20. Brooke
Brooke
Beck left after a lunch of grilled ham and cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, and I find myself missing his presence.
I’m sitting on my bed, thinking about painting, but I can’t seem to muster up the enthusiasm for a landscape right now.
Instead, my fingers keep tugging on my hair, and my eyes keep drifting to the window, which doesn’t even face Beck’s house.
When I snap a pink strand off, I know I need to do something else. I grab the crochet blanket I’m working on, and as I work the hook through the yarn, I think, Get a grip, girl . It’s been one date.
And yet, it’s true: I miss him. He’s honestly not the most physically attractive man I’ve ever met, and he’s certainly not the most talkative, but he is different from all of the guys who’ve taken me out.
Maybe he’d be running for the hills if he knew I heard what he said to Meemaw about marrying me, but he also didn’t run for the hills despite Meemaw’s threats involving munitions.
Ol’ Eddie, my goodness.
“Brookie,” Meemaw calls from the couch. “Could you help me? I’m ready for a change of location.”
“Sure thing, Meemaw,” I shout to ensure she hears that I’m coming and doesn’t try to do anything foolish.
The soft pink shag carpet tickles my bare toes as I walk down the hallway, and my eyes snag on the line of photographs spaced evenly on the wall.
Everything about Meemaw’s house is clean.
Faded, yes. Old, definitely, but clean. The photograph of her and her husband on their wedding day stands out in a way that never has before.
Meemaw wears a simple white suit skirt and hat, while Pappaw wears company overalls.
Meemaw calls for me again, breaking me from studying the photo.
I shake my head as I try to come back to the present.
“Coming!” I yell.
I plod down the hallway to the living room, trying to formulate the questions I have about that picture, but they’re all jumbled up.
Why did it never occur to me to ask Meemaw about her marriage?
“What took you so long?” Meemaw asks. “I have a hankering to be on my porch right now with a glass of lemonade, and my demanding neighbor”—she winks—“insists I can’t walk myself out there.” She points to her walking boot.
I smile because she’s playing up the her neighbor angle for a reason, and I suspect I’m about to find out why. An afternoon porch talk with a glass of lemonade might be just the thing to help me figure out whatever I’m feeling about Beck.
W hy do I like him so much after one date? And one that, honestly, wasn’t ideal?
I mean, his ex-fiancée who left him at the altar showed up. That’s not exactly a cute first-date story. Certainly not a story I want shared at my wedding.
Wait, what? Now I’m imagining getting married to Beck. Can someone please slow my brain down?
I help Meemaw up, and with the knee scooter Beck brought for her, I stabilize her and assist her out to the porch.
We awkwardly maneuver to the old, creaky porch swing in the corner.
Once she’s seated, I dash back to the kitchen and return with a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses.
When I’ve poured both glasses and settled on the porch swing beside her, Meemaw turns her gaze away from the road and fixes me with her blue eyes.
“What’s on your mind, honey?”
Did Mom say we weren’t sure if Meemaw was losing her faculties? Because this woman is alert and mischievous, but in the best possible way.
I find I can’t look her in the eye for long. Her gaze is too intense. It’s like she can read my thoughts. Maybe she can—I’ve always had an overly expressive face.
“I like him a lot, and that’s scary,” I mutter to the wide planks of the porch.
“Why is liking a handsome, attractive, successful man scary?” Meemaw’s leathery hand grasps mine, and I look back at her worn and weathered face.
“Because I like him a lot. And it was only one date, and I wasn’t even sure why he was asking me out. You know? Did he only ask me out because you told him to, and he has some sort of Southern manners toward older women that makes him do what you say even if he didn’t want to?”
“Brooke.” She tilts her head to the side. “There is no man on the planet who would want to ask you on a date because of what I say. Beckett just needs some pushing.”
“But why should he need pushing?”
“I think you know that already. All that rigamarole with what’s-her-name—”
“Addie,” I supply
“Addie. Yes, that was it.”
“I … uh … I met her today.”
Meemaw’s eyes widen, and she blinks slowly. “And you are just now telling me you met the other woman ?”
I bristle at the salacious phrase. “This isn’t a soap opera, Meemaw.”
She huffs, but the twinkle in her eye tells me she knows exactly what she’s doing.
I blow out a breath in the hope of finding the courage for the question I really want to ask.
“What is it, Brooke?” She squeezes my hand gently. “You can ask or tell me anything. And if it involves hanky-panky with the good doctor, I’ll just call the church ladies up and get you two down the aisle. He’s Catholic, but he was willing to marry Addie at the Baptist church, so no need to worry.”
I start to retort about how fast that would be for ‘hanky-panky,’ but stop when I see the teasing light in her eyes. As usual, my meemaw has disarmed me. She might be eccentric, but she’s my grandmother, and I love her dearly.
“How did you know Pappaw was the one?”
“Ah.” Meemaw quirks her head to the side, and her gray chignon bobs as she reads my face like one reads a book. “You’ve moved on from thinking of happily ever afters are guaranteed and are now hopeless about love?”
I shrug. “Yes. Maybe? I don’t know if I’m hopeless right now.”
“But you were?”
“Maybe. I think...” I scrunch my eyes closed and admit the truth. “I think I’m scared.”
“Sweetie. Love is a lot of things—attraction, sure, but mostly it’s a choice. Willing the good of the other and finding someone who wills your good. When you both want what’s best for the other and are willing to sacrifice your own happiness for them, that’s when you know.”
“But how did you know?”
“Well, Johnny and I didn’t know each other long.
We tended to rush into things back then.
Maybe it’s just all youth who do that, but it was a different time.
We got married on a Tuesday, because that was the only time Johnny’s supervisor would let him off early.
I knew when he came to the house to ask my daddy if he could take me for a soda that this was a different kind of man.
And in those days, the men weren’t always so manly as to own up to their actions.
Maybe this will shock you, but I was pregnant.
Johnny didn’t care that some man had tried to ruin my life.
I was stubborn enough to not let that scum ruin it, mind you. ”
“Mom?” I ask, surprised to hear that Pappaw wasn’t my biological grandfather.
“No, honey, another baby that was adopted by a good family in that county. Johnny and I left the area and came here after that. Too much pain for me there. Sweetie, not many men would look at a woman back then who was unwed and with child, but Johnny saw me call that man out at a dance, and he liked my spirit. He made it his mission to provide for me, and if I hadn’t felt adoption was the right choice for that baby, he would have cared for him too. ”
“Does Mom know?” I ask. She’s never mentioned anything about a brother.
“I’m not sure, sweetie. We didn’t talk about it much.
Now, though, that I’m older, I wish I had.
” She sips her lemonade, then puts the glass down on the table next to the swing.
“The point is, good men exist, and good men are worth it. And I’ve met more than my fair share of the bad ones.
So you go ahead and get to know”—she adopts a low voice and tries to make herself sound like our next-door neighbor—“Doctor Beckett Whistler. He’s a good man, and that shouldn’t scare you. That should thrill you.”