I dabbed my cheek with the tissue and sniffed. “I just don’t know where you find the bravery to put your heart out there again even though . . .”
“Even though. You think I haven’t thought about that? I know this could end badly. I have a disease and I don’t know what my future will look like. Harvis’s heart may very well break wide open. Then again I may wake up and realize I’m living with the stink of manure for the rest of my days.”
I laughed into my tissue, then blew my nose.
“But you know what? The way I see it is I have to ante up again. Why put off the chance to love? Why say no to that beautiful thing when it’s staring at me in the face and nothing is standing in our way?”
She reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’ve had a hard go with love. I know that. And I want so much more for you. Not just so you can be tucked away in a marriage, but so you can know what it’s like to be cherished. To experience a marriage that’s whole and satisfying. I want that so badly for you.”
“I’m glad you have it again with Harvis.”
Her face brightened. “I can’t believe my luck, to tell you the truth. A second man wants to put up with me. Who would have thought?” She picked up her mascara again and walked back to the mirror. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I have a feeling all this talk of putting your heart out there has nothing to do with Sumner Tate.”
I squeezed the tissue in my hands until it was a tight little ball. Not long after Olivia’s wedding, I’d broken up with Sumner. Well, break up might not be the right term. That felt too young and immature for the relationship we had. Sumner was a decent man with a good heart. His just wasn’t a life I saw for myself or Evan. And I wasn’t willing to rework our life to make it fit with his. He was gracious, of course, and kind, and he didn’t make me feel bad for making the decision I needed to make for my family. I knew he wouldn’t.
“Are you thinking of someone else?” Mama asked.
I looked over at her.
Just then the back door opened and Evan called through the house, “Mom? Gus? It’s time.”
Evan, dressed in a white linen sundress and sandals, walked down the back steps and toward the rows of chairs set up under the shade trees to the side of Mama’s backyard. We couldn’t see the guests from where we waited on her back porch, but Elma Dean stood at the bottom of the steps and served as a guide to tell us when to begin our walk. After a moment, she pointed to us and gave a signal best suited for an air-traffic controller.
“Are you ready?” I whispered to Mama.
“I’m ready if you are.”
We began our slow way down the steps and toward the gathering of friends in the yard. As we rounded the corner, Mama’s hand on my elbow tightened. Harvis stood at the end of the aisle with a wide smile, tears streaming down his weathered cheeks. And there, on the back row, sat Ben.
CHAPTER 38
During times of dormancy, the ground appears quiet and empty, as if it were doing nothing but waiting for spring. However, this couldn’t be further from the truth. The dormant earth does wait, but silent, invisible work is taking place. Microorganisms are working, breeding, and eating. They, along with sun and rain, make the earth richer, ready for a new season of planting and growth.
—VIRGINIA PEARCE, THE WATCHFUL GARDENER
JESSIE
I was running hard, my legs pumping, the cold air filling my lungs and making them burn. When I got to the end of the road, I stopped for a moment to slow my breathing, then turned around and ran back toward my house. I’d woken that morning with the urge to move, so instead of waiting until evening to run, I started early, with only one steaming cup of coffee in my belly.
I blinked my eyes in the chill. Wetness pricked the corners and stuck to my lashes. It was only seven thirty, a Saturday, and cold air funneled down Glory Road in the morning sunshine. An early season cold front had pushed through overnight and blanketed everything in a thin layer of frost that made every surface sparkle. The sun was intense though, and it wouldn’t be long before the frost melted away and the temperatures crept up.
I breathed in deep, soaking in the stark and rugged beauty. Deep down, I think I always knew I’d stick around this place. This red dirt. These tall pines. All of it welcoming me each day in whispers and soft breezes. Glory Road was where I belonged. I’d stuck my stake in the ground like a country-crossing pioneer. This was my piece of earth and nothing would pull me away.
