Chapter 12
Devan
I wait until we’re on the interstate before I hit the call button on my steering wheel.
Marilyn’s name is at the top of the recent calls list. Before I can give the car instructions to connect a call with Marilyn James, my car fills with the melody of an incoming call. Marilyn’s name is on the screen.
“Answer call,” I tell my car.
“I can’t believe you haven’t called me. Oh my God, what happened in your bedroom?
I started to freak out when I saw the door closed.
You could see the mental math happening with your dad and brother.
That’s why I got all loud. What did we interrupt?
It’s killing me. Why haven’t you spilled?
” Her questions come too fast for me to answer.
Gripping the steering wheel, I laugh.
“You’re not talking.”
“You haven’t given me a chance,” I say between giggles.
“I mean, it was obvious that after…you were happier. Did he say something? Do something? What happened?”
Hitting my cruise control, I lean back against the seat. While I’m watching the traffic around me, my thoughts go back to late morning.
“Devan, if you don’t talk, I’m unfriending you.”
“You wouldn’t do that,” I say.
“You’re right. So talk.”
“He kissed me again.” I pause a second. “A real kiss.”
The sound of Marilyn’s shriek fills my car.
The ear-piercing squeal is loud enough for me to look in all my mirrors to be certain there isn’t a siren behind me.
“Was it…? Was it as good as the night of the hog roast?” my best friend asks.
“Better.”
“Oh, you need to call Jill. She won’t believe it. Did he say anything? Did you?”
“I told him it was okay if he regretted either kiss or both kisses now that he knows who I am.” I sigh. “He said he didn’t. He asked if I did.”
“And you said no.”
Nodding, my smile grows. “He said once I’m settled, maybe we could see each other.”
Marilyn’s volume rises. “He wants to go on a date?”
“He said unofficially.”
“And you said…?”
A smile blossoms on my lips. “I told him to ask me when it can be official.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did. I mean, sneaking could be fun, but I don’t want to end up as a notch on Justin Sheers’s belt, and then forever be connected to him through Ricky.”
“Damn,” she says, elongating the word. “That’s a tricky tightrope.”
Sighing, I nod. “I know. I mean, even if we date officially, if things don’t work out?—”
“Stop,” Marilyn demands, interrupting my thoughts.
“Don’t speak negative energy into this. Think positive.
I mean, if I would have been asked what would happen once he learned who you are, kissing you again wouldn’t have been in my top five answers.
He did. You did. Oh, did you kiss again when he went to find you for lunch? ”
“No,” I say with a smirk, recalling the way he was banging on the door. “He was a little frantic when the door was locked, but on the way to the picnic table, we just talked. He asked why I wanted to move back to Riverbend.”
“Did you tell him it was his kiss?”
“That’s not the only reason. And no, I didn’t tell him that. I told him that I like the familiarity of Riverbend.”
“Yeah, don’t give Justin Sheers a bigger head than he already has. Oh, my mom is calling,” Marilyn says. “I’ll call back when I can. Drive safely.”
“You too,” I reply before the call drops. I’m thinking about her last statement.
Does Justin have a big head? Meaning, is he conceited?
I might think he is if I hadn’t heard the uncertain tone in his voice as he asked about maybe seeing one another.
When I think back on him when I was young, I guess I thought he was a grumpy know-it-all.
Now I’m seeing him in a different light.
Justin knows what he knows. From what I’ve heard Ricky and Dad say, Justin is the reason the Sheers farm is productive.
His research with alternative uses for corn has helped others in the area as well as his family.
Personally, I think it’s great that he’s carried on the tradition of farming.
I’m pretty sure Ricky is tired of it. And with the news that Mom and Dad are considering selling the property, it seems as if the Dunn farm will go the way of other farms. The idea of it being broken into small pieces with tiny lots and big houses makes my stomach turn.
Thinking about that, I wonder if I will stay in Riverbend. I mean, it won’t be the same if it all changes.
As I pull off the street onto the lane that leads to our house, my childhood home where I will now again live, the sun is near the horizon, the sky filling with vibrant shades of crimson.
The big white barn is the first thing you see.
There are still pens where we used to have livestock.
When I was a kid, there were cows and goats.
When our dad was young, they raised pigs.
Now we’ve gone to concentrating on agriculture—growing corn, soybeans, and hay. Cultivating straw.
Maybe there’s no stopping changes.
They happen whether we want them to or not.
As I’m getting out of my car, the screen door flies open, and Mom comes out on the porch.
Even though I saw her yesterday, she’s coming toward me with a smile as if it’s been months.
