1. Let the Good Times Roll
CELESTE
The grass had barely begunto sprout on the ground above my mama’s grave, but I ignored the damp soil underneath my bottom. Nana would probably tan my hide when she saw the muddy patches on my jeans. It was worth it to have the quiet moment with Mama.
I had gone to the cemetery to visit her grave every day since we buried her seven weeks ago, shortly before my thirteenth birthday. Talking to her headstone was a crappy replacement for seeing her beautiful smile or feeling her warmth as she held me an extra second longer for a hug, but nothing else brought me any comfort. Missing her felt like a phantom limb; how could I go on in a world without my mama? She had been the center of my world, my very best friend, and my heart ached with the sting of her loss. The future stretched ahead like a barren, arid desert—dusty, painful, and empty—without her bright laugh or delicious cooking.
A car horn honked behind me and I turned abruptly to see Daddy’s truck outside the gate. He had the windows rolled down and could have just hollered my name, but we were both stuck in our own downward spirals of grief. Nana figured Daddy didn’t know what to say to me to make me feel better, so he stuck to not saying anything at all. Whether that was true or not, even I recognized he would be wasting his breath to try to get my mind off things right now.
Rising slowly, I wiped as much of the debris off my bottom as I could before heading forlornly over to him with my head down. The twinkle had gone from his bright blue eyes and I hated to see yet another reminder of what Mama’s death had done to our family. “Good Times Roll” by The Cars echoed faintly from his stereo as I approached, and I stopped next to the driver’s side door rather than get in the truck with him.
“Why don’t you go hang out somewhere other than the graveyard, sugar bee?” Daddy asked. He always called me sugar bee because he said I was sweeter than honey but buzzed about more than a bumblebee. Normally it gave me all the warm fuzzies on the inside to hear the term of endearment in his gruff voice. Today it merely reminded me of the void I felt.
I shrugged rather than answer him. If we weren’t both still reeling, the action would have fired him up because he considered it poor manners not to respond when someone spoke to you. Mama’s death meant manners went out the window.
He sighed heavily. “Hop in. I’m gonna take you over to the park.” His firm tone warned me that he’d brook no argument.
Neither of us said another word as he followed the gravel path of the cemetery out to the main road. It was late spring here in Georgia, and the sun was bright and high, making the temperature quickly yield to the heat. My tank top was already sticking between my shoulder blades, making me wish I would have worn shorts along with it instead of jeans.
The park was a joint playground and baseball diamond near the town square. Mama and Daddy had always let me play there on days when I didn’t have school because it was located across the street from The Comfy Cushion, Mama’s restaurant. People came from miles around to eat her recipes, though I always thought she charmed the customers just as much with her flattering words and pretty smiles. Daddy handled the books and all the ordering, a job he took on because he saw how happy it made Mama to cook for everyone. It was the only real restaurant in town, unless you counted the fast food joints right off the highway, but given how my mama’s meals always stuck to my ribs, I didn’t see how they could hold a candle to her.
On a Saturday afternoon without a cloud in the sky, the park was jampacked with kids. The problem was, I hated being around them now. None of them knew what it felt like to lose someone so special and since everybody in town adored my mother, it rankled me to see their pitying looks. Their eyes followed me as soon as I set foot in the park. Eyes that all held relief that it was my mama and not theirs mixed with uncertainty over what to say to me.
“I’ll be in the office for a bit longer,” Daddy told me through the car window again. “Just head on over when you’re hungry. Marla will whip something up for you.” He didn’t give me a chance to respond before pulling away to park his truck in his usual spot across the street.
I sighed heavily again. Marla was my mama’s best friend who had stepped in to help Daddy with The Comfy Cushion. She seemed to think the only way I could heal was being force fed large casseroles. Even if it was Mama’s recipe, it never tasted the same. My stomach wouldn’t accept anything Marla made me choke down. The prospect of being made to swallow anything at the moment filled me with dread.
Following the path around the dugout of the baseball diamond where a pickup game was in full swing, I trailed behind the bleachers until I reached the edge of the woods at the back of the park. There was a small dirt trail into the trees that was mostly overgrown with bushes and moss, but I had been down there so many times that the growth didn’t bother me. It led down to a small creek where there was a good climbing tree, full of shade with wide branches. I liked to hide up there among the foliage so that the other kids couldn’t stare at me, the girl with the dead mama and no friends.
“Hey!” a voice snapped as I hauled myself up to the lowest branch.
