Hidden Deep (28 page)

I felt a twinge of conviction. “Well, he told me it’s a permanent choice, and if he makes a mistake he can’t take it back. He told me there’s a severe grieving process if a bonded couple is forced to part, and a lifelong mark, but…” My words dropped off into nothingness as it hit me. “That’s what happened to your hair, isn’t it? That’s the mark?”

Grandma Neena nodded and placed her hand firmly on my forearm. “Will you think about what I said about Lad? About what’s best for him?”

“Sure. Yeah, I will—” My text tone interrupted our conversation. I looked down and saw Nox’s name on the screen. I’d completely forgotten he was coming.

-I’m here.

“Shoot—Nox is waiting for me out in the car. I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.” I couldn’t bail on him—not after what he’d done for me at the store today. I got up and started for the door then turned back. “Oh. Grandma, can you still communicate like they do?”

“Honey, I sure don’t know about
that
. It’s been ages since I even tried.”

“Maybe we could try it together sometime. Lad seems to think
I
could do it if I practiced, but I don’t know. I mean, I’m not—” My mouth dropped open as it hit me like a thunderbolt. I was mostly human, of course, but if my grandmother was Elven… then
I
was—

“I guess I haven’t lost it completely, Ryann because I can tell exactly what you’re thinking right now. And yes, honey… you are.”

It was official—this was the longest week of my life. I thought about Lad, tried not to think of him, and thought about him some more. I couldn’t stop wondering if he’d be there on Friday afternoon, and whether I should show up or just let it end.

Right—like I wasn’t going to show up.

Emmy and I seemed to be okay. We’d called a truce—we wouldn’t discuss the fan pod situation, which meant I just worried silently. On Wednesday night, she threw one of her famous girls-only “Fat Pants” parties, where all the guests wore their most forgiving sweatpants and pigged out on chips and chocolate, cookies, and high octane soda, no diet drinks allowed.

It helped get my mind off things. By the end of the night I could hardly move but was deliriously happy and ready to resume eating sensibly for a couple of months until the next Fat Pants party. Of course, I went bearing all the sweet tea my girlfriends could drink. Everything was polished off without a hint of apology. There’s no such thing as a polite portion at a Fat Pants party.

I went for a run the next afternoon in a remorse-fueled effort to make up for some of the excess. Normally I hated running. Okay, I always hated running. It hurt. As a general rule, I avoided things that hurt. By the time I was red-faced and wheezing my way back down the driveway toward the house, I’d sworn off Fat Pants and anything else that might lead to masochistic exercise in the future.

There was a Harley parked near the front steps. I walked inside, and my father jumped up from the couch.

“Ryann Rabbit!” He came to me in long strides, sweeping me up in a hug. He’d grown a beard. It felt strange against my face. I hadn’t seen him since he’d hit the road six months ago to “discover himself” and write a book.

“Daddy—I thought you weren’t getting here until Saturday. Hey Grandma.”

She nodded to me as she entered the room from the kitchen and joined us.

“The weather was good, the ride was smooth, and I kept on driving through the night. I couldn’t wait to see my girl. Besides, I saved money by not getting a hotel room.” Super.
Now
he was fiscally prudent.

“Well, okay. Um, did you want to go somewhere?” It was weird to feel so awkward around my own father. But with all that had happened I felt almost like I didn’t know him anymore.

“I thought we’d go to Taylor Grocery for an early supper.”

“Oh. Well, let me grab a quick shower first.”

Grandma looked like she hoped I’d medal in Olympic speed-showering. I guessed she and Dad weren’t having a happy reunion.

“I think I’ll take a walk outside while I’m waiting.” Dad was already headed for the door as he said it. He must’ve picked up on Grandma Neena’s vibe and wasn’t anxious to spend any more quality time with his soon-to-be-former mother-in-law.

I met him twenty-five minutes later in the driveway and checked out the big black and silver Hog. “So you’re a biker dude now?”

“A little early birthday present to myself. Actually, with the cost of gas, I thought it would be more economical to drive than the car. I sold the Lexus and got this baby. I had a motorcycle when I was younger. I kind of always wanted another one.” Of course. A relic of lost youth recaptured. Check another one off the midlife crisis shopping list.

