Sweetly (18 page)

Can’t one girl who’s lost her sister forgive another a few secrets?

It’s amazing that Ansel will need to make a second trip back to the chocolatier, considering the amount of stuff we cram into the car to begin with. A giant table hoisted onto the roof, the trunk open with an array of baskets and covered trays tied down with twine and bungee cords… I have just enough time to shower and leap into the front seat before we take off.

Sophia talks fast and with her hands, two things that make the ride into Live Oak terrifying—she ponders if she made enough dark chocolate, and next thing you know, she’s yanking the car back onto the road just moments before it would have landed in a ditch. I let out a long-held breath as we approach town and she plants two hands firmly onto the wheel.

Downtown Live Oak looks like a scene from a movie, some war epic where the hometown decorates in red, white, and blue. American flags adorn the sides of the buildings, and thick-bulbed Christmas lights are strung across the street, a zigzag of wires in the daytime. The
SEE ROBERT E. LEE’S RIDING BOOTS
signs are everywhere, hanging on buildings with arrows pointing to the storefront that apparently houses them. Vendors are setting up tables and booths, and there’s a giant cooler of beer in the center of the downtown square, just beneath the Confederate soldier statue, from which everyone seems to be pulling cold bottles. All the closed-down shops and rusty signs are covered with Americana, making Live Oak look like a bustling small town instead of a mostly abandoned piece of history. It’s eerie—like seeing someone in a costume that covers his face. I’d rather see the Live Oak I know than a pretty version of one I don’t.

Sophia’s name echoes across the square as she slows and pulls through the street at a snail’s pace. She waves out the window and grins as people regale her as though the queen of Live Oak were riding through—and in a way, she is, I suppose, complete with political adversaries. I see a few people glare at her, then turn away from the car. I think Sophia simply didn’t see them, until I catch her eyes when she stops the car. She looks scared.

“I can do this,” she mutters. Sophia reaches behind her and fumbles around in a box, then emerges with a candied lemon peel. She swallows it almost whole, as if the need for courage is overwhelming her.

“You’ll be fine. I promise,” I tell her, though I suspect I might be lying.

“They’re convincing more and more people that it’s my fault, but…” She shakes her head and smiles sadly at me. It pulls at my heart, flashes me back to the way Ansel and I were when everyone quietly whispered about us, pointed at us, not-so-secretly thought it was our fault our sister was gone. I squeeze Sophia’s hand gently, and then she opens the door.

She barely makes it out before someone brings her a beer from the cooler and an older lady wraps her up in a firm hug. Sophia smiles and waves and sparkles as though she’s never met someone she didn’t love.

“You know my boyfriend? Ansel?” she says, ushering Ansel over.
Boyfriend.
Of course he’s her boyfriend. I knew that—still, hearing her say it is different. Ansel’s ears are pink but he hurries over to shake hands with a trio of sun-aged men who give him a hard time about dating Sophia, how they’ll come after him should he wrong her. Ansel looks happy—really
happy,
in a way I haven’t seen him since we were little.

“And this is… hey, Gretchen! Get over here,” Sophia says through a grin. I raise my eyes over the car and slink around the side. Sophia wraps an arm around my shoulder and squeezes me to her.

“And Gretchen, who is like my right hand. Seriously. I’ve never done inventory so fast,” Sophia says, and I laugh because if I don’t, the guilt cocooning around my body will surely show through.

“Well, pleased to finally meet you both,” one of the men says, clapping Ansel and me on the shoulders simultaneously. “Sounds like you’re doing Sophia a lot of good. And she deserves it,” he says seriously, meeting Sophia’s eyes. “She really deserves it. Glad to see you’re finally opening up to people, Sophia. Even if it is out-of-towners!” He laughs loudly.

“Oh, Mike,” Sophia says, looking at the ground and twisting her feet in something resembling modesty, though the emotion in her eyes is closer to guilt.

“Well, it’s true, honey. Your daddy would—”

“Can you help us set up the tent?” Sophia cuts him off.

“Sure thing—hang on, I’ll get the rest of them,” Mike says. He turns and whistles sharply, and before I know what’s happening, a crowd of people swarms the car. The table is pulled off and set up, and portly ladies begin lining it with the trays. “Do these need to stay out of the sun?” “Nothing out of the coolers yet, I imagine.” “Oh, sweetie, what pretty cakes!” “You make sure you send them to my booth!” are the chorus of the crowd. Shade blooms over me as Mike and his friends erect the tent.

