Sweetgrass (12 page)

“The dog? What’s the dog got to do with it?” she asked, not following.

“He saw Blackjack whining at the window and all he wanted was the dog.”

Kristina’s face softened and Mama June was ashamed to see the understanding and compassion she read there.

“So give him the dog!” Kristina replied.

“Blackjack is an outdoor dog,” she explained.

Kristina put the casserole on the counter and walked closer to Mama June. “It might actually be a good idea to let Blackjack inside.”

“Let him in? My house?”

“Yes.”

“I love dogs, always have. But we’ve never allowed dogs in the house,” she replied. “Humans have their place and dogs have theirs.”

“Didn’t you say that Preston and Blackjack used to do everything together?”

“Yes, surely, but always outdoors.”

“But Preston can’t go outdoors now.”

Mama June didn’t reply.

“Look,” Kristina said gently. “Blackjack doesn’t understand what’s happened to his master. He’s pretty desperate. And it sounds to me like Preston needs to be near his dog.”

“Yes, yes, I understand all that, but what’s to be done? It’s a recovery room. It has to be sterile. Besides, he’s dirty! He has fleas! And he slobbers!”

“Is that any way to talk about your husband?”

“What?” she sputtered.

Kristina laughed. “I’m joking!” Then her face grew thoughtful. “Seriously, though, I’m talking about this touching thing again. That’s how Preston and Blackjack communicate. They’re so lonely for each other, it’s pitiful. Let’s get those two together! What if I give Blackjack a good bath and brushing?” Kristina urged. “He’ll be all clean as a whistle.”

“But…”

“No mud on your floors.”

“I don’t know.”

“It’ll be great,” Kristina called out as she waltzed out the door. “Trust me.”

Mama June walked dazedly to a chair and, sitting down, slipped her chin into her palm. Well, she certainly had been outmaneuvered. Without a shot fired, she’d just lost the war. It was official. She was no longer in control of her home.

She shook her head. Dogs in the house…

The following morning, despite a brilliant blue May sky and balmy temperatures that had the birds outdoors singing, Mama June woke feeling a little down. She rose early, as was her custom, but dressed slowly. Her morning routine was uneventful. She was finishing the breakfast dishes when she heard the loud clunk of the outdoor water faucet turning on, followed by wild barking and Kristina’s high-pitched shouts.

Mama June hurried to the side window, wiping her hands on her apron, in time to see Morgan running to join the fray. He grabbed Blackjack’s collar and was trying to hold the big dog steady while Kristina squirted the dog with water from the hose, soaking Morgan in the process.

Mama June thought it looked more like a rodeo than a washing. Before too long Blackjack looked like a sleek otter and was just as slippery and squirming. Morgan was dripping wet and cursing at the dog. Kristina was laughing so hard as she soaped up the dog, she could hardly stand. By the time they were finished, the hose slunk along the gravel like a hissing snake, more soap was on Morgan than the dog, and they were both laughing in hysterics as Blackjack took off, dripping water, suds flying, down the road.

Mama June let the curtain slip and shook her head, laughing herself. That dumb beast was sure to find a nice smelly spot to roll around in before he came back, but she knew she’d let him in the house, anyway. No doubt Preston would get a whiff of Sweetgrass mud on wet dog and be in hog heaven.

She wrapped her arms around herself and looked at her immaculate kitchen. What the heck? she thought. So the house got a little dirty. So there was dog hair everywhere. How long had it been since she’d seen Morgan laugh like that, with his head thrown back and the wariness gone from his face? That alone was a small miracle.

The old adage was true, she thought, feeling a flutter in her chest that she thought might could be joy. Laughter was indeed the best medicine.

It was inevitable. Blackjack became a fixture at Preston’s bedside. The family and therapists alike made do walking around the big snoring dog and he didn’t seem to mind when a foot accidentally bumped him. Preston’s good hand hung off the side of the bed to rest on the dog’s head. Mama June had to admit it was a pleasant sight seeing the two of them resting beside each other again in such peace. It was as if order had been restored in the world.

Kristina was beaming as she worked and Morgan was whistling softly in the office. When Nona came into the house, however, she stopped short with a “Lord, have mercy!” Then, shaking her head, she proceeded into the kitchen.

