by T. I. Lowe
He hopped off the ladder just as the small pickup truck barreled through the parking area. It came to a sudden sideways stop. Josie jumped out and ran over to him, not even bothering to shut her door.
“I’m so sorry!” Her face was flushed and she looked close to tears.
August scratched the scruff on his cheek and squinted at her. “For what?”
“I had no idea.” Josie flung her arms around him, her body pure trembling.
August liked having her in his arms but not the part where she was upset. He rubbed his palms up and down her back, hoping to soothe the worry away. “Jo, what’s wrong? You can tell me.”
She leaned away and looked at him, her blue eyes swimming in tears. “You should have told me the truth. I wish I didn’t have to hear it from Carter.”
Suddenly Josie’s odd behavior made some sense. Cringing, he asked, “What did Carter say?”
“It’s okay, August. There’s no need to be embarrassed . . .” She sniffed and wiped under her nose.
August huffed as his arms dropped to his sides. “What. Did. He. Say?”
“He told me about your accident last year in Rome. Don’t be mad at him. Like I said, there’s nothing to be ashamed of—”
“What accident?” August crossed his arms as his patience grew thin.
She gestured to his right shoulder. “With your arm. Carter told me it was severely injured when a runaway grandma plowed into you on the sidewalk with her moped.” Josie stepped forward and gently touched his arm. “I had no idea you were struggling to paint.”
“Is that all he said?” August wished he had used that injured shoulder a little more forcefully when he shoved Carter with it earlier.
“More or less. He said you really need me here. I’m sorry . . . Something has been going on with my dad and I’m worried and I’m trying to get him to open up to me and he won’t . . . I just don’t know what to do. . . .” She grew more and more flustered as she kept rambling. Her face was flushed and her hands waved around as she spoke.
August scrubbed his palms down his face, knowing he was going to have to fluster her some more. “There’s nothing wrong with my arm.”
“Don’t downplay it. From what Carter said, she nailed you good.” Josie shook her head, still looking distraught.
He hated to think what all Carter might have articulated to her. “You ever heard of a Carter calamity?”
“Daddy’s mentioned that a time or two.” Confusion replaced the pity she was carrying in her pretty features.
“And what did he tell you about them?”
She hesitated to answer, clearly realizing Carter had pulled a fast one on her. “They’re elaborately made-up gibberish.” Confusion fell away faster than the pity as anger tightened her jaw. August could see the muscle flexing. He found her even prettier in that moment.
“Exactly.” August took a step closer to her.
Josie countered by taking a step back. “Why would Carter do that?”
August took another step and placed his hand on her slouching shoulder. “Don’t take it personal.” He breathed out a quick chuckle. “Shoot, most folks find it to be an honor if Carter takes the time to spin a tale for them.”
“Makes me want to pinch him.” Josie crossed her arms and huffed. “I was in the middle of preparing my craft project for Sunday and he comes to the house acting all concerned over you. Guilt-tripped me right into hurrying over here.” She sucked her teeth and narrowed her blue eyes. “Boy, is he good.”
August grinned, realizing Carter had used him as bait, which in turn revealed just how much Josie truly cared for him. He didn’t know if he wanted to punch his crazy uncle for that or hug him. Yeah, definitely hug. All her wishy-washiness was beginning to bruise his ego.
“It’s not funny.”
August grinned wider. “It kinda is.”
Josie fought it, but the smile worked its way loose anyway. “Ugh! I don’t have time for this foolishness.”
August swept a hand in the direction of all the unfinished buildings. “Neither do I. So how about telling me where you’ve been while we work on this for a little while?” He pointed to the letter H he’d outlined earlier to gauge where to put the treble clef.
Josie surprised him when she picked up an extra paintbrush without hesitation and looked around. “Where’s the design sketch?”
August grabbed the notepad from the top of the ladder, flipped it open, and placed it on the small easel by the bucket of black paint. “You mind working on the rest of the word HARMONY and I’ll do the stuff higher up?”
