by Jiffy Kate
“Thank you.”
No, Dani. Thank you. Seriously.
“You’re welcome.” I can’t fight the stupid smile on my face. “So, what’s with the suitcase? You finally get tired of this place and come to your senses?”
“Oh,” she says, like she forgot where she is or what she’s doing. “Yeah. No.” She shakes her head and her smile fades away. “I have to go back to New York. This is my last day,” she continues, disappointment in her voice. “I called your mom this morning to see if I can squeeze in the last of the shots I need for the article. I’m checking out of here this morning so I can leave for the airport straight from the plantation.” She eyes me warily. “I’m guessing you haven’t talked to your mom yet?”
“No.” She’s normally the first person I talk to in the morning, but today, I bypassed the big house and came straight here.
“So, you don’t know you have a photo shoot today at five o’clock?” She winces, scrunching her nose. It’s the cutest damn thing I’ve seen in a long time.
“Nope.” I shake my head slowly and soften my features into a blank expression. “Afraid that’s just not gonna work for me. I already have a photo shoot scheduled for today, so you’re gonna have to get with my people and . . .”
Her expression morphs from worried to amused. “Well, maybe I’ll see if your people mind rescheduling. Do you have an agent?”
We both laugh, each of us eyeing the other as if we have something more we’d like to say.
Please don’t go.
Stay.
I wish there was some way I could know what she’s thinking.
“Well, this sucks,” I tell her, feeling really bummed I’m not going to be able to take her to the river today. She’d love it there. I’m sure of it.
“Yeah,” she says, biting down on her bottom lip like people do when they’re trying not to cry. She looks just as bummed as I feel.
“Why do you have to leave early?” My question comes out soft and low, almost a whisper. I’m trying not to let her see how much her having to leave is bothering me.
“I got a call last night. Graham’s been in a bad accident. His dad needs me to come home and take care of him.”
“Oh, damn. I’m . . . sorry?” I say, though sorry comes out more like a question. I don’t know this Graham dude, but I don’t like him, and it’s not because he has something I might want. It’s more than that. I don’t like how he treats Dani. She’s good people, and she doesn’t deserve to be treated like she doesn’t matter. I’m not even sure she sees it, but from the few things she’s told me, I do.
“Yeah, I feel horrible. I’m . . . I’m going to fly back tonight. I guess he’ll be staying at my place for a while.”
“Well, that’s really nice of you.”
“He’d do the same for me,” she says, but I’m not sure I believe that. I’m not sure she believes that.
“Did he call you?” I ask, already knowing the answer but wanting her to really think about what she’s going home to.
“No.” She looks down at her coffee cup and slowly raises it to her lips, but she doesn’t drink. She just inhales. “His dad.”
“So you haven’t talked to him?”
“No.”
“Does he even know you’re here?”
“No.”
I nod, but I don’t say anything else. If I did, it’d be out of line.
We stand there for a few seconds before I take a deep breath and try to accept the fact that she’s leaving.
“Let me help you with your bags.”
“Thank you.” She steps aside and I take the handle of her suitcase while she grabs the bag on the bed that looks like it has her camera equipment in it.
“Got everything?”
She takes one last look over her shoulder and nods.
I put her bags in the trunk of her car and walk backwards toward my truck.
“So, I guess I’ll see you out at the house?”
“Yeah, I’ve gotta turn this key in and pay my bill before I head out there.”
I run my hand through my hair before I climb into my truck, feeling frustration and disappointment settle around me. I’m not ready for her to leave. A nervous knot sets up residence in the pit of my stomach when I think of never seeing Dani again. I know I’ve only known her for a few days, but I want to know her more and I’m not sure how I can do that with her all the way up in New York. There’s something special about her, and I can’t let her slip through my fingers. I know she has a boyfriend and all, but I’m willing to be whatever she needs me to be.
When my phone rings, I reach over for it and answer. “Hey, Mama.”
