2. In the Name of Friendship
CELESTE
The next dayI was up before the sun rose. I could barely sleep for thinking about Wesley. He actually helped me forget some of the loneliness and he didn’t look at me like I was the strange girl who lost her mama. He didn’t have one either.
Daddy blinked rapidly when he shuffled into the kitchen and found me sitting at the breakfast bar next to a plate of steaming pancakes, bacon, and fresh coffee. The pancakes were one of mama’s recipes and I imagined the lumps I worked out in the batter were the same as the lump I felt in my throat when I pictured her. How many mornings had we spent together cooking a piping hot breakfast before heading into the restaurant? How many times had she kissed the top of my head after whispering the secret ingredient to me?
“It’s that extra sugar you give because you’re so sweet!” she would say with a proud smile.
This was the first time I had attempted to make anything since she passed.
Daddy looked behind him as if he was confused. “What happened? Where did that food come from?”
I rolled my eyes. “From me, Daddy, obviously!” The last word stretched out of my mouth, bordering on sassy. Without coffee yet, I knew Daddy would let it slide.
He did. “You cooked all that? For me?” His navy terrycloth bathrobe hung open over pinstripe pajama bottoms and an old concert t-shirt. Thick brown hair stood up in odd tufts, a speckle of gray mixing in at the roots. Watching Mama succumb to her illness had taken its toll on him.
Pulling another plate over with a couple pancakes and fruit, I shook my head. “For me, too. When can we go to the restaurant?”
Daddy shuffled over and drank deeply from the coffee mug in his daze. “You wanna go with me today?”
“And it’s about time, too!” Nana shuffled into the kitchen, her too big house shoes smacking hard against the linoleum floors. “Been hidin’ out in this house way too long!”
Nana lived in a small cottage about twenty yards behind our house. The property both houses sat on had been in Daddy’s family for six generations, and when Nana’s knee started giving her trouble, Mama and Daddy insisted on building a small place for her so they could “keep an eye on her.” If you asked me, Nana was the one always doing the spying. Nothing ever got past her.
Although she slept in her own place, she spent most of her days in our living room watching soap operas and eating peanuts that she had to wash down with a Coke. She would fill an entire grocery bag of shells in a single episode. Yet you would never know it because soaking wet, I doubted Nana could hit the ninety pound mark. She was a tiny, little spitfire—full of quick quips, wild stories, and firm beliefs.
Despite the early morning hour, Nana had on her usual pair of sweatpants and baggy t-shirt, large bag of peanuts in hand. “Now what’s gotten into you?” she asked, eyes squinting in my direction.
As excited as I was feeling, I wasn’t sure how Nana would react to news of Wesley. She was old school and maintained that boys and girls couldn’t be friends because boys were always up to no good.
“Um…I just wanted to help out today,” I hedged. It was a feeble excuse at best and one that she immediately saw through.
“Help out?” Nana cackled. “Girl, you ain’t been in a helping mood in months. Wallowin’ around, feelin’ sorry for yourself! Now come on, out with it.”
I glanced over at Daddy for help because he usually intervened when Nana got too pushy, but right now his attention was focused on me, too, his eyebrows arching up towards his hairline. “What is it, sugar bee?” he asked gently.
There would be no distracting them. “I made a friend, that’s all.” Shrugging, I kept my eyes on my plate, fiddling with my fork as I tried to find the right words. “Thought I might be able to play at the park again.”
“Is this that boy Marla told me about?” Daddy inquired.
“A boy!” Nana spat. “Don’t you go getting caught up with some little hooligan, Celeste! What’s this boy’s name, huh? Who’s his mama?”
It took every ounce of restraint I had not to roll my eyes. While it might be too early for Daddy to notice my sass, Nana had the beady eyes of a hawk and would waste no time in boxing my ears.
“He’s new in town, Nana. I was just tryin’ to be nice.”
“Bein’ nice, my foot! Now you listen here?—”
“Suzanne,” Daddy cut her off, his tone firm. “That’s enough.”
Nana’s face twisted. She had always been respectful of my father and treated him like he was her own flesh and blood. But this was one subject for which she could not budge.
“Mark my words,” she warned, pointing a finger towards in my direction. “This girl’s gonna get her heart broken! Boys ain’t worth a lick!”
Daddy winked at me before saying, “Hey, now, what about me?” He held his arms out as if to invite her to say anything derogatory.
Nana leaned back on one foot, a fist planted on her hip. “If Celeste wants to wait until she’s thirty and found a man who’s matured some like you, then she can be my guest!” With that, she opened the fridge behind her and snatched out a Coke bottle, shuffling into the living room as she muttered under her breath.
Daddy couldn’t help but smile at me as I repressed a grin. We both knew Nana would cool off after a while. She didn’t believe in holding grudges.
