What if Huck Wiley is a sign? What if I have to change before I can be with the person I’m meant for? What a horrible thought. Yet, the question consumes me as I drive down the country road that leads to Myrah and Clovis’s place.
When I finally pull into their driveway, I feel half crazy. Myrah opens the door and upon scrutinizing me, immediately announces, “You look like you got troubles, girl. What’s on yer mind?”
I hug my old family friend and take a moment to bask in her calming presence. Myrah’s skin is so smooth, there isn’t as much as a line on her eighty-year-old face. She once told me that “good black don’t crack.” If that’s true, then she’s the poster child for that saying.
“I do have a problem,” I confess.
“You come right on in here and tell Myrah all about it.” She leads the way to her kitchen table. Once I’m settled, she gets busy boiling water and putting out cups for tea. I’m not sure I can handle another cup so soon, but I dare not say so. I don’t want to offend.
“I’ve met a man.”
“Child, that don’t seem like no problem I’ve ever heard of, unless he already got hisself a gal.”
“That’s not it.” I confess, “He’s single and he told me that he wants to date me.”
“And?” she prods. “Is he an ax murderer or somethin’? Imperial Wizard of the KKK?”
I shake my head. “He’s only going to be in town for a couple of months. He lives in California.”
I never came right out and told Myrah about my troubles; I didn’t have to. She’s the one who recognized my anxiety and suggested I try counting my cares away. She’s given me other bits of advice over the years, but never offers it in such a way that indicates she knows I’m damaged.
“Ah see,” she says. “Why don’t we read your tea leaves and see if they have anythin’ to say on the subject.”
Myrah has read my tea leaves before, but no profound messages have come through. I know others claim she’s amazing, but so far the leaves have eluded me. After the water boils, she puts a cup in front of me. “We’ll give it a couple of minutes to soak. Would you mind if I get your measurements real quick, while we wait?”
I stand up and follow her into the living room where Clovis is napping on the sofa. I can barely see him as he fades into the dark brown furniture. When he’s awake and smiling though, a body is nearly blinded by his dazzling smile. “Don’t mind him none,” Myrah says. “Clovis done wore hisself out vacuuming today.”
I stand still as she takes a variety of measurements. Once she’s done, we head back into the kitchen where she pours me a cup of tea and orders, “Drink it all down. Don’t worry about messin’ up the leaves. They gotta swish around so they can get to where they want to be.”
I take a sip and compliment, “This is good. What kind is it?”
“Lemon balm. We grow it ourself, right out in the back garden.”
We don’t talk while we drink. Myrah claims the leaves need quiet so they aren’t influenced by chatter.
When I finish, I put my cup down and watch as my friend turns it over onto a matching saucer, allowing the bits of herb to spread out. She stares at them for a long minutes before she looks up at me. “He’s a complicated man, ain’t he?”
“How so?” I ask.
“He moves around a lot, always on the go.”
“He’s a musician. His band plays concerts all over the world,” I tell her.
“There’s somethin’ pulling him down. He needs to stay put for a while and figure things out before he’s free to move again.”
“He’s planning on staying in Creek Water for two months,” I tell her. “I think he knows someone in town.”
She looks down at the saucer. “I think yer becomin’ part of why he wants to stay.”
“I can’t leave here, Myrah. When he goes, I can’t go with him, so why would I let myself get involved with him?”
“Yer puttin’ the cart before the horse, child.”
“How so?”
“The horse can’t pull somethin’ in front of it. You gotta give him free reign and let him go.”
“What does that even mean?” I ask.
“It means, you can’t worry about what comes next until you let the now happen.”
“Myrah, I have to think about what comes next so that I can make the right choice about what to do now.”
She grunts deeply like she’s pulling up the sound from the center of the earth. “You God all of a sudden?” Before I can answer, she says, “No, ma’am, that’s not how it goes. You gotta live yer life with faith. Yer part of a bigger picture, and you can’t always see what’s comin’. If you stop the paintbrush from finishin’ its job, then all yer ever gonna be is a half-finished work of art, an’ that’s plain sad.”