A couple of hours later, I’d showered and dressed and sat on the porch with a bag of pecans next to me on the top step. The faint aroma of wood smoke tinged the air and two bowls sat at my feet—one with cracked shells, the other with plump pecan halves. I had a metal nutcracker, but I also liked to do it the old-fashioned way. My dad had been the one to show me how to squeeze two nuts together until they cracked, revealing the meat inside. My fingernails were stubby and dirty from peeling the shells off, but I was pleased at my progress.
Harvis had requested pecan pie for our Christmas feast in a few weeks, and Mama said she’d make it for him as long as someone else shelled the pecans. “That kind of manual labor doesn’t mix well with my manicure,” she’d said, snappy as ever. I told her I’d shell them for her if she promised to show me how to make the pie. If I was lucky, I’d even get her to write down the recipe for me.
Behind me, the screen door opened and Evan appeared. She stuck a section of newspaper in front of me, too close for me to read it. I dropped the shells in the bowl and leaned back to see the page clearer. It was the front of the About Town section, and Sumner’s chiseled face smiled up from a full-page spread. The headline above the picture read, “Sumner Tate, President of Tate & Lane Golf Course Design, hosts party for the recently completed Riverside Golf Community.”
“He could have at least asked you to do the flowers for his party.” She snatched a handful of shelled pecans before I could swat her hand away.
I folded the paper and handed it back to her. “I think I’ve done enough flowers for him for a while.”
“Think you’ll ever see him again?”
I inhaled the cool air and reached for another pair of pecans. “I don’t know. Probably not.”
“And you’re not sad about it?” She picked up a couple of cracked shells that had fallen on the porch and dropped them in the bowl.
I shook my head. “No. I’m not sad.”
“Hmm.”
I glanced at her. “Yes? Any more questions?”
“Nope.” She grabbed one more pecan from the bowl and turned back to the door. “It’s way too cold to be out here,” she said, but then she stopped just before she went inside. “Oh, is it okay if I go to the Icebox in a little while?”
“I thought you just said it’s too cold.”
“I won’t be in my pajamas when I go.”
“Sure. Are you meeting Ruth there?”
“No, Jack. We’re collecting rocks for this project in our art class. I need your rubber boots too, if that’s okay. We’re going to wade out into the water to get the shiny ones at the bottom.”
Too cold to sit with Mom, but not too cold to keep her from stepping into freezing cold water with a nice boy. “It’s fine with me.”
The screen door slammed behind her and the porch was quiet again. Mama and Harvis were up the road at her house—at their house—cleaning out the fireplace so Harvis could start an all-day, slow-burning fire. My daddy used to love keeping a fire like that in the fireplace. He’d start one anytime the temperatures dipped below sixty degrees.
I smiled. Daddy would probably be grateful for Harvis taking care of Mama in her sunset years.
Harvis had been the one to suggest moving into her house instead of uprooting her to his house. “It may make things easier later,” he’d said to me. “No sense in adding to her confusion by putting her in a house she doesn’t know.”
Mama was so lucky to have him. We were lucky to have him.
I froze when I heard a familiar rumble coming
up the road. At the sight of the man behind the wheel, my heart pounded in my chest so loudly I could hear it in my ears. I brushed the pecan shells from my hands and stood, watching him roll to a stop under the trees.
The last time I’d seen Ben was the day of Mama and Harvis’s wedding. We didn’t say much more than hello that day—he’d been in the middle of packing up his parents’ house and said he couldn’t stay long.
It was an excuse—yes, he was selling his parents’ house to the farming couple, but he probably would have stayed longer if things hadn’t been so muddled between us. He hugged Mama though and shook Harvis’s hand. As I watched him walk away, Harvis came up behind me.
“He’s a good boy, that one.”
Ben called me the night before he moved. I wanted to answer, but the old fear was still there—the fear that kept me from reaching out and grabbing the sure thing in front of me. The fear that I’d break again. In the end I waited too long and the call went to voice mail. I listened to it the second the message showed up on the screen.
