Chapter 17 #2
Jade returned her hug without responding. It was nice to hear, but there was no reason for her to come back. Sebastian had agreed to talk to Miles, and her assignment was over. By tomorrow evening, she would be headed back to Atlanta, where she belonged.
But until then, she was going to enjoy her time with Sebastian for as long as she could.
* * *
SEB’S VIEW PART DEUX
JULY FOURTH REMINISCING
It’s almost that time again, fellow Clementonians, for the July Fourth parade. The entire town is festooned with flags and banners, and Mayor Pancake’s decoration crew has outdone themselves this year.
July Fourth was a little more than a month away, and Seb wasn’t sure why when he woke up this morning he was inspired to write about his most prominent memory of summers past, but he’d learned long ago that when inspiration struck, he needed to follow. He’d edit the details later.
Main Street is dripping with red, white, and blue, and the Clementine High School marching band has been practicing their patriotic songs with musical zeal.
If you see a band member, give them a pat on the back.
They relinquish part of their summer to bring us the best in high school marching band entertainment, and it’s a crying shame they haven’t been chosen for the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade yet. Hope springs eternal.
I was never a musician, but I have my own vivid Independence Day memories from when our quaint town was even quainter. One in particular sticks out in my mind the most.
Clementine, 1978. My ten-year-old self moseyed into Wright’s Soda Shop and Sundries to get a chocolate malt.
I was skinnier than a pencil lead, and for some reason Mr. Wright thought that was the only qualification needed to shimmy up the medium-sized flagpole right outside his store.
He wanted to replace his tattered, well-worn Old Glory and had offered me the princely sum of one dollar and fifty cents to do the job.
When I hesitated, he sweetened the pot with free chocolate malts for the rest of the month.
Against my better judgment and because of my weakness for milkshakes, I foolishly agreed.
He handed me a flag that strangely smelled like motor oil and supervised while I tucked it under my arm and climbed up the pole. The task was easier than I thought, and with increasing confidence I climbed until I was almost to the top. Then I made a tragic error.
I looked down.
And at that moment I realized something I’d never known about myself. I was terribly, horribly, incredibly, and all the other appropriate adjectives afraid of heights. It didn’t matter that the flagpole wasn’t that high—probably twelve feet, if that. My body refused to move.
Mr. Wright promptly responded to my lack of progress.
“Why’d ya stop?” he yelled, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun, perspiration puddling on his balding head.
I sympathized, drenched with a combination of flop sweat and exudation from Arkansas in midsummer. I also remained mute.
“Sebastian?” His tone changed from quizzical to concerned. “You okay?”
I was not okay. I couldn’t climb up. I couldn’t go down. I was in the grip of paralyzing fear.
At that point Mr. Wright started yelling in earnest. I don’t remember what he said, only that his loud bellowing brought out a sizable crowd that included three of my buddies who’d been walking around town wasting time.
“Are you stuck?” Roger Brown stated the obvious.
“Whatcha doing up there?” Billy Johnson queried.
“You’re gonna be in trouuuuuble,” Evelyn Margot hollered.
From my perceived atmospheric position, I thought my sister was my buddy Christopher.
This wasn’t the first time I mistook her for a boy.
When she was five, she gave herself a Marine-esque haircut, on purpose.
That day she had on a Razorbacks baseball cap that hid her then shoulder-length hair.
True to form, she was being annoyingly unhelpful.
There was a sudden cacophony of voices, and when one unidentified adult claimed that he would call the fire department, that was all it took. The idea of being rescued in front of my friends, a few curious townspeople, and— gasp, Evelyn Margot—spurred me into action.
I wiped one damp palm on the flag, then the other. I quickly climbed the rest of the pole, affixed the flag, and wobbled toward earth, sliding down the last third of the way. When my sneakers hit terra firma, I expected accolades. Or at least a thank-you. Instead, the crowd moaned.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see Evelyn Margot standing there in her pink Stay Groovy T-shirt, grinning. “It’s upside down, dummy.”
The egg timer rang, and Seb shut it off.
He’d set the timer before starting his column because he didn’t want to be late picking up Jade.
He removed the sheet of paper from his typewriter and finished getting dressed.
Nothing was far in Clementine, and he had fifteen minutes before he was supposed to be at the inn.
It would take ten minutes to get there. He didn’t want to be too early.
Or too late. He wanted to be casually on time, whatever that meant.
It was the best he could come up with since he didn’t want her to notice how eager he was to see her.
He was quite alert, considering he’d only gotten three hours of sleep.
That wasn’t Jade’s fault. Or maybe it was.
