The Event

by Whitney Dineen

  Amelia has always been the artistic one. “You’d think she’d want to move it to the city. She’d get a lot more business that way.”

  “I don’t think she cares so much about that. She’s always loved Creek Water and she wants to stay put. Plus, she’s made a darling home for herself above her store. It overlooks the river.”

  “What about the boys?” I ask.

  “Beau was dating Shelby Wilcox, but she broke up with him on the grounds that he didn’t take her seriously enough. Davis can’t be bothered. He spends all his time carving and claims to be perfectly content.” Davis makes the most beautiful furniture I’ve ever seen. He uses a variety of wood, but his aesthetic is always clean masculine lines. Folks come from all over the state to order from his showroom.

  Faye lets out a little sigh in her sleep like a party balloon with a slow leak. I look down at my beautiful girl and I thank the good Lord for my indiscretion. Had I won that Demitasse Award I’d still be in the Big Apple instead of in the bosom of my family. It might just be time for Creek Water and me to make our peace.

  Chapter Six

  Auntie Lee is the first through the front door with her arms stretched out like she’s welcoming a stadium full of fans. “Where’s my baby?” she demands.

  Handing over Faye, I know I probably won’t lay hands on her again until she’s hungry. Auntie Lee kisses her all over before ordering, “Davis, bring me a sweet tea and gin. I’ll just be over here on the davenport where I’ll be loving on my great-niece.”

  Davis stops to give me a hug on his way to the kitchen to assemble his mama’s beverage of choice.

  Beau is next to arrive. I say to him, “Shelby Wilcox, huh?”

  He shrugs. “She’s not so bad if she’d stop letting that mother of hers boss her around so much.”

  Jed and Jesse come in all smiles with their arms loaded down with pretty little packages wrapped in pink paper adorned with white grosgrain ribbons. Jed says, “Lee’s been shopping for the baby.” He hands his load over to me and asks Mama, “You got any beer in the house, Gracie?”

  “I think there’s some left from the last time you were here. Check the fridge in the garage.” Unlike Cootie and her gang, who stopped giving her the time of day when Daddy died, my daddy’s brothers have been very attentive to Mama over the years, treating her like she was their very own sister. When Mama was a Frothingham, with a live husband around, Cootie and company couldn’t have sucked up more. But once she was widowed, she lost all value in their eyes.

  Davis hands Auntie Lee her sweet tea and says, “Aunt Grace, I’m not going to be able to mow your lawn on Saturday, so I’m going to do it Friday afternoon, if that’s okay.”

  “You’re a good boy to keep helping me like you do, Davis.”

  “Well, shoot, you live right next door to my folks, so it’s no trouble to just keep mowing a bit more once I get started.” He doesn’t even live with his parents, but he’s their groundskeeper, too.

  Amelia says, “Emmie, I want you to come down to the shop as soon as you get settled, so I can show you all the changes I’ve made. I’ve got the cutest little beading area where I give classes now.”

  “I can’t wait,” I assure her. “I might be able to come over tomorrow sometime after I meet your daddy and Jesse at the warehouse.”

  The next two hours are spent catching me up on the family business. The uncles have snatched up four other buildings in the warehouse district and have plans to renovate them: everything from a new grocery store to loft-style condominiums.

  “The town’s population is booming with kids in their twenties and thirties moving into the area. At least half who didn’t even grow up here,” Jed says.

  “What in the world are they doing to pay the bills in a town like Creek Water?” I ask.

  “Their bills aren’t nearly so high here as they were in Kansas City and St. Louis, which is where they seem to be coming from. Plus, a bunch of them work remotely on the computer. There’s even a cyber office downtown where people rent out workspace.”

  “What does the old guard think of all these changes?” I ask.

  Auntie Lee, who hasn’t stopped making silly faces at Faye since she came in, says, “Oh, honey, they’re all for it. More bodies mean a thriving economy. Look at us, we wouldn’t be revitalizing old downtown without all these kids moving in. They’re bringing money.”