“Hey, baby. Where’d you take off to so early this mornin’?”
“Town. I needed to, uh . . .” Dani walks out of the motel office, distracting me for a moment. I watch as her forehead wrinkles and her nose scrunches. She’s probably wondering why I’m still sitting in the parking lot. When I shrug, she gets in her car and I motion for her to go ahead of me.
“Micah,” my mom says into the phone.
“Oh, sorry.”
“Did you hear what I was tellin’ you?”
“No, ma’am. Sorry.”
She lets out a frustrated breath but chuckles to herself, muttering something about nobody ever listening to her. “Be at the house at five. Dani needs some pictures of the family to finish up her article. She has to go back to New York this evening. Something came up.”
Now, I’m the one muttering under my breath, but it’s more colorful. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be there. Actually, I . . . uh, don’t have much to do today, so I’ll probably be around most of the day.”
“Uh huh. This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain someone leaving early for New York, would it?”
“No, I finished up the paperwork I needed to yesterday, and we don’t have any deliveries coming in today. Joe can handle the prep work.” I try to sound indifferent, like I already planned to take the day off, but I know she can see right through my bullshit.
“Whatever makes you sleep better at night.”
“Hush.”
“See ya in a few,” she says, laughing as she hangs up the phone.
I roll my eyes, but I know she’s right. I have plenty I could be doing today, but none of it feels as important as spending time with Dani before she leaves.
Dani’s rental car pulls up in front of the house, but I continue driving down the gravel road to my house, deciding to give her some space to work.
I walk around to the back of the house, spotting the dogs lazing under the big shade tree where one end of the hammock is attached. They barely open their eyes when they see me coming. Jose rolls over onto his back, offering up his stomach for a rub down. I oblige and then climb into the hammock. Johnny tries to climb up with me, but I stop him before he knocks me out on my ass. When they settle down on either side of me, the three of us sit in silence while I listen to the breeze rustling the leaves overhead and let my mind wander to the redhead whose face has taken up permanent residence.
I spend the better part of the morning piddling around the house: fixing a loose hinge on the screen door, pruning a few branches off the bushes around front, giving the windows a wash down with the water hose. Shit, I even go over to Deacon’s and put up the new mailbox he bought over a month ago. Dumbass ran it over with the golf cart after he’d been over here drinking beer one night.
When the afternoon rolls around, I decide I’ve given Dani enough time to work and head up to the big house. Besides, after all my manual labor, I’m starving.
As I walk in the back door, laughter comes from the kitchen. I pause for a minute in the hallway and listen to my mama and Dani.
“Those dimples,” Dani says with a giggle, “I guess he’s been using those as weapons since he came out of the womb.”
“Oh, sugar. You have no idea,” my mom says. “That boy could get away with murder. Hell, he might have for all we know.”
They both laugh a
gain. I peek around the corner and see Dani’s head thrown back, her slender neck exposed. I know exactly what they’re looking at. Normally, I’d hate my mom showing off baby pictures, but something about it being Dani makes it okay.
“Did you really have to pull those out?” I ask.
My mom and Dani both whip their heads around when they hear me, looking like the cats that ate the fucking canaries. I see that look from my mom quite often, and seeing the exact same look on Dani’s face makes me laugh. Two peas in a pod. I shake my head, not sure the world can handle two of them. Seems like a weapon of mass destruction. It’s probably good Dani’s going back to New York. My insides twist at the sobering thought.
“It’s for, uh, research purposes,” my mom says, turning back to the book. “Dani needed to see some old family photos.” The two of them look at each other and my mom nudges Dani with her shoulder. Both of them giggle again as they turn the page.
“You were so cute in these corduroy pants. Burgundy is definitely your color.” The way she looks over her shoulder and winks at me makes me want to do unspeakable things to her. Well, if my mom wasn’t sitting right beside her. And if she didn’t have a boyfriend.
