Chapter 60 Georgia
Georgia
Clear blue skies and a steady breeze—perfect weather for the county fair. Whitetail and the towns around have shown up and
dressed up for the occasion. I wear a plaid shirt, knotted at the top of my high-waisted jeans. With boots. Of course, boots.
I have a cap on my head—an excellent alternative to a hairnet—but it allows my red hair to spill out and down my back like
a flag marking me a Louise.
The breeze carries children’s giggles and shrieks from the game booths across the path to the livestock section well-known
for its noxious fumes. Music surrounds us as it travels over from the stage that’s been erected out of scaffolding and jazzed
up with Americana bunting. Even the sun seems to be twinkling to the beat.
Tina deserves a day this delightful.
Since the gates opened, Junie, Cece, and I have been slicing pie, slinging plates, and swiping cards for payment at such a
pace that we’ve barely looked up.
Tina, the face of the operation, is planted in front of the booth like a cable TV saleswoman.
“Hey there, Michelle!” Tina calls to one of her friends. “Let me show you around the booth.”
Tina sweeps her arm around Michelle and begins telling her the story of her mother’s mother’s mother’s mother putting together
this pie recipe. None of us is sure how much is fact versus family folklore that has seeped in over the years.
Countless times, people arrive at the booth with the same script: “I was told I couldn’t leave before I try this.”
Tina is thrilled every time she hears it.
And I am too. Not because I want people to like the pie but because Tina finally believes she has something real to offer.
The person Tina was when I first rolled back into town in my overpriced car is now mostly a memory. Maybe that version of
me is a little bit gone too. Well, all the best parts of Tina haven’t changed, so maybe it’s actually that she turned up the
volume on Tina right after she brushed off her self-doubt.
“Georgia?” Tina calls over. She comes around the side of the booth with a customer in tow. “This lovely lady would like to
buy a whole pie! Can we accommodate her?”
“No problem.” I’m more than happy to sell her the whole thing considering it’ll be one less to slice up and plate. “Ma’am,
can I wrap it for you?”
The customer nods. “That’ll be just fine.”
Once she pays and goes on her way, Tina dips behind the booth.
“Y’all, can you believe the success?” she says, struggling to contain an excited yelp. “Everyone seems to love it.”
“Maybe you’ll believe us the next time we tell you you’ve got a winner on your hands,” Junie says as she pulls Tina into a
slow hug, a physical I love you.
Junie looks grayer than she did this morning, and I make a note to pull her aside and suggest she take it easy after we’re done here.
She wears the same chocolate-brown wig today, and although she looks beautiful, it’s a reminder of reality.
I’m planning to pin her down at some point soon and ask again about the genetics.
It must be something minor, since we already dealt with that years back, but a part of me knows she’s avoiding telling me rather than simply waiting for the right moment.
I know my sister well, and I have deep experience with her avoiding the things she’d rather laugh her way around.
It might not be at the top of my daily agenda
these days, but eventually, one day, I might want to have kids. One day she might too. So it’s something important to understand.
“We believed in the pie, and also in you,” Cece says.
Sam shuffles over from his post at the bagging station. “Tina, you really outdid yourself,” he says. His eyes hang on her,
sincerity filling them. The twinkle is so honest and obvious, I can tell it takes a lot when he pulls them away.
Tina blushes, looking up at Sam from underneath her eyelashes. “Well, thank you. And I appreciate all your help around here.”
Tina’s gaze reaches beyond her beau as she registers us beside him. “And you ladies as well, of course. It goes without saying,
we couldn’t be doing any of this without you. Not without the Good Hair Days and the ladies that make it.”
It’s just as I’m soaking in our collective praise that my father walks up. “And man who makes it,” I say, knowing the rest of them will agree with me.
“I overheard at least three people talking about the pie on my way in,” Dad says. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re in the
running for first place in the contest.”
Tina smiles, but I also notice her gulp.
More than forty pies are entered, even if only a handful are also being sold at stalls.
Because selling at the fair isn’t a prerequisite for entering the competition, and everyone’s mother, grandmother, aunt, and uncle think their pie is the best in a hundred-mile radius.
It’s a real competition, but Tina’s pie is also a real contender.
“We’ll see,” she says. “Honestly, just this day itself has been beyond my wildest dreams.”
Before any of us can reply, several teenagers appear at the front and assemble into a loose line. “Ma’am, is this the cherry
pie?”