  Beau adds, “The median housing price has gone up five grand in the last year alone.” He owns his own real-estate company downtown.

  “I guess I’d better look into buying something before too much more time goes by then,” I say. I haven’t had a chance to think about my own place yet, but once I get settled, I’m going to need to regain my independence.

  “No, ma’am, you’re gonna stay right here with me,” Mama says.

  “I can’t stay here forever, Mama.” My God, talk about going backwards.

  “I don’t know why not. I don’t need this much house and if you don’t stay, I might just sell it and buy myself something smaller in town.”

  “We have time to talk about it,” I tell her. “In the meantime, fill me in on what’s going on at the club.”

  The Creek Water Country Club was a second home to me during my early childhood. My folks used to golf and play tennis there, and I learned how to swim and make armpit farts in the pool. All-in-all, I have nice memories of it. That is, until Daddy died. After that, Mama and I didn’t go so often. A single mother doesn’t hold the kind of clout that a married lady does, and some of the gals started to act like they didn’t even know Mama. So, she gave up her membership and started to meet her friends in town for lunch instead of at the Players Grille.

  Auntie Lee talked Mama into joining up again after I went to college, and now the two of them have their own clique. I smile at the thought of the Frothingham gang and Cootie’s gang dancing it out in a West Side Story kind of rumble. It would be worth the price of the ticket, that’s for sure.

  Auntie Lee says to me, “We’re having a tea for you there on Friday.” My eyes bug out at the news. I would rather lick the pavement after a dog parade than be subjected to an afternoon with those women.

  “Now before you go getting all hot under the collar,” Auntie Lee adds, “your mama and I thought it’d be best to face everyone head-on. If you shrink away from them, they’ll assume you’re ashamed and they’ll feed on that.”

  Mama adds, “You need to show up on their playing field with your head high. Stare them in the eye and don’t back down.”

  This is the part of coming home I dreaded. How is it that well into the two-thousands grown women are still acting like it’s nineteen fifty? It baffles the mind.

  Chapter Seven

  Mama takes Faye with her when she goes out for coffee with her friends while I meet the uncles at the old sewing machine factory. I’m wearing a sweet little Lily Pulitzer dress that buttons up the front, but I realize I need to pump before I can close it properly, which means I will have only two hours before I fill up again and bust out of the thing. I change into a skirt and twinset, so I won’t be held hostage by my lactating bosom.

  I briefly admire myself in the mirror and realize that with the exception of my gigantic boobs, I look just like I did before having Faye. Five feet, eight inches, and back into my size 8s. That pregnancy myth about your hair growing thicker and being shinier is true—I have to admit I’ve been fixated on my shoulder-length blonde bob and have kept taking the prenatal vitamins to maintain its luster. I look damn fine, if I do say so myself.

  I happily climb into my daddy’s old 1988 red Mustang convertible with the black racing stripes—Mama assures me it’s all tuned up and ready to drive—and I throw my purse on the backseat. When I fire it up, Depeche Mode’s “People are People” blares out of the speakers. Mama left all of Daddy’s music in the car so whenever anyone drives it, they feel like they’re spending a little time with him. “Hi, Daddy, you ready to hit it?” A big ol’ smile is plastered on my fa
ce.

  I don’t have a lot of organic memories left of him, but I have pictures galore, and I have his brothers. The uncles talk about Daddy all the time, telling stories of how Ol’ Reed used to play tricks on them by hiding their keys in the toilet tank, and filling the sugar canister with salt. They keep him alive for me as surely as if that stinkin’ cancer never got him.

  I pull out onto Pecan Grove Trail Road and observe the wide-open rolling green landscapes interspersed with watermelon and pea farms and feel great delight. I have a real fondness for this terrain, and even though I loved my years in New York City, it never fed my soul the way my home state does. Had it not been for Cootie Wilcox and her gossipy cronies, I might have stayed here like my cousins did. Instead, the club ladies’ actions made such a negative impact on me that it tainted my perception and drove me away.