Her arms open wide as she pulls me to her.
She’s a little bit shorter than I am with the same light color hair.
Hers is cut into a cute short style. In her mid-fifties, she’s still in great shape.
“I’m so glad you’re home,” she says.
“What color is my room?”
Her smile grows, making small lines near the corners of her eyes. “I hope you like it.” She looks at my car. The entire inside, minus the driver’s seat, is filled with stuff. “I’ll help you carry some things.”
“First, I want to see my room.” I know that since I asked to come home, my mom has been excited about redecorating my room. And by her palpable excitement, my answer is exactly what she wants to hear.
Together we go up the steps of the porch.
It’s one that wraps around two sides of the house.
There’s no rail, only columns every ten feet or so.
On each side of every column, Mom has flowerpots with bright red geraniums. And in the middle of each set of columns is a hanging fern.
While most people buy their flowers from a local nursery or a big-box store in Washington, Mom raises hers in a small greenhouse Dad built for her on the backside of the big barn.
The greenhouse windows face south, giving it all the warmth needed in the winter months so that in the spring, they’re ready.
I look at the flower beds near the porch. “You haven’t planted the beds yet.”
“I’ve been painting. Maybe you can help me with the flower beds.”
Nodding, I grin. “I’d like that.”
Our house was built by my dad’s grandfather. It’s had a lot of renovations since then, such as plumbing. Grandpa used to tell stories about an outhouse. As we enter the kitchen, the air is filled with a glorious aroma. On the stovetop is a large stockpot. “Chili?”
“I figured you’d all be hungry after packing all day.” Mom goes to the stove and removes the lid. The scent of chili powder wafts around the room. Stirring the chili, she says, “I told Rick to invite Justin. It was so nice of him to help.”
My circulation slows, falling to my feet and leaving me faint. I reach for the back of one of the kitchen chairs and hold tight. “Is he coming?”
“Justin? I don’t know. I made plenty.” She taps the large spoon on the edge of the pot, puts the lid back on, and lowers the flame beneath the burner. “Are you ready?”
For Justin to be at my house.
No.
Mom’s smile grows. “Let’s go see your room.”
“For my room,” I say softly, “I’m definitely ready.”
The back staircase steps creak as we go upward. There wasn’t much uniqueness that went into planning homes back in the day. At the top of the stairs there’s a landing and a hallway with five doors. At the far end is another staircase leading to our front living room.
Four of the doors access bedrooms and the fifth is to a bathroom.
When plumbing was installed, a wall was taken down and a small bathroom was added in what is now Mom and Dad’s room.
The renovation made their bedroom larger than the rest. The other three rooms are all about the same size.
Ricky had his own bathroom until I came along.
Mom opens the door to my room. Her brown eyes, the color of my own, are on me.
The lavender walls I’ve had for as long as I can remember are gone, now painted a pale peach color.
One wall, the one with the windows, is a few shades darker.
The tall windows have light, wispy white drapes over plantation style blinds.
The woodwork is painted a shiny white, a great contrast to the darker wall.
“I love it,” I say, giving Mom a hug.
“I have another surprise.”
“Another?” I follow her into the hallway and down to the last room on the right.
When she opens the door, I see the same colors as my bedroom. “Where is your craft table and supplies?”
“I figured a teacher, especially a first-year teacher, will need someplace to work when she’s not at school.”
“Mom, you didn’t need to give up your room.”
She’s shaking her head. “My eyes aren’t good enough for cross-stitch, and my days of scrapbooking are done. Mostly, this room had become a catchall. You gave me a reason to clean it all out.”
A smile breaks out over my lips. “Thank you. I will definitely help you plant flowers.”
The sound of Dad’s truck can be heard through the open windows.
“If Justin is here,” Mom says, “he can help Ricky bring your desk up to your office.”
My office.
That thought fades with the realization that I need a shower. And then I remember how hard Dad, Ricky, and Justin worked. We all need showers.
“Mom, they worked all day. My desk can wait.” Out the window of my new home office, I see Dad pull his truck in, the trailer in tow.
From high above, I can watch without being seen.
Ricky gets out of the passenger side. It takes a minute, but Dad is the next to get out. They’re both walking toward the house.
Mom is peering over my shoulder. “Oh, it looks like Justin couldn’t make it.”
I shouldn’t be disappointed, but I am.
Spinning, I meet my mom’s gaze. “Do you mind if I take a quick shower before dinner?”
“You go ahead.”
I brush her cheek with a kiss. “Thank you for both rooms. I love the colors.”
Mom’s eyes light up. “I’m glad you’re home.”