Gone South (18 page)

Maybe George was right, Tish thought. She was hypersensitive. Imagining things. The name on the credit card hadn’t really flummoxed the checker at Target.

Tish rolled her shoulders to rid them of tension. The ride back to Noble would be relaxing if she would take time to enjoy the rolling landscape and the piney woods. Northern Alabama in winter was almost as green as Michigan in the spring. The morning chill still hadn’t burned off, though.

She glanced over at Mel, dressed more appropriately for the weather now. Before they’d pulled out of the Target lot, she’d put on a pair of her new socks. She’d practically cooed over them.

Now she’d opened the bag of trail mix. One handful after another, she sorted it out in her palm, eating it in the same order every time. Nuts first, then raisins, then sunflower seeds, and finally the M&M’s, saving the red ones for last. It would have been funny except she was so reverent, as if she were performing a religious ritual.

At the checkout, Mel had been like a little girl at Christmas, her eyes shining but timid. Afraid to believe all those special presents were really hers. But really, it was nothing special. Just toothpaste and socks and cheap clothes. The look she’d given the employee at the register, though … that was decidedly not like a sweet little girl.

“The checker at Target was somebody you went to school with?” Tish asked.

“Yeah. Nobody important.”

“Everybody’s important to somebody.”

“Especially if you’re Amanda La-Di-Da Proudfit,” Mel said in a perfect imitation of the girl’s prissy, infantile voice. “She’s so special. She’s a cheerleader and an honor student and a teacher’s pet.”

“Sounds like you two have some history, and it’s not especially pleasant.”

“It’s nothing personal.” Mel sounded like herself again. “She was one of the people who decided who got to be popular and who didn’t, starting in first grade. And I didn’t.”

“I didn’t either.”

“You know what I’m talking about, then.” Mel reached for the bag of trail mix again.

“Take it easy, there. Don’t make yourself sick.”

“Sorry.” Mel closed the bag in a hurry.

“No, I didn’t tell you to stop. Just slow down a little.”

Mel shook her head and dropped the package into the shopping bag where she’d found it. “I’d better save some for you.”

“I don’t really like trail mix myself, but I thought you could use the extra calories.”

“You bought it for me? To fatten me up? Wow, thanks. Thanks for everything. The clothes, the shampoo and stuff. You’re too nice.”

“I can’t spend this much money every week, but I think we both needed a jump-start on groceries and essentials.”

Tish frowned, hoping she had a job waiting. She’d check in with Farris soon, to make sure he’d received her letter and résumé. He didn’t seem like the type to believe wild stories about a woman’s ancestors. Or even if he believed them, surely he wouldn’t hold them against her.

Mel straightened and pointed ahead. “Hey, see that street sign up there? Rock Glen Drive? Can you turn off there?”

Tish took her foot off the gas. “What for?”

“That’s where my folks live. I just … I just want to drive by.”

“Sure, we can do that.” Tish signaled for the turn. “Is this the house where you grew up?”

“Yeah. My brother grew up in a little house closer to town, but they built this one later when they had more money.”

“That’s amazing. A family that lived in only two different houses, all those years. When I was a kid, we moved so many times I can’t keep it all straight in my head.”

“How come?”

“Nothing too terrible. It’s just that my dad was always chasing the American dream. He never quite caught it.”

Mel let out a quiet snort. “My dad thinks he caught it, but I think it caught him.”

She’d forgotten to say ex-dad, for once.

Making the turn, Tish was already impressed. The homes were spaced far apart and set a substantial distance from the road. Long driveways curved between pines, hardwoods, and carefully planned landscaping. Some of the driveways were gated, but the gates stood open as if to say the residents were prepared to be friendly or defensive, as necessary. These weren’t cookie-cutter homes. They displayed individuality, good taste, and prosperity. Maybe the homeowners made a living in the hustle and bustle of Muldro but preferred to
do
their living in the more rural atmosphere on the outskirts of Noble.

