4. Ivy #2
“What about you?” Jack asked. “Who are you taking care of?”
“No one. My mama and daddy won’t take any help from me,” I said. “My best friend’s Madeleine, so you know how that works. I’m the youngest of four—three older brothers—but they’re all independent. Taking anything from their younger sister would be sacrilege. They still think of me as a baby.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah. Mama was afraid I’d never learn to walk because one of them was always carrying me around. Then, when school was hard for me, Beau used to write my papers and Waylon spent hours with me on math. But it didn’t matter. I still couldn’t get through school.”
“What do you mean?”
“I told you I have a secret. It’s a doozy.”
“Yeah? Lay it on me.”
“I’m dyslexic and have ADD. Which probably explains a lot. I’m always late. Can’t find my keys half the time.”
“And you didn’t want a chart this morning when we recorded.”
“That’s right. Numbers just dance around on the page. Music sheets are the same. I mostly use my ear. If I hear something once, it usually sticks.”
“That’s not such a bad secret, is it?”
“It makes me feel ashamed. I can fill a stadium, but I still feel like the dumb girl in class. The one who had to be sent to a special room for slow kids. I didn’t graduate high school.
” I took a breath, because I don’t tell this to hardly anybody.
“I can’t read worth a darn. Never could.
The letters won’t sit still—they flip and slide and trade places the second I look away.
Music on a page does the same thing, which is just about the cruelest joke the good Lord ever played, seeing as it’s the thing I love most in this world.
So school wasn’t for me. Got my GED and then headed to Nashville, knowing I had to make music work because it’s the only thing I’ve ever been able to do. ”
“I thought the same thing about myself.”
“And here we are, living the dream,” I said, leaning in for a quick kiss from his salty lips.
“Do you have any dreams left?”
“Just one,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“I want to get married and have a family. A real home, married to a man who’s my best friend. Like my mama and daddy have. What about you?” I asked before he could delve further into my confession. “Any dreams left?”
“Same as you. But, after Lisa, I started thinking it wasn’t possible to have music and love. And music’s always won.”
“For me too,” I said. “But maybe it’s because we haven’t met the right person. Someone who understands our lifestyle.”
“And what music means to us.”
“That’s right.”
“Madeleine’s been telling me for years that I ought to meet you,” I said. “Not just a handshake at an awards show, but an actual sit down and talk kind of thing.”
“She’s never said a word to me about it,” Jack said.
“That woman’s always up to something. Total know-it-all. The problem is, she’s usually right.”
“What did you think when she mentioned me?”
“That you’re smoking hot and totally intimidating,” I said. “But only the first thing’s true. You’re easy to talk to.”
“Feels like we’ve known each other a long time, right?”
“Exactly.”
We locked gazes for a moment, until he suddenly twitched. “The dumplings. They’ve been on the stove all this time.”
We hauled ourselves out of the pool and wrapped up in terrycloth robes he’d left on one of the chaises.
By then, the sun had disappeared, leaving the still quiet of twilight in its wake.
However, it remained hot and sticky. I started to question the wisdom of such a hot dish.
Maybe I should have thought of that earlier.
His kitchen was all creamy white cabinetry that went clear up to the ceiling, with glass-fronted cupboards lit from the inside and brass knobs that caught the light.
The island was enormous, a waterfall slab of white marble streaked with gray, big enough for a whole family to gather around.
Above it hung a wide brass pendant, warm and golden, the inside glowing like a little sun.
The stove was one of those professional ranges with more burners than any normal person needed, tucked beneath a paneled hood and a marble backsplash that climbed the wall.
Jack lifted the lid off his pot on the stovetop and he grimaced. “Oh, this isn’t good.”
I peered in to the pot. Where I gathered there had once been tender, flat little dumplings swimming in golden broth, there was now a thick, gluey, grayish paste that had welded itself into one solid mass. It looked like wallpaper paste.
“The recipes warned me not to let them sit too long. But they didn’t say what to do when a pretty girl asks you to take a swim and there’s no way in the world you’re going to say no to that.”