“Should be
fun
this winter. So, should we take Grandma’s car to Taylor? Mom’s still at work in hers.”

“No, let’s take this. You’ll love it.” He handed me his helmet to put on and straddled the huge bike. Oh well. He’d made it all the way from Miami on the thing alive. Taylor was only a fifteen minute ride away. How bad could it be?

Fifteen minutes later I had my answer. There was no future for me as a Harley Girl. Each minute had felt like an hour on the curvy country back roads. I’d clung to my father’s jacket and sent up a silent prayer each time we leaned into a turn. Dad, however, couldn’t have looked happier. He wore a huge grin as he climbed off the bike.

“Some ride, huh?”

“Yeah, some ride.” I could’ve kissed the red dirt under my feet.

Taylor, Mississippi made Deep River look like Metropolis. It was situated halfway between Deep River and Oxford. There were cotton fields, houses, more fields, and a tiny curve in the main road cradling a post office and Taylor Grocery, which contrary to its name, did not sell groceries.

At one time, of course, it had. It was built in 1889 as a dry goods store, and the condition of the exterior suggested that was about the last year any sort of building update had been done. A couple had bought it in the 1970’s and turned it into a catfish joint, and it had remained one ever since. In spite of, or maybe due to its unpolished appearance, Taylor Grocery was quite the happening spot, especially for the college crowd from nearby Ole Miss, aka the University of Mississippi in Oxford.

I tried to fluff my helmet hair as Dad and I walked toward the faded brick building where a rusted tin Coca Cola sign proclaimed,
Eat or We Both Starve
. I only trusted the sagging wooden porch to support us because it was already holding groups of decked-out college kids sitting on benches, laughing and smoking and drinking out of bottles wrapped in brown paper sacks. Taylor Grocery was BYOB, as long as you carried concealed.

As we approached, a guy wearing a striped tie and buck oxfords gave me a grin and a wink from under the disheveled hair falling over his forehead. Only an Ole Miss frat boy could manage to look that hedonistic in a sport coat and khakis. I stared at my feet and hurried up the steps.

Dad opened the squeaking screen door for me. We walked in to the tempting smells of spicy shrimp gumbo, hushpuppies, and frying catfish. In other parts of the country, catfish has kind of a dirty reputation. But Mississippians know the catfish you get in restaurants here have spent their entire lives in meticulously maintained pools on catfish farms, eating nothing but soybeans, corn, and wheat. Not a bad life when you think about it. Taylor Grocery served it blackened, grilled, or fried.

Dad and I ordered the breaded filets then sat and listened to two guys, who were both named Jeff, playing music in the corner while we waited. I watched one of the Jeff’s hands as he strummed his guitar, and my mind drifted to Lad then drifted further to the night at the club when I’d watched Nox play. Dad interrupted my reverie, leaning over the table and speaking louder than usual, thanks to an amp system too large for the small room.

“I said,” he repeated himself for me, “It’s good to be back home again.”

“Oh. Yeah, it’s been awhile since you’ve been here. Do you really still think of it as home?”

“That’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about tonight, Ryann.”
Oh no
.

“They held my position at Ole Miss—I’m considering coming back.”

“Daddy, you’re not planning to move back here to stalk Mom are you?”

“No. It’s mostly to see you. And you can’t stalk your own wife.”

“Yes, you definitely can. I saw it on Lifetime. Fair warning—it won’t do any good. She. Is. Done.” Mom had been doing so much better lately. I really didn’t want my father to come here and get her all messed up again.

He raised his eyebrows at me. “Well, I’ll keep your opinion in mind. But I have a meeting at the university tomorrow. And we’ll see about your mother. There are a lot of things you don’t know about our problems—and you shouldn’t. They’re for
us
to work out.”

“You
really
think that’s going to happen?” My tone expressed my extreme doubt.

He held my gaze for a minute then dropped his to the basket of bread that had just been delivered to our table. “I don’t know, Ryann. I hope so. There’s no one like her in the world. We’ve both made mistakes, but I still love her.”

