Then He Kissed Me: A Cottonbloom Novel (12 page)

Her uncle stood at the front of the raised platform, tapping his foot, his fingers a blur on the mandolin strings. After they’d moved to the trailer, she’d hear him playing and sometimes singing, the sound amplified by the river. Although, she’d hadn’t been able to decipher the words, the way he sang them had settled in her heart and made her cry into her pillow when she was young. Behind his unruffled, easygoing smiles, her uncle understood heartache.

“He’s good.” Nash nudged his chin toward Delmar. “Actually, the whole band is good.”

“Most of them have been playing together for a decade at least. Uncle Delmar used to be the youngest one up there. Their old bass player broke his hip and got put in the nursing home last fall. I wasn’t sure if they’d find anyone, but looks like they roped someone into joining them.” A middle-aged black man with a slight potbelly played an upright bass, his eyes closed, bouncing on the balls of his feet to the rhythms he plucked. “Not a lot of interest in learning bluegrass these days.”

“I used to play the guitar a little.” His face was impassive, his hands stuck deep in his pockets.

“I didn’t know that.”

“I was alone a lot.” The simple statement seemed to hold a wealth of pain, but a slow smile materialized. “Aunt Leora wanted me to learn the piano. I insisted on guitar. I was under the impression guitar players got all the chicks in college.”

Her lips had curled to match his. “Did they?”

“It’s a little-known fact that even ‘Stairway to Heaven’ can’t overcome being an acne-covered sixteen-year-old freshman who has yet to hit his growth spurt.”

Even though he smiled, loneliness still lurked around the edges. She lay her cheek against his shoulder, slipped her hand around his elbow, and squeezed. “It must have been scary to go off like that.”

He shrugged under her cheek. “Freedom is risky and the unknown is scary. It all worked out.”

Considering he’d come full circle and was marking time in Cottonbloom, she tended to disagree. Someone hip-bumped her, and she yanked her hand from Nash’s arm, knitting her fingers in front of her.

“What’s up, girl? How’s it going, Nash?” Monroe poked her head around Tally to grin at Nash.

He looked around in mock surprise. “Can’t believe you ventured on this side of the river. What would Regan say?”

“Probably that I’m sleeping with the enemy.” She winked.

Cade joined them. He handed a lemonade to Monroe before sliding his arm around her shoulders and pulling her tight to his side.

“How’re you doing, Sis?” Cade reached over to squeeze her nape. Their father used to do the same, and Tally wondered if it was an unconscious gesture on Cade’s part. “Hey, Nash. Does your aunt know you’re consorting with a bunch of swamp rats? Surprised she didn’t try to lock you in your room.”

“She never had to lock me in my room growing up. I never got invited anywhere.” His chuckle did little to mask to the awkward silence that blanketed them.

As the song came to an end, Cade said, “I’m surprised you never snuck down to see Tally.”

Nash made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Oh, I did.”

“What? When?” Tally shifted to stare at his profile.

Nash rocked on his feet and pulled at the collar of his shirt. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

Tally sensed it had been as pivotal as her trip to see him. “Tell me anyway.”

“Biked by your old house a couple of times before I realized you’d moved.” His jaw muscle twitched. “Then, one day after lunch, I skipped out of school. I was fourteen, I guess. A junior. It had been a … bad day.” Again, she sensed the understatement. “I waited outside of the school for you. Thought I could catch you before you got on the bus.”

It would have been her freshman year. Her test scores had placed her in honors level math, but remedial classes for everything else. Most of her day was spent with kids who had learned not to care. She still cared, but it had been easier to pretend not to.

“Did you find me?”

“I saw you. Barely recognized you. You had grown up. Changed. You were dressed all in black. Dark eye makeup and pale skin. A nose ring. Even your hair looked darker. I was still short and skinny and wore glasses. You got into a car with a couple of older-looking guys. I rode off on my Huffy.” The shot of sarcastic humor tempered the sad bitterness of his recollection.

“Nose ring?” She could feel Cade’s gaze on the back of her neck.

“The nose ring was fake. And, I had put a temporary dye in my hair. Goth was the style for most of the kids in my classes.… Let’s just say, I was doing my best to fit in.” Tally ran both of her hands up his arm and lowered her voice so her brother and Monroe couldn’t hear. “If you would have come up to me, I would have ridden off on your Huffy handlebars, I swear.”

