by Mary Frame
“Parked outside the Spellman Science Center,” she says.
Which is like a mile away.
“Fine,” I relent, getting in on the driver’s side and angling awkwardly, half off and half on Beast’s lap.
My head is hitting the roof of the small car and my knees are jammed up against the seat, but I don’t care.
“Sorry, big guy,” I tell Beast.
He, of course, says nothing.
Once everyone is situated, Reese slides into the front seat and Annabel starts the car.
“Well look if it isn’t Tramparella,” Annabel says as we pass Abby on the road. “No wonder you wanted to hightail it out of there.”
“How far is your house?” I ask Reese, changing the subject.
“About ten minutes.”
We drive down Main Street, passing the Frostee Freeze where I took Abby for our first date, then ol’ Roy, who waves and laughs at our packed clown car.
It’s a long ten minutes until we’re pulling down a dusty gravel drive.
When Annabel parks, I don’t see much until I’ve maneuvered myself out of the back seat. I stretch my stiff legs and glance around.
It’s a ranch-style home with a large wooden porch, all done up in random colors that should look odd on a house but somehow work. It looks exactly like somewhere I would picture Reese living, slightly bizarre and yet somehow perfectly put together.
The property is large, its tree line stretching as far as the eye can see. There are no other homes in sight. A small garden sits off to the side, surrounded by a low fence. A lone sprinkler spits water in a rhythmic circle, the sound reminiscent of hot August days and late-night cookouts.
“Why aren’t you living here?” Annabel asks.
I scuff a bit of gravel with a foot. “Yeah. That would solve a lot of problems.”
We follow Reese up the drive to the porch. “Granny wouldn’t let me.”
“Why not?” I ask.
She bites her bottom lip. “When I tried to come back, she pulled a shotgun on me.”
Jude rubs his hands together. “I have a good feeling about this dinner.”
I frown at the colorful structure, pushing my brows together. “She’s not gonna try and shoot us, is she?”
“Just don’t do anything to piss her off.”
“What kinda stuff pisses her off?”
“Rabbits eating her vegetable garden, liars and cheats, people who don’t like her cooking, and Californians.”
Jude nods once. “Duly noted.”
“Are your parents home?” Annabel asks as we file up to the front door.
“No. They’re off traveling somewhere in Europe. It’s only Granny right now.”
Reese opens the door and calls out. “Granny? I brought some friends over for dinner.”
Granny calls from the rear of the house, “I’m out back.”
The smell of charcoal and meat wafts in the air as we walk through an open entry with high ceilings and dark wooden floors. Reese leads us through a doorway into a living area. The walls are covered with a variety of paintings and murals in vibrant colors, every available surface featuring statues and odd little artifacts and trinkets.
Out through a set of french doors, we find Granny sitting next to the smoker, puffing on a pipe. She’s in overalls and a cowboy hat, her grey hair lying in two long braids down her back. No bubbles in her pipe. From the smell wafting about the area, I’m about ninety-eight percent certain she’s got marijuana in it.
“Who’ve we got here now?” She sets her pipe on the arm of the bright-blue chair.
“This is Annabel.” Reese points her out and then motions to me. “Her brother, Fitz.”
“And who’s this big hunky fella?” She stands and eyes Beast up and down.
“This is . . . Beast.”
“He sure is.”
My, what big teeth you have, Granny.
“I’m Jude Parker.” Jude extends a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”
She shakes Jude’s hand with clear strength.
“I’d like to thank you for inviting us over, I hope it wasn’t too much of a hindrance.”
“Not at all.”
“Is there anything I can help you with to lessen your troubles?” Jude asks.
She eyes him with sharp eyes. “You’re a charming one, aren’t you?”
“I like to think so.”
“Uh-huh.” She snorts out a laugh. “And yes. You can all help. There’s always plenty to get done around here.”
