Gone South (9 page)

It took her mom forever to unlock the door and shove the security bar out of the way. Then the door slid smoothly across the track, and Mel stepped into delicious warmth.

She met her mother’s eyes for the first time since the big blowup. “Hey, Mom.”

“Mel,” she whispered. Her face looked pale and old without her usual mask of makeup. “You look tired.”

So do you
, Mel wanted to say. “Well, yeah. I’m tired.”

“And thin.” Her mom offered an awkward shoulder pat and lowered her hand to her side. “Where have you been?”

Not the best welcome, but she’d take it. “All over. But I’m home, and that’s what matters. Right?”

Her mom didn’t answer. Only stared, as if Mel were a spectacle at a carnival.

Dread settled in her stomach. They were going to kick her out again. But before they did, she’d make the best of it.

She edged past her mom, across the sunroom, and into the kitchen. She flipped the light switch. The crystal fruit bowl sat in the center of the
table, holding apples, oranges, and ripe bananas. She lowered her bedroll to the floor beside the table. Trying to move slowly, as if she didn’t really care, she pulled a banana off the bunch, peeled it halfway down, and took a small, ladylike bite. It was heaven. She’d never appreciated bananas before.

“Where’s Dad?” she asked.

“In the shower.”

“What time is it, anyway?”

“About ten.”

“That’s all? I thought it was about midnight.” Mel couldn’t stop herself. She wolfed the rest of the banana like a half-starved bum.

She crossed to the fridge and stared at the new school photos held up by the same old magnets. Her nephews still had their sweet smiles and big, dark eyes, but she couldn’t believe how much they’d changed.

She loved her brother’s boys so much. Especially Nicky. She shouldn’t have a favorite, of course, so she tried hard not to let it show. She knew how it felt to be the un-favorite one.

“Nicky and Jamie look so grown up,” she said. “How are they? And Stu and Janice?”

“Fine,” her mom said. “They’ll be staying with us for a week or two while they have their kitchen remodeled. It’s a huge, messy project.”

“Is Stu still working at the dealership?”

“He’s practically running it himself, these days.”

Mel nodded. When her dad retired, Stu would be in charge of all those shiny new vehicles. All those salesmen in their matching polo shirts. All that money.

She opened the fridge. Milk, juice, cans of soda. Half a ruby-red grapefruit covered with plastic wrap. An unopened package of all-beef hot dogs. A clear plastic container of … chili?

Her mouth watered at the idea of chomping into a chili dog. She didn’t want to tick anybody off, though, so she’d keep it simple. She found the grape jelly on the door and set the jar on the counter. “You don’t mind if I make myself a PBJ, do you?”

“Of course not.” Her mom didn’t come any closer, though. It was like she was afraid she might catch something.

Everything was exactly where it had always been—honey-wheat bread in a basket on the counter, the peanut butter in the cupboard by the fridge, and the paper plates in the next cupboard. Mel pulled a knife from the drawer and started slapping the sandwich together. A hot meal would have been great, but she was too hungry to care.

She should have washed her hands and scrubbed her chipped and dirty fingernails. Too late now. She probably smelled like a homeless person too. If they’d let her, she’d take a shower and wash her hair. And she’d raid her closet for all those great clothes she’d left behind.

Not bothering to cut the sandwich in half, she bit into it, rolling her eyes at the sweet, soft goodness. She started to put the lid back on the peanut butter jar, one-handed, then reconsidered. She took two more slices of bread from the bag and made a second sandwich.

“My, you’re hungry,” her mom said.

“Yeah.” Mel put away the peanut butter and the jelly. She pulled out the milk. Tempted to drink straight from the plastic jug, she slowed down long enough to find a glass and fill it. She drained half of it and wiped her mouth. “Oh, wow. Everything tastes so good.”

“I take it you haven’t been eating well.”

“Not lately.”

Mel took the glass and the paper plate to the table and sat in the chair closest to her bedroll. If she had to, she could stuff her pockets with fruit and be out the door in seconds. But maybe she wouldn’t have to.

Finished with the first sandwich, she started the second. “You think Dad will let me stay?”

“Ask him.” Her mom nodded toward the family room.

Afraid to breathe, Mel turned her head slowly. Her father stood six feet away, arms folded across his chest. He’d gone gray, making him look like a grandpa. Well, he was a grandpa, but not the huggy kind. In sweatpants, a T-shirt, and white socks so new they were still fuzzy, he was in jock mode. He just might tell her to hit the floor and do push-ups.

“Hey, Dad.” Her voice shook. “It’s your lucky day. I’m back.”

He sighed and shook his head. “And you’re broke as a stick, aren’t you? You think we’ll let you mooch off of us?”

Mel straightened her spine. “If Stu can move back for a while, why can’t I?”

Her dad narrowed his eyes. “Your brother would never steal from us.”

Mel squinted back at him. “I’ve never stolen from y’all.”

“No? Where’s my gold watch?”

Oh boy. Things were going downhill fast. She gobbled more of the sandwich, then grabbed two oranges and put one in each pocket. She’d be pressing her luck if she took a banana too. Better not. Anyway, bananas squished.

She finished the sandwich, thinking carefully about her answer. “I don’t have any watch of yours. I never did.”

“If you’d tell the truth, it would go better for you.”

“I’m telling the truth. I never took your watch.”

“Like you never took your grandpa’s car? I think you’re what they call a pathological liar. As well as a thief.” He unfolded his arms and jutted his thumb toward the front door. “Get out. And don’t come back—unless you come back with the watch and put it in my hands. With an apology.”

