Crain's Landing (3 page)

“I’m proud of you, Natalie.” That Southern drawl even more prominent with the alcohol taking over his system. My dad was a prudent man, always doing the right thing, but now was a time for letting our hair down. Not worrying about what the world thought of us at the moment. I knew he was proud of me; he told me every chance he had, but, I had to admit, it felt good to hear him say it.

“I know you could’ve given up and just settled, but you didn’t.”

I smiled back at him, extending my beer bottle and tapping his. He didn't have to elaborate; there were too many obstacles that I had overcome to name them off. The largest and, by far, the most rewarding was sleeping like the dead in the room behind us. Those challenges gave me strength and taught me how to comb through all the bullshit in life and pick out the good stuff.

“Thanks, Dad.” My words were soft, yet emotional. He, too, could have written me off and turned his back on us. Instead he was here, driving with us and looking out for our safety and happiness. Pushing when I needed it and remaining silent when the need arose.

As we finished off the six-pack, he told me little things to expect in Crain’s Landing. The town meeting place was the local diner—a wonderful lady named Ms. Connie ran the place and made homemade pecan pies that, in his words, “were to die for”. Apparently, the school had an incredible football team, which he said wasn’t surprising as the coach was a former NFL player. Folks who didn't have a player on the team showed up to extend their support, showing the young kids they were loved and appreciated. He described it as a huge town event every Friday night.

“How can they possibly afford to pay that kind of money to the football coach? I mean, he had to make a fortune playing football. He would surely expect to be compensated when coaching.”

Dad was in the middle of swallowing a drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the action, his blue eyes fixed on the view of the swimming pool. A few families were still enjoying the refreshment it provided. When he finished, he turned and said, “He moved there to be close to his family, the Crains. That family has been there since the first piece of dirt was moved to build a house. Good family, decent people. Two of them are doctors in town. I’m sure you’ll meet them” His statement was meant to be comforting, having a toddler was a guarantee I would need a good doctor at some point. Noticing my discomfort at the thought of Peyton being sick, he changed the subject to how they had a Founders’ Day Festival every year, considering the same family had lived there since it became a city all those years ago. Apparently the founding family was still active and affluent in the community.

Peyton woke around three o’clock in the morning. Dad got up and told me he would get her. I drifted off to sleep, waking only when the smell of fresh coffee filled my nose. That was a first; she had relied on me solely for everything, something my father vowed he was going to change. He wanted to be completely immersed in our world, to celebrate every milestone with us, every holiday, school play, the works. Peyton was sitting in her rollaway crib, babbling to her stuffed puppy. She smiled as I approached her and held the puppy up for me to take. I placed several kisses on the puppy’s face and then picked her up from the crib. “Mmmm, so good, my favorite Peyton kisses.”

I kissed and blew raspberries on her neck and cheek. She laughed and hugged me back, her warmth and unconditional love surrounding me, giving me the boost to go another day. Once we ate a light breakfast, we were back on the road.

I had been blessed with Peyton being such a good and healthy baby. Dad told me to pray that it stayed that way. I was never more grateful that the new job came with medical insurance and many other benefits. As we continued our drive, Peyton included the word “Papa” to her vocabulary. She learned quickly that her papa had a big soft spot for everything Peyton.

When we stopped on the last night, just outside Virginia, I received a response to an email I had sent to the National Federation of Literacy. Depending on what current books were available, they were willing to send us a number of bestsellers to add to our collection. They had also granted us a large amount of money to install online access, as they had no record of the library having Internet connections in their system. I had also contacted every major magazine in the country to see if we received a current copy. Most denied that we did, so I knew that would be at the top of my to-do list. I also had several children’s literacy organizations waiting for me to advise them of any supplies we needed.

When we stopped in Alexandria, my dad insisted we eat at this restaurant he had read about in the newspaper. He boasted they were named the best BBQ place in the country. I wasn't big on eating on wooden tables, with no utensils. Dad told me to get used to it, Crain’s Landing had its fair share of little dives like this very one.

