Maggie Sweet (17 page)

Staying at the Yadkin was not going to work. I’d only left home for a half hour, and Steven had already been
down here, all because certain people couldn’t mind their own business.

In an hour half the town would be parading through the parking lot, knocking on my door, offering advice, taking sides between Steven and me.

I thought about Mother and Mama Dean. Steven was right. They’d be down here any minute. And Dreama Nims. Why, she’d get off her deathbed to witness my disgrace.

I picked up my purse, left a message on Mary Price’s message machine, and drove to the only place in this world I could go.

I hadn’t
been on I-40 fifteen minutes when I knew I’d made the biggest mistake of my life. It had all happened so fast. One minute I’d been standing on the side of a hill and the next minute I was rolling down the hill, going too fast to know where or when I’d stop. I’d left my family. What if Jerry never came back? What if I’d left my family only to live on the streets like a bag lady? I wasn’t sure if I had a job; I didn’t have a place to live. I’d disgraced everyone—ruined my life.

Now I was speeding down the interstate to Daddy’s and didn’t even know what I’d say when I got there. When I passed the Chapel Hill city limits sign, I decided to tell Daddy and Willa Mae that I’d just stopped by for a visit. Later I’d break it to them that I’d left Steven.

But by the time I got to Daddy’s, I was in such a state that I threw myself into his arms and wailed, “Oh, Daddy, I’ve gone and left home.”

And Daddy said, “Now, sugar. It’ll be all right. Everything’s gonna be all right,” just as calm as if me showing up in the middle of the night, dressed in a pink Curl & Swirl smock was the most normal thing in the world.

Later when I settled down, Willa Mae loaned me a nightgown and I crawled into bed in my old room.

I was almost asleep when I overheard Daddy talking on the phone.

“Well, Steven, I just thought I’d let you know she’s safe. Now there’s no sense carrying on so. You knew how it was when you married her. It’s in her blood. Why, her Mama Dean Pruitt run her granddaddy off and her mama run me off, too. I guess it’s a pure wonder Maggie stuck around as long as she did, bless her heart. The thing is, Steven, she just couldn’t help herself.”

I sat up straight in the bed. No wonder Daddy wasn’t surprised to see me. He’d been expecting me for nineteen years.

I sat there in the dark, listening to Daddy explain women to Steven—especially Pruitt women. Women were treacherous. That’s just how they were. It went along with the xx female chromosomes and couldn’t be helped any more than flat feet or color blindness. ’Course me having Pruitt blood in my veins made me doubly treacherous. Why, according to Daddy, Steven ought to thank his lucky stars that I wasn’t all Pruitt. If I’d been
pure
raging Pruitt and not watered down with Daddy’s forgiving, reasonable Sweet blood, Steven wouldn’t be sleeping safely in his bed tonight. A pure Pruitt woman would have run
him
off.

Before he hung up, Daddy said, “’Course I won’t be listening to nothing bad about my girl, nor have you bothering her, either one. If she said divorce, well, that’s it. It’s been good talking to you too, Steven. Uh-huh. Good-bye.”

It was the oddest thing, lying in bed in the guest room, hearing Daddy explain me that way. I probably should have felt insulted but that was exactly why I’d come here. Steven would never follow me here. Daddy’s odd, stubborn logic had always confused and infuriated him.

But mostly I’d come here because no matter what happened, I knew that Daddy loved me warts and all.

Sunday
morning after breakfast I walked down to the creek behind Daddy’s property. The sky was a cloudless blue, the color of prewashed jeans. I sat on a rock and stared into the creek, thinking back to that long-ago summer when I came here to smoke on the sly and brood about Jerry.

Nothing had changed. Here I was twenty years later, doing the same thing—smoking on the sly and brooding about Jerry. Was I in some kind of time warp? Or was it one of those universal things Shirley talked about—coming full circle?

I reached in my pocket and pulled out a cigarette and a piece of paper fluttered to the ground.

Jerry’s poem. I took a deep breath, unfolded the paper and read it, lingering over the words “he finds his soul /where he left it / with the girl at Belews Pond. Always remember. I loved you then. I love you now. I’ll ALWAYS love you.”

I sat there awhile and let the tears fall. Then I wiped them with the backs of my hands, took a deep breath, and headed back toward the house.

As I walked over the rise, I saw Jerry’s pickup in the driveway.

He was at the table drinking Daddy’s thick, strong coffee. I’d never been so glad to see anyone in my life. Then he was whirling me around, lifting me off my feet and shouting, “We did it! We did it! I can’t believe we did it!”

“Lord, Jerry! I can’t believe you’re here,” I said, holding on tight.

“I got home last night and didn’t know how to reach you. So I went down to the Palomino. Mary Price said she’d call you and call me back. She didn’t call till three
A.M
.—the minute she got home. She’d heard your phone message that you’d left Steven. Lord, honey, it was all I could do not to drive here then and there. I just didn’t know how your dad would take it.”