She sends Reese and Annabel into the house to get plates, drinks, and the side dishes, while Jude and I are tasked with hosing off the patio table and chairs. Beast’s assignment is to help her get the brisket out of the smoker.
“And don’t stop with that silver tongue of yours, boy. It’s been a while since I’ve had company to flirt with.”
Jude laughs and he even kisses the old lady’s hand before gallantly bowing his way off to get the hose.
Granny mutters to Reese when she thinks no one is listening. “You watch out for that one. He could charm the birds out of their nests.”
I help Jude with cleaning the all-weather Adirondack chairs. They’re made of bulky wood, although they’re surprisingly smooth to the touch, each one a different, bright shade of red, green, and blue.
Before too long, Reese and Annabel are bringing out the sides and utensils and Beast and Granny have the meat sliced and laid out on a tray. There are biscuits, beans, greens, and a homemade cherry pie.
We eat in the backyard under the shade of a rustling magnolia tree. And even though we’re a motley crew, everyone talks and eats in surprising comfort. After Granny says grace.
She taps Reese on the hand. “Tell me, how did you meet all these fine young people?”
“I’m staying at Jude’s house.”
Granny nods, her sharp gaze flicking to Jude, then back to her granddaughter. “Just the two of you?”
“No. Beast lives there. And Fitz.”
Granny’s wily eyes narrow. “So, what you’re saying is you’re living with three men?”
“Um, er, yes.” Two bright flags of color appear on Reese’s cheeks.
Granny’s mouth is a thin line now, but then she releases a loud whoop. “Well it’s about time you did something good. Or should I say bad.” Her laughter is loud and infectious. “You got your eye on any of these fellas?”
“Granny, no.” Her blush increases, but the rest of us laugh, the chorus of chuckles accompanied by the clink of silverware on plates.
“Go for the big one. I’d love a big strong man to take care of my little Tootsie Roll.”
“Tootsie Roll?” Annabel asks. “Why not Reese’s Pieces?”
“Well aren’t you a clever one,” Granny acknowledges. “It’s a funny story about Reese, here.”
“No. Please. Don’t tell baby stories.”
Jude clears his throat. “Well now you’re gonna have to tell us. We won’t judge. We were babies once too.” He grins. “Y’all are still babies in my book.”
Granny smiles at Jude. “Tootsie Rolls were her grandpappy’s favorite sweet. One day when she was no taller than a weed to a tree, he gave Reese one but told her not to eat it until after we all ate supper. Only minutes later, Reese came out of her room crying because she had already eaten the whole thing. She was so sure she’d be in so much trouble, and Grandpappy was tickled pink at how upset she was over a trifling little thing.” Granny laughs. “She’s been our little Tootsie Roll ever since.”
Reese groans. “Can’t we tell embarrassing stories about someone else? Annabel, you got anything good on Fitz?”
“I tried not to hang out with my little brother when we were growing up. Oh, but he did have the stinkiest feet in the whole world. They were so bad, our momma made him leave his shoes outside.”
“At least I didn’t pick my nose and eat it until I was twelve,” I throw at her.
Annabel sticks her tongue out at me.
&n
bsp; “Real mature,” I say. “Let’s hear more about Reese when she was a kid. Was she always so smart?”
Reese cuts a sharp glance my way.
“Always,” says Granny. “That girl came out of the womb with a sense of the world around her. Asked more questions than anyone and was never satisfied until she knew it all. So curious and aware of everything, and yet it was almost too much. Never seen any child so scared to do anything.”
Reese and I lock eyes, but she immediately breaks the contact, her gaze dropping to her plate as she fidgets with her fork.
“Scared?” I ask.
“Good sense of self-preservation. Now, some of it was her sister’s fault. Scarlett felt responsible for Reese, being that she’s six years older. She was so worried Reese would get hurt she made her wear a helmet just to walk around the house. And Reese here loved that helmet. Wore it to bed, like she might fall out and hit herself. Funniest thing you ever saw, a child running around with helmet and knee pads just to go outside and read.”