While we were eating, there was an emergency across the street and the fire department was called. I watched as the firemen donned their gear and then ran into the building. The police arrived as well as an ambulance and I watched as they each did their different jobs with skill, no one job more important than the other. It was teamwork at its finest. When the emergency was over, I watched as the firemen began to clean up. One really large fireman in particular took his huge coat off and was standing directly in front of me as he rolled up a large line of hose. I was fixated on his well-developed muscles working as his arms and hands twisted and turned the hose. I noticed a hint of a tattoo peeking out of his sweat-covered T-shirt. I wondered what it would be like to touch that tattoo, to run my fingers and tongue along its defined edges and trace the pattern, finding where it led.

Holden was a skinny, scrawny guy, with little muscle mass. I had secretly wished to be loved by a man who took care of his body. I wanted to be tossed up against a wall and fucked seven ways to Sunday, with my breath taken away and left completely satisfied. Holden was an under the covers and with the lights out kind of guy. His talents for creativity in the bedroom lacked severely. His idea of foreplay was hitting pause on the television so he wouldn’t miss anything.

I looked up to see the handsome fireman looking back at me. He caught my eye and winked. I averted my attention back to my father, who was sitting between Peyton and me.

“He’s just a man with a hose, baby girl.” His voice was laced with humor, as he took a swig of his drink and tossed his own wink in my direction. I rolled my eyes in exasperation at him.

“Dad, I have no interest in men or their damn hoses. They’re nothing but trouble.” His eyebrow raised in my direction, silently reminding me that he, in fact, was of the male population. “Present company excluded, of course,” I quickly added.

My dad chewed his food slowly; I knew he was working on something to say to me. Peyton was pointing to the lights atop the fire truck, mesmerized. “Natalie, I hope you don’t honestly believe that about all men.”

“What? That most men are lying, cheating, slimeballs who’ll say anything to bed you and then break you? C’mon, Dad, all the good ones are either taken or gay.”

He laughed at me and then shook his head. “Mark my words, Natalie, a man will come along who’ll knock your socks off and you’ll forget all about the crap Holden did to you.”

Not in this lifetime
, I thought to myself.

We left Virginia, and the hot fireman, behind the next morning. Though, not before I slipped into the bathroom and released some pressure caused by the sight of those rippling muscles. I had an arsenal of toys that I had purchased, even while still in a relationship with Holden. He wasn’t particularly well-endowed, and most of the time he just couldn’t hold off so I could finish, so I’d learned to take care of myself. I had the best of both worlds now; I always got off and I didn’t have to worry about who else had been there before me.

The last day we spent in the car was by far the hardest. Peyton was full on fussy and sick of being in her car seat. I had gotten my period and wanted chocolate and a heating pad. Dad kept getting calls from his office that only he could handle. Charleston was an hour and a half from Crain’s Landing, as we crossed the Ravenel Bridge, Dad pulled off so we could have lunch. I started to argue we could just eat when we made it home, but he told me the last thing that would be happening was us enjoying a meal when we arrived at my new house. He confessed several of the calls were from the townsfolk checking to see if we were making good time. They had formed a committee to welcome us to their city.

“Besides, Peyton needs a break and I know of this nice little ice cream shop by the college.” I didn't argue any further, due to the fact ice cream came in chocolate flavor and right now that was exactly what I wanted.

Dad parallel parked just outside a cute little tourist shop— the awning striped pink and white with block lettering announcing to potential patrons that this store did indeed sell ice cream. The smell of sugar and cream filled my nose and coaxed a groan from deep inside my chest. I proceeded to order a triple scoop, chocolate covered, chocolate sprinkled chocolate ice cream that sat atop a warm chocolate brownie. Digging in, I savored each and every bite, and if it wouldn’t have made me look like a lunatic, I would have licked the bowl it came in. As we waited for Peyton to finish and for the phone call that told us everything was ready for us, I took a long look at the people and buildings that surrounded us.