“We’re heading out tomorrow,” he’d said, his voice quiet. “I just wanted to let you know in case you see my car passing by a lot. We’re not using movers, so it’ll take several trips.” He paused, then exhaled. “I’m sorry I didn’t stay longer at the wedding. And I’m sorry I messed everything up. Maybe I . . . I don’t know. I really thought this time would be it for us. I wish . . .” He broke off again. “Don’t get too excited though. I’m sticking around for a while. I think Perry has sunk its teeth into me again, for better or worse.”
Evan continued to see Nick at school, of course, and she’d given me updates about their new house in downtown Perry. Nick had invited her over to see it a couple weeks ago. That night she’d told me how Ben had tried to set up another vegetable garden in the backyard.
“It’s so pathetic, Mom. He really needs help.”
Now Ben opened his car door and walked toward me. He paused several feet away from the bottom of the steps as if gauging my reaction to him. He wore blue jeans and a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a fleece vest over it. His dark wavy hair, his beard, his eyes were all the same. He was so . . . himself. So enduring.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. All my nerve endings stood at attention. Ready. Eager. But I waited.
He opened his mouth to speak, but then he hesitated. He hung his head for a moment, then raised it, his gaze settling on my face. “I used to know everything about you. What made you laugh, what made you upset. The way you bounced on your toes when you were excited about something.” He smiled. “I knew the real you. Underneath everything you layered on yourself, I knew who you were inside.”
He reached out a hand, then let it drop to his side. “It’s been twenty years, Jessie. I want to know you again. I want . . . you. So much it hurts. That has never changed. Not since the very first day.”
I closed my eyes and exhaled. They were just words, but they settled down deep inside me, in that place that had felt empty for all these years. He’d been the missing piece. The whole time. And here he was, standing in front of me, slipping into place.
“I know you said you couldn’t do this, but . . .” He shrugged. “I can’t do it without you. I don’t want to. And if you tell me to leave, I will. I promise you won’t hear from me again, but I just—”
I shook my head and he stopped. “I don’t want to do it without you either.”
His shoulders dropped, a weight of almost visible tension slipping from them. A longing inside me ached so forcefully, it made me want to cry. I wanted to pull him to me and keep him close.
“May I?” He gestured to the steps.
I nodded.
We both sat on the top step, the bag of pecans between us. He reached in and grabbed two, then leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, turning the pecans over in his fingers. “I was so scared you . . .” He shook his head like he didn’t want to say the words.
I reached over and took his hand. It was warm and dry in mine. “Twenty years.”
He nodded. “I know it’s a long time.”
“But not too long.”
He turned and studied me, his gaze traveling across my face like cool air. When I kissed him he made a small noise of surprise, then returned the kiss. It was warm, tentative, curious, as if we were two people finding each other for the very first time. And in a way, we were.
He pressed his forehead to mine and held both my hands in his. His eyes were bright. I bit my lip and smiled, and the smile he returned lit up his face.
I’d always thought I wanted to be carried away by love. But my eyes saw differently now. I needed firm ground beneath my feet. A foundation tested and solid. Rooted. And that’s what I had. Roots. I had them with Mama and Evan, and we were growing more. This man sitting next to me, joining me, filling me up, was proof of that.
A crisp breeze stirred the air, rustling the leaves on the ground and lifting my hair until it tickled my cheeks. In front of us red dust settled back onto the road, obscuring Ben’s tire tracks, leaving the ground fresh and untouched. Ready for whatever came next.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To the team at Thomas Nelson—Amanda Bostic, Allison Carter, Kim Carlton, Becky Monds, Jodi Hughes, Paul Fisher, Matt Bray, Jocelyn Bailey, and Laura Wheeler—thank you for your support, guidance, and kindness to me over the past several years. Publishing with you has been such a sweet experience. Thank you to the sales team for working so hard to get my books into the hands of readers everywhere. Thank you to Julee Schwarzburg for your eagle eye and for keeping my characters from all that smiling and nodding! To sweet Kim, thank you for your unflagging support of Glory Road and for helping me make the story as rich as it could be. Working with you has been so much fun. Thank you to my agent Karen Solem, whose calm and unruffled attitude is a good balance to my flustered tendencies! Thank you for your wise guidance through this third novel. I’m thankful you’re on my side.