It startled me to the point where I misjudged my hand placement and went tumbling face first over the branch and down onto the creek bed below. I was instantly covered in mud and felt a sting above my right eye from where my face landed on a rock. My knees took the brunt of my fall, however, and I cried out in pain on impact.
“Oh my god, are you okay?!” The same voice as before hollered over me. Gentle hands pulled at my shoulders to roll me onto the creek bank and I made eye contact with what must have been an angel. It was a boy around my age with sandy blonde hair and the bluest eyes I had ever seen. A small halo of light shone around his head, making me pinch my leg to check that I wasn’t dreaming. People didn’t die from falling out of trees, right?
The boy grabbed one of my hands and hauled me to my feet, helping me to wipe off all the mud on my shins. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!”
My cheeks burned with embarrassment. “It’s fine. I’m not hurt.”
He brushed the hair away from my face. “Yes, you are. This cut is bleeding.”
Having a stranger’s hands on my face made my heart race in a way that spooked me. I took a step away from him, backing myself up against the tree. “It’s fine. Just a scratch.”
The boy smirked at my retreat and stuck his hand out as if to shake mine. “I’m Wesley. Wesley Madden.”
Staring blankly at his offered hand, my mind went through a rolodex of Smithson County. I knew every child in our small town of River’s Run, Georgia. This boy did not belong here. He had to be a tourist. “Where are you from?”
He smiled, a megawatt smile that made my heart race again. Stuffing his hand back in the pocket of his cargo shorts, he explained, “Originally from Atlanta, but I live here now.”
That didn’t make sense. Marla was the gossip queen of our county and she hadn’t said anything about a new family moving here. Whose house did they buy?
Wesley must have recognized the look of puzzlement on my face because he clarified, “I moved in with my great-aunt Shirley.”
I nodded. Miss Shirley Jones was a regular down at The Comfy Cushion, although she had to be pushing 85. “Ain’t she a little old to be taking you in?”
He shrugged. “My dad works too much and my mom took off when I was a baby. I hated all of the nannies, so he reached out to my mom’s family. Shirley was the only one who offered.”
It took everything I had to hold back a snort. What kind of family used a nanny? Was he some rich, spoiled brat?
Rather than responding, I turned and started to climb back up the tree. This boy, no matter how sweet he seemed, wasn’t my problem and I was still too depressed to care.
“Wait!” Wesley grabbed onto the leg of my jeans as I paused on the lowest branch. “We need to go get your eye cleaned up. It could get infected.”
“How would you know?” I scoffed.
He smirked again. “Let’s just say, I’ve gotten into my fair share of fights.”
The retort on the tip of my tongue died with his statement. He looked too scrawny to be much of a fighter to me, but maybe he was just a bully.
“How old are you?” I asked instead.
“Twelve. Thirteen in June, just a couple weeks from now.” His blue eyes twinkled as he perused my body, still hoisted onto the lowest branch. “What’s your name?”
A warning bell was ringing somewhere in the back of my mind that befriending Wesley Madden would be a bad idea, but there was a gleam in his eye that reminded me of my mama.
Hope.
He looked hopeful, and that was something I didn’t have in me to crush.
“Celeste Hendricks,” I finally offered.
His megawatt smile returned. “That’s a pretty name.”
As if sensing my hesitation, Wesley leaned forward with an outstretched hand, waiting for me to accept. Despite myself, I couldn’t help but give him a soft smile in return as I enclosed my hand in his. With one tug I was out of the tree and standing next to him, peering up into his crystal blue eyes. Even though I was a few months older than him, Wesley towered over me. He held my gaze far longer than was necessary and I felt something shift inside me, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I wondered errantly if it would ever shift back.
For the rest of the afternoon, Wesley and I walked around the park and the playground, telling each other more about our lives. I let him do most of the talking, still too in awe of this angelic boy who paid me this kind of attention. He told me that his dad owned a big corporation and had plans for Wesley to take it over one day, but Wesley kept getting into trouble and fighting at school. I gasped in shock as he described the number of fights he had won, supposedly against much older, bigger kids. It never crossed my mind to question him. Wesley didn’t seem too keen on the idea of joining his father’s company, but when I asked what else he would want to do with his life, he merely shrugged. “That’s a long ways off,” he said. “I have plenty of time to figure it out.”
We had circled the area more than five times before he threw himself down on the edge of the field beyond the baseball diamond, yanking me down to join him.
“Look at all the clouds! That one kinda looks like a rabbit,” he said, pointing upward.