“You don’t understand,” I tell her. “I can’t leave Creek Water. This is my home.”
“I understand more than you know, missy. And I know this. You’s standin’ in yer own way. The devil done got ahold of you and poured cement on yer feet. You gotta hammer away at that nonsense and set yerself free.”
“How?” I ask as the pressure in my chest increases.
“I’ll show you, baby. Come with me.” Myrah stands up and walks out of the kitchen. I’m loath to follow her because I’m afraid that whatever happens next will change the course of my life, and of all the things I want, change isn’t one of them.
Chapter 32
Myrah leads me into her guest room. It’s minimally decorated with only a bed and a nightstand. She orders, “Lay yerself down.”
I follow her instruction and stretch out on her wrench-patterned quilt. Myrah once told me that when this pattern was displayed during Civil War times, it was meant to tell the slaves that it was time to gather their tools and escape their plantation for the North. It symbolized a call to action; it represented freedom. I wonder at the imagery and Myrah’s intentions, as it applies to me.
Myrah sees what I’m looking at and says, “That’s right, baby, I’m about to give you some tools. But you gotta use them or they’s no point in havin’ ’em.”
Once I’m settled, my friend lights a candle on the nightstand. The aroma of lavender quickly permeates the room. “Just lie there and breathe, honey. Let me know when you calm down a bit.”
I wasn’t aware that Myrah knew I was getting worked up. I guess I’m not as good an actress as I thought. I start to silently count while inhaling the potent fragrance. By the time I get to twenty-nine I start to feel better. I announce, “I’m okay now.”
Myrah is so light the bed hardly moves as she sits down on the mattress next to my feet. She grabs hold of one of my ankles and orders, “Put yer foot on the floor.” But as I move my leg to do so, she holds it even tighter. She’s stronger than she looks.
We struggle back and forth for several moments before she demands, “What’re you waitin’ for? Put yer foot on the floor.”
I try again, but this time she nearly sits on top of my ankle to keep me from moving. “Come on girl, do it,” she orders.
After several more attempts, I ask, “Myrah, how can I move my foot if you won’t let me?”
My friend stares me right in the eye. “Child, you got two feet. I din’t tell you which foot to put on the floor, you jus’ decided I meant the one I was holdin’ onto.”
In response, I fling my other foot over the side of the bed which propels me into a sitting position with Myrah between my legs. I easily put it on the floor. “Now what?”
“Now you ask yerself why yer making things harder than they needs to be. Seems like yer biggest concern is leavin’ town. Am I right?”
I nod my head, so she continues. “I know you been out of Creek Water, but where’s the farthest you been in the last five years?”
“St. Louis.”
“Then the first thing you need to do is find a place that’s farther than that and go there.”
“I can’t fly, Myrah,” I tell her.
“Who said anythin’ abo
ut flying. Jus get in yer car and drive.”
“By myself?” I ask.
“Go alone, take someone with you. It don’t matter. The whole point is to go farther than you been in recent times. That’s yer first step.”
“Then what?” I ask as my heart rate starts to pick up speed.
“Don’t you worry about that. You gotta keep the horse in front of the cart. The only way to do that is to quit puttin’ obstacles in yer path. You don’t work on Sunday, right?”
I shake my head. “Then plan yerself a trip for Sunday. Alls you need to do is go one mile farther than you gone before. More if you can handle it.”
“Myrah, it takes three hours to get to St. Louis. If I go farther, I’ll be in the car all day long.”
“Honey, horses were meant to move.”
“What do I do when I get there? Just turn around and come back?”
“If that’s what you want to do.”
“What’s the point?”
“The point is to prove to you can do it. I believe in you, honey, but somewheres along the line you stopped believin’. You gotta change that.”