“He come here half an hour ago to ask for your hand. I was just asking him about his prospects,” Daddy said.

“His prospects? Lord, Daddy!” I said.

“Now, Maggie, this is between us menfolk,” Daddy said.

“It is not. It’s between Jerry and me.”

“Well, now, there you go, Jerry. I told you she was feisty.”

“I can see that, sir.” Jerry grinned at me.

“It’s plain to see how you all feel about one another. But it’s a daddy’s job to talk about prospects,” Daddy said, giving Jerry a friendly man-to-man nudge.

In nineteen years I’d never seen him nudge Steven.

“Well, Mr. Sweet, it’s like this—” Jerry started.

“—Call me Jack. Smilin’ Jack. Every time you say Mr. Sweet I look around expectin’ to see
my
daddy,” Daddy said.

“All right, Jack. To tell you the truth, I just got my clock cleaned pretty good in my divorce—”

“So money was the name of her game,” I said.

Willa Mae poured fresh coffee and set huge slabs of peach pie in front of everyone.

“Money was always the name of her game. But I’ve still got the farmhouse and the truck…that and my Navy pension. Uh, thanks, Mrs. Sweet,” Jerry said.

“Maggie’ll have to work then? Daddy asked.

“I want to work. I’ve already got a job,” I said.

“You did? When?” Jerry asked.

“Yesterday. I started working at the Curl & Swirl.”

“It’s all falling into place,” Jerry said, squeezing my hand.

“Well, it takes two a’working just to make it these days. Why, Willa Mae and me worked at that old hosiery mill for years and…you say you own a farmhouse?” Daddy said, looking up from his pie.

“Yes, sir…uh, Jack. It’s an old farmhouse—only a couple of acres of land. But it’s got the prettiest pond behind it…and lots of outbuildings. I plan to start a carpentry business,” Jerry said.

“He’s good, too, Daddy. Wait’ll you see the farmhouse. He’s built cupboards, countertops, a new porch—”

“Is the pond stocked?” Daddy asked, ignoring me.

“There’s bream and bass and catfish…I don’t know what all. You’re welcome to try your luck anytime,” Jerry said.

We all dug into our pie. Daddy and Willa Mae, Jerry and me. It all seemed so natural, I could already picture Daddy loading his pickup with fishing poles and flies, spending weekends with us at the farmhouse.

Outside Jerry put his arms around me. “God, I missed you.”

“It seemed like forever.”

“It
was
forever. Want me to follow you home?”

“I’ll follow you. I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.”

“I love you to pieces.”

“I think you hung the moon.”

Then we pulled out of Daddy’s driveway and headed for home. It was all over but the shouting.

Over
the next two weeks, I realized that I’d been a fool to think it was all over but the shouting. There hadn’t been any shouting, but it was still far from over.

I was in such high gear the afternoon I left Daddy’s that I drove directly to Mother and Mama Dean’s. But when I tried to talk to them, Mama Dean went to bed with a sick headache. Then Mother’s face seemed to crumble and she said, “I can’t talk about this now, Maggie,” and she rushed to
her
room. After two weeks they still wouldn’t talk about it. To tell you the truth, they were barely speaking to me at all.

I hadn’t talked to my girls yet either. I phoned and drove by the house dozens of times but no one was ever at home. Then I heard through Shirley who’d heard through Theo Bloodworth that Steven had picked them up at his mother’s and taken them to Myrtle Beach. This flew all over me. For years I’d begged him to take us to Myrtle Beach, but he just glared at me, wouldn’t even discuss it. It was bad enough I wasn’t able to see my girls, but worse that he had time (and the beach) to convince them he was Father of the Year and I was Mommy Dearest.

Just thinking about my family made my eyes well and my stomach clench.

As if I wasn’t already stressed out, the night came for the Poplar Grove class of 1965’s twentieth class reunion at the Moose Club.

So much had happened in just two weeks. I’d gone and left Steven and everyone knew it. I was working at the the Curl & Swirl and living in the apartment behind the shop. Jerry and I were together, just not officially together.

But everyone had to be thinking,
Isn’t it odd that after all those years, Maggie left Steven the minute Jerry Roberts hit town?

If we went to the reunion everyone would be watching. One false move and our secret would be out and they’d all think we were heathens.

On the other hand, it would look even more suspicious if we both canceled. Besides, we’d have to show our faces in public sooner or later.

At the farmhouse, the night before the reunion, it all seemed so complicated, I broke down and cried. Jerry held me in his arms and said, “It’s all right, Maggie. It’s going to be all right. We just have to take it one day at a time.”

So we
did
decide to go the reunion. We’d just go separately, blend in with the crowd, then sit at the same table. You know, sort of let
us
sneak up gradually, a little at a time, until folks accepted us as a couple.