  As I pull into town, I feel a wave of pure nostalgia rush over me. I adore the old brick buildings running the length of Main Street with their original store names still painted on the side—Whisper Willy’s Chocolatier, Daisy May’s Notions, and the Loyal Family Five and Dime. Of course, all of these buildings have changed hands at least a dozen times since then, but it’s a constant reminder of the rich history of our town.

  I’ve always loved the old warehouse district of Creek Water. Back at the turn of the last century, the area was humming with commerce. The boats would dock on the river and unload all their supplies right into the warehouses’ cavernous depths. Now that everything comes in by truck or train or Amazon express, there’s no need to store six months of grain and the like. So, they gradually became deserted.

  I park next to Jed’s giant truck. Seriously, I don’t know how he gets into it without a stool. Auntie Lee tells him people are gonna think he’s compensating for some deficiency or another, but he’s doesn’t care.

  I stop and look around and imagine this area as the heart of Creek Water before too much longer. The streets are still brick, and the streetlights have been replaced with those reminiscent of gas lanterns. The potential takes my breath away.

  A smart-looking sports coupe pulls up next, and Zachary Grant gets out. He starts walking my way, but as soon as he spots me, he slows his pace.

  “Hey, Zach!”

  “Emmie.” But he doesn’t speed up, he stops moving altogether.

  So, I go back and get him. He looks spooked. I always thought Zach was a bit shy which made me feel even worse about not explaining why I turned down his invitation to the dance at the club. I know it took a lot of courage for him to ask me out.

  While we never knew each other well, Zach and I do have one thing in common, we both grew up without daddies. Mine died and his ran away with his secretary, as cliché as that sounds. His daddy moved to somewhere out west and started another family, plumb forgetting about the one he already had.

  Zach’s mama did okay though. She never remarried, but the money she had came from her family and not her husband. She didn’t have to worry about where their next meal was coming from, so she threw herself into being both mama and daddy for her child.

  I remember my mama telling me that Sarah Jane never went after her husband for child support. She’d said, “A real man will take care of what’s his. If Richard won’t do it on his own, then I don’t want him role-modeling for my son.”

  Zach finally falls into step beside me, so I endeavor to make small talk. “So, you’re my uncle’s contractor, huh?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he says looking down at his shoes with as much enthusiasm as if he was on his way to the gallows.

  Oh, for Pete’s sake, what does a girl have to do to have a conversation with this man? I figure, being that we’re gonna be working together, we should at least be friendly. So, I try again, “Have you lived in town since high school?”

  “Nope.”

  Crickets.

  “Well, where’ve ya been?” I demand none too graciously.

  He stops walking and stares at me like I’m a moron or something. Then he looks at his watch and says, “We’d best hurry, I’ve got plumbers coming right after we talk to Jed and Jesse.”

  I can’t see how small-talking with me, while we walk across the street to the warehouse, is going to make him late, but whatever. Not everyone was born with manners.

  I’m practically chasing him down the street now, and he doesn’t even bother to hold the door for me when he walks into the building. What is wrong with this man?

  Chapter Eight

  I get chills when I see the inside of the factory. The ceiling must be at least thirty feet high, if not more. All the exposed piping is visible, which makes it scream industrial chic. “I love it!”

  Uncle Jed hands us hard hats that we have to put on, so nothing comes crashing down on us. He explains, “Each of the three floors has fifteen-thousand square feet. We’re looking at Filene’s coming in over in that corner.” He points in the opposite side of the factory.

  “Filene’s Steakhouse?” I interrupt. “How did you get them to move over here?” They currently have a prime location right on the riverfront with outdoor seating and everything.

  Jesse says, “They’re opening another restaurant here that will cater to a more modest crowd. With the second floor full of office space and the third-floor condominiums, they’re bound to increase their monthly sales dramatically, being the only restaurant on-site and all.”