“Okay.” She dipped her brush and set out to outlining the A.
As August climbed the ladder, he asked, “You gonna tell me why you ghosted?”
Josie sighed, her shoulders hunching forward. “I’ve just had my hands full with Daddy acting weird. And I need to figure out different arrangements for Miss Dalma. She left the water running in her sink and flooded the kitchen last week. Plus, I have a friend, Deandrea, that I think I overstepped with on trying to get her some help and now she won’t talk to me. And . . .”
August stared down at her as she kept rattling off a long list of people and their situations, baffled as to how she even managed to handle so much. What was even more baffling was why she felt it her duty to take it all on. Thinking it was in his best interest to keep those thoughts to himself, he asked once she hushed to take a breath, “What’s up with your dad?”
“He won’t tell me. He’s stewing on something, like suddenly he has a lot on his mind.” Her brush stilled against the wall as she sniffed. “I think I must have done something to upset him.”
“He’s a pretty straightforward guy. If you did something he wasn’t happy about, he’d let you know it.”
“I guess.” She shrugged and dipped the brush into the paint. “It’s just . . . he’s been acting like this ever since I’ve started helping you.”
August looked below and watched her take great care in drawing each giant letter. He remained quiet until she finished the Y. “You can’t let your life revolve around him.” He delivered the statement in a gentle tone, but it somehow set fire to her. After tracking the paintbrush flying across the yard, his eyes darted back to Josie.
“You don’t know what we’ve been through. My dad and I . . .” She planted one hand on her narrow hip and pressed the other against her chest. “We’re all the other has had since my mom passed away.”
Knowing he’d opened a can of worms that a lid wouldn’t fit back onto, August set his brush down and hopped to the ground. “I’m not trying to say I know what y’all have gone through. I’m just saying he has to know you deserve to live a life that makes you happy. A life filled with want tos.”
“Daddy has always provided for me. Always took good care of me.” Her bottom lip trembled.
August raised his hands, thinking he should have just cleared up the Carter calamity and sent the emotional woman on her way. “I’m not saying he hasn’t, but you’re a grown woman.”
Josie brushed a wayward strand of hair off her forehead, leaving a smear of paint that August didn’t have the heart to point out. “My dad needs me and it’s the least I can do to be there for him.”
“What about you and your dreams? You’re just willing to set aside what you want?”
“A small sacrifice I’m willing to pay for the sake of my dad.”
From the rigidness of her body to the harsh set of her lips, August knew arguing with her would be pointless. He pointed over to her truck, where the door remained ajar. “Then it’s probably best you get on back to him. Thank you for the help, but I think I’m good.” He didn’t wait for her reaction before gathering his sketch pad and walking inside the building to get away from the stifling humidity and his bitter disappointment in how things were turning out.
August peeped out the window and watched the truck drive away much more slowly than it had arrived, as if she really didn’t want to leave. Why does she have to be so dang stubborn
? He wanted to push Josie to chase her dreams, dreams that he hoped included him, but he wasn’t willing to get between her and her dad to make it happen.
After sulking for a while longer, August loaded up and headed toward the coast to go see a woman who might have some insight. Well, that was if she was having a clear day. By the time he pulled into the driveway and noticed the little old lady almost dangling off her dock, he had his doubts. He hopped out of the truck to see what she’d gotten herself into this time.
“You all right?” August asked, hurrying over to where Dalma was grunting and wiggling against the dock rail. One bare foot was in the air while the other seemed wedged between the railings.
“Darnedest thing . . . The crab trap is stuck.” Dalma grunted some more before letting go of the rope and climbing down. She smoothed her silk pajama top that she’d paired with jean capris. “You reckon you can unstick it?”
August moved around her and glanced over the rail, finding the rope wrapped around the pilings underneath the dock. “I can try.” He kicked off his shoes before climbing over the rail and down the side.