“I don’t suppose you want to go one mile past St. Louis with me on Sunday, do you?”
“I do, but I can’t leave Clovis for that long. We’s at an age where we gotta keep eyes on each other.”
“Do you think he wants to come along?” I ask hopefully.
She shakes her head vigorously. “That man would drive us plumb crazy on the road. He’s the worst backseat driver in the whole wide world and his eyes ain’t good ’nuff no more for him to do the driving hisself.”
I wrack my brain for who I can ask to go with me. I’ve been trying to hide my crazy from my family my whole life and asking any of them will only cause them to wonder about my sanity.
There’s only one person on the entire planet that knows enough about me to accompany me on this trip and he’s the very person I’m trying to keep my distance from.
A few minutes later, I bid Myrah goodbye and promise to let her know how Sunday goes. On the drive back to town I try to figure out how to ask Huck to go to St. Louis with me without making it sound like a date.
I’m nearly home before a plan pops into my head.
Chapter 33
I practice my idea about a thousand and one times before I think it sounds spontaneous and casual. I plan on setting it all into motion when Huck drops Maggie for her beading lesson this morning.
After drinking my tea and eating a slice of toast, I take special care to look nice today. I grab the 1960s style orange turtleneck sweater dress from the back of my closet. It’s form fitting and the hem lands several inches above my knees, making sure to show off every little God-given curve. I put on some hot pink fishnet pantyhose and a pair of shiny black go-go boots before tying a vintage Oscar de la Renta scarf around my ponytail. The finished look is very eye catching.
As soon as I let Mrs. P in, I say, “Thank you for staying late yesterday.”
“Honey, that man is yummy. You gotta get yerself a bite of that sugar,” she advises.
Huck Wiley seems to appeal to women of all ages. “We’re just friends Mrs. P,” I tell her, hoping she’ll buy it.
“I’ve been learning some things on the Netflix lately,” she tells me.
“What have you learned?” I hope I don’t regret asking.
“There’s this new thing out called ‘friends with benefits.’ Do you know what that is?”
I decide to fall back on playing dumb, hoping she won’t actually explain it and we can drop the subject. “No, ma’am, I don’t.”
She rubs her hands together in excitement. “It means you get to do the naked mamba without letting complicated emotions take over.” So much for her being too embarrassed to talk about it. She continues, “You gotta look at it like you’re going to the gym. You know what I mean?”
“As a form of exercise?” I ask.
“Exactly! You need to exercise with that man, honey. I bet you could get good and sweaty.”
I bet I could, too. “I don’t really go in for that sort of workout,” I tell her. “I prefer light weight training.”
“Girl, I bet he’d let you lift some of his stuff up and down if that’s more to your liking.”
I’m sure my face is turning bright red as I imagine the “stuff” she’s referring to. “I’m afraid my emotions always get involved when I engage in that kind of physical activity,” I explain.
“You’re an old-fashioned gal just like me. I respect that, but I still think you ought to keep your options open. Never say never.”
I decide a change of topic is called for. “I’m sorry Maggie was so rude to you when she met you yesterday. It seemed very out of character for her.”
“Don’t think twice about it,” she says. “I represent math and she hates math, so I don’t take it personally at all.”
“You’re being nicer about it than I would have been,” I say.
“Honey, you don’t teach school for forty years without some insight into how children’s heads work. Maggie’s nervous, but just you wait. I’ll turn her into a math lover in no time.”
“If anyone can do it, you can.”
When Maggie and Huck walk through the door to my shop, I’m hard-pressed to act normal. I’m too busy thinking of Mrs. P’s friends with benefits idea. Thankfully, she’s in the back so she can’t tell Huck about it herself.
Maggie comes right over and gives me a hug, while her daddy checks me out from head to toe before releasing a slow whistle. “You look very nice today, Amelia.”
“Thank you,” I say primly. “I see Mama and Aunt Gracie got you home in one piece after tea yesterday.”