  They show me where they’re going to put the coffee shop. They’ll only serve muffins and cookies and the like, so they won’t take business away from Filene’s. “There’s going to be a full-service spa, so the gals have a place to get their hair and nails done,” Jed continues, while leading the way to a wall of windows overlooking the river. “Over here’s where our gourmet market is going to go.”

  I’m beyond impressed by how cohesive their plan is. “Tell me about the second floor,” I say to anyone who will answer.

  Jed says, “We’re sectioning it off into six separate spaces. Beau has already signed up to take one. He’s going move his real-estate business over here. He’ll get the listings for the condominiums and be responsible for leasing out the rest of the second floor.”

  My family is super into nepotism and seeing as though they’re giving me a job, I’m perfectly okay with that. “And the condominiums?”

  “Let’s go up there and have a look-see, why don’t we?” Jed says, leading us to the old freight elevator that looks so rickety it must be original to the building.

  “How safe is this thing?” I ask. “I’d like to see Faye grow up and this looks like a pretty dicey operation.”

  “We’ve brought it up to code,” Zach says. “We’ll get to the cosmetics and make it look respectable after we’re done hauling all the building materials.” The ride up is very smooth, lending credence to its safety. Wait, why did he just put emphasis on the word “respectable”? If I didn’t know better, I’d think Zachary Grant was making some kind of statement.

  When we step out onto the third floor, Jed points up. “The ceilings are lower on the second floor, but we’re back up to thirty feet here, so we can build sleeping lofts giving each unit a partial second floor. This’ll increase the square footage, while keeping the two-story ceiling in the common living area. The corner units will be the largest at twenty-two-hundred square feet, and the others will vary between nine- and fourteen-hundred square feet.”

  I realize my mouth is hanging wide open when I gush, “This is quite an operation you have here.”

  Jesse nudges me, “And you own yourself ten percent of it, so you’d better be prepared to work, girl.”

  I totally am, too. As long as Mama can cover Faye, I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to get this place up and running.

  Zach says, “I need to meet with the plumbers, so if you’ll excuse me.” Why did that man even come up here with us? Just so he could give me condescending looks and make judgmental comments? My blood is boiling at the thought.

  “Take Emmie with you. She needs to know all
the ins and outs of this operation. She might as well start with the plumbing,” Jed says.

  “I’m not opposed, but don’t you think it’s a better use of my time to talk with you about the gourmet shop?” I don’t want the uncles to know how annoyed I am at their contractor, so I’m trying to appear like a team player. Even though I’m as amenable to their idea as Mama is to white shoes after Labor Day.

  Jesse answers, “Jed and I have another meeting at the office. We’ll be back in about an hour. Just hang with Zach and learn as much as you can.” They walk away, giving me no choice, and leave me with a man that apparently doesn’t want to be within ten feet of me.

  Zach doesn’t say, “Come on,” or “Follow me.” He just walks away and goes about his business while I trail after him like some pesky bug. I spend the next forty minutes listening to him talk to the plumber about urinals and floor drains. I couldn’t be less interested.

  When they finally get down to talking about fixtures, my eyes light up. “Have Jed and Jesse picked anything out yet?” I ask.

  “They told me to put in whatever was the most economical, so that’s what I’m getting,” Zach says.

  My eyes open in horror. Fixtures can make or break a space. “I worked in a top decor store in New York City. My job was to order door pulls, lighting features, and faucet handles for Silver Spoons. You’ve got to trust me, economical won’t do at all.”

  “Let me get right on that,” he mumbles sarcastically. Then louder, he says, “Look, Emmie, I’ve got my orders and I’m not going to get behind schedule because you want to change something that’s already been decided on.”

  “You don’t have to get behind schedule at all,” I tell him. “Just do something else while I hammer out the particulars with my uncles. Seriously, Zach, bathrooms can be memorable. I remember all the great public restrooms I’ve used in my life.”

  He glares at me like I’m a wad of chewing gum he’s stepped in on a hot day. I don’t know what his problem is, but I’m gonna find out. I pull him by the arm to a less “plumber-filled” location and demand, “What’s your problem?”