Thank you to Leslie West and everyone at the Homewood Public Library for your support of my books, for asking me to come to your book clubs, and for the large tables and quiet space to work. Thank you to Alabama Writers Connect, as always. Thank you to Anna Gresham for being my friend in both writing and life. Thank you to Tricia Cordell for information about growing veggies, to Keith and Micki Peevy for answering questions about Dog River, and to Jon Culver at Sweet Peas Garden Shop in Homewood, Alabama, for letting me pepper you with questions about operating a small plant nursery. Thank you to Patti Henry for continued support and friendship (and great conversation on an impromptu six-hour car ride).
To book clubbers everywhere who have invited me into your homes and libraries in person or through the magic of technology: my love for you knows no bounds! Truly, it’s such an honor to be asked to join in the fun for an evening to chat, eat, drink, and laugh. Thank you for reading my books and for extending the invitations.
To the community of book bloggers and reviewers who love books with such fierce passion, thank you for all your love and support and for inspiring me to keep writing so you all can keep reading!
Thank you to librarians who do so much to foster the love of reading, especially the librarians who love my children (and, by extension, me): Mrs. Woodruff, Mrs. Morgan, Ms. Laura, Ms. Mary, Miss Cristina, Miss Molly, Ms. Alicia, Ms. Laurie, and Ms. Meg.
To my sweet family, especially all the Kofflers and Dentons, thank you for being so excited for me as I continue to wander down this road of writing books. It’s so much fun to do life with you. A special thanks to my father-in-law, Joe Denton, for all the bags of “Papa peas,” the shelling of which gave me the jumping-off point for this story. (Not to mention my purple fingers.) And to my little clan—Matt, Kate, and Sela—thank you for loving me and putting up with me. I love you dearly. Thank you especially to Matt for being my voice of reason and calm patience when I tend to jump and startle and generally lose my cool.
Thank you, dear readers who hold this book (or devic
e) in your hands and read the words I work so hard to put together. If not for you, these stories and characters would not be out in the world, so thank you for reading and for passing my books along to friends, sisters, daughters, mothers, and even a few husbands and fathers.
Heavenly Father, this adventure has been one blessing and surprise after another. Thank you for using my stories to shine light into dark places and for allowing people to connect through the world of books and reading.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
1.The setting of this book is a red dirt road in a small town. It’s quiet, most of the neighbors have known each other for decades, and not much changes. Even as time charges forward, there are still towns like this all over the South—and across the country. Does the setting in Glory Road remind you of any place from your own life?
2.When the book opens, Jessie is only mildly aware of her mother Gus’s memory lapses. As time goes on, Gus’s difficulties become more apparent and concerning. Do you have any experience with walking through a similar situation with a family member? Did you walk that road alone or were there others around with whom you could share your fears and questions?
3.Jessie’s daughter, Evan, is a young teenager experiencing new sensitivities and emotions as she’s figuring out the world and her place in it. Jessie’s plan for tackling these teen years is to talk less and listen more. If you’ve been through teenagerhood with a child, did you find yourself trying to come up with new strategies to connect with your teenager? What worked and what didn’t?
4.What did you think about Jessie’s relationships with Ben and Sumner? Did you see similarities between Sumner and her ex-husband Chris? Did you understand her pull toward both men? Were you rooting for one over the other?
5.Jessie has a deep-seated fear of letting herself love again. How do her ex-husband Chris, her younger years with Ben, and even her father’s death play a part in her fear of getting close to someone else? In the end, what was it that allowed her to move beyond the fear and let her heart love again?
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