Then He Kissed Me: A Cottonbloom Novel

by Laura Trentham

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  Copyright Page

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  For Steve

  Chapter One

  Nash Hawthorne ducked into the tall reeds by the water. The stream widened farther down and joined up with the Mighty Mississippi, but behind his house in Cottonbloom, Louisiana, it burbled along, shallow enough in most places to wade.

  That’s what he’d do. Wade all the way to the Mississippi and take to the river like Huck Finn. He checked his pocket for his inhaler. It was the only thing he really needed.

  Everyone was up at his house. They tried to smile around him, tried to keep the whispers confined to corners, but he knew exactly what was happening. He was ten years old, not an idiot.

  His mother was dying.

  She’d spent the last three years dying. Almost as far back as his memories went. He had vague recollections of her swinging him in the air, her dark hair thick and lustrous, her cheeks round and full of color. Now her hair grew in sparse patches over her mostly bald scalp, and she looked like a character in her own black-and-white comic. Pale papery skin and dark shadows.

  His father worked an oilrig out in the Gulf, and he’d heard his aunt Leora saying it would be touch and go whether he made it back in time.

  Back in time. He wished he could turn everything backward like one of the characters in his comic books. Back to when his mother could get out of bed to make him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Back to when his father smiled.

  Or maybe he would shrink to the size of a ladybug and hide in the grass until it was all over. Sit on a blade of grass and watch the river flow by and the sun circle the earth. They’d just finished studying about planets in science, and he envied the stars up in the sky, cold and beautiful.

  He toed off his sneakers and stepped into the cool water. Instead of heading toward the freedom of the Mississippi, he waded upstream and sent out telepathic messages for Tallulah. He knew that sort of thing was make-believe, like Santa and Superman, but he wanted to believe. Wanted to believe his mother would get better.

  As he drew closer to the Fournette’s house, a girl rose out of the reeds, a breeze tangling her long, dark hair around her shoulders. His heart swelled until it was painful. Maybe there was hope.

  His tongue froze, and he didn’t know what to say. She saved him by throwing her arms around him and giving him a hug. He dropped his forehead to her bony shoulder and took a deep breath. She smelled faintly of oranges.

  She pulled away first and scrabbled back up the bank to sit cross-legged under the drooping limbs of a willow tree. He followed, sitting so they both looked out over the water.

  “Mommy’s dying. It might even happen today.” The wobbly way he’d said “mommy” heated his face. He was too old to cry, especially in front of a girl.

  “I know. I heard Daddy talking this morning when he didn’t think I could hear.”

  “No one up at the house will say anything in front of me, but I can feel everyone waiting for it to happen.”

  “Where’s your dad?”

  “Still out on the rig. Bad weather is keeping him there.” Nash stripped the leaves off a thin green branch, his gaze down. “They want me to go sit with her.”

  “Don’t you want to?”

  He would never admit his shame to anyone but Tally. “She’s not my mother. Not anymore. I don’t understand what she’s saying. I think they’ve given her a bunch of drugs. And, she smells funny.”

  “How so?” As he expected, no judgment, only curiosity lilted her voice.

  “Stale. Like I imagine death would smell.” He risked a glance at her, but her attention was on poking at a piece of moss. “You know the comic where the police commissioner dies? And, he’s all pale and stuff? That’s her.”

  She abandoned her stick, pulled a cloth bag with her name embroidered on the front closer, and took out two oranges. She handed him one and dug her thumb into the peel of hers, a burst of orange scent surrounding them. He did the same, and they were quiet as the pile of discarded peel grew between them.

  “Is your dad going to get a job on the mainland … after?” She bit into a slice, squirting him with juice.

  He wiped his cheek, dropped to his back, and stared into the newly sprouted leaves. The breeze rustled them and sunlight dappled the twirled ends. “I heard Aunt Leora say something about taking me to her house.”

  “But … but that’s in Mississippi? Miles away. What will we do?”

  He was relieved to hear the panic and outrage he’d been unable to voice at the time, considering he was eavesdropping on an adult conversation. Somewhere along the way, his mother had taught him that was a no-no.

  “We both have bikes. Maybe we could meet in town.”

  “But it won’t be the same. Who’s going to go fishing with me?”

  Even though he was wondering the same sorts of things, he said, “At least you have two parents and your brothers.”

  She looked over her shoulder, first at him and then her house. “It’s not the same. I don’t belong in this family.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mama and Daddy go together like a pair of gloves. Cade and Sawyer are whip-smart. And, I’m … I’m just … here.”

  “You’re smart.”

  This time the look she shot him was dire. “They’re talking about holding me back. I would never be able to set foot in that school ever again.”

  He popped up on his elbows. “If they hold you back, let’s run away together. We can head toward the Mississippi and find somewhere to live. You can fish for our food, and I can … I don’t know, find work somewhere.” As the idea took root, a shot of excitement made his breathing ragged. He fumbled his inhaler out of his pocket and took a pump.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Sure, why not? Huck Finn did it.”