“The Fates conspired against us back then.”

Tally wasn’t so sure the same forces weren’t at work in the here and now, but she stayed quiet.

Red flashed in the corner of her eye. “Hello again!”

Birdie stood in front of them with her hands fisted on her waist and her feet planted wide. Tonight her braids were perfectly aligned and smooth, bows to match her black-and-red polka-dot dress drooped over the tops, the ribbons trailing to her neck.

Monroe smiled. “And who might you be?”

Birdie thumbed her chest. “I’m Margaret Thatcher.”

All four of them burst out laughing. Birdie popped a hip and crossed her arms. “Why do grown-ups always laugh at me when I say my name?”

“We’re not laughing at you, Birdie. You share a name with a very strong, smart woman from England who had a nickname too. She was called the Iron Lady.” Nash still smiled but Birdie nodded, her face thoughtful.

“I wonder if I could be an Iron Lady too?”

“I think you could be anything you want,” Nash said with such confidence that Birdie’s chin ticked up.

“Birdie lives in Nash’s old house.” Tally shot a look toward Cade, who didn’t react. “Are you enjoying the music, Birdie?”

“Not really, but Daddy loves it. He’s up there.” She stuck her tongue out between her lost teeth and chucked her head backward toward the stage.

“So is my uncle. He’s plays the mandolin.”

“I know Mr. Del. He’s nice. He always has a candy for me even if it’s all warm and squishy from his pocket.” Birdie grabbed Nash’s hand again and tugged. “Oh, you have to come meet Mama. She thinks I made you up, and I got in trouble. I can’t wait to see her face when I introduce the boy from my closet.”

“Well that doesn’t make me sound at all creepy, does it?” Nash tossed a smile in Tally’s direction, but let Birdie lead him away.

Tally waggled her fingers. He and Birdie stopped in the middle of the crowd and looked around. In a flurry of red and black polka dots, he lifted the little girl onto his shoulders so she could scan the crowd for her mother. Nash walked in the direction she pointed with her still perched high. The girl’s giggles floated above the music and the crowd.

“Well, well, well.” Cade’s voice was a whisper in Tally’s ear.

She flinched and wiped the ridiculous-feeling smile off her face with a clearing of her throat. Monroe had been drawn into a conversation with a sixtysomething woman who worked her elbow in Monroe’s face.

“What?”

“Are you and Nash messing around?”

“How is that any of your business?” Old resentments bit at her words.

Cade’s eyebrows rose along with a sly smile. “It’s not. But I think you just answered my question.”

Tally grabbed her brother’s arm. “We’re not messing around, so don’t you dare go spreading that gossip around. We’re hanging out, that’s all. Old friends.” She dropped her hand and turned toward the band so Cade wouldn’t guess she wasn’t being completely truthful, yet she wasn’t lying either. She didn’t know what they were to each other yet.

“You two were inseparable when you were kids. I heard Mama and Daddy talk about it more than once.”

She stiffened. “What did they say?”

“Mama thought you should have at least one other friend, preferably another girl. But, Daddy laughed and told Mama to simmer down since you were too young to run off and get married.”

She could almost hear their daddy’s big belly laugh. Sometimes when Sawyer got really tickled about something, he would laugh like that. The memories rushing through her scraped her hollow. “It’s been really good to reconnect with Nash, you know? He was my best friend. When I think about how things were before they were killed, how happy we were, I get sad. My memories of Nash aren’t … tainted with grief. Does that make any sense?”

Cade wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I wish I could have made things easier, better. I tried.” His voice was thick.

Tally turned and gave him a hug. Because he was older and had assumed responsibility for her and Sawyer after their parents’ death, he’d turned from playful big brother into a grim, serious man seemingly overnight. She’d never seen him cry. Now that she was older and a little wiser, she understood that he’d suffered as much, if not more, than her and Sawyer. Not only had he been dealing with the grief of the past, but the responsibilities of the future.

“You did great, Cade.”

“What? Did I miss the invite to the family hug fest?” Sawyer’s arms came around them. Tally was grateful for the intervention, otherwise she might be tempted to burden Cade with all her troubles, and he’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.

“Nice turnout, right?” Sawyer looked around with a critical eye and a frown.

“Sure is,” Tally said.

