by Nan Rossiter
“I did indeed,” Maeve mused, carrying her glass over to admire the table and realizing the napkins had been folded into pockets that held silver flatware. “This is pretty fancy, Gage. I didn’t know you had cloth napkins . . . or knew how to fold them.”
“Ah . . . from me ole bartending days,” he said, tossing the salad. “When it was slow, we folded.”
“You’re a man of many talents.”
He laughed. “Folding napkins is just one of many,” he teased as he dropped the pasta into the boiling water.
Maeve lifted the cover off the smaller pot and peered through the savory steam. “Mmm . . . did you make the sauce, too?
“Sort of. I added sausage and ground beef, but the base is from my mom’s tomato preserves.”
“Well, it all smells amazing,” she said, taking a sip of her wine. “Is there anything I can do?”
He shook his head as he stirred the pasta. “I think I have everything under control.” But just as he said this, smoke began to drift from the oven and he realized he’d forgotten the bread. “Damn!” he said, opening the door and pulling it out bare-handed.
Maeve peered around him. “It’s fine. Want me to slice it?”
“Sure,” he said. “The cutting board is right there.” He pointed to it and a nearby knife, and she nodded, happy to have a job. As she sliced the bread and rewrapped it in the same foil to keep it warm, he poured the pasta into a waiting colander, slid it into a pretty blue bowl, and dropped butter on top of it. “Want to grab the plates?” he asked, hoping she didn’t mind having her dinner served buffet-style.
“Absolutely,” she said, handing one to him.
“Ladies first,” he said, motioning. “After all, I don’t want you to pass out from hunger.”
She took his teasing in stride and heaped her plate with salad and pasta, ladled sauce on top, sprinkled it with fresh parmesan, and then took her wine and the foil-wrapped bread to the table. Gage always insisted she go first—it didn’t matter if they were in line for a movie or passing out plates for a buffet dinner at her parents’ house. He was always courteous and polite. She would never forget the first time she’d brought him home to meet her parents. He’d politely shaken her mom’s hand first, and then turned to firmly clasp her dad’s. When her mom had said dinner was ready, her dad—who considered himself an authority on gentleman’s etiquette—had waited, watching, and then smiled approvingly when Gage, without prompting, waited for the ladies to be seated before sitting himself. Gage was an old soul and a true Southern gentleman, and it hadn’t taken long for her to fall head over heels in love with him. “I can’t believe you did all this after spending all day helping me move,” she said, eyeing him as he sat down.
“It wasn’t hard—just pasta,” he said. “My mainstay,” he added with a smile as he opened the bread. “Plus, I’m really glad you’re here.”
“I’m really glad I’m here, too.”
They heard a thunk on the floor and looked under the table to see Gus sprawled at their feet. Gage laughed and shook his head. “So, did you get your security deposit back?”
“I did,” she said, and then eyed him. “Do I need to give it to you?”
“Hmm,” he said thoughtfully. “I don’t know . . . do you?”
She laughed. “I don’t plan on doing any damage.” But as she said these words, the irony wasn’t lost on her—the potential emotional damage she could exact was profound.
“Then I’m good,” he said, squeezing her hand.
14
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HONEY,” LAURIE SAID AS MASON LEANED OVER TO give her a hug. “Can you believe it’s June?!”
Mason shook his head. “I cannot.”
“And look at you! From a three-pound, six-ounce preemie to a strapping six-foot-two handsome, smart, amazing young man. Who would’ve thought it?”
Mason felt his cheeks flame and shook his head. “You wouldn’t be biased at all?”
“Me? Heck, no!” She tried to sit up, but moving—even the slightest bit—sent a shooting pain through her body and she winced.
“You okay?” he asked, standing to help her adjust her pillow.
“I’m fine,” she assured him, but he knew she’d asked the nurses not to give her any pain medicine so she wouldn’t be drowsy, and now she was paying the price.
“So, are you excited about tomorrow? Do you have your speech prepared?”
“Yep,” he lied.
“Good! And you don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be fine. Sue is bringing me, and she’ll make sure I don’t embarrass you.”