Everyone laughs at Reese’s embarrassment, but I fight the urge, not wanting to mortify her further.
Annabel is the next to turn the conversation. “What about you, Jude?”
All eyes focus on the unflappable Jude. I swear he tenses for a second, but maybe I imagine it. He leans back further in his seat. “Not much to tell.”
“Oh, come on, don’t get shy now. Where did you grow up?” Annabel asks.
“Here and there.”
“Very mysterious,” Granny says.
“Or criminal.” Annabel’s eyes narrow. “If you won’t tell us, we’ll make up our own stories.” She taps a finger on her bottom lip. “You’re on the lam.”
“You are mighty interested in my past. Does that mean you’re also interested in being a part of my present and future?”
She ignores him, continuing like he didn’t speak. “You were a gigolo for a rich heiress but she got too needy and you had to bail.”
“I would never run out on my obligations. Especially to a pretty lady.”
Annabel smiles. “Your parents are circus performers.”
“Just as nomadic but not as talented. I would rather hear stories about you, Ms. Annabel.”
She opens her mouth to retort.
“What about you there?” Granny eyes Beast. “Were you always so . . . large? Is that why they call you Beast?”
Beast says nothing, naturally, but his eyes swing over to Jude.
Jude speaks for him. “I would rather hear some stories about Annabel. Fitz?”
“What’s a matter there, boy? Cat got your tongue?” Granny ignores Jude, still staring at Beast.
“He doesn’t speak, ma’am,” Jude explains.
There’s a moment of silence except for the leaves rustling overhead. “Perfect. A man of few words. You’re welcome here anytime. I don’t know about the rest of you yet.”
That makes everyone laugh again, and I think even Beast rumbles a little, but it’s too low and fast to be sure.
We finish eating, then participate in a group effort to clean up the food and do the dishes. Granny puts together foil-covered plates of leftovers for us to bring back to the house.
“Ma’am, this was the best meal I’ve had in . . . well, ever,” Jude says, rubbing his stomach.
“Good. To show your appreciation, I could use some help in the barn before you go.”
“What’s in the barn?” Annabel asks.
Granny smiles. “Moonshine.”
12
Life is about balance. The good and the bad. The highs and the lows. The pina and the colada.
—Ellen DeGeneres
Fitz
“I’m making pomegranate flavor for the holidays,” Granny tells us as we’re tromping across the backyard, over the manicured lawn, and back to the giant dark-blue barn behind the house.
Never seen a blue barn.
Annabel lifts her brows. “Pomegranate moonshine?”
“It’s festive,” Granny insists.
“Is this legal?” Annabel asks.
“I have a license to distill.”
“You do?” Now Reese’s brows lift.
“Well, I did once. Probably still do. Those things don’t go bad.” She yanks on the giant barn door.
The yeasty smell of bread mixed with the tart tang of apples hits me as the door swings open. This barn isn’t used for animals, obviously, although there are a few stalls. The center of the space is taken over by large metal cylinders, barrels, and plastic tubs. Hoses in different sizes and shapes hang up on one wall alongside various tools. From where we stand near the entrance, it’s clear a couple of the stalls have been converted to an office and a storage space.
Brass light fixtures hang from the ceiling, casting an orange hue over the gleaming silver stills. High, inset windows reveal the glow of the setting sun.
“I need some help getting the seeds out of the pomegranates for the mash. Annabel and Jude, y’all can help me with that. Beast, will you use those big arms of yours to grab a couple bags of sugar from the storage stall?”
“What do you need from me?” Reese asks her.
“Why don’t you get the still fired up.” She nods at me. “Show him where to stick the hose. The mash on the south end should be ready to go.”
“You’re gonna show me where to stick the hose, huh?” I follow Reese over to the big still in the rear of the barn.
“I’m sure her phrasing wasn’t an accident.” She pries the lid off the bucket of mash, then gestures to what looks like a small metal fridge nearby. “Will you grab a hydrometer, sample tube, and baster from the sanitizer over there?”
