Sweetgrass (27 page)

Hank drew himself up, appearing wounded. “By that I assume you mean he knows more than me?”

“No,” she replied, weary of the argument. “I mean there’s a difference of opinion.”

“Including your own, apparently.” He looked at her with reproach. “It would have been polite to make your presence known instead of eavesdropping.”

“Oh, cut it out, Hank.” She was tired and had had enough of his false injury and superior tone. “This is my house and I can walk anywhere I want to in it. Not to mention, I’m not the one sneaking around,” she added ominously. “If you and Adele are having secret meetings about my family, then you can have them outside our home.”

“
My
home.”

She skipped a beat. “I beg your pardon?”

He smiled urbanely, but it was cruel. “A brief lesson in business, my dear. Get your name on the deed.”

Her mind stumbled over the implications. “What are you saying?”

“I’m simply stating a fact. This house is in my name.”

“That was just a formality,” she blurted out. “We talked about that. I was home with a newborn baby.” She paused, registering what was being said. “The house was bought with my money,” she reminded him.

“Nonetheless…”

She felt suddenly cold and wrapped her arms around her, blinking with agitation.

“Are you threatening me?”

“No, no, of course not!” He leaned closer, resting his weight against his hands on the mattress. “Honey, I love you.
I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. I must be more tired than I thought after going a few rounds with Adele. You know I don’t mean it. I’m just trying to point out to you that sometimes women don’t make the best business decisions.”

She pushed back from his arms, physically repelled by his argument, unsure of what to say next. She’d heard this kind of statement all of her life, from her father and husband both. She wondered how many women had.

She drew a long breath, the weariness of the day weighing her down.

Hank frowned, and with an air of resignation, he straightened back from the mattress and placed his hands on his hips, studying her.

“So, that’s how it is,” he said with a tone of finality.

“Yes,” she replied. “That’s how it is.”

She saw disappointment, then hurt, flicker in his eyes.

“Hank, let’s not argue any more about this. It doesn’t concern us.”

“It doesn’t concern us?” he exploded. “You know how hard I’ve worked on this. Nan, we need this deal to go through. I need it. Come on, honey, it’s a good offer! And I’d be in line to manage the new development. We stand to make a big difference in our lifestyle. You’re always talking about the past. About your heritage. Think about the future! Think what this will mean to our sons.”

“I am thinking about my sons!” she exclaimed, her voice rising to match his. “And my family. The Blakely family. You’ve made it abundantly clear you want no part of them. But you’re more than willing to make a profit off them.” She regretted the words the moment she spat them out, but could not take them back.

He appeared blindsided. “Not for me. For
us.
”

She looked at her hands, torn by the emotion in his voice.

He reached out to touch her arm. “Nan…”

She shrank back from his hand. After an awkward silence, she said, “Even so.”

He took a breath and straightened, increasing the distance.

Nan could think clearly now and found her voice. “For years you’ve belittled my family in front of our sons. In front of me. I didn’t say anything, knowing how things were between you and Daddy. I was embarrassed for the treatment we both received. But, Hank, we have to see both sides. We did sell the land my father entrusted to me and it crushed him. My sons are the last in the Blakely line, yet we didn’t give them a Blakely name. That hurt my father, you know it did. It’s been tit for tat over the years and I want it to stop.

“Don’t you see? Sweetgrass isn’t just real estate. You can’t measure its worth in dollars and cents. It’s our home. It’s who we are. It’s where we’re from. I’m afraid of what will happen to us if we lose it. That’s what’s at stake here, don’t you see? That’s what I want for my sons.”

He looked at her long and hard, and she felt he’d really listened to her for the first time. She felt the stirrings of hope.

“I feel you’ve turned against me in this,” he said.

Defeat washed over her. He’d offered opposition when she’d hoped for support. A profound sadness seeped into her bones, softening them, slumping her shoulders.

“Oh, Hank,” she said wearily, “I’m not turning against anyone.”

“Then support
me.
”

There it was. The gauntlet was thrown on the ground between them. She knew they were talking about much more than the Sweetgrass deal. This was about him making all the decisions and her following them. This was about her continuing to give up her identity to absorb more of his. Rather than him supporting her during this stressful time, she was
being asked to support him, regardless of her needs, or her desires, or even her happiness.

She looked up at him and held his gaze, loving him, yet at the same time feeling her backbone stiffen.