“And Ansel, you’re going back for the second trip?” Sophia calls over the fray. Ansel nods but looks reluctant to leave Sophia behind so long as she’s introducing him as her boyfriend. Nonetheless, he gets into the car and edges it out of the square.

The crowd slowly fades, a few old women being the last to leave and return to their own booths. Sophia looks at me and exhales.

“Still alive?” she asks with a grin.

“Barely,” I answer, collapsing into a chair and propping my feet up on the table. “You’re okay?”

Sophia takes a long sip of her beer. “I’m fine. I’m glad Mike and his friends showed up. It helps.”

Sophia slides the free candy a little closer to the edge of the tent. She’s giving away so many free samples that I wonder why she’s even bothering to charge for the rest—and if any amount of free candy can help her reputation. Her eyes float to the empty vendor stall next to her.

“Who will our neighbor be?” I ask, nodding toward it.

Sophia frowns. “It’s usually a guy who does woodworking—little statues, whistles, ashtrays, that kind of thing. He’s got a daughter a little younger than you, Emma, and I heard he… well…” She twists the beer bottle around in her hands. “I heard he isn’t showing this year. Didn’t want the tent next to me and won’t let Emma out of the house the night of the festival. I guess it doesn’t matter—she’s so young anyway,” she finishes in a mumble.

“There’s an age limit?” I ask.

“Oh, no,” she says quickly, voice a little panicked, though I’m not sure why. She continues. “Just… she’s so young, she has more time to come to them. Maybe her dad will relax.”

“Probably,” I say, though I’m not entirely sure I mean that. “Besides, maybe he’s just pissed off that you sell way more candy than he does ashtrays.”

Sophia laughs a little and gives me an appreciative smile. The sun is going down slowly but surely—it looks as though it’s resting on the roofs of the tallest shops in downtown Live Oak. People are beginning to arrive with blankets and lawn chairs—they tape the blankets down with silver duct tape so no one can steal their spots while they socialize.

“Oh, look!” Sophia whispers sharply. She points to a large black woman with a table tucked under one arm. She’s wearing long, wispy blue robes, and her hair is piled up on her head. She drops the table in a spot underneath a gnarled oak tree, then heads back to where she came from, thick earrings sparkling in the waning sunlight.

“What’s she selling?” I ask curiously.

“Fortunes,” Sophia says with a grin. “Miss Nikki—she reads tarot cards. Been doing it forever, always at the Fourth of July festival under that tree. It’s a telling tree—slaves told stories under it, according to the Live Oak historical society. Which, oddly enough, is made up of stuffy white people.”

I laugh. “Have you ever gotten your cards read?” I ask her.

Sophia shrugs. “I used to—I haven’t been recently. I guess I’m not too interested in knowing my future anymore. She’s predicted all sorts of Live Oak stuff with those cards, though—she’s the real deal, I think. You should go tonight! Wait till just before they do the fireworks—the line is always low then.”

“Only if you come with me,” I answer. “Because not only should you get your cards read, but it’ll be hilarious to watch Ansel try to manage customers.”

Sophia laughs loudly, a sound that turns smiling faces her way. “Deal,” she says, eyes sparkling.

The tourists start to filter in. I didn’t think I’d be able to tell them apart from the locals, since I don’t know everyone in Live Oak despite their knowing every detail about me, but it’s so, so obvious. The tourists have bathing-suit tan lines and take pictures of the Americana and yell loudly over the crowd. The locals are low-key—not quiet, necessarily, but practiced; they’ve done this all before, and they’ll do it all again.

By the time Ansel returns with the second carload of candy, Sophia and I have already refilled the free samples of chocolate-dipped peaches and almost sold out of cinnamon truffles. I’m so caught up in the whirl of filling bags and making change that the sky is pale lavender before I know it.

“Ooh, I want an early taste of the chocolate festival—which I
am
coming to, by the way,” a teen girl squeals as she eyes the array of candies. Sophia grins and I see relief on her face.

“Take one of these—new truffle recipe. I was going to try it out on unsuspecting tourist guinea pigs, but you’ll do, Sara,” she says.

Sara eagerly reaches forward and takes the truffle, then bites it in half. “Good god, Sophia. The devil is gonna steal you to be his pastry chef.”

“Good, then?” Sophia asks. “It’s a raspberry center…”

“Amazing,” Sara answers. “I’m so excited about the festival, you don’t even know. I got two red dresses when we went into Lake City a few weeks back. One’s a sort of tunic dress, and one has ties like the one, um, Jillian wore last year.” She pauses, Jillian’s name hanging heavily in the air, then shakes her head, as though that’ll run the name off. “Which one do you think would look better?”