“You’re in the right place,” Cece announces, and the lot of us get back to serving.
We have enough pie left to serve only a few families more, and then we’re forced to hang a Sold Out sign. When would-be customers
arrive, watching their faces fall in disappointment is a letdown but also a tiny bit satisfying.
“You really could have a thing on your hands here,” I say to Tina. “We could still be selling if only we had more pies.”
“Maybe one day you’ll have your own bakery,” Junie says with a playful elbow nudge to Tina’s side.
“But I’ve only got one menu item,” Tina replies. Her face squeezes a little, like she’s being caught out.
“Maybe not a whole bakery, then,” Sam says. “But from someone who knows a little about food distribution, you could certainly
sell these pies.”
Tina swats at the air. “Oh, pie-in-the-sky dream.” She giggles at her wordplay. “Not that it isn’t fun to dream a little.”
“I think by now we can all agree with that more than we thought was possible,” Cece says. “It only took a couple weeks and
a bunch of Good Hair Days, and look at the lot of us.”
My eyes find Junie, and I hope in that moment that all of the possibility thrumming among us lands on her. That somehow it
might wind itself up and give her that second chance. That fate, and love, and the heavens, and anything else that’s willing
to listen to a bunch of beauty shop women would just give her a pass.
“I mean, they haven’t even announced the winner yet,” Junie says. “Don’t sell yourself short.”
Tina grabs her watch face and says, “Probably not for at least another thirty minutes or so I’d guess. So we should all grab
a break, check out the other stands, and say hello. We’ll gather up together for the announcement.”
Cece and Dad break off, chatting between themselves, and Tina and Sam head off in the direction of the refreshments stand,
probably for another glass of the lemonade Tina was enjoying earlier.
I slip my arm into Junie’s bent elbow. “You feeling up to a face-off at the Fish Bowl Toss?”
It was our favorite game when we came here as kids, and we spent hours and all of our spending money lobbing temperamental
ping pong balls at fish bowls, hoping to sink one and win a prize.
Junie grins. “If I ever say no, you’ll know something’s seriously wrong.”
We walk across the grounds arm in arm to the fair games. To our luck, a small gaggle of girls are just wrapping up at our
game of choice, and we slide in. The attendant is a bored teenager absorbed in his phone. He barely notices us walk up.
“We’ll take a full bucket, please,” I say.
He nods, accepts the money, and hands off the bucket of balls before going back to his phone.
“Youngest goes first,” Junie announces, dipping her fingers in and snagging the first ball.
I fake-sigh. It’s fun to pretend I’m exasperated when really I just love having my little sister at my side. She might look
somewhat different these days, but what makes Junie Junie has always been the magic that runs through her insides.
Her ball predictably hits the rim and darts off to the side.
I take a turn, methodically lining up my shot, one eye closed.
Before I can shoot, Junie laughs and calls out, “Come on, just have some fun with it!”
I turn to look at her, wink, and let the shot go out of sight. I look back and it scatters across the board. “That would’ve
been so cool if it went in.”
“I think we can leave the prizes for the kids anyway,” Junie says as she takes her next shot.
Her words jog my memory again, about my lingering questions concerning our shared gene pool. “That reminds me.” I take a ball
from the bucket. “Tell me about the news you got on the genetics front. I know you’re clear, and I obviously have the gene.
But we should know about other variants for future . . . endeavors.”
“Endeavors? Like, kids?” Junie looks at me like I’ve suggested she adopt a zoo animal.
I take my shot. “Yeah, kids. You might want to have them. And if this is another gene issue I might have, I’d like to know too.”
Junie takes her ball and stops, propping a hand on her hip. “You’re thinking about having kids with Eddie, aren’t you?” She
waggles her eyebrows in a way that makes me flush with embarrassment. “Aww, you little lovebirds.”
I cough and splutter in surprise.
“Gotcha!” Junie cries as she explodes into a celebratory jig.
“Stop.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not even like that.”
“Are you sure? Because I think it’s very much like that.”
“June Scott, you have never met a button of mine you didn’t love to push.”
“Apologies. It’s why God made younger siblings after all.” Junie throws up her hands in mock acceptance. “And so I do as I
must.”
We fold over, giggling, and I wrap her in my arms. I pop a kiss on the top of her new brown hair and pull back. “You’re not getting out of this conversation, though.”