The second he got home last night, he planted himself in front of his Royal and hammered out almost three chapters of his follow-up novel, which was now exactly almost three chapters long.
For the past eight years, he assumed he’d avoided working on it because he was so busy with The Times .
There was also a little fear too. His first book had exploded out of the gate—something he hadn’t anticipated.
Now he wondered if part of his reticence had been writer’s block. He sure busted through it last night.
He’d hold off contacting his agent, though.
After a couple years of encouragement, they agreed to temporarily part ways, although she was still willing to rep his writing if he ever finished something.
He wasn’t foolish enough to think that one breakthrough night had set him on the right track.
And if Jade was the reason he was able to move forward. ..
Seb shook his head and searched for his car keys.
Where had he left them? Oh, right. In the bathroom, duh.
He grabbed them off the sink and left his small bungalow, trying to temper his anticipation.
But it was hard. Last night with Jade had been another breakthrough—a personal one—and he was looking forward to being with her and not thinking about work or buyouts or even the past. He wasn’t naive enough to believe they were going on a date, and he refused to call it one.
Could it lead to something else?
Once again he gave his head a shake. He had to stop doing that, imagining things that weren’t likely to happen, even if thinking about those things made him feel good. And hopeful. Wow, when was the last time he felt truly hopeful about anything?
Eleven minutes later he pulled into the inn’s parking lot and saw Jade waiting outside. His heart thumped. He’d never get over how beautiful she was, and he was glad to see she had dressed casually. They were entering the no-business zone.
He got out at the same time she spotted him, and she headed toward him as he zipped over to the passenger side of the car to open the door for her. “Morning,” he said, glad he was sounding nonchalant.
“Hi.” She smiled.
Another thump. Yes, this was going to be a good day.
For the next two hours, he drove through the Ozark Mountains, mostly on back roads since she mentioned she enjoyed them during her Sunday drive. Conversation was casual and easy, and she asked plenty of questions about the area, particularly Clementine. He was glad to oblige.
Around ten thirty he asked, “Are you hungry?”
“A little. Evelyn made breakfast this morning.”
“Eggs?”
Jade nodded. “They were delicious.”
“She’s known for those. I don’t know what kind of cooking magic she does when she makes them, but they’re amazing.
” He glanced at her. She had sunglasses on and the same outfit she wore to the hoedown.
Her hair was pulled back with a dark green headband and her fair complexion was radiant.
Kind of like he was feeling right now. Whoa. Dial it back, Hudson.
Food. They were talking about food. “There’s a café in Jasper that’s pretty popular. Excellent pie.”
“Coconut cream?”
“To die for.”
She grinned. “I’m in.”
He drove them to the Crescent Ridge Café and enjoyed a lunch of hamburgers, french fries, and of course, pie. He wasn’t into sweets, so he didn’t get a piece. That didn’t stop Jade from offering him a bite.
“Trust me, you’ll love this.” She held out a glob of white-and-light-yellow cream on her fork.
Their surroundings might be different, but everything felt familiar, reminding him of the lunches they shared at the Sports Page in downtown Little Rock. He took the bite, barely aware they were sharing a fork, something they used to do. “Not bad.”
“What?” She shoved the tines back into the slice. “This is the best pie I’ve ever had, and I thought the Clementine Diner’s was exceptional.”
Seb enjoyed watching her finish the dessert. The only hiccup was when the check arrived and she insisted on splitting it, canceling his expectation that he’d take care of the bill. They each paid for their own meals.
It was near noon when they got back in the car, and by the time they’d return to Clementine, it would be almost one o’clock. He still had a pile of work waiting on him, along with finding the ledger. He turned to her. “We need to head back.”
She nodded, glancing his way.
Was that disappointment he saw? Or, rather, wished for.
Jade slid on her sunglasses, and he started the Altima. They were both quiet on the drive back to the inn. Seb didn’t want to push conversation, and they had talked plenty today. All surface things—nothing too personal. Probably for the best.
But when he pulled into the parking lot, reality hit. She was going back to Atlanta tomorrow and this was probably the last time he’d see her. Even if she did decide to talk to Lydia and Logan again, they lived in Little Rock. There wasn’t a reason for her to come back to Clementine.
Seb pulled into a space to the left of the inn. The parking lot was almost empty, and he assumed people were out enjoying the last of the holiday weekend. This was it. Goodbye. That’s all he had to say, and then he’d be on his way to The Times office. To work. Again.
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then shut off the engine.
“Sebastian?”
He turned to her, and the question he’d been dying to know the answer to bubbled to the surface. “Why didn’t you get married?”