It didn’t seem like Mel’s kind of neighborhood. Pondering that, Tish cast a sidelong glance at her passenger.

“It’ll be awesome to drive by in a car they won’t recognize,” Mel said with a grin. “Totally awesome.”

That was it. Twenty years old, she had the vocabulary of a twelve-year-old. She didn’t sound well-read. That was true of a lot of young adults, though, and she’d already admitted she wasn’t much of a reader.

Tish slowed for a speed bump. “I hate speed bumps.”

“Me too, but my dad hates ’em worse. Ex-dad, I mean. He got into a big argument with one of the neighbors. He’s this old banker dude who runs every morning when it’s still dark out. I guess he nearly got run over a couple of times, so he started a petition to add the speed bumps.”

Tish’s mind spun in circles. A banker with an athletic build … “Do you know the banker’s name?”

“Yeah. Farris. He’s nice, but he and my ex-dad can’t stand each other.”

“Please stop calling him your ex-dad. It’s disrespectful.”

“Yeah, because I don’t respect him.”

Tish shook her head, wondering what kind of man he was. If a personable businessman like Farris didn’t like him, maybe the man simply wasn’t likable.

Mel pointed again. “It’s up there on the right. The last house before the side street. Slow down a little so we can get a better look.”

“What are we looking for, exactly?”

“I wonder what they’re up to. That’s all.”

Tish checked her mirror. Nobody was behind her, so she slowed to a crawl.

It was a sprawling, one-story brick home with a large porch. Four white rocking chairs sat there, two on each side of the door. A wooden privacy fence enclosed the backyard. The house had a two-car attached garage and a separate two-car garage off to the side.

“Nice setup,” Tish said. “A man can never have too much garage space.”

“He added the second garage when I was about ten. To make room for his toys. His boat, his Jet Skis, stuff like that.”

“Beautiful landscaping,” Tish said, turning onto the side street. “I wish I could see the backyard too, but that’s a pretty effective privacy fence.”

“Yeah, they’re really good at keeping people out. See the tree that hangs over the fence? That’s how I always used to sneak in if I was locked out.”

“Were they in the habit of locking you out?”

“It got to be that way.” Mel leaned toward her window. “I didn’t learn much in high school, but there’s one poem I remember. Our teacher read part of it out loud, and we were supposed to read the rest ourselves, but I never did. I guess it’s about an old hired hand who comes back—”

“Robert Frost?”

“Yeah, that’s him. The dude who wrote it, I mean. There’s this line that goes, ‘Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in,’ but for me it’s more like ‘Home is the place where, if they won’t take you in, you know it’s not home anymore.’ ”

“Aw, Mel, I wish I could help you get past feeling that way. I’d love to see you reconnect with your folks. I think it’ll work out if you’ll just give it another chance.”

“I’m not the one who won’t give it another chance,” Mel said.

Tish wanted to pin her down, but it didn’t seem like the right time.

“When I was a little, I had a Shetland pony in the field behind the house,” Mel said, pointing. “His name was Buddy.”

Tish smiled at the evidence that Mel’s parents had given her something that most little girls could only dream of. “That must have been fun.” She proceeded to a home farther down the road and made a careful T-turn at the driveway. “You said your dad sells cars for a living?”

“Yeah, he owns a dealership in Muldro. Makes big bucks.” Mel made a face.

As Tish drove down Rock Glen toward the main road, a big silver SUV came from the other direction. Mel whipped around to follow it out of sight.

“Aw, geez, that was my brother. He’s pulling into the driveway. They kicked me out, but they’re letting him stay while he’s getting his house remodeled. That’s so unfair.”

“Patience,” Tish said. “Things might still turn around.”

Mel only shook her head. She was silent all the way home. She helped unload the car, but then she shut herself in the guest room.

Tish left her alone and unpacked groceries, praying for Mel the whole time.