“Mom,” he said, tears springing to his eyes. “I’m not worried about you embarrassing me. That’s not it. I want you to be there, I just don’t want you to wear yourself out. It’s not worth it.”
“It is worth it to me, Mason,” she said softly. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you graduate for as long as I can remember. That’s what moms do—their hearts fill with hopes and dreams for their kids—they imagine them doing amazing things, and they pray that they will never be disappointed or hurt. Mason, it means everything to me to be there tomorrow.”
Mason bit his lip. “Okay,” he said, his voice choked with emotion. “I’m sorry I’ve been trying to make it sound like it isn’t a big deal. I didn’t see it that way. I want you to be there, Mom. It’s just going to be . . .” But before he could finish his sentence there was a knock on the door.
He wiped his eyes and turned to see Ali and her mom coming into the room, carrying a birthday cake, and singing “Happy Birthday to You.”
“Happy birthday, Mason!” they both said, giving him a hug.
“Thanks,” he replied. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“Are you kidding?” Sue teased. “Not have cake on your eighteenth birthday?”
Ali nudged him. “I know there are no candles, Mase, but you can still make a wish.”
“Absolutely,” prompted Sue.
Mason nodded, closed his eyes, and thought of a wish.
When he opened them again, his mom smiled, her eyes sparkling. “I hope you wished for something good!”
“I did,” he said, his own eyes glistening, knowing it would probably never come true.
Sue cut the cake and put the slices on festive paper plates, which Ali handed out, but Laurie only took one small bite of her requested sliver before setting it on her tray table. “I’m gonna have to eat mine a little later,” she said, smiling. “I’m still full from supper.”
Mason nodded, even though he could see her untouched dinner on the table in the corner. “This is really good, Mrs. Harrison,” he said. “Thank you.”
“I know how much you like chocolate, Mase,” she said with a smile. “We were going to bring ice cream, but we thought it might melt.”
“This is great,” he said. “We don’t need ice cream.”
“Sooo . . . graduation is at eleven tomorrow,” Sue said, eyeing her friend. “Shall I pick you up at ten?”
“That would be perfect,” Laurie said, smiling to hide the pain she was in.
“Your doctor okayed it?” Mason asked, sensing that all was not well.
“Absolutely,” Laurie said.
“Okay, well, we better let you get some rest then,” he said, hoping that once they left, she would let the nurse give her something for pain.
“Oh, my goodness!” she said suddenly. “I almost forgot to give you your present!”
Mason frowned. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“I didn’t get you anything,” she said, smiling. “I had it . . . I’ve had it for a long time, and I’ve been waiting to give it to you.” She looked to Ali, who pulled a small wrapped gift from her bag and handed it to her. “Of course, I had to have Ali find it and sneak it out of the house,” she said, laughing. “Thank you, Ali. Was it where I said?”
Ali nodded and smiled, and Mason eyed his friend suspiciously.
“You were in the bathroom,” she said innocently.
&nbs
p; Laurie looked back at her son. “This is for your birthday and for graduation.”
Mason pulled the paper off a small gray box, opened it, and blinking back tears, lifted out a wristwatch.
“It was my dad’s . . . your grandfather’s,” Laurie explained. “When he gave it to me, he told me that most of the pilots in WWII wore Elgins . . . and now, it’s yours.”
“Wow,” he whispered in disbelief, no longer able to fight back his tears. “Thanks, Mom,” he said as they spilled down his cheeks.
“You’re welcome,” she said, smiling. “I had it refurbished last year. It keeps perfect time.”
Mason nodded, lightly tracing his finger over the worn engraving on the back—it read: Winton Callahan, “Whiplash,” 1943. “Was Whiplash his call sign?”
“It was.”
He smiled, realizing his grandfather was indeed the same aviator Bud Hawkins had remembered being catapulted off the deck of his aircraft carrier. He put it around his wrist, hooked the buckle, and showed it to Ali and her mom.
“It’s beautiful,” Sue said admiringly.