The last person Morgan expected to see walk into the office that afternoon was Aunt Adele.

He’d heard the doorbell ring, Blackjack commence barking and a flurry of movement and voices. Then the door to his father’s office swung open and Adele crossed the threshold as if the office were hers. Mama June followed her in, worry clouding her face.

“So,” Adele began, setting her black purse onto a chair while her eyes scanned the disheveled room. “Mama June tells me that you’ve been plowing through Preston’s files?”

Morgan glanced around the room. The tall black file cabinet was opened and files were stacked around the room amid books, coffee cups and ashtrays. He knew the office was a disheveled mess, and though it distressed his mother, he saw it as a work in progress. He lowered his feet from the top of the desk and straightened in his chair out of respect.

“Yes, ma’am. Such as they are.”

Morgan smiled an unspoken thank-you to Nona for the tray of coffee she carried in. Nona rolled her eyes in commiseration as she set the tray down on the desk, then quickly exited the room.

Mama June followed her out. “I’ll just leave you two alone to talk.”

He glared at his mother for leaving, but she gave him an encouraging smile and waved before the door closed.

“What have you learned?” asked Adele, taking a seat.

“Well, there’s a lot to go through,” he began cautiously.

“Are you finding everything?”

“I’m still working on it. As you can see.”

“Your father’s filing system is nothing more than a series of tilting piles. He always claimed to know where everything was, but God help the one who has to find anything.”

Morgan merely nodded his head.

“Do you need help? You must. It’s a mind-boggling project.”

“Nope. Not at this point. But thanks.”

Adele paused, considering. “Morgan, I haven’t seen you since the family dinner. It was awkward the way things ended, and I feel badly about that. You know my position. I still feel that this decision to delay the sale of Sweetgrass is serious and can have dangerous repercussions for your family. But since you seem hell-bent to pursue it, I’ll help you. It’s the least I can do. Time is of the essence and I can help speed this along. Meandering through those papers on your own will be like a tourist finding his way through the marshes. You need a guide. Your father and I have been involved in several business deals. I have all my records on those transactions and I’m familiar with the cast of characters. Let me help you make sense of it all.”

Morgan hesitated but couldn’t think of a rational argument against her request. His opposition was from the gut, and that,
he reasoned, might only be attributed to his lifelong dislike of his aunt. Reluctantly he rose above it and nodded.

“All right. Thank you, Aunt Adele. When’s a good time for you?”

She grinned widely. “There’s no time like the present.”

Later that afternoon, Nan made her way along the winding roads of the large housing development that her husband managed. The sale of her small portion of Sweetgrass land soon after their marriage had helped to launch the development. It was a lovely community, tastefully constructed, with lots of mature trees. Most of the houses were built in the southern tradition, painted pastel colors with wide, welcoming porches and surrounded by neatly manicured lawns, magnolias, crepe myrtle and oaks.

There was an orderliness to the well-maintained roads and a uniformity to the size of the plots and houses that was comforting in its familiarity. People rode bicycles on paths, green ponds glistened in the sunlight, the golf course stretched out as far as she could see, and if she followed the green-and-white arrow off the turnabout, she knew she would arrive at the beautiful clubhouse. Her children had practically lived there during summers, swimming, playing golf and tennis, and grabbing a burger. This summer the boys had jobs there.

The Leland family had one of the first houses built in the community. They’d raised their family there, made friends there, marked milestones in this neighborhood.

So…why did she only feel that quickening of excitement in her heart and a sense of pride and well-being when she passed through the gates of Sweetgrass? What was it about driving along the bumpy, rain-worn gravel roads under the heavy green of steepled trees that had her turning off the car’s
air-conditioning and opening her window, panting like old Blackjack at catching the scent of home?

Nan responded viscerally to Sweetgrass. It ran through her veins. Upon reaching the charming white house shaded by ancient oaks, her heart was at home. Whenever she left, she longed to return.

The gravel crunched as she circled the pond, and she was shocked to see Adele’s sleek Jaguar coming out from the drive. She pulled over to the grass to allow her aunt room to pass. Adele slowed to a stop beside her car and rolled down the window.