Okay. So there was the possibility of a lot more Dad-time in my life soon. I wasn’t sure what to think of that. My mother would be less than thrilled. Whatever her
mistakes
were, they couldn’t have been equal to his affair. She definitely didn’t want anything to do with him, and she’d be pleased if I felt the same. It was hard for her to fathom why I’d want a relationship with him at all anymore.

But I
had
been feeling the need lately for
some
sort of relationship with my dad—maybe it was disloyal—I didn’t know. The thing was, I was only going to get one father in this life. Maybe an imperfect, somewhat disappointing one was better than no father at all.

Besides, being angry at him all the time only made me feel worse. I wasn’t interested in his side of the story yet—the wounds were still too raw to accept any kind of excuses, but I could probably handle a little more time with him here and there.

Our fish platters arrived, steaming and fragrant, and we gave them our full attention, punctuated by only the most casual conversation for the rest of the evening. It was a start.

We reached the log house after dark. Mom’s car was in the driveway, and seeing the shape of her head silhouetted in the kitchen window made me nervous, like I was cheating on her or something. She was going to flip about the motorcycle thing, too.

“So where are you staying tonight?” I asked.

“I got a room in Oxford for a few days. I have my meeting on campus in the morning, but I’d like to see you again tomorrow afternoon.”

After almost a week of forced deprivation, I was supposed to finally see Lad the next day after work. I didn’t think I could wait a minute longer.

“Sorry, but I have some plans I can’t cancel. How about breakfast Saturday?”

“Okay then. See you Saturday. Sleep tight. Don’t let the Heffalumps bite.” Our inside joke from my early childhood days. He chuckled and leaned over to kiss my cheek. Scratchy. I just couldn’t get used to the beard.

“Night, Dad.”

His bike roared up the drive and out of sight. My father. On a Harley. Okey Dokey. Mom and Grandma Neena looked at me expectantly when I walked into the kitchen.

“How’s your father?” Mom made an admirable attempt at keeping her face pleasant.

“He’s good.” My voice up-ticked on the last syllable, sounding weird. “He seems fine. He has a meeting at Ole Miss tomorrow about his old job.”

Bye-bye, pleasant face. “Wonderful. That’s all I need—just when I’m starting to find a little bit of peace for myself.”

“He said he wasn’t going to bother you. He wants to move back here so he can see me more,” I explained. For the life of me, it sounded like I was trying to defend him. Which I wasn’t. I figured I’d better throw in a disparaging remark for balance. “But you know
him
. Who knows what he’s up to.”

It seemed to placate her. Now that she sensed
I
was bothered, Mom was all about comforting
me
. “Well, Ryann, I wouldn’t worry about it. He probably won’t even follow through on it. It’s probably another whim he’s tossing around. Next thing you know, he’ll be calling from California.”

The following day moved torturously slow, thanks to the anticipation of seeing Lad and my nervousness about introducing him to Mom and Grandma Neena. I was still hoping to persuade him against it, but if he insisted on meeting them, he’d need something to wear. Of course, I didn’t know Lad’s sizes.

He was almost as big as Nox, so I finally used that number he’d given me and texted him.

-Hi. What size do you wear?

-Large shirt. Size 34 jeans, extra-long. Pretty much Large everything. Why?

Poor guy. He probably thought I was planning to get us matching outfits now that we were all buddy-buddy again.

-Just curious. What about shoes?

-Thirteen—you know what they say about guys with big feet.

-Yep. Big feet, big EGO.

-Like I said—Large everything.

I drove Grandma’s car to the Hook ‘N’ Bullet, right off the Route Seven bypass. In addition to hunting and fishing gear, the store carried a small selection of practical work clothes. Feeling conspicuous browsing the men’s Wranglers and shirts, I finally settled on a John Deere t-shirt and a dark blue pair of jeans. Hardly fashion-forward, but not outside the norm for guys in this area. I skipped getting shoes because I still wasn’t sure about Lad’s size and I couldn’t imagine how to tell him I’d estimated based on the size of some other guy’s feet. I hoped he’d think to bring some.