“Very special,” Ali said.
Mason nodded. “It is,” he said softly. He leaned down to give his mom a gentle hug. “Thank you so much. I will treasure it always.”
She smiled and squeezed his hand. “I know you will, hon. Now, you guys better get going—you and Ali have a big day tomorrow.”
Mason nodded and watched his mom’s best friend give her a hug. “I’ll see you in the morning,” Sue said, wrapping up the cake and handing it to Mason.
Laurie nodded and hugged Ali, too. “Thanks, sweetie,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” Ali replied. “Have a good night.”
Mason smiled sadly. “Night, Mom. Love you.”
“Love you, too, Mason,” she said. “See you tomorrow.”
15
HEARING A LOUD er-er-er-er-errr, MAEVE OPENED HER EYES, UNCERTAIN for a moment of her surroundings, and realized Gage’s rooster, Pilgrim, was letting her know it was time to rise and shine. She rolled to her side and smoothed the soft cotton sheet on which she and Gage had made love the night before. She felt the summer breeze drift through the window, rustling the white curtain and cooling her bare skin, and then looked up at the pale blue sky outside, wondering what time it was. She sat up, swung her legs over the side of the bed, pulled one of Gage’s shirts around her, and shuffled to the bathroom. She stopped to look at her reflection, and frowned—the light must not have been as bright in her old bathroom because the mirror in this bathroom was definitely less forgiving! She looked around for her toothbrush, which she usually balanced on her travel case, but it wasn’t there, and then she saw it in the ceramic toothbrush holder—making it official that she was no longer a guest. She lived here!
She went back to the bedroom, pulled on shorts and a T-shirt, and noticed how quiet it was—Where is Gus? She went into the kitchen to make coffee, and as she waited for it to brew, she saw a sticky note tacked to the mug she always used when she stayed over:
Good morning! Thought I’d let you sleep in.
Gus is with me so he’s not pestering you all day.
We’ll try to be home early.
Have fun unpacking!
xo Gage
Maeve had never spent time in the cabin alone—without even Gus for company, and it was oddly peaceful. She poured a mug of coffee and began looking for her Bible and the daily devotional she always tucked between its pages, but after opening several boxes and having no success, she gave up, and began scanning Gage’s bookshelf instead. She paused in front of a calendar to admire the painting of an old yellow Lab resting his chin on the knee of an old man. You could absolutely see the devotion and love in their eyes, and she smiled, and then it dawned on her that the calendar needed to be changed. She pulled out the pushpin, flipped the page, and gazed at the next painting of two black Labs standing in a field of grass—the image was stunning, and she wondered who painted it. She was just about to look for the artist’s name, when her eyes fell on the date—June 1—and she caught her breath. Her mind immediately counted the years, and then she shook her head as if trying to shake the memory from her mind.
She turned away and refocused her attention on the shelf until she found what she was looking for—a Bible. She slid it out, took it outside, settled into one of the Adirondack chairs, and set her coffee on the wide, flat arm. She gave herself a moment to regroup, and while she did, she watched Eggith, Eggel, and Eggna scratching and pecking the ground in front of the porch while Pilgrim strutted around protectively. Finally, she took a sip of her coffee, looked down at the worn leather book in her lap, and lightly traced the name engraved on the cover—Gage Henrik Tennyson.
Without her devotional to guide her, Maeve opened to her favorite old standby—the book of Psalms—but as she turned the thin, fragile pages to her favorite psalm, two faded newspaper clippings fluttered out and fell to the floor. She picked them up and studied the picture of a young man wearing a John Deere hat. At first, she thought it was Gage, but then she saw the headline and the name printed beneath the picture, and her heart stopped. She began to read the words and her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, no,” she whispered. “I had no idea . . .”
TRAGEDY STRIKES LOCAL FARM
Cale Tennyson, 19, was killed in a farming accident Sunday evening. He was the oldest son of Jack and Libby Tennyson, owners of the Tennessee Tennyson Dairy Farm. Cale had just finished his sophomore year at the University of Tennessee Institute of Agriculture where he was studying the latest innovations in dairy farming. He dreamed of one day modernizing the operations of the family farm. The accident is still under investigation.