“Your nana’s got a bit of a point,” he hedged, patting my knee. “We don’t know much about this boy.”
I took a large bite of my pancakes, knowing the sight of me eating would sway him. “I can get to know him, Daddy. He’s new here and all alone.”
He took a large bite of bacon and chewed for a moment while thinking carefully. “Just be cautious,” he finally said.
That was as much of an approval as I would ever receive from him. I couldn’t hold back my smile as I took a long drink from my glass of fruit punch.
* * *
“Has Miss Shirley arrived yet?” I asked Marla for what felt like the millionth time. Miss Shirley was normally like clockwork, walking through the door at exactly quarter til noon for the daily lunch special. It never mattered what the special was, that was her order. She hadn’t opened a menu for The Comfy Cushion in my working memory.
However, it was now five past and there was no sight of Miss Shirley…or her great-nephew.
“Maybe they decided to head down to Savannah for the day,” Marla offered. She stuck paper orders in the ticket window for Jesse, the cook, who did his best to keep up with the demand without Mama’s help. Business hadn’t slowed down and for that I was grateful. It kept Mama’s memory alive.
The Comfy Cushion looked like a diner straight out of a movie. A shiny red countertop wound all the way around the back wall where the kitchen window opened to the line cook. There was a swinging pony door at the halfway point so servers could get in and out, but the rest of counter was circled with vinyl barstools. Big booth tables with Tiffany glass pendant lamps curved around the outside perimeter next to the windows. Every pendant was unique; Daddy said he and Mama found them at an antique shop on their honeymoon and Mama wouldn’t leave the shop without them.
There were several tables spaced out on the floor in between, large and made of solid wood by Ol’ Man McInworthe down at the lumberyard. He still wouldn’t eat anywhere else because he was so proud of his contribution to Mama’s restaurant. We could count on his presence for dinner every day of the week.
Best of all were the big, fluffy cushions that Nana and Mama stitched by hand for every booth and chair in the place. There was no rhyme or reason to the fabric, it was just whatever scraps they came by. It created a mismatched sense of whimsy that somehow made the place feel just as cozy and inviting as home. If I really thought about it, the air of the place was one hundred percent Mama, which was why I couldn’t imagine a better restaurant anywhere. A large jukebox—still operational—sat in the corner leading towards the bathrooms and Daddy’s office. It cranked out an old crooner from Loretta Lynn at the moment, Don’t Come Home a-Drinkin’ (With Lovin’ On Your Mind).
I was perched on the last stool of the counter in perfect view of the only doorway in or out. As soon as Wesley stepped through that door, I would know it. Mama’s book of recipes was sprawled out on the counter in front of me as I helped Daddy pick out the menu for fall. It was difficult to even look at her tiny writing in the giant scrapbook she kept, but I didn’t want anyone to realize how intensely I watched for a certain someone to walk through the door.
The bell over the door clanged again and despite the sinking feeling in my gut, I sat up higher in my seat, straining to see over the diners seated at the counter across from us. My hopes were quickly doused as Jimmy and Bill from the mechanic’s shop down the road came in.
My shoulders visibly sank as disappointment weighed them down. Where was Wesley? I knew I hadn’t imagined him because Marla met him, too.
Ever in tune with my emotions, she plopped a warm slice of strawberry pie in front of me. “You just get your mind off him and then see how fast he walks in,” Marla suggested. She started to roll silverware into napkins as I morosely pushed the pie around on my plate. Marla thought everything could be fixed with a slice of pie. She had an uncanny knack for guessing everyone’s favorite flavor.
“Miss Shirley always comes here for lunch, though,” I huffed out.
Marla nodded. “That she does, but it’s not every day you take in your great-nephew. Maybe they’re just settling in.”
I rolled my eyes. “Wesley doesn’t need to settle in.” His presence was already too overwhelming. I couldn’t picture him settling into anything.
One of the customers called out a request for a refill on their lemonade and Marla acknowledged them with a wave and a smile. “Comin’ right up, sir!” She dropped the smile as she took in the remnants of smashed pie before me. “You take a bite outta that, you hear? Gonna turn into skin and bones if you keep this up.”
If I didn’t eat something, she was liable to tell Daddy, or worse—Nana—and then I really wouldn’t be allowed to do anything with Wesley. I shoved a forkful into my mouth and did feel a slight lift in my spirits to taste Marla’s little slice of heaven. She was a great baker like my mama was a great cook.
The bell clanged loudly as one of the diners exited, but I didn’t bother to crane my head this time. Clearly Miss Shirley was dining elsewhere today.
I wasn’t aware of a presence next to me until a voice commented, “That sure looks good.”
Wesley.
My eyes darted to my right where he sat grinning at me like a Chesire cat. He had on a clean white T-shirt that highlighted his angelic features and a pair of camo cargo shorts. Somehow my brain short circuited at the sight. Kids our age weren’t supposed to look that good, right?