I only hoped I could pull it off.

As I drove to the Moose Club, I told myself over and over again, “Take a deep breath. Don’t panic. You can do this if you don’t panic.”

I’d just parked my car when I saw Mary Price and Hoyt’s Silverado circling the parking lot. Mary Price waved and got out of the truck and while Hoyt drove off to find an empty spot, she walked me inside.

She waited with me in the lobby until I was pretty sure I could walk and breathe at the same time. Then she took my arm and said, “I promise you, Maggie, you really will live right through this.”

The next thing I knew we were sitting at a long table with our old high school crowd: Modine and Ellis, Geneva and Knoxie, Toy and Bobby. Hoyt had met Jerry in the parking lot. Since they were the last to arrive, the only seats left were at the opposite end of the table.

Everyone’s eyes darted from Jerry to me, from me to Jerry as they tried to make small talk. The men talked about the gas mileage of pickups versus minivans. The women talked about their children, their new reunion outfits, and the people at the other tables. Now and then there’d be a long awkward pause and everyone rushed in to fill the silence with comments about the weather or to mention, once again, that the hall was decorated in red and gray crepe paper streamers, Poplar Grove’s school colors.

I tried to act normal but my face felt hot and stiff.

When the DJ started playing golden oldies,” Let’s Twist Again, Like We Did Last Summer,” “Love, Love Me, Do,” “Wake Up, Little Suzie,” “Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown,” everyone relaxed. Soon we were singing along with the music and laughing about the things we got up to in high school.

Now and then Jerry’s blue eyes met mine across the crowded table and I’d think,
he fits in. It’s as if he never left.

I danced with Ellis, then Knoxie and Bobby, while Jerry
danced with their wives. Then everyone crowded the floor for the “Hokey Pokey” and the “Bunny Hop.”

After we ate (we had barbecued ribs and chicken and twice-baked potatoes, catered by Millie’s Percolator Grill), the DJ played “In the Still of the Night.” I was dancing with Hoyt when he came up behind me.

“Hey, old buddy, mind if I cut in?”

Hoyt made a deep courtly bow, and all at once I was in Jerry’s arms.

I laid my head on his chest, then jerked away. “Oh, Lord, I forgot.”

“I know.” He stepped back, looked into my eyes. “But we’ve danced with everyone else. If we don’t dance together, it’ll look like we’re avoiding each other. Now smile and say, ‘sha doop, sha doop, de doop.’”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the only line I know. Because you’re in my arms and I don’t want to forget we’re in public.”

I smiled. “Sha doop, sha doop, de doop. I wish we were at the farmhouse.”

“We will be and soon.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

Toy and Bobby Overcash danced past us, then Modine and Ellis. Jerry smiled. “Sha doop, de doop.” For a moment they just stared at us, then Bobby smiled and Ellis nodded.

“You think they know?’”

“Probably.”

“Oh, Lord.”

“They’re our friends, Maggie. We go back a long way.”

I stared out into the crowd. We
did
go back a long way. Hoyt and Mary Price, Modine and Elllis, Bobby and Toy. Everyone in this room, really. We’d been children together, grown up together. We’d been in and out of each other’s houses, knew each other’s parents, grandparents, and children. Memories washed over me, memories of grade school and ceiling fans, playing tag and Red Rover at recess. Then high school and Dixie Burger, Tangee and dating. I remembered cookouts and christenings; the months we stuck close to Doris when Knoxie was missing in Vietnam; the time we carried cash and casseroles when it looked like Modine and Ellis would lose their farm. We’d celebrated and cried together and even when we didn’t agree we’d been there for each other.

But before I could tell Jerry what I was thinking, the music changed from “In the Still of the Night” to “Goodnight, Ladies.”

Everyone moved to the floor for the last dance. A few minutes later we returned to our tables to pick up purses and sweaters and souvenir matches.

It wasn’t until we were all standing in the parking lot saying our good-byes that it hit me—the reunion was over and I
had
lived right through it.

Later
, as I followed Jerry back to the farmhouse, I thought about what lay ahead. Steven’s anger. Explaining us to the girls. The year-long wait for a divorce to become final in North Carolina. I thought about Mother and Mama Dean. The two I dreaded facing the most. It would probably take a lifetme to make it up to them.

Up ahead Jerry motioned toward a detour sign. For the
next two or three miles, the road was so rutted and filled with potholes, I wondered if my old car would make it.

Then suddenly the road smoothed out and we passed the Dingler farmhouse, the stand of loblolly pines, then Belews Pond. That’s when I remembered what Daddy said on the phone that night, two weeks ago.

When it came to to talking to Mother and Mama Dean, I’d have to remind them it’s in the blood—that leaving a husband seems to run in the family.

So I tucked my car in behind Jerry’s pickup. Maggie and Jerry, together 4-ever, right here in Poplar Grove and real life.