  “Yeah, about a hundred years ago. Don’t be silly.”

  Her words smarted, but he pressed on. “Wouldn’t living out there be better than me living with crazy Aunt Leora or you getting held back?”

  Her mother’s voice, singsongy and strong, called from up the hill where her house sat. “Tallulah! Come on up for ice cream before your brothers eat it all.”

  His breathing fractured again, but an inhaler wouldn’t help. It was the kind of hurt medicine wouldn’t fix.

  She took his hand and squeezed. “We can decide whether or not to run away together later, right?”

  “Sure,” he said vaguely and turned his face away so she wouldn’t see the sting of tears in his eyes. Why would she leave her family? Two brothers who teased her, a mother and father who exasperated her, but even so, warmth and love seemed to pour out of her whenever she talked about them. He wished he could collect the feelings to study alone in his room.

  She stood and brushed the dirt off the back of her shorts. He pushed up too, awkwardly stomping his feet, suddenly aware his T-shirt had a strain from his morning chocolate m
ilk along the bottom. He hoped she didn’t notice.

  He turned back toward the river, but she grabbed his hand, hers slightly sticky from the orange. “Will you come back later … afterward?”

  “If I can get away from everyone.”

  Going downstream should have been easier, but his feet felt heavy, numbed by the cool water. He climbed up the bank to find his aunt Leora standing in the middle of the backyard, scanning the river. When she saw him, she gave a little sob and ran forward.

  He stood still, but she was there too quickly. Her words buzzed around him like gnats. His mother had died sometime while he was eating oranges and talking about running away. No tears came. His aunt guided him toward the house even as every part of him longed to throw himself back into the river and run toward Tallulah’s house where he could pretend nothing had changed.

  The rest of the day was a blur of neighbors hugging him and dropping off food. The mingling food smells upset his stomach to the point he couldn’t eat any of it. His father arrived sometime during the night, the commotion waking him. His mother had been taken away in a shiny, black hearse, and his aunt had already washed the sheets and disinfected the room as if what his mom had was contagious.

  The funeral was somber and long, drawing a large crowd. He sat on the red cushioned church pew and picked at his fingernails until they bled. The organist played “Amazing Grace,” the music vibrating through his chest.

  The next days passed in a haze, and he was kept home from school, even though he’d rather be learning about Galileo than staring at their fruit bowl–covered kitchen wallpaper.

  Whispers between his aunt and his father drifted out of the kitchen.

  “… tragic. And, leaving those three children parentless and on their own. That uncle of theirs is a ne’er-do-well. Can’t ask him to take three children on.”

  Since they weren’t talking about him, he felt safe enough to step through the doorway. “Who are you talking about?”

  His father glanced up from his coffee and the newspaper, his eyes bloodshot and two days growth of beard on his face. “The Fournettes up the river. Parents were killed by a drunk driver last night.”

  His father flipped the page, and his aunt took a carton of eggs out of the frig. Nash backed out of the room, pulling his inhaler out and taking a puff, his heart pounding like a kick-drum. He ran outside and grabbed his bike, peddling like mad.

  Like his house of a week ago, cars lined the front and somber women with casserole dishes drifted inside. As if they had some psychic connection, Tallulah poked her head out of a second-story window. She disappeared, and he waited, wondering what he should say.

  She ran out the front door toward him, her eyes red and swollen, her hair a tangled mass around her head. “They’re gone.” She sounded shocked and hurt.

  “I know. I’m so sorry.”

  Someone from the house called her name, but she didn’t look over her shoulder. “I have to go. Will you come back?”

  He swallowed, the words getting stuck like taffy in his throat. “Daddy’s going back to the rig. I’m moving across the river to Aunt Leora’s.”

  “When?”

  “Soon, I think.” Desperation drove his question. “Will you run away with me?”

  “Nash…” She shook her head.

  Somehow, she seemed older and infinitely wiser than him even though only a few days had passed since she’d held his hand with her orange-scented sticky one.

  “I can’t. My brothers need me.”

  I need you too, he wanted to say. “Of course. I’m being dumb.” He started to roll his bike backward, still straddling it, his feet on the ground.

  “I’ll see you in school though, right?” she asked.

  “Aunt Leora is moving me to the elementary school on that side. She said it’s because the schools here stink. She thinks I’m gifted or something.” Even as young as he was, he understood the river marked more than a physical separation between Louisiana and Mississippi. The social divide between well-to-do ’Sips and the blue-collar swamp rats was a festering gash that stemmed from a long-ago dispute.

  “Oh, Nash.” She stepped forward and hugged him, the handlebars of his bike between them. Her lips brushed his cheek, moving with her words. “I don’t think I can do it without you.”

  Considering she was the strongest person he’d ever met, he knew she would be fine without him around. But he wasn’t so sure how he was going to make it on the wrong side of the river without her. He tightened his hold, and she returned the ferocity of his hug. Someone called her name from the house again. This time she pulled away, her hair falling around her face, but not before he saw her tears. Helplessness overcame him.