That had to be why it took me a full two minutes to formulate something to say. “You shouldn’t wear white if we’re gonna play outside,” I said.
Oh my word, I did not just say that!
Wesley’s smile widened like he found me entertaining, but he didn’t contradict me. “What else is there to do around here?”
I frowned at the question. What else was there to do anywhere on a warm spring day in Georgia?
Thankfully I was saved from voicing my ignorance out loud when Marla returned. “Well, hello there again, Wesley,” she greeted him. Her sharp eyes were still sussing him out. “Wouldn’t you rather sit with Miss Shirley?”
Marla gestured over his shoulder to the booth by the door where Miss Shirley usually sat. She occupied it now across from a man who could not have looked more out of place if he had green skin and a second head. He was impeccably dressed in a crisp gray suit with a white button down and lavender tie. He even had a matching pocket square, something I thought only men in the movies wore. The man’s dark hair was slicked back away from his face, but his features weren’t discernible behind the large sunglasses he wore. He was talking rapidly with someone on a cell phone, a large silver watch catching sunlight on his wrist. It was the first time I ever saw someone actually use a cell…nobody in River’s Run owned one.
“Who is that?” I asked Wesley.
He reddened. “That’s my father.” Marla was too busy staring at the man to catch the way Wesley’s shoulders hunched at the admission, but I saw it. It made me want to give his hand a comforting squeeze.
“Your daddy isn’t from around these parts, is he?” Marla commented quietly. She shot me a look that conveyed how amusing she found the man to be as she poured Wesley a glass of water.
Wesley snorted. “My father has never stepped foot outside of a major city until yesterday when he brought me here. He’ll be leaving in a few minutes to head back to Atlanta.”
“Then don’t you wanna go sit with him?” I asked curiously. If my daddy were leaving, I would want to soak up every minute with him I could.
My friend just shook his head. “It’s better if I don’t.”
The statement didn’t make sense to me and I looked to Marla for clues as to what to say. Her shrewd scan of his face as her mouth formed a thin line told me that whatever her thoughts were, they weren’t something she was willing to voice at the moment.
Wesley didn’t seem to mind, however. He grabbed the discarded half of the sandwich Marla had provided me for lunch an hour ago and took an enormous bite. “This is good,” he complimented her, holding up what now amounted to a quarter of a sandwich.
His topic change wasn’t going to deter her. “What’s your daddy’s name?”
He swallowed thickly and kept his eyes trained on the sandwich in his hands as he replied, “Benedict Warner Madden the Third,” through gritted teeth.
Marla’s eyes widened. “As in Madden Markets?” she asked.
Wesley dropped the crust of the sandwich back on the plate as he ground out, “Uh huh.”
Normally Marla would scold someone for responding so rudely, but she looked dumbstruck at the moment. And with good reason. Madden Markets was a chain of general stores that was taking over the South, becoming the biggest rival to Wal-Mart in the country. They were known for their bargain bins that had new deals each morning, sometimes marking the particular item down over 75% off. Marla loved shopping at the one outside Savannah on Sunday mornings when she had the day off from the diner.
It meant my new friend was the heir to a gold mine, in her eyes. I could practically see the gears shifting in her head as she tried to process this information. For once, she was left speechless, no doubt too stunned by the revelation to know the appropriate thing to say.
As impressive as his daddy’s job was to adults, I only cared about Wesley. Who cared that he owned a bunch of stores? We owned a restaurant and nobody acted like that around us. Although we didn’t annoy people by arguing loudly over the phone in the middle of The Comfy Cushion like Mr. Madden was doing now. More than one customer was turning in his direction to shoot him a warning glare.
“Come on.” I pulled Wesley off his bar stool and made to head for the door.
“Wait!” Marla said. She whipped a plate out and slid a slice of strawberry pie on it before setting it at the place Wesley just vacated. “Have a slice, young man.”
He smiled at her, the megawatt smile I wanted him to turn back on me. “No, thank you, ma’am. I don’t like strawberry pie.”
For the second time in just a few minutes Marla was left with her mouth hanging open. No one ever refused a slice of her pie. No one.
I couldn’t help but chuckle at her face. “Let’s go or she’ll never let us leave,” I whispered conspiratorially as I pulled him by his sleeve towards the door again.
“Celeste Hendricks, you better stop and introduce yourself, now!” came Marla’s reprimand.
Since we were going to pass Wesley’s daddy and Miss Shirley going out the door anyway, I figured she was right. I walked up to the edge of their booth and nodded to his great-aunt.