At her bedroom window, Tish stood entranced by a cloud of golden diamonds glittering at the back of the lot. They winked and trembled in constant motion. They were only the garage lights, seen through windblown trees and shrubbery, but it was a magical sight from a distance.

She kept catching snatches of laughter and music. It was like eavesdropping on a party. She was invited, though. George had said she was welcome anytime. After all, it was her garage.

He and his uncle had arrived, driving separately, when she and Mel were finishing their supper. Mel wolfed down her last few bites and searched for her hoodie, but Tish stayed at the table, saying two men intent on fixing a car wouldn’t want female interference. That was probably true, but the deeper truth was that she needed some time to herself. Mel had all the emotional maturity of a thirteen-year-old, and her presence was draining.

Speaking of maturity … Tish wrinkled up her nose and faced the real problem: although she and George had apologized to each other, they still had their differences. She didn’t look forward to their next conversation, but if half the town despised her for being a McComb, she’d better take good care of the few semifriendly relationships that she had.

Tish pulled on a sweater, sailed down the wooden stairway she loved more and more each day, and went out through the back door. By moonlight, she
navigated through the dense plantings without running into anything. A bluesy guitar solo grew louder as she approached the last barrier, a thick hedge of camellias so tall they were practically trees.

She rounded the hedge and stopped. The cloud of diamonds had vanished. Ordinary light spilled from the opened door on the right of the garage, and music poured out of an ancient boom box on the floor.

George stood in the wide doorway, wearing a bulky jacket and taking pictures of his big black car with a tiny camera. Mel and Calv stood farther inside, poring over a magazine. Daisy’s leash dangled from Mel’s other hand, and the dog snoozed at her feet.

“Hello,” Tish said.

George turned toward her with a cautious smile. “Hey there. How’s everything going?”

She smiled too, equally cautious. “Pretty well. No new conspiracy theories.”

He laughed softly. “That’s good news.”

Once she’d stepped out of the nippy wind, the temp in the garage wasn’t bad. “How’s it going for you?”

“We’re not trying to accomplish anything tonight,” he said. “Just having fun. Celebrating.”

“That explains why it sounds like a party from the house.”

Calv chuckled and turned a page of the magazine. “It’s a party, all right.”

George snapped a picture of Calv and Mel. “Tell you what,” George said. “When I finish the work on the car, I’ll throw a real party.”

Calv lowered his half of the magazine—no, it was an automotive parts catalog. “Listen carefully, Zorbas. You ain’t never gonna finish. If you want a finished car, go see Miss Mel’s daddy and buy a brand-new one right off his showroom floor.”

So, Mel really was who she claimed to be.

Mel let go of the catalog. Its pages fluttered as Calv grabbed her half of it. “No, you’d better not do that. Never trust a car salesman, especially if he’s named Dunc Hamilton. And by the way, he’s not my daddy anymore.”

“Sure he is,” George said in a mild tone.

She jammed her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. “He’s not. Ask him sometime.”

“Is Stu still your brother?”

“I doubt it. He’s his daddy’s boy.” Mel handed the leash to Calv. “And don’t anybody argue with me. I know what I’m talking about. He told me not to go to his house, ever—” She brushed past Tish, broke into a run, and disappeared in the darkness.

George tucked the camera into a little black case and shook his head. “That’s one crazy, mixed-up kid.”

“Yep.” Calv transferred the leash to George without waking the dog. “Looks like the party’s breaking up. I’ll mosey on home and look up the particulars on the wiring harness and all. See ya later, George. Good night, Miss McComb.”

“Please, call me Tish. Or Letitia. I don’t care anymore. Good night.”

“All right, then. Good night, Tish.” Calv walked away, catalog in hand. The lights reflected off the slick paper, then the darkness swallowed him too.

“See?” she said. “A McComb shows up, and the place empties.”

George flashed her a quick smile. “There’s that conspiracy theory again,” he said. “No, Calv was itching for an excuse to leave. He’s addicted to reality TV, and his favorite show comes on at eight.”