“Oh, I’m sure you have your own embarrassing baby pictures,” I counter.
Dani sighs, shaking her head as she looks back down at the pictures. “Nope.”
“Are you tryin’ to tell me you were never forced into a pair of burgundy corduroy pants?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Or never cut your own hair?” I pause for another second. “Oh, I know. Snaggletooth. We all have one of those pictures where all we wanted for Christmas was our two front teeth.”
She laughs but shakes her head. “There are pictures like that, but I don’t have them. They’re in storage. I haven’t been back there since the funeral.”
“Where did you say she lived?” my mom asks, turning in her chair to face Dani.
“Laurel, Mississippi. It’s just outside Hattiesburg.” She nods and presses her lips together, making it obvious there are strong emotions behind the memories.
“You must miss her.” My mom reaches over and takes Dani’s hand.
“Every day.”
“Well, I know she’s real proud of you.” My mom pats Dani’s leg, trying to lighten the mood. “How about we get some lunch?” she asks. “Micah, you look like you could eat. Wanna join us for some lunch?”
“That’s why I came all the way up here.” I wink at her.
“I’m tellin’ you, Dani, if it weren’t for food, I might never see my boys.” My mom shakes her head, but we all know that’s a lie. Besides, I’m pretty sure she knows the real reason I’m here.
We all get to work on making lunch. The three of us are quite the trio in the kitchen. Soon, our conversation turns to cooking and recipes. Dani is shocked to know I’m the one who comes up with all of the recipes we use at Pockets. I tell her I get it from my mama, but Mom blushes and says it’s all me.
“When I was younger, I’d sneak into the kitchen any chance I got. My dad always teased it was because I wanted to be the taste tester and get the first bite, but really, it was because I loved watching my mama and my grandma cook,” I admit. “And . . . I liked being the taste tester.” I laugh, and so does my mom, pinching me in the side as she walks behind me.
“Your mom or Sam’s?” Dani asks my mom.
“Mine. She was a brilliant cook. People would come from miles around to eat her cookin’. That’s how Sunday dinners got to be such a big thing, but as the years went on, everyone started goin’ their separate ways. She passed away a few years before Deacon graduated high school. Micah was in junior high.” She sighs, and I know she still misses her. We all do. Time may heal wounds, but it doesn’t make you forget.
“She sounds wonderful,” Dani says as she puts plates out on the table.
When our food is ready, we all sit down and dig in, but the conversation continues.
“How about your granny?” I ask. “Did she love to cook?”
“God, yes. Everything I know I learned from her. I swear, I gained five pounds every time I was home for a visit. She’d take one look at me, and say, ‘Baby girl, you’re too skinny. Sit down and lemme make you somethin’.’” Dani laughs as she mimics her grandmother. “Food was how she took care of people. She hated that I was all the way up in New York, but she sent me a care package once a week.” She looks down at her plate and slides the food around with her fork. “I miss those.”
“Did she leave you any good recipes?” my mom asks.
Dani smiles around her bite, nodding her head. She takes a moment to chew and wipes her mouth with her napkin. “I think her recipes are my most treasured possessions. When I read over them and see her handwriting, I feel like she’s right there with me. Sometimes, when I’m missing her the most, I’ll pull one out and just cook. I can hear her voice, feel her presence, and the smells take me back to her kitchen. Those are my happiest memories,” she says, a slight mist in her eyes. She smiles, leaning back in her chair with the most content expression on her face. “I know this sounds crazy, but I actually want to publish a cookbook with them. It’s my secret project, I guess you could say. Not sure if anything will ever come of it, but I like to dream about it.”
“I think that’s an awesome idea,” I tell her, amazed that she would say that. My mama and I have often talked about taking our recipes from the restaurant and creating a cookbook. It feels strange listening to her verbalize something I’ve also dreamed about and the connection I’ve felt with her from the beginning deepens.