“I only took what was mine.”

He let out a short laugh. “I guess you think our food is yours too. You about done there? Ready to go quietly, or do I need to call the police?”

Her heart jumped like a scared jack rabbit. “For what?”

“Where do I start? Petty larceny, grand larceny. Breaking and entering.”

“I let her in, Duncan,” her mom said in a tired, quiet voice. “She didn’t break in.”

“Not this time.”

“I don’t think they call it breaking and entering when it’s your own house.” Mel’s voice broke. Furious with herself for caving, she gulped the last of the milk, slammed the empty glass onto the table, and stood.

“It’s my house, sweetheart,” he said, making the word sound mean. “Not yours.”

“Then I’m not yours. Not your daughter. Not anymore.”

“That’s still my jacket.” He held out his hand.

“Sorry if it’s dirty. It’s been through a lot.” She shrugged her arms out of the sleeves and tossed it at him. An orange fell out of a pocket and rolled across the floor, hitting his foot in one of those brand-spanking-new white socks.

Mel nearly cried. She’d forgotten about the oranges. She wanted them. She needed them.

“Stealing our oranges too,” he said. “Once a thief, always a thief.”

She grabbed her bedroll and charged past him, catching a whiff of fresh-smelling soap that made her feel filthy. Running now, she crossed the family room. The front door was straight ahead. It was all she could see. She was in a narrow tunnel edged with black. She had to get through it, get outside, escape into the fresh night air where she could breathe.

A vehicle passed in the street, the sound jolting Tish out of hazy daydreams of where she might put the furniture when the moving van arrived. Sitting in her old green camp chair by the empty fireplace, too tired to move, she’d lost track of the time. It was nearly midnight.

Tish yawned. The drive had been tiring in itself, and then she’d made so many trips out to the car and up and down the porch steps. Up and down the stairs. Her feet ached.

Closing her eyes, she could still see the rain on the windshield. The green mile markers measuring her progress on the interstate. And, like an echo in her ears, she could still hear the racket her rolling suitcase had made as she pulled it across the hardwood floor to the foot of the stairs.

She’d brought in her box of essentials—TP, light bulbs, cleaning supplies—and her sleeping bag, floor mat, blankets, and pillow. The camp chair. The vacuum. The cooler with the remains of her road-trip food and drinks. The space heater.

After she’d emptied the car, she cleaned, and while she still had a scrap of energy, she put up the brand-new shower-curtain liners she’d bought for the claw-foot tubs in both bathrooms. But the real work wouldn’t start until the moving van showed up.

Yawning again, she stood. She made sure the doors were locked and then trudged upstairs. She’d already made her “bed” for the night, and the space heater had raised the bedroom’s temperature to an acceptable level. In her warmest, dorkiest pajamas and thick socks, she’d be fine.

After brushing her teeth, she studied her wavy reflection in the old mirror on the 1950s-style medicine cabinet. For days now, she’d been playing with the idea of dropping her nickname and going by Letitia, but she didn’t look like a Letitia. She didn’t feel like a Letitia. Going by her great-great-great-grandmother’s name would be like wearing clothes that were too big and completely out of style. She might get used to it, though, and it would begin to feel right.

She walked into the dark bedroom. Away from city lights, the moon was so big and clear and bright that it seemed to jump halfway through the uncovered window. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen the man in the moon so distinctly.

Oddly spooked, she climbed into her sleeping bag and straightened the blankets on top of it. She’d lived alone for years, but this house was different. It was totally empty. It was nearly a hundred and fifty years old. And the past seemed to lurk in every corner, whispering to her.

Nobody wants you here
.

Again, she flashed back to the bullies in grade school. They’d lurked around corners or behind bushes, mocking the new girl’s old-fashioned name. They’d hissed it, over and over, making a singsong chant of it.

Letitia, Letitia, Tish Tish Tish Tish Tish. Nobody wants you here
.

Like the people at the barbecue place.

Oh, that was ridiculous. She held her pillow tightly against her ears, as if that could shut out an imaginary voice.

“Letitia, you need a good night’s sleep,” she told herself. “And a job. That’s all.”

She settled back on the pallet and looked out the window. There he was, the man in the moon. The only man in her life.

The flowers from Kroger must have been pelted by sleet the day after she’d left them there. Then they would have frozen. By now the sun would have melted the ice, thawing them to mush. They’d been beautiful for a few hours, though, lying there in the dark with no one to see them.

Tish shivered. The house felt so cold. So empty. It didn’t have to stay that way, though. Even if she never had a family of her own, she could make new friends or take in strangers. One way or another, she would fill her empty house with love and laughter. With good food. With fresh flowers from her own yard. She would make the place her home.

But that day seemed very far away as she lay awake, watching the man in the moon watching her.

George had stayed up half the night to do his online wheeling and dealing, and he felt no more than half-awake as he wandered down the book aisle at his shop. It would be a good day to weed out the slow movers and put them in a clearance bin on the sidewalk.

He smiled, picking up a couple of books by Harriet Beecher Stowe. A woman who’d had a lot on her mind. She’d never been a bestseller in Noble, Alabama, though.

Calv approached with the Bissell sweeper and a dust cloth. “You payin’ yourself to stand there and read?”

Before George could defend himself, the bell at the door tinkled and the first customer of the day walked in. Tiny, gray-haired Mrs. Rose swapped greetings with him and Calv, then took herself off to visit the Victorian umbrella stand that she’d been coveting for weeks. The wife of a prosperous businessman in Muldro, she was a regular customer who never failed to get on George’s nerves.