“I love your mom,” Maggie tells me. “She told us all kinds of stories about you when you were a little girl.”
Alarm pours through me. “She did? I can’t imagine they were all that interesting.” There’s no telling what tales Mama might have told out of school. “What did she tell y’all about?”
Maggie says, “She told us how you used to go frogging with your brothers and cousin and that you even ate the things. Blech!” She spits out the last bit.
“Frog legs taste just like chicken,” I tell her.
She grimaces. “I’d rather just eat chicken.”
“Chickens are the last remaining ancestor of the dinosaurs left on the planet today,” I tell her like I’m some kind of expert.
She shakes her head. “I’d rather eat dinosaurs than frogs.”
Trying to get the conversation back on track, I suggest to Huck, “You ought to make a plan to take Maggie up to see the Arch in St. Louis. It’s not only a local attraction, it’s a national monument.”
“How far is St. Louis from here?” he asks.
“It takes two hours and fifty-seven minutes if you don’t get stuck in any kind of traffic. You could easily make it there and back in the same day.”
“Let’s do it, Dad,” Maggie says. “I’ve seen pictures of it in books and it looks pretty cool.”
Huck smiles at me. “We’ll only go if you come with us. After all, it was your idea.”
“Please come with, Amelia,” Maggie begs. “We’d have so much fun!”
I make a show out of hemming and hawing like I’m really thinking about it. “My only day off is on Sunday. I suppose I could go along then, if that works for you.”
“We don’t have anything else on the calendar,” Huck says. “Sunday it is. What time should we pick you up?”
“I’ll pick you up at seven,” I tell him. “It was my idea, so I’ll do the driving.” Surprise, surprise, on top of my other peculiarities, I’m not the world’s best passenger either.
“Sounds like a date,” the rock star says with a wink that’s only made saucier by the giant smile on his face. He has no idea I played him into thinking this was his idea. But I figure this way, he owes me one because I gave in and went to St. Louis with him. My mama didn’t raise a fool.
Speaking of whic
h, I say, “Let’s not mention this trip to my mama or she’s liable to make something out of it.”
He raises his eyebrow in question, so I say, “You know, she might think there’s something going on between us.”
“Like we’re on a date?” he says that word again.
“Exactly.”
Huck and his daughter exchange a look that makes me uneasy. “When in reality it’s only an educational field trip,” I tell them.
Maggie says, “I like going on field trips at school. As long as I don’t have to sit at the back of the bus. That always makes me want to puke. Cars are a lot better.”
“You like car trips?” I ask.
“Oh yeah, it’s just airplane rides I’m not so good at yet. I’m working on it though.”
“You’re doing a lot better than I am.” Then for some reason I confess, “I’ve never been on an airplane. I’m not sure I could do it.”
She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I’ll go with you on your first plane ride, if you want. I’ll help you.” There’s something about her childlike belief that I can actually do it that makes me wonder if I could. But first things first. First, we go to St. Louis.
I tell Maggie, “Mrs. P is in the back. Why don’t you go get started on your tutoring while I chat with your daddy for a sec?”
Maggie is clearly torn, like she wants to leave us alone but isn’t sure that doing math to achieve those ends is a fair bargain. She finally sighs for all she’s worth before dragging herself to the back of the store like she’s walking to her own hanging.
When she’s gone, I tell Huck, “I’ve decided we should spend some time together, but let’s not call it dating.”
“Why?”
“Because that implies I’m going to let you take liberties,” I say in a way that would have made the Puritans proud.
“Liberties, is that what we’re calling it?” He takes a step closer which causes my legs to feel all rubbery. “Liberties …” he says again like he’s really pondering the word as he runs his hands up the sides of my arms. While shivers of pure unadulterated yearning rush through me, he speculates, “Do you think they’re called liberties because they set you free?”
The Plan: A Sweet and Sexy Rock Star Romantic Comedy (The Creek Water Series Book 3) Page 14