She smiles over at me. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
“I’ve only ever mentioned it to Graham, but he seemed to think it would be a waste of my time.”
Which is why he’s an asshole.
“Well, I think he’s a waste of time,” I say, barely above a whisper.
My mom hears me and gives me the look before turning back to Dani. “Your journalism abilities, accompanied with your amazing talent for taking pictures . . . well, and the sheer love you have for these recipes . . . sounds like a recipe for success,” my mom tells her. “Excuse the bad pun, but I really think you’re on to something, Dani.”
“Thank you. Both of you,” she says with a smile on her face and hope blooming in her eyes. “I’ll be sure to let you know if I ever decide to take that leap.”
“I’ll be the first to buy one,” my mom says, smiling proudly at her.
After we clear lunch away, Dani sets her laptop up on the dining room table and opens up the program she uses to edit her pictures. I watch her as she checks her list in her notebook against what she has on the computer. I try to act preoccupied with the newspaper my dad left on the table this morning, but I know I’m not fooling my mother. She hip checks me when she walks by and I look up to see her smirking at me, shaking her head.
Dani takes several more shots outside and I have to force myself to stay out of her way. I want to soak her up. Knowing she’s leaving has me on edge. I feel like there’s a huge cliff out in front of me and part of me wants to jump while the other part is playing it safe.
When she’s outside, I walk to the window and watch her, stopping at her computer and sneaking a peek at what she’s doing, and it’s so cool. There’s a layout that looks like a magazine spread and she’s moving pictures and text around the page. Most of the things on her list have been marked through, which means she’s running out of things keeping her here. I wish I could add to the list, but I know she’d have to leave eventually anyway, I’m just wanting to prolong the inevitable.
She walks back in and sits down, popping a card out of her camera and into her computer. “Looks like you’re gettin’ everything marked off,” I say, looking over her shoulder as she downloads the newest batch of pictures.
“Yep. I wish I had at least another day, but I think I’m getting there.”
“That’s beautiful,” I say, looking at a picture taken from my mother’s garden with the ho
use in the background.
“Thank you.”
“You’re really talented.”
“Stop it,” she says, and I can almost hear the blush in her voice.
“I’m serious! I’d pay big bucks for any of these.”
She looks up at me and rolls her eyes.
When a picture of the pond pops up on the screen, my breath hitches in my chest. With the moon beaming down and reflecting off the glass-like water, it’s more than beautiful. It’s tranquil, peaceful, but most of all, it reminds me of her. I can almost see us there, our feet hanging off the side, our shoulders grazing every once in a while. She looked so gorgeous in the moonlight. I wish I had a picture of that, but this is a close second.
“That looks like something straight out of a magazine,” I whisper before I realize what I’m saying.
“Hopefully, it will be.” She laughs.
“How much for a print of that?” I ask.
“Really? You’d want—”
“Yes,” I cut her off, “I’d love to have one of your pictures.”
“Well, it’s yours. I’ll order the prints once I’m back in New York and have them sent directly to you.”
“Let me pay.”
“No, it’s my pleasure. Really.”
“Give me your phone,” I instruct, and she willingly hands it over. I put my phone number in as a new contact and shoot myself a text before handing it back. “I have your number now, so I’ll text you my address.”
“Okay,” she says, smiling.
“Okay.” For the hundredth time today, I find myself staring at her lips for longer than necessary, wanting to bend down and kiss the shit out of her. She swallows hard and I abruptly break my gaze. Turning around, I leave in search of something to do before I get myself in trouble.
Sheridan
THIS CITY NEVER SLEEPS. AND it stinks.
I miss the quiet and the fresh air.
Thoughts of Louisiana and Micah plagued my mind the entire flight back. When I closed my eyes, I’d see him, blue skies, and green fields. When I opened my eyes, I still saw him. He was in every kind smile or wink of an eye. Even now, as I’m sitting in the back of this taxi, crossing the river, I see him in the way the moon dances off the water.