I felt terrible. I also could not hold in my laughter. “I’m so sorry. But maybe glue tastes good?”
He chuckled, but I could tell he was disappointed. “I spent hours on this.”
“I ruined it,” I said, suddenly feeling like I might cry instead of laugh. “It’s the Ivy affect. Wherever I am, chaos ensues.”
He turned off the burner and put his arms around me. “It’s not chaos. It’s fun. Do you know how long it’s been since I swam in my own pool?”
“But I made you forget your dumplings.”
“You make me forget a lot of things,” Jack said. “But, for the record, the dumplings were flat, as requested.”
“I’m sure they were.”
“And I’d make the dish a thousand times, knowing it would be ruined, to take a swim with you.”
“Jack Wilder, you should write country songs.”
“You think?” He kissed me. I heard his stomach growl.
“You’re starving,” I said.
“I am,” Jack said.
“We could order pizza.”
“We’re too far out. No one delivers out here.” He grinned, plucking a lock of my hair from my still damp cheek. “But I have an idea. I’ll make you my specialty. I cook it for my sister whenever she visits.”
I watched him take out tortillas, cheddar cheese, and a container of bologna.
“Oh my gosh, I haven’t seen real bologna in ages,” I said.
He got out a skillet and turned on the burner.
“The night my dad left, my mom was working a double shift, and Luci was hungry. All we had in the fridge was what you see here.” He took two tortillas, putting one on the grill, sprinkling cheese over it, then put a piece of bologna on top before covering it all with another tortilla.
“Voila, bologna quesadillas were born. We started a tradition that night. I can still remember the rain on the tin roof of our trailer. It was dark at five in the afternoon. We’d just watched our dad take off, and I knew right then—it was me.
I had to step up for my mom and Luci. I was all they had. ”
He flipped the quesadilla and for a second I saw the boy on that porch in the rain, with his baby sister beside him. He’d decided then to be the rock everyone needed. For the rest of his life.
“When I saw your house, I thought, this is a house for a family,” I said.
“That’s the idea.” Jack plopped the quesadillas onto plates, setting one in front of me. “Here it is. My masterpiece.”
Each plate held a triangle of crisped tortilla oozing cheddar at the edges. He opened the fridge and pulled out two longneck beers, popped the tops, and joined me at the island.
“This is the official pairing?” I asked.
“For bologna quesadillas? Absolutely. Not the first time I made them, obviously. But now Luci and I always wash them down with a cold beer.”
I took a bite. Delicious. The salty bologna, sharp melted cheddar with the crunch of the tortilla tasted like the best comfort food I’d ever had. “This is really good,” I said, before taking another bite. “I’m not sure I’ll fit into my dress tomorrow, but I think it’s worth it.”
“I’m glad you approve. Sorry about the chicken and dumplings.”
“No worries. Mama will make it for us next weekend.”
“Next weekend?” Jack took a swig of beer.
“When you meet my family.”
He laughed. “That’s how we’re doing this, huh?”
“If you’re going to marry me, you’ve got to meet my mama.”
He paled slightly, watching me over the top of his beer bottle.
“I’m just kidding,” I said. “I’m not a total psycho.”
“I’d love to meet your mama,” Jack said. “Which means we have a week to get to know each other better. Just so we don’t break your mama’s heart if we’re wrong about this.”
“You feel it too?”
“Yeah, I feel it too.”
“What does it mean?” I asked.
“We have to have faith that God knows what he’s doing.”
“I live every day like that,” I said.
“You want another one?” Jack gestured with his beer bottle at my empty plate.
“No, take me on a tour of this house. I want to see every inch.”
“Great. Let’s shower and put our clothes on first. This wet suit’s starting to itch.”
“I think I left my dress on the patio.” I peered around him and, sure enough, it was hanging on the back of a chaise. “Let me grab it.”
But he was already headed outside, returning with it a minute later.
“I hate to ask, but, if you had your suit on under your dress, what happens now?”
I laughed. “I have panties and a bra in my bag.”
“You really are testing my will power, aren’t you?” Jack asked.
“That’s the idea.”