Across the street was a horse and buggy riding company. The attendant outside was dressed the part in turn of the century attire. Dad caught me staring and offered to take us on a quick tour. I declined, telling him we would save that for another day. He spoke of all the festivals that would begin soon and that people came from all around to enjoy the events. He claimed he would be stealing Peyton from time to time to enjoy the wonder through her young eyes. He spoke of the various institutions around Charleston and narrowed in on three young men who were walking toward us wearing light blue uniforms.

“They attend school at the Citadel.” He nodded in their direction, their white hats stood out brightly in the hot Carolina sun. As they passed, Peyton pointed her spoon of melting ice cream and shouted at them.

They all stopped and saluted her calling her, “Ma’am.” It was enough to confuse her as she stopped babbling and watched them walk away. They hadn't even made it to the end of the block before my father’s phone rang, giving us the all clear to head on home.

Back on the road, Peyton fell asleep from her sugar high. I rolled down my window, taking in the sights, smells, and sounds of the area around me. South Carolina was so different from New York, in more than dialect. The smell of fresh air, the flowers and grasses that permeated the car. The open land seemed to go on for miles and miles, uninterrupted by man's need for more parking lots and shopping malls. The tall grass of the pastures danced in the gentle breeze that nature provided. The trees stood majestically, years of growing and being cared for by the rain and environment around them. They provided shade to the plants that grew at their bases, while the plants gave what they had to the mighty trees. It seemed to go on and on with no ending in sight, no barrier of any sort, to disturb the beauty of it all.

I observed with a smile as the occasional small gas station would come into view. Always with numerous cars parked in their lots for service of either fuel or snacks. Signs for fresh produce and boiled peanuts stands were staked in the ground, one after the other, crying for your attention and wetting your appetite with their colorful depictions of the treasures they held. I was half tempted to stop at the next one I saw, to see if they tasted as good as they promised.

“Do you see the red light up ahead?” I turned to my father, his hand indicating the obvious flashing light that swung over the middle of the highway.

“Yes.” I answered plainly. We had passed many of these same flashing lights since leaving Charleston.

“You ready to see your new home?” He turned to face me this time. You could see the happiness radiating in every wrinkle, every sparkle that reflected in his eyes. My dad could be considered a handsome man with his stylish salt and pepper hair—I took credit for the majority of those grays--masculine features, sharp jawline, and ever present smile. Growing up, I thought my dad could do anything...still did. I turned back to the road, in time to see a large, green sign with a script font announcing we had entered Beaumont County. Not a town, a county. I thought it odd to have such an ornate sign for the destination of a mere county

As Dad slowed the car down and the sound of the turn signal was triggered, Peyton came to life. I nearly lost my breath as we passed under a line of huge oak trees that bordered each side of the dirt road. Their branches full of Spanish moss that hung majestically in long bunches. The leaves on the trees let in only scant amounts of light, enough to break up the monotony of total shade. Branches intertwined together making it impossible to tell where one tree ended and the other began. The line of trees seemed to go on for a while. So much I felt a pain forming in my neck from watching them pass overhead through the open sunroof.

Where the oak trees ended, the maple and acorn began. Homes started to appear with American flags waving from wooden poles attached to front porches. Seasonal flowers graced flowerbeds with their bright colors and friendly faces. Lawns cut with care and purpose, each one better than the last. From every car we passed, someone waved in silent greeting or the occasional horn blared to gain immediate attention.

But as the town came into view, my mind took a step back in time to a place where life moved slower and took the path less traveled. The scene that laid itself out to me had to have been taken from a story book. Most of downtown hosted two-story businesses and large glass front windows that pridefully showed their wares. Storeowners swept the front steps, while others waved as we passed. It was as if the entire town was trying to get me to fall in love with them, show me they could be the people their parents raised them to be.