Palmetto Moon (13 page)

Frank leans against the gas pump as the attendants service the car. He looks regretful he agreed to take me on this trip, and I understand his reservations, really I do. But who in their right mind wouldn’t want to save their best friend? Especially when they have a second chance to make up for failing her like I failed Darby. Of course I didn’t mean to hurt Darby when I went away to school, but I should have seen through her veiled pleas, stayed home, and gone to the College of Charleston. If I hadn’t left, maybe Darby wouldn’t have fallen for Mrs. McCrady’s charming husband. But if I had stayed any longer, I probably wouldn’t have finished college and I would already be married to Justin.

Frank gets back into the car, and we head northward. The edge of Rosa Lee’s pouch, with my grandmother’s necklace, peers out of my brassiere. It’s worth more to me than any price that can be put on sapphires and perfect diamonds, but not worth more than Darby.

I rearrange the pouch between my bosom. Perhaps I should sell the necklace in Memphis. But that would be impossible to do without Frank knowing. His knowing would lead to questions about who I am and where I come from, and I’m not ready to tell him that yet. I may never tell him. It would change everything between us. I know it would. I’ll just trade the necklace and pray Miss Wentworth accepts it. Otherwise, this whole trip will be for naught.

I want to make him see that I need this trip and hope that he wants to be a part of the bright future I’ve planned for myself. But the silence is killing me. I have to know what he’s thinking. “Pull over. Now, Frank. Pull over.”

“Jesus, Vada.” The car limps onto the shoulder, and he shoves it into park. “Are you all right? What’s wrong?”

I slide all the way across the bench seat and wrap my arms around him. He holds me tight, kissing the top of my head, swearing whatever is wrong, he’ll make right. His strong hands cup my face, and his thumbs dab at my tears. “I know you think this is crazy, Frank.” I’m trying to choose my words, but they’re coming too fast. “I want this to work. More than anything, I want this to work with you, but I need to know that you take me seriously. For me, it’s the starting place to know if we can have something together. And I want to have that something with you.”

The car is stuffy and still. I think I can hear his heart beating wildly out of control, or maybe it’s my own. I feel like I’ve just said “I love you” and he hasn’t said it back. Oh God, why didn’t I just keep it to myself and take the bus?

“Vada, I’ve got to say something before we go any farther. It’s something you ought to know.”

I’m bracing for him to let me down easy, because Frank’s the kind of man who would care enough to do that. I can’t look at him. I press my face against his chest. Everything I’ve hoped for is going to end, here, in Georgia, of all places.

“The truth is, I love you, and have from the moment I saw you. I never believed in that kind of thing until you walked through the door of the diner, but, by God, I do love you. I don’t expect you to love me back right now, but whatever you ask me to, I’ll do it or die trying.”

He kisses me differently than before, like we’re sharing the same breath, and I believe every word he’s said. His hands are tentative, like he wants more, but he’s afraid to go too fast. I’m not even sure what that means, but I want them everywhere. When we come up for air, I press my forehead against his cheek. Three cars zoom past in quick succession, making a haze of dust swirl around the car.

I want to tell Frank I love him, but I’ve never said the words to a man before, and when I do, I want it to be at the perfect time, in a special place, something I’ll remember forever. I stay wrapped around him, hoping he knows the words on my heart, and he must, because he pulls back onto the highway headed for Tennessee.

The car slows, and I stir as it comes to a stop in front of a Sinclair gas pump. It’s unbearably hot. My hair is wet and stuck to Frank’s chest. He raises my chin tenderly and kisses me wide-awake. “You must have been tired. You slept through Atlanta.”

I stretch and yawn. “Where are we?”

“Almost to the Alabama state line; I think we’re over halfway there, give or take. Why don’t you get us a couple of Cokes?” He presses a dime into my hand, and his fingers linger on it for just a second before he gives my sweaty forehead a peck.

A team of men in sparkling white uniforms rushes to the car. “Fill it up with high-test,” Frank says.

“Restrooms on the right side of the building,” one of them shouts after me.

Surprisingly, the powder room is shiny and clean. The mirror is small, but I take account of myself. I’m not the least bit ashamed or guilty about making this trip with Frank, and I think it shows. There’s a woman in the mirror looking back at me where a bubbleheaded blonde was just a few days ago, only she was dressed for her own wedding. I smooth my hair back into a long ponytail, intent on finding the Coke machine and cooling off.