“I can’t,” she replied softly. Then, with more conviction, “I won’t.”

THE GRAVEL CRUNCHED
as Nan circled the pond, then came to a stop in front of Mama June’s house. Cutting the engine, she sat in the deep country silence. She wiped her eyes and leaned over to check her reflection in the rearview mirror. At least no one could tell she’d been crying. She glanced at her suitcase in the back seat.

Nan entered the house smiling. “Hi y’all, I’m home,” she called out.

Blackjack immediately came trotting out from Preston’s room, his hips wagging as hard as his tail, whining with excitement. She might only be gone for a day, but each time she returned, Blackjack cried as if she’d been gone for months.

“Take it easy, ol’ boy,” she crooned, stroking his black-and-gray head, which was pressed against her thigh. His muzzle was almost entirely gray now, she noted with a twinge of regret.

The dog was at her heels as she went first to her father. She thought his color looked better, and she was glad to see him sitting up in his wheelchair by the window. He’d lost so much weight that she still couldn’t reconcile this frail man with the robust and ruddy father she’d grown up with. But his blue eyes shone when he saw her coming, and he reached his left arm out in a clumsy move toward her.

“Hey, handsome!” she exclaimed, leaning over to place a noisy kiss on his cheek. “Don’t you look fit today? An ironed shirt, too! Mama June’s got you all decked out for Sunday dinner.”

She sniffed the air. “Something smells good, too. They’re cooking up a storm. Lord, I’m so hungry I could eat a house. And you know what I brought?” Her eyes sparkled as she pulled out a package wrapped in brown waxed paper. “Some shrimp straight off the boat. I stopped at Shem Creek specially. And Vidalia onions! Your favorite. I’ve got a bunch of goodies to carry in from the car. I’ll bring it on into the kitchen, then come back and visit, okay?”

Her spirits lifted. It felt so good to be able to walk into the house and hug her daddy again, freely and without reserve. The past weeks of helping her father with the simple tasks of daily living—eating, dressing, communicating—had reversed the role of parent and child. Disconcerting as it may have been at first, in time she’d come to feel his gratitude. And his love. A pat of his hand, the lighting up of his eyes when she entered the room—these gentle gestures, rather than grand ones, had served to stanch old wounds and help repair the bond between father and daughter.

Her arms were loaded with a box chock-full of fresh strawberries she’d picked up from the strawberry patch down the road. As she passed Preston’s room into the kitchen, she
hoped he’d be able to enjoy the meal. He’d been having difficulty lately with his swallowing.

“Look what I’ve brought!” she called out as she entered the kitchen. She stopped short at the door.

There were dozens of empty strawberry cartons stacked on the counters and the kitchen was redolent with their sweet scent. Nona and Mama June were both wearing aprons and stirring big pots at the stove. They looked up in unison when she walked in.

“Oh, brother. Talk about coals to Newcastle,” Nan said, lifting her berries up with a laugh.

“We can never have too many berries,” Mama June exclaimed with a light chuckle. “The more the merrier. Bring them on over to the sink and we’ll wash them.”

“We’re gettin’ up a head of steam now. Been putting up berries for days,” Nona added. “These are the last of them. We can use your fresh berries for the ice cream.”

“Just be sure to take some jam home with you tonight,” Mama June added.

“I surely will.”

“I hope you remembered to bring the shrimp.”

“The shrimp?” Nan’s face froze.

Mama June’s head snapped up, her eyes blazing. “Don’t even tell me…”

Nan laughed and hoisted the brown bag as evidence.

“You!” Mama June scolded, her cheeks coloring as she laughed. “You’re worse than your boys, the way you act up.”

Nan was buoyed by the banter. She carried the shrimp and berries to the sink, looking around for a spare inch of space. The table was covered with jars of cooling jam. Every few minutes she’d hear the cheery pop of a lid. Hearing the sound and seeing Nona and Mama June in aprons at the stove together brought to mind when she was little and the kitchen
was her favorite place. She used to sit at the table like a cat and watch for the sucking in of the lid, laughing each time she heard the popping noise.

“The table is full up. Where are we eating tonight?” she asked.

“It’s such a nice afternoon, I thought we’d eat out on the porch,” Mama June replied. “We’ve already started setting up, but you might could see what we forgot. Morgan’s out there churning the ice cream.”