“What are you doing here?” Adele asked.

Nonplussed by the question, Nan stammered, “I—I’m visiting my father.”

“Of course,” Adele replied. “I just saw him. It’s so sad.” Then with a change in tone, “Listen, dear, when you talk to your mother, don’t encourage her in this fantasy of hers to hang on to this place. You’re not being kind if you do.” When Nan nodded, she smiled, pleased, and sang out, “Give my love to the boys. Tell them to come over and see the new boat. And have Hank give me a call. Bye, now,” she said with a quick wave of her hand. The window slowly rolled up.

Nan felt a building pressure in her chest as she watched her aunt’s car stir dust down the dirt road.
What are you doing here?
How could Adele ask that? She had every right to be here! Nan hated her own timidity for not firing back what she really felt. Like Morgan could. She thrilled at the memory of the battle lines drawn at the family dinner. She’d been so proud of her brother and her mother that day.

Hank and Aunt Adele had been furious. Nan knew that they viewed her visits to Sweetgrass as a defection.

The house was quiet when she entered. The doors to the dining room were closed, meaning her father was likely in a
therapy session. She smelled something good emanating from the kitchen, where Mama June no doubt was preparing dinner. To her right, she spied Morgan through the half-opened door of her father’s office, his head bent over stacks of papers on the desk. Behind him, file drawers were open and spilling their contents. She tiptoed to the foyer desk and tugged out a tissue from the box. Then, holding back a smile, she poked her head into the office, waving a white flag.

“I come in peace!”

The chair squeaked as he leaned back, grinning widely in welcome. “Come on in!”

Nan laughed and pushed open the door. “What happened here? Looks like a bomb hit.”

“Feels like it, too. Aunt Adele was here.”

“I know. I ran into her on the way in. I’m suffering from some shrapnel myself. What did she want?”

“To help.”

Nan’s eyes widened as she came closer to lean against the desk. “You’re kidding? Both she and Hank seemed dead set against helping you.”

“They still are. She knows our backs are up against the wall and figures if she helps us—how did she put it?—
get our ducks in a row,
we’d see right quick how we need to sell the place.” He reached out to sift through the papers on his desk in a resigned manner. “And she might be right. I have to hand it to her, she can really plow through. She could have taught General Sherman a thing or two. We must’ve put in four hours straight today. But there’s still more to go through.”

Nan’s attention shifted from the mess around the room to the half-empty bottle of bourbon on the desk beside a filled glass. She searched his face. He looked drawn with fatigue.

“Isn’t it a little early for a cocktail?”

His slips twisted in a wry smile. “I felt the need of a little libation after the March to the Sea.”

It was an innocuous enough excuse, except she’d noticed that whenever she came over in the afternoon, he had a drink poured while he was holed up in the office.

“Are you sleeping okay?”

He released a short laugh and reached for the glass. “Just fine.”

“No nightmares?”

Morgan sipped the bourbon and set the glass down, then mopped his face with his hands.

“Are they still about Hamlin?”

He dropped his hands and nodded.

Ever since their brother’s death, Morgan had suffered horrible nightmares. She remembered waking up, night after night, to his screams and the sound of Mama June running to his room.

“How often?” she asked gently.

“Not every night. But often enough. You know, the damn thing is, I haven’t had one in years. Then I come back home and wham! They’re back.”

“Morgan, have you ever talked to anyone about them? Like a doctor?”

He shook his head and waved her off. “They’re no big deal. I can live with them.”

“But you obviously can’t sleep with them. You look beat.”

“It’s not the nightmares, it’s the bills. Talk about a nightmare. Things are really messed up. Adele dug up debts I hadn’t even found yet. Money’s really tight.”

“Maybe you should sell. Hank doesn’t think there’s any other way.”

He held up his hand. “Please, not you, too.”

“Sorry. I don’t have a position on this. I just want Mama and Daddy to be happy.”

“Maybe you should take a position, sister.”

“Oh, no, you don’t! Don’t you rope me into this,” she said, shaking her head. “Hank is hard enough to live with, thank you very much. Frankly, he’s pretty upset with you right now for stalling on the sale.”