Miss Shirley Jones had resided in River’s Run her entire life, like most of the folks here. Her late husband passed away young, more than thirty years ago, followed ten years later by her only child. She lived alone in a big house on Houston Street that had long since been considered rundown. A tiny thing, Miss Shirley resembled a fourth grader in size and stature, but insisted on wearing a dress with pantyhose and kitten heels each day like she was dressed for church. Her iron gray hair was pulled back into its signature bun, but she gave me a friendly smile now, eyes holding the same pity I expected from everyone.
She grimaced, however, when she looked across the table at Mr. Madden, who was still having a rather heated discussion with someone on the boxy cell phone. Now that I was closer, I realized how stern his face looked, even behind the glasses. His body language suggested he was not someone to be trifled with.
Wesley cleared his throat loudly and gave his father a pointed look. Mr. Madden nodded and barked out an order to the caller before ending the call in a huff.
“You wouldn’t believe the nightmare China is becoming with these imports!” he snapped. With a sharp tug, he removed his glasses to reveal cold, black eyes staring at me. “And who is this?” he demanded of Wesley.
“This is the girl I told you about,” his son began. “Celeste Hendricks.”
Wanting to reflect well on my parents, I smiled brightly at him and held out my right hand for him to shake. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”
Mr. Madden merely glared at my hand before turning back towards Miss Shirley. “I want weekly updates on his activities. Wesley will maintain perfect grades or I will be forced to send him to Montmeri.”
His rudeness rankled me. I had never met a man with such horrible manners before. Mama would have given him the burnt bacon.
“What’s Montmeri?” I asked Wesley. My friend’s face had turned to ash, his back ramrod straight.
“Don’t you worry, Ben, dear,” Miss Shirley cooed. “I’ll make sure Wesley is well taken care of.”
Mr. Madden didn’t look as if he believed her, but he snorted his acceptance. Turning to Wesley, his face turned even colder. “Stay out of trouble this time, Wesley, or so help me, I will drag you on that plane myself. This is your last chance.”
Wesley didn’t say a word. He nodded once before turning abruptly on his heel, catching my hand in his as he stepped towards the door.
Ever my mama’s daughter, I couldn’t help but add, “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Madden. Good afternoon, Miss Shirley,” as Wesley yanked me out the door.
Once outside, Wesley’s feet pounded the pavement so fast I expected sparks to fly. He made a beeline across the street for the park, following the path down to the creek bed where we met the day before. Other kids stopped and pointed at us. The fact that I only cared about Wesley’s feelings rather than their stares should have been a wakeup call, but at the moment I was too consumed with concern for him to care about anything else. When we reached the edge of the woods, he picked up his pace even faster, practically bolting to the tree. I had to run just to keep up with his long legs. As soon as we reached the safety of its branches, he spun abruptly on his heel and brought me up short with his cowering glare.
“Go ahead,” he snarled. “Tell me how I’m a spoiled, rich kid with a prick for a dad! And how you don’t wanna be my friend!”
I gaped at him, my brown waves flying loose around my face. “Wesley,” I whispered, “that thought never crossed my mind.”
His face contorted into an ugly sneer of anger, his startling blue eyes intense with rage. “Then tell me how you feel sorry for me, for being dumped on some old lady’s doorstep because my rich daddy doesn’t want me!”
My mama was probably rolling in her grave hearing him refer to his elders like that, but I recognized his true feelings. They laced right through his fury. Wesley wasn’t angry—he was hurt. He wanted to lash out at the world the same way I had after I lost my mama. Only Wesley’s daddy chose to do this to him.
I shook my head slowly, keeping my gaze trained on his so he could see my sincerity. “The only one I feel sorry for is him because he’s missing out.”
Wesley’s entire face crumpled as he struggled to contain his feelings. I recognized that look because it was the same mask I had been wearing for weeks now. Without giving it a second thought, I rushed forward to throw my arms around him. It took a few moments of stunned silence before he awkwardly returned the embrace. He hugged me as if the gesture was foreign to him, like no one had ever held him when he fell asleep at night, or when he scraped his knee, or when he won the school spelling bee.
Realizing that made my heart break for him. Obviously, his mother hadn’t been around and it didn’t seem like his daddy was someone who took the time to hug him. I couldn’t imagine a world where Daddy and Nana wouldn’t hold me. Even Marla pulled me in for a squeeze at the end of the day. Poor Wesley had never known a family like that.
I stepped away and brushed the hair out of my face, trying to nonchalantly keep my eyes on the ground so he didn’t feel embarrassed if he needed to dry his face. Hastily, I saw a quick swipe of his forearm and knew I made the right call.
Wesley needed me. He deserved to know what it felt like to have someone care for you, to have someone cheer you on and call you out on your sass just like my mama and daddy always did for me. If I could do that for him, maybe that would be a good thing. It’s what Mama would have done, and that gave me the desire to try.
Besides, I had a feeling that befriending Wesley Madden was about to be the biggest adventure of my life.