I open it up and glance over the contents. The baster is easy, the sample tube is larger, and I think I find what must be the hydrometer, a glass test tube with measurements stenciled on one side. There’s not much else to choose from. I hand them to her. “This it?”
“Yes.”
She uses the baster to fill the larger sample cylinder and then puts the hydrometer in the liquid. I crouch down next to her while she spins the tube. “What does this thing do?”
“It measures gravity. The specific gravity of water is one. When we initially set up the mash, it has a higher density because of the sugars. When it ferments, the yeast consumes the sugars, lowering the density and therefore the specific gravity. You’ll know it’s ready and the fermenting is done when the specific gravity measures less than one.”
She points out the reading on the hydrometer and I nod even though I have absolutely no idea what the heck she’s talking about.
“It’s under, so we should be good to go. Now we transfer it to the still for heating.”
Reese directs me to the hoses, and we set one up together, one end in the still and the other in the mash. She shows me how to transfer the liquid over. “What’s next?” I ask.
“We heat the still once the mash is in. The heat causes evaporation and condensation—because alcohol has a lower boiling point than water, so boiling filters out the alcohol. When you’re done with the hose, put it in the stall over there to be disinfected.”
I put the hose away and then watch her light the propane burner underneath the still. “So, this is the whole process?”
“Basically. Inside the still there’s a filter. The heat forces the alcohol to separate and the liquid comes out here.” She points at a spigot. Underneath is a large barrel. Sure enough, after a few minutes some clear liquid begins trickling out.
“I can’t believe you know how to make moonshine.”
Although after our conversation last night, I’m not sure anything should surprise me. Reese isn’t quite like anyone I know.
She reaches over and grabs a mason jar from a nearby shelf. “You’re surprised I can make moonshine? What’s more surprising is you don’t. This is the South.”
“I guess you’re right.”
She puts a mason jar under the tap to collect some of the liquid before it runs into the bigger bucket underneath.
“Do you want to try some?”
“Sure.” I glance around. “Where did everyone go?”
“Granny’s probably got ’em cleaning out the coop at this point. She’s really taken a shine to Beast.”
“It is handy to have someone so big around.”
“Here.” She hands me the jar.
I take a sip and the burn is immediate and powerful and I feel it out through my toes. “Wow.”
“Takes some getting used to.”
I cough. “You drink this stuff?”
“Sure.” She takes a small swig and purses her lips, contemplating the taste. “Not too bad. She’s right about the pomegranate, makes it smoother.”
I grimace. “Smooth like rubbing alcohol. I don’t know how to feel about the fact you can hold moonshine better than I can.”
One side of her mouth tips up and my eyes are drawn to the motion. Her lips are wide and pink and still shiny from the moonshine.
She brushes her hair back, one ornery piece that keeps popping into her face. It immediately falls out again and I have to clench my hands to stop myself from reaching out to push it back for her.
“Are you embarrassed?” she asks.
“I don’t know. You saw me roll in pig poop. It doesn’t get much more embarrassing than that.”
She laughs, tipping her head back. “There may have been some excrement on myself as well. I’m not sure who should be more embarrassed.”
We share a smile, a sense of familiarity swelling between us like a fast-rising tide.
We’re standing so close, I can see a faint freckle below her dark-blue eyes.
It would be so easy to lean forward. See if the moonshine tastes any better coming from her lips.
Her eyes flick down to my mouth and then back up.
The silence stretches on between us, but instead of being our normal, animosity-fueled, quiet friction, another kind of tension reaches out and holds us in its grasp. Heat sinks into me as I imagine what it would be like, the press of her body against mine, the feel of her lips. What would she do if I moved close enough to taste, starting with her mouth, trailing down her neck and to the delicate line of her collarbone? I lean closer, searching her face for clues that she’s experiencing any of the same sensations. I can’t even control the motion.