Before I went to college and was around, well, normal people, I didn’t know that a Coke was a treat reserved for special occasions and road trips. I always had Coca-Cola whenever I wanted it; Desmond bought it by the case from the grocer, and for a long time, I thought they were for me, because he and Rosa Lee told me so. But they were really for my father, on mornings after he’d over-imbibed at a party or a stuffy dinner.

The dime clanks into the coin receptacle, and the machine spits out a nickel and a Coke. I shove the nickel back into the machine while I toast to my newfound independence, and then I hand Frank his drink. He turns the bottle up, downs all six and a half ounces in a matter of seconds, and with a brazen smile, turns his head, to burp I’m sure, and to make me laugh.

Back in the car, the engine strains as it climbs across the foothills, like it would rather be back on the flat of the Lowcountry. The drought that has made Myers Creek an ankle-deep trickle has been stingy with rain here, too; only brown weeds and broomstraw line the red clay roadside. The pines here are different, their needles twice as long as the coastal pines. There are hardwoods I don’t recognize, and tall slender oaks that look like they can’t possibly be kin to the fat round angel oaks back home. All of the treetops are beginning to turn brown, and some are even changing color like it’s October instead of July.

The temperature is a little cooler now, which may have more to do with the billowy masses of clouds hiding the sun than the altitude. If we stay on schedule, we’ll be in Memphis by eleven.

It was nice of Miss Wentworth to offer us a place to stay. She said something about being closed for the week of the Fourth, which was puzzling, because she said Darby worked for her in her home. Maybe Miss Wentworth has some kind of home business, something for me to consider should things with Frank progress and we have a family. I’d want to stay home with my children, that much I am sure of, and the extra income would be nice.

I’m excited about my new job, about having my own money that isn’t tied to a trust fund I have to do tricks for like a little dog. And if a home business isn’t possible after I have children, I see no reason why I couldn’t continue teaching. I’d have the summers off to spend with the children; I wonder how Frank would feel about that.

“We’ve got about six more hours to go,” he smiles, “and I want to know everything about you.”

“Like what?” I unwrap his arm from around my shoulder and sit up straight.

“I don’t know. I have this picture of what you were like growing up. Blond. Precocious. Adorable.”

Oh, dear. Frank’s been so forthright with me, and I want to share myself with him. But there’s so much I can’t tell him.

“Did you have a happy childhood?” He prods me toward the beginning.

“Yes.” It’s true, but as much as I love Rosa Lee and Desmond, it was difficult not feeling loved by my parents, feeling more like a fixture, or a much-needed accessory to make the right impression. “And no.”

His eyes are sad at the last part of my answer. He threads his fingers in mine and kisses the back of my hand. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

I want to give him something, so I fast-forward to the last four years of my life. “I liked college. I met a lot of nice people. I loved my professors. One of them recommended me for the teaching position. She was from a very wealthy family in Boston; she married a Southern boy she met at Oxford one summer.”

He nods seriously. “Mississippi.”

“Oh, no, England. After they married, her family promptly disowned her.”

“Why?”

“Because they thought he wasn’t good enough for her. But they couldn’t have been more wrong. Even in their sixties, they still stroll the campus, holding hands, so in love.”

Frank nods his head like he understands that kind of love. “You appreciate something more when you have to fight for it.”

He’s right. I am so grateful for my newfound freedom, and I know from Frank’s words, from the certainty in his eyes, he would fight for me. I smile to myself, surprised that I’ve done the same for him, standing up to Miss Mamie, ignoring the horrible reverend and his mindless zealots.

“You’ve thought of something good?” he asks. “Wanna tell me?”

I nod and wrap my arms around his middle again. “It’s hard to think about the past when everything about the here and now is so exciting and wonderful. I’m starting anew.”

He takes his eyes off the road and studies my face. “With me?”

“With you, Frank, darling.”

Twelve hours after leaving Round O, Frank catches a glimpse of the sign that says they’re almost to Memphis. Vada is asleep again, against his chest; God, he wants to wake up with her like this tomorrow, but he knows that won’t happen. And, to be honest, it shouldn’t happen, not with a girl like Vada. Vada’s the kind of girl you honor and cherish. Hell, the kind you treasure and marry. But the want that he has for her now is so big, it swallows up his good intentions.

A car whizzes past, going the other way. She stirs, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and smiles at Frank before she stretches to kiss him on the cheek. “What time is it?”

“Past midnight.”

“We didn’t make very good time.”

“No, we didn’t.” And it probably had a lot to do with Frank going slow while she slept, to savor the smell of her hair, her breath against his chest.