Dalma giggled from above him. “I got my very own Tarzan!”
“More like a monkey.” August grunted. Leaning a little too far, his grip slipped, sending one foot to take a dip in the cool water. Grumbling a few sentiments underneath his breath, he gathered all of his upper body strength to shinny up a little to avoid going for a swim.
It took a good bit of effort and a good-size scratch along the inside of his arm, but the fruit of his labor paid off with a trap filled with good-size blue crabs. Once he wrestled it out of the water and onto the dock, August braced his hands on his hips and took a minute to catch his breath. “That’s our supper, right?”
“I like how you think, young man.” Dalma patted the top of the trap and began walking toward the house. “But I’m gonna have to get you to do a little breaking and entering first.”
“I’m not much on breaking the law, Miss Dalma.” August lugged the trap over to the outdoor sink, where a giant pot sat ready to be filled.
“It’s my property, so no law will be broken.” She led him to the storage closet underneath the house and pointed at the padlock. “I’m not sure where Josie has hidden the key and the propane tank is inside. Can’t have a crab boil without it.”
August scratched the scruff on his cheek while running through a few ways to go about the problem at hand. He was still too aggravated at Josie to just call and ask where she hid the key, but he didn’t want to give Dalma any ideas on how to go about it when he wasn’t there either. After regarding the door a few more minutes, he turned his attention to the little lady, who was searching underneath the flowerpots scattered around the space.
“How about you go gather up some Old Bay seasoning, a roll of paper towels, a big spoon, and maybe make us a glass of tea. I’ll be there in a few to help bring everything outside.”
“What about the door lock?” She put a flowerpot down and cleaned her hands on the sides of her pants.
August waved off her concerns. “I’ll take care of it. No worries.” He waited until she was halfway up the stairs and out of sight before jogging over to the truck to retrieve a hammer and screwdriver. The door hinges on the closet came loose much easier than he expected and so he was able to get the propane tank out and hooked up to the outdoor burner before Dalma even had the tea poured in the glasses.
Within an hour they were seated at the newspaper-covered table in the yard, munching away on freshly boiled blue crabs.
“You seem to have something on your mind,” Dalma commented while tossing another crab shell on the growing pile in the middle of the table.
August licked the salty liquid from his thumb before selecting another crab. “I can’t figure out Josie Slater to save my life.” He shook his head and cracked open the crab claw. The messy meal had him sticky all the way to his elbows, but it was worth it.
“Women . . .” Dalma scoffed, making August chuckle. “What happened?”
“From what I can gather, she’s put herself on the back burner since her mom passed away.” August tore off a section of paper towel and handed it to Dalma. “All I want to do is offer her a chance to do what she loves. She’s too talented not to shine as the artist she’s meant to be. God wouldn’t have given her all that talent otherwise.”
“She’s hiding her light under a bushel basket,” Dalma said before popping a saltine cracker into her mouth.
August picked up another crab and pointed it at Dalma. “Exactly, but try explaining that to her. For everyone to describe her as passive, she sure is one stubborn woman.” He grunted, cracking the shell. “She ain’t got me fooled.”
“I know,” Dalma agreed around a mouthful. She washed it down with a swallow of tea.
August leaned his elbows on the table. “Did you know Jo goes around secretly helping all kinds of people? And just the other day, the Knitting Club cornered me at the store and felt it was their business to tell me all about Josie adding Mr. Otis Franks to her list now that he’s broken his arm. They say she spent the day mowing his lawn and even changed the oil in his truck. They also insinuated she was shopping him for her sugar daddy.”
“Those women are busybodies, but they normally tell the truth.”
“Is Jo shopping for a sugar daddy?” He snorted at the absurdity.
Dalma laughed. “Wouldn’t that be a hoot, but that was added in there to get you riled up.”
“Jo riles me up just fine on her own. I don’t need those women adding to it.” August watched Dalma dunk a chunk of crabmeat in a bowl of melted butter, waiting for her to fill him in some more, but she continued eating instead. “You have any advice for me?”