  His world was changing too fast. Last summer, he remembered running from the river holding a tadpole in water he’d cupped in his hands, but by the time he’d made it to the house, the water had leaked through his fingers and the tadpole had died. Everything and everyone he cared about was slipping through his hands like trying to hold water until he was left with nothing.

  Chapter Two

  Eighteen years later …

  Tallulah Fournette sat at the bar of the Rivershack Tavern, debating whether to head home. Three episodes of The Bachelor waited on her DVR. Even under the threat of torture, she’d never admit to watching the show, but the desperation oozing from the contestants fascinated her.

  Her phone beeped and she glanced at the incoming text, muttering a curse that would have her mother clutching her pearls in heaven. A small amount of fear shaded the edges of her frustration, and she flipped her phone facedown as if that could shut her ex-boyfriend up.

  She nursed her beer, feeling a little in limbo, not wanting to stay, but not wanting to go home to an empty apartment either. Cade and Monroe were probably somewhere making googly eyes at each other, and Sawyer was so busy getting the newly named Fournette Brothers Designs set up and planning the Labor Day crayfish festival, he didn’t have time to hang out with her.

  She swiveled on the bar stool and exchanged smiles and waves with several men and women who were members of her gym. It was Friday night and all she had waiting for her at home was accounting work for the gym and episodes of The Bachelor. She might as well adopt a litter of cats.

  The heavy wooden front door opened as she was turning back to the bar. From the corner of her eye, she saw a man enter. She glanced over her shoulder and whipped her head back around to stare down at the scarred bar top. It was Nash Hawthorne. Her heart skipped like a third-grader seeing her crush. Under the guise of taking a sip of her beer, she stole another glance.

  She’d seen him at Cade’s welcome home party a couple of weeks earlier, and the same shock and zing of awareness stripped away the restlessness that had plagued her all evening. She’d beat a hasty retreat from Cade’s party, the reasons as murky as the river.

  When he’d moved to Mississippi when they were young, it was like he’d hopped into a different river that had taken him in the opposite direction than her. While she’d barely squeaked through high school, he’d gotten a PhD and would be teaching history at Cottonbloom College come fall.

  Unable to help herself, she looked his direction again. He still stood inside of the door. Calls from a pool table in the back went up, and he smiled and waved. Not only was she surprised to see him at the Tavern at all, apparently he’d become a regular. Tonight he fit right in with his olive green cargo pants and black T-shirt.

  If she’d known professors like Nash existed, she might have attempted college after all. He had an old-school Indiana Jones vibe. Although scholarly with his black-rimmed glasses and perpetually rumpled brown hair, danger permeated the air around him nonetheless, like he would risk his life to save some ancient scroll or might rappel into a tomb seeking the Holy Grail.

  It didn’t hurt that the man was jacked. Not in an artificial way like some of the men who lifted weights in her gym, but in the lean, defined way she much preferred. She had no idea what happened to the brillia
nt, skinny, short, acne-covered kid of her childhood. It’s like he’d been in a cocoon and emerged as a brilliant, built, tall, handsome man. Nerdy Nash Hawthorne had turned into Cottonbloom’s most eligible bachelor—and that included both sides of their peculiar little town.

  His gaze swept the room. Maybe he had a hot date. She’d heard rumors the single-ladies Bible study at Cottonbloom Church of Christ had nearly come to blows trying to decide who was going to take him a “Welcome to Cottonbloom” basket.

  She turned back to her beer before he could catch her staring and watched the foam bubbles pop around the edges. A warm body took the seat next to her, and she was enveloped in a wholly masculine scent that muted the halos of cigarette smoke around them. Seeing his big hands link together on the bar and the dark hair that peppered his forearm settled a weird knot of nerves in her stomach.

  Nash had never made her nervous when they were kids. She’d trusted him above all others back then, even her brothers. But that had been a lifetime ago. In fact, those days seemed to belong to someone else. The days before her parents had died. Before things got hard.

  Nash had been gone a long time, and once he’d moved to Mississippi after his mother had died, they’d barely seen each other. His aunt Leora had kept him close, claiming his asthma made it difficult for him to be outside. Although it hadn’t seemed to bother him all the time they’d spent wading and exploring the river as kids. She fingered the end of her braid.

  She screwed up her courage and turned to him. “Hey, I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m—”

  “Tallulah Fournette. How could I ever forget you?” He swiveled toward her. His carefree, charming smile struck her mute.

  She had the tendency to hang out with rough-and-tumble men who’d followed the same path she had. Street smart and tough, the difficulties of life forcing them to be serious and defensive. Those were her people, the ones she felt comfortable around.

  Nash’s optimism and easygoing nature was in his smile and in the way he held himself. His body language was foreign, yet unusually appealing, and she found herself smiling back. “Everyone calls me Tally these days. Except for my brothers when they’re trying to annoy me. I’m not sure what my parents were thinking saddling me with a name like Tallulah.”