“Um… oh…” Sophia looks down, busies herself tidying up the counter space. She swallows hard, as though the answer hurts her. “The tunic one, probably.”

“That’s what I thought! My grandpa said it was trashy, but whatever. He spends all his time watching over those Robert E. Lee boots in the museum—what would he know about party dresses, right? I just hope it’s the right shade of red…”

“Oh, there is no right shade, don’t worry,” Sophia says. Her voice cracks a little; Sara doesn’t notice, turning back toward her family.

“Oh god, speaking of, I think Grandpa has moonshine in that flask. Ricky is gonna smell that from a mile away.”

“Ricky would never throw your grandpa in jail,” Sophia says reassuringly, snapping back to the happy version of herself so quickly that I shake my head in disbelief. “He’s afraid to mess with Live Oak’s elders.”

“Hell, I’m not afraid he’ll jail him,” Sara says, hiking up her sundress and starting toward an old man in white shorts with a silly grin on his face. “I’m afraid he’ll drink it. Ricky drunk on moonshine and cop powers is not pretty!” she finishes, calling out to us as she rushes away. Sophia watches her go, then sighs. When she turns back to me, she’s smiling again.

“Speaking of, Gretchen, do you have a red dress?”

“It has to be red?”

“Everyone who graduated the May before the chocolate festival wears red—it’s the color of the old Live Oak high school. Kind of a ‘hey, look, I’m one of the people who didn’t drop out and get knocked up instead of graduating’ thing. I guess you could call it tradition,” Sophia says.

“Well, technically, I didn’t graduate from Live Oak. In fact, I didn’t even go to high school,” I remind her, and she laughs before turning around to face my brother.

Ansel, clearly exhausted from hauling half the chocolatier into town, is planted in a lawn chair toward the back of the booth. “Ansel?” Sophia asks in a sugary voice, and Ansel narrows his eyes teasingly at whatever she’s about to request. “Would you watch the booth for us for a few minutes?”

“Why?” Ansel asks, but he’s already kicking his legs off the cooler and rising.

“Your sister and I are going to go get our fortunes read,” Sophia answers, biting her lip excitedly as she looks toward me.

“Oh, come on,” Ansel grumbles, but he takes Sophia’s place behind the counter. Sophia chuckles and kisses him on the cheek so swiftly that he seems confused by it, and we skip off, leaving my brother touching the spot on his face where Sophia’s lips were.

“That was cruel,” I tease her. “He’d do anything for you, even sell truffles to people in fanny packs.”

Sophia looks over her shoulder as she links her arm in mine. “He’ll survive. Besides, he shouldn’t fall in love with me anyway.”

“Too late for that,” I say, raising my eyebrows. Sophia frowns, but at the same time her cheeks flush hopefully.

The bulk of the audience meanders back toward their blankets now that it’s nearly dark, making it difficult to move in the opposite direction. Sophia forges ahead, fingers wrapped in mine, toward the blue tent. The line isn’t short, but it’s died down considerably. We take our spots in the back, behind a duo of middle schoolers with tricked-out cell phones and belly shirts.

“So what are you going to ask her?” one says, twirling her hair.

“If I should go out with Cody or Sean,” the other says. They launch into a conversation that’s entirely too fast to follow.

“She should go with Cody,” I whisper to Sophia.

“Yeah, all the Seans I’ve known have been asses,” she replies. “And Miss Nikki hates it when girls ask about boys. Says it sets feminism back a hundred years.”

The line draws closer, until finally the middle schoolers duck inside, one at a time. The sky is blackening, and people are staring up as if they expect the fireworks to appear from nowhere. Sophia points out a group of men on the roof of the hardware store twisting wires and moving things around, preparing for the show.

The first girl emerges looking bored, followed by the second, who looks bitter. Apparently the reader told her to date neither Cody nor Sean, and they complain about the inaccuracy of tarot cards loudly as they walk away.

“Wish me luck,” Sophia says, and her voice betrays the grin on her face—she sounds worried, as though this is much more than just a block-party card reading. Then she disappears under the dark blue fabric into the booth. I shove my hands into my pockets and rock back and forth on my heels, unsure where to look now. I glance toward the sky, letting my eyes run across the stars and down to Live Oak’s rooftops. Samuel is up there, somewhere. I wish I could find him among the chimneys.