She chewed thoughtfully, head tilted to the side, while studying the inlet water. Her cloudy-blue eyes darted back to his. “Oh yes. Only eat local oysters in a month that ends with the letter r.” She gave her head a swift nod and began to clear the table.
August should have known it was a bad day to ask any advice when Dalma tried melting a block of cream cheese earlier instead of the butter. He gave up and helped her clean. Once the outdoor table was washed down and the kitchen inside squared away, August decided to call it a day.
“I’m heading out, unless you need anything else,” he told Dalma as she plundered through one of her stacks of books. He turned to leave when she didn’t answer.
“Whoa. Wait a minute. I have the perfect book for you.” She wiggled a book from the stack and August was impressed when it didn’t cause an avalanche. “Here.”
August took the book offering and glanced at the couple holding hands on the cover, figuring it was another romance. He’d acknowledge the humor in that if he wasn’t in such a foul mood. One thing was for certain: Josie Slater wasn’t easily wooed. “Thanks. I probably need to read this for some pointers,” he joked.
“You do that,” Dalma advised in a serious tone. “You never know what an unassuming book may reveal.”
“Yes, ma’am.” August gave her a one-armed hug and left well enough alone. With the glove box filled to capacity with books, he had to shove the new one underneath the seat. If Dalma kept it up, the cab of his truck was going to start resembling her living room.
15
Josie scanned the dining room table scattered with the tissue paper flowers she’d prepared for Sunday school. “Her children arise and call her blessed” was written on the leaves. She’d been working on folding them yesterday when Carter knocked on the door to deliver a serving of his hogwash, which sent her dashing out to go help August.
Still aggravated over yesterday’s epic fail, she began packing the flowers into a tote bag and made the mistake of glancing in the mirror behind the dining table. Puffy eyes and a red nose reflected back at her, showing off that she’d spent most of the night in tears. She was missing her mom, worried about her dad, and apprehensive about allowing August any closer.
She glared at the mirror and muttered, “You can chec
k that last part off the list.” August dismissing her yesterday was like a punch to the stomach. She’d been naive to think that he’d just keep putting up with her flightiness. “Serves you right.”
A tapping echoed through the house. Josie took in her blotchy skin and tangled hair and debated on whether to answer the door or ignore it altogether. When she couldn’t work the knots out of her hair by brushing her fingers through it, she chose to ignore the visitor and keep packing the supplies for class while mentally reviewing the Friday and Saturday work schedule. She had the lunch shift today and had to place inventory orders afterward, so the rest of the day would require her to get her act together. She actually had Saturday off, and that should have been a relief, but it left her feeling unsettled. Her dad was cutting her hours and that was something else that needed to be addressed if she could make the ornery man get still long enough to discuss it.
The persistent tapping wouldn’t stop and so after a few more minutes, Josie gave in and cracked the door open enough to catch a glimpse of who was standing on her porch.
Dominica smiled and held up a basket. “I come bearing apologies.”
“You’re not who I expected,” Josie mumbled, not having a clue who to expect anymore. Her door had picked up on the visitor roster lately. “But you don’t have anything to apologize for. It’s your fibbing weasel of a husband’s fault.” She tried to sound mean, but when Dominica’s golden-brown eyes twinkled and she started giggling, the meanness disappeared.
“True. Carter tends to pull one over on people. He’s even done it to me a time or two.” She held up the basket again. “But the stinker felt so bad about it that he had a very special lady whip these up especially for you. They’re still warm.” Dominica pulled the blue gingham napkin back to reveal a bounty of golden nuggets of goodness.
“What do you have there?” Josie leaned in and stole a whiff of the sweet and spicy aroma. She knew they were apple fritters from one of the ladies from church who was famous for her homemade donuts. It was also common knowledge that the old lady didn’t make the fritters for just anybody.