“Morgan? This I’ve got to see.”

The porch was swept and a light breeze fluttered the corners of the pale pink tablecloth. Glass vases of gerbera daisies in brilliant shades of pink, small votive candles and stainless tableware anchored the fabric to the table. Soon enough, Mama June and Nona would carry out bowls of food, filling every available inch of space.

“Hey, sister,” Morgan called out, a little breathless from the effort of hand-churning the ice cream. “What are you smiling about?”

“Hi, Morgan,” she replied easily. “I was just thinking how, even when the table is casual, Mama June manages to make it festive.”

“That’s our mother.”

Mama June came out, wiping her hands on her apron. “What about your mother?”

Nan’s eyes softened at the sight of her. In all these years, her mother had changed surprisingly little. Despite her nagging Mama June to update her hair, her clothes, her shoes, there was something classic, even comforting, about seeing the timeless quality of her beauty. Her clothes were understated yet of enduring quality. Her face was smooth, lines crossing only at the brow and at the corners of her remarkable eyes. Mama June’s white hair was neatly wound in the
same style she’d worn for years. But tonight there was something else. Nan saw a new happiness glowing in her eyes.

“I was just complimenting your table.”

“Why, thank you, Nan. I try.”

“Honestly, Mama, I’m just going to give up trying. For years I’ve tried to keep up the tradition of family dinner at home, but it’s just so hard. The boys groan when I try to make them.”

“Can you blame them?” quipped Morgan.

“I’m serious,” she replied to her brother with a mock scowl. “And these days, who has time to polish the silver or hand-wash the good china? How do you do it, Mama?”

“You forget I stopped,” she replied wryly.

Nan remembered those sad days in a rush. The Sunday dinners had ceased suddenly and Mama hadn’t come down from her room for the longest time. The whole household, which had been full of laughter, became as silent as a tomb. Her recollections must have shown on her face for her mother drew closer and wrapped an arm around her.

“You just wait till your boys are older and move out. You’ll have lots more time on your hands then. And when the blessed day comes that you’re a grandmother—” she squeezed Nan’s shoulders “—
then
you’ll have both time and the desire to fuss over such details, enjoying each one of them. Pack up your crystal and save your china for later, darlin’. Use paper plates if you have to. What’s most important is bringing the family together. Family is everything.”

Nan nodded, but the wobbly smile alerted Mama June that something was amiss. Her daughter’s emotions were running too strong tonight. The cheeriness was a little too sunny, her voice a tad too high-pitched.

“Nan, is anything wrong?”

“No.” Her lower lip trembled as she ventured a lopsided smile.

“I can see that. Come sit for a spell,” she said, guiding Nan to a chair. She glanced questioningly at Morgan. He raised his shoulders in a confused shrug. They moved to the white wood rocking chairs in the corner and settled in. Nan looked at her hands.

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing,” Nan said. “I’m just overtired.”

Mama June recognized the lie. “That’s not true,” she said gently.

Nan looked up. “This is my business, Mama.”

Mama June looked at her daughter’s rigid expression, even as her lips quaked with emotion. Nan had never been good at hiding her emotions. Unlike her brothers who excelled at the poker face, Nan was more like her and could no more hide her joy than her sadness. Her spontaneity was one of Nan’s most endearing qualities. It made her a delightful hostess, a thoughtful friend and a zealous volunteer. But Lord, she could be stubborn, too. What standoffs they’d had while Nan was growing up, especially in the teen years!
That
quality Mama June thought she’d inherited from her father.

Mama June leaned back against the rocker. “It is your business, true enough,” she replied. She tried another approach. “When will the boys be here?”

“They’re not coming.”

“No? I’m sorry to hear that. Hank, too?”

“He can’t make it. It’s just me.”

“Are they ill?”

Her brow furrowed deeper. “I told the boys not to come.”

Mama June stopped rocking and looked at Nan to explain.

“Mama, I’m fed up with their bellyaching about Sunday dinner. All they do is complain and whine till I can’t stand it anymore. I’ve raised them to respect their elders, even if Daddy isn’t easy to be around for them right now. Everything
in life isn’t fun, they might as well learn that right now.” She frowned with sadness. “I…I let them know I was disappointed in them. What I really said was that they shouldn’t come unless they wanted to. They’re too old to force and I’m too old to keep yammering at them. They are who they are. It’s their decision.” She sighed and shook her head with defeat. “I wouldn’t set places for them.”