I flopped down so that my head lay right next to him, my body extending in the opposite direction. We were so close that his stray hair tickled my ear. If I turned my head to the left, my face would collide with his.
The shapes he saw in the clouds became increasingly ridiculous, with elaborate back stories that he swore were Native American legends, and I couldn’t stop giggling. I never offered my own interpretation of the shapes, content to let him continue talking. After several minutes, his voice faded away and we laid there quietly.
“So how come you aren’t with other friends today?” Wesley suddenly asked.
Perhaps it was easier because I couldn’t see him, just feel his warm presence, but for once I answered honestly, “I don’t really have any. Mama was my best friend.”
There was a pregnant pause before he replied softly, “’Was’ your best friend…?”
I gulped, tears threatening to spill over. It was the first time I admitted it out loud to someone else. “She died a few months ago. Heart disease.”
Wesley leaned up on one elbow to look down at me. “Then I get to be your best friend now.” His eyes held no pity, only friendship, for which I was grateful. The assurance in his voice made me feel safe, something I had only ever felt in Daddy’s presence. I was reminded of the cosmic shift in my soul from earlier when he shook my hand.
“CELESTE RENEE HENDRICKS, WHERE ARE YOU?!”
Jumping up like my pants were invaded by fire ants, I saw Marla at the park entrance, her hands on her hips. Anger lit up her face. She still had on her work apron, scanning the park for me.
Dang it, I never went back to The Comfy Cushion to eat like Daddy said. Now Marla was gonna scold me til the cows came home.
“I’ve gotta go,” I said to Wesley.
He stood up, too, brushing grass off his tan legs. “Who is that?” he asked, nodding towards Marla.
I sighed. “That’s my mama’s best friend. She helps Daddy at the restaurant now.” Slowly I walked towards her, not in any hurry for the verbal whiplash I knew was coming my way.
Wesley fell into step beside me. “Does your dad manage a restaurant?”
Nodding, I couldn’t keep the pride from my voice as I explained, “We own it. It was my mama’s restaurant.” I pointed across the street to The Comfy Cushion, the outside lights now on from the timer. It must be a lot later than I thought.
Marla finally took sight of me and although I could tell Wesley’s presence by my side surprised her, she continued to frown at me. “Care to explain where you been?!” she snapped. “Had me worried sick! Goodness me, what happened to your eye?!” She gruffly turned my chin upward so that she could examine the cut near my eyebrow.
Before I could respond, Wesley shocked me by saying, “It’s my fault, ma’am. I’m new here and I asked her to show me around.”
If he had announced he was the fifth member of the Beatles, I don’t think Marla could have looked more surprised or confused. Her eyebrows receded towards her hairline as her warm brown eyes darted between the two of us. “Celeste…” she clarified, “…showed you around. Willingly.”
Wesley didn’t skip a beat. “Sure did. She’s the only friend I have in the world right now.”
I could tell Marla was fighting the urge to smile because she wanted to stay mad at me, but she couldn’t hold back. Long before my mother fell ill, I avoided kids my own age, preferring to cook in the restaurant or learn how to manage the books with Daddy. Friends weren’t really a thing on my radar.
“Well, as nice as it is to meet you, Celeste needs to come eat something before she passes out,” Marla replied, giving me less of a stink eye than usual. “Why don’t you come, too? I’ve got a slice of pie with your name on it.”
My heart leapt, hopeful he would accept.
Wesley smiled at me but shook his head. “I should probably get back. My aunt Shirley didn’t know I was leaving.”
Marla’s jaw clenched, warring over his polite decline and his obvious disrespect to his aunt. “Would that be Miss Shirley Jones over there on Houston Street?”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
It was the “ma’am” that redeemed him, I could tell. She finally dropped her stiff demeanor and nodded. “You give Miss Shirley my best now, young man.” Marla gave him another once over before turning back towards The Comfy Cushion. “Say good-bye to your friend and get inside,” she called over her shoulder.
I gave him a half-hearted smile as I toed with a small rock at my feet. For the first time ever, I felt a real connection with someone outside of my family, and I didn’t want to leave. “Sorry about that,” I offered.
“Meet you here after lunch tomorrow?” Wesley asked.
He might as well have handed me a four leaf clover. I tried not to make it too obvious as I beamed at him, nodding and wrapping my arms around my own waist to try and contain my joy. A friend—I had finally made a friend.
Spinning on my heel, I started humming along to the song from Daddy’s radio. Maybe, just maybe, I could let the good times roll.