“Everyone seems to be having a good time.”

“Everyone always has a good time, Sawyer. What’s the problem?” she asked.

“My former boss reneged on his donation since I quit—can’t say I totally blame him there—and Regan stole the Cottonbloom, Mississippi, marching band back with the promise of a new tuba. What if the festival is a disaster?”

“Your effort to spruce up the storefronts has done wonders. Getting the graffiti off the bridge made a huge difference. The flowers are lovely. All you need is music and food to make it a success. The point is to bring everyone together,” she said.

“The point is to blow those journalists’ socks off and win that grant money.” He pulled at his bottom lip before adding, “And bring everybody together.”

Nash walked back, having lost Birdie but gained two pecan pies.

“If you’re planning on eating both those,” Tally pointed back and forth, “then you’d better pony up for a gym membership.”

“I could kill at least one, but I thought I’d see if the Quilting Bee ladies would like some.”

“Yes,” Sawyer hissed and tapped his steepled fingers together like a cartoonish evil mastermind. “You’re turning into my secret weapon, Nash. Those old ladies probably think you poop cotton candy, don’t they? While Regan might be mayor, those ladies rule the town, and they haven’t thrown their social weight behind Regan yet, have they?”

Nash’s eyebrows rose over the rim of his glasses, but he only nudged his head toward the footbridge and held out a pie. “Want to help me, Tally?”

She took it, but Sawyer grabbed her arm. “Bad idea. Tally would ruin your plan.”

Nash shook his head. “I have no evil plan. I’m simply offering pie to a lovely group of ladies. In fact, consider me Switzerland. I hope both festivals are a rousing success.”

Sawyer took a step forward and poked Nash in the chest. “But you demonstrated your Louisiana loyalty during the rabbit hoopla.”

Nash patted him on the shoulder. “Sawyer, my man, you’re going to end up committed by Labor Day. You coming, Tally?”

He didn’t wait but ambled toward the footbridge. Tally gave her brother a squeeze around the waist. “He’s right, you know. You are slowly losing it.”

Sawyer gave her a playful shove, and she ran to catch up with Nash. The Mississippi side seemed unnaturally quiet and still. She looked over her shoulder at her friends and neighbors laughing and drinking, some even attempting to clog to the music. The scene took on an unreal quality, like looking at a movie. As if in agreement, they stopped in the middle of the footbridge to look down on the water.

“It’s funny that the river doesn’t care,” she said.

“Doesn’t care about what?”

“The strife it’s caused this town. It flows along, cutting the divide a little deeper every year.” She picked at a fleck of sun-faded brown paint.

He shifted toward her, resting an elbow on the rail. “You don’t think once Aunt Leora’s generation is gone, things will get better?”

She envied Nash’s optimism. Even more, she envied his resilience. They’d both had more than their fair share of tragedy, but he didn’t need to search for a laugh or a smile. “I hope it does, but the rivalries have been bred into the children on both sides. We’re still swamp rats and they’re still ’Sips.”

“I guess I’m the rare breed who’s both.”

They walked up the slope to the common area, the grass already wetting with dew and itching her feet. The skeleton of the new gazebo rose like a phoenix on the burnt grass.

Light from the Quilting Bee sliced from a narrow parting of the curtains, but Nash had been right, a chair was lodged in the door. Uncle Delmar’s voice, singing a timeless bluegrass ballad in a haunting minor key, drifted across.

“It might be better if I stayed out here while you deliver the pies.” She shoved the pie at his chest, but he refused to take it. Ms. Effie was probably inside, but then again, so was Ms. Leora.

“Nope. You’re my friend. Anyway, I’m Switzerland, remember?”

He bumped the front door open with his hip, a smile on his face. Voices rose around him like a chorus. She sidled in after him, hoping to blend into the quilts that hung along the way, but her foot caught the leg of the metal folding chair that had been propping the door open. It clattered to the floor and the door shut, blocking out the music. Silence descended. Everyone looked in her direction.

“We brought pie.” She hoped she hadn’t sounded as stupid as she felt, but judging by the look on Ms. Leora’s face, she’d crossed into village-idiot territory. Heat prickled her face.

The few seconds since her spectacular entry felt like an eternity. Nash’s lips twitched, and unbelievably her lips tilted into an answering smile. He took over, leading the ladies to the counter like the Pied Piper.