“Aw, hell, they’re teenage boys,” Morgan said in their defense. “They’re being led by a different organ than their brain. The last thing they want to do is hang around a bunch of old farts on a porch every Sunday night. Trust me, they’ve other plans.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Nan fired back. “They don’t have respect for the family, for their grandparents, for tradition—and certainly not for me. You should hear them talk back! I never would have dared say those things to Mama June or Daddy. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong.”

“Where’s their father?” Mama June asked with pique. “Seems to me he should have a strong hand in rearing those boys.”

“Hank…” Nan said with a dismissive shake of the head. “He’s a workaholic, and when he is around, he spoils them, trying to make up for having been gone so much. He buys them anything they want—a car, a boat, Xbox. He’s the nice parent. The pal. I’m the mean parent. I do the day-to-day duty. I try to discipline them. But if they don’t want to do what I tell them, Hank tells me to let up on them. He gives them that ‘you know, she’s a girl’ roll-of-the-eye thing. The boys eat it up.”

“But in the end, you back down,” Morgan said.

Her eyes widened as she stared back at him.

The statement was not said with a cruel spirit. Mama June thought it summed things up honestly.

“It’s three against one,” Nan said in her defense.

Morgan shrugged again and lifted his palms.

There was an awkward silence as Nan stared down at her hands. A fat tear fell from her eyes and she nodded. “I back down,” she conceded.

Mama June reached into her apron pocket, pulled out a tissue and handed it to Nan. She tapped at her eyes and sniffed.

Morgan set aside the ice cream churner and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, Nan, you’re a good mother, and I have to hand it to you, you laid down the law this time. Harry and Chas are good kids. They stay out of trouble, they’re not on drugs, they’re doing okay in school.” His lips twitched. “And they know which fork to use. I know. I’ve watched.”

Nan sniffled and laughed, grateful for the backhanded compliment.

“It doesn’t give them permission to be rude,” Mama June countered.

“That’s right,” Nan agreed. “Mama June never took back talk from you or Hamlin.”

Mama June laughed lightly. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

Morgan shook his head. “No, Nan’s right. That’s what I was getting at. There are limits. You and Daddy drew clear lines not to cross, and if we did, we got knuckled. Especially Daddy.” His face darkened. “He drew his lines too strong, if you want to know the truth. He was a pain in the…” He caught himself and glanced at his mother. She was giving him a warning look. “He could really go off the deep end.”

“Especially with Hamlin,” added Nan.

Morgan swung his head up to glare at her. “Especially with Ham?” he exclaimed. “What, are you kidding? What house did you grow up in? He rode my tail like a hurricane. Nothing I did was ever right. Hamlin was the golden son.”

Nan opened her mouth to argue, but Mama June raised her palm.

“Stop it, both of you,” she said. She couldn’t bear to hear Hamlin’s name being brought up like this, as if he were still alive. With a lower voice she said, “We loved you all the same. Treated you all the same.”

Morgan snorted, slumped back in his chair and crossed his arms, drawing Mama June’s attention.

In contrast, Nan leaned forward to wrap her arms around her mother. As a woman, she knew instinctively that Mama June felt a sudden pang of longing for her dead son.

“Let’s not make an issue of it. We know you did,” Nan said. Pulling back, she added quietly, “And I love my boys equally, too. I love them both too much, that’s my problem.”

Mama June’s smile was bittersweet. “What is it about sons?”

They heard a rumble of gravel in the driveway getting louder and closer. Then came Blackjack’s rousing alert bark. Morgan crossed the porch and leaned forward over the railing, peering out at the front driveway. When he turned back, he had a crooked grin on his face.

“I’m glad you love them so much,” he said, “because the two rascals just showed up.”

The local shrimp was peeled and boiled in Old Bay spice. Red potatoes and bright green beans were slathered together in vinegar and oil and set beside a wooden bowl of freshly picked green salad. A plate of ripe tomatoes and Vidalia onions, homemade pickles, crusty bread, a cream cake and a pitcher of sweet tea that had been cooling on the porch all afternoon and was ready to be poured over ice rounded out the meal. The pièce de résistance of the night, however, would be the homemade ice cream served with fresh berries.