Maeve stared at the faded yellow paper in disbelief and then slowly unfolded the second clipping and realized it was the obituary, and from it, she learned more about Gage than she’d ever known. At the top, there was a picture that looked like it might’ve come from Cale’s yearbook. He was wearing a jacket and tie, and his blond hair was cropped short and neatly combed. He was handsome and had the same crooked smile she knew all too well, and even though he was all cleaned up, there was no hiding the mischievous country boy behind those sparkling eyes. Cale was born on August 13, 1983—making him Gage’s Irish twin—and he died on August 8, 2003, five days before his twentieth birthday. It went on to say he was survived by his parents, three grandparents—including Dutch—and five younger brothers: Gage, Matthew, Eli, Grayson, and Chase. The service was held at the First Congregational Church and a reception in Fellowship Hall had followed. Underneath was a second picture, showing all six Tennyson brothers standing together. Damn! Those Tennyson genes ran strong!
Maeve looked up from the clipping and watched the hens still scratching the sun-dappled earth. This explains a lot . . . but it doesn’t explain everything. She looked down at his Bible, expecting more clues to fall from its pages, and as if on cue, she noticed a blue envelope tucked inside the back cover. She slid it out and looked at the return address—it was from Tennessee. She turned it over to see if Gage had opened it. He had, which meant she could easily read it and put it back . . . but—and this was a very big but—was this a line she wanted to cross? It was one thing to innocently read clippings that had accidentally fallen out of his Bible, but it was quite another to open and read someone’s mail. Still, she wanted to understand what had happened in his life. She swallowed the lump in her throat, slowly lifted the flap of the envelope, and slid out the letter, but just as she was about to unfold it, Gage’s rooster screamed like he was possessed, and the hens started to squawk nervously and flap their wings. Maeve looked up and saw a bushy red tail flicking above the tall grass. “Oh, no you don’t! Don’t even think of it!” she shouted. “Go on!” She rose from her chair and a fox—ready to pounce—looked up in surprise. Maeve began waving her arms and then flew off the porch, causing the fox to hightail it through the fields.
“Oh, my goodness!” Maeve said, her heart pounding. “That was close!” She
looked around for any more predators lurking in the grass, picked up the Bible, tucked everything back where it belonged, and smiled at the rooster still strutting around and clucking indignantly. “Good job, Pilgrim!” she said. “You saved us . . . all!” And then she took the Bible inside, slid it back into its spot on the shelf, refilled her coffee mug, and started to unpack.
16
MASON SLID HIS ARMS INTO THE SLEEVES OF HIS GRADUATION GOWN AND hitched it up onto his shoulders. He attached the tassel to his mortarboard and balanced it on his head—thank goodness he didn’t have to wear this thing for very long! He paused to admire his new—old—watch and check the time.
“Ready?” Ali asked, coming up behind him, already dressed and wearing her National Honor Society stole and several honor cords around her neck.
Mason looked up from zipping his gown. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Such enthusiasm,” she teased, as she adjusted his tassel. “This, my friend, stays on your right side till we all have our diplomas and are instructed to move it over to the left. . . . Weren’t you paying attention during rehearsal?”
“No,” he said, smiling.
“Where’re your stole and honor cords?” she asked, straightening his tie.
“In my locker.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re going to need them,” she said, reaching for his hand and pulling him through the throng of graduates toward his locker. “Besides,” she said, standing beside him as he spun the combination lock back and forth for probably the last time, “our lockers are supposed to be empty.”
“Well, it’s going to be empty once I take these out.”
“Is your yearbook in there?”
“Maybe,” he said impishly.
“Mason!” she said, feigning disbelief—even though she wasn’t surprised. “Have you let anyone sign it?”
“Maybe,” he said, giving her a funny face.
“You haven’t! I can tell by the look on your face!” she said, raising her eyebrows. “And since your locker is supposed to be empty, what are you going to do with it during graduation?”
