She loves chinchillas and gourmet cooking and scribbling little notes everywhere.

  Her fiction has been published in dozens of literary journals including Petigru Review, Fiction Fix, The Monarch Review, Emyrs Journal, Barely South Review, Steel Toe Review, Cactus Heart Press, The Merrimack Review, Vine Leaves Literary Journal, Sand Hill Review, Conclave, Milk Journal and The MacGuffin Literary Review.

  You can learn more about her at:

  www.lisannalangston.com