Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Madison
I drive home in silence, reflecting on my time spent in Heartsboro. It isn’t long before the vast open fields and small towns give way to a five-lane highway and the cityscape of Atlanta.
I must head home because I’m unprepared for an extended stay at the Wild Daisy Inn, especially after my time in Savannah and Heartsboro.
I need to repack with more casual summer clothes and find my cowboy boots, my motivation to not stick out like a city girl’s sore thumb the next time I’m at Jamison Farm.
I also need to catch up on some of my other work duties, call my boss, and fill him in on the latest. But how in the world will I explain Ralph’s request to Kevin so he’ll understand?
How Ralph wants me to stay for a while and get to know the town and the community?
To get to know his grandson, George? I’m still perplexed and trying to wrap my brain around the unusual request myself.
Kevin probably thinks last night is a done deal.
In fact, as I dart in and out of heavy traffic through the city, I can imagine him working on the contract at this very moment.
At least, with it being the weekend, I’m pretty much off the clock.
But weekend or not, Kevin’s text from this morning burns a hole in my pocket.
Did you kill it?
My fingers shook as I typed a less-than-honest reply before hitting the road.
Close.
I turn my blinker on, about to get off at my exit near midtown, but I change my mind at the last second and keep going. I decide to visit my sister, Beverly. I need to see my sister. Stepping on the accelerator, I continue on the highway a few more miles north of the city.
Bev is probably outside puttering around her backyard, watering her grass, or pulling weeds from her pretty flower beds.
Or maybe she’s on the couch in her shabby chic family room working on her teacher plan for the upcoming week.
From June through the end of July, she always teaches summer school at the local elementary school for the extra money.
It’s rare for Beverly Adler not to be teaching. She loves her job and the kids.
It’s still early in the afternoon, and I hope my sister hasn’t gone out to run errands. But I know she’s a diehard homebody, preferring downtime in the quiet solitude of her little house in the suburbs on the weekends. It’s worth a shot.
Pulling into her driveway, I exhale a sigh of relief.
Beverly stands on the cement with a running hose in her hand, her face lighting up at seeing me.
She’s in the middle of washing her car, dressed in an old tee and cut-off jean shorts.
Her feet are bare, and her hair is piled high on her head in a messy bun.
“Hey, you!” she greets, shutting off the hose.
“Hey, Bev. Sorry, I didn’t call and just showed up.”
She shakes her head and comes toward me with arms spread wide. “Are you kidding me? I love a good surprise. Especially when my favorite sister is visiting me.”
“Ha! I’m your only sister.”
We hug, and I follow her through the open garage and into the house. The interior smells sweet, the scent of banana bread lingering in the small kitchen.
“How are you? How’d the Heartsboro deal end up? I’ll bet you made a monster commission.”
“Baking again?” I tease, avoiding her questions.
“Of course. I didn’t want my rotten bananas to go to waste.” She washes her hands at the sink overlooking the backyard. “Shall I open a bottle of wine for us? Are we celebrating?”
Chewing on my lower lip, I nod. “Yes to opening a bottle of wine. No to a celebration. Not yet, anyway.”
Beverly’s forehead creases with confusion. “What do you mean? What happened?”
I pull out a stool at the kitchen island and sit, watching my sister gather items needed for our impromptu happy hour.
Beverly’s house reminds me of our childhood home, where we grew up during happier times.
Warm and homey. Well-loved and lived in.
And why wouldn’t it? Most of our parents' old furniture fills the house, repurposed with new cushions and paint. Some of our father’s artwork is on the walls.
The same banana bread recipe passed down from our grandmother is cooling on a wire rack on the counter.
I, on the other hand, never wanted much from our childhood home after Dad passed.
Scratch that. I didn’t want any furnishings or trinkets.
I did, however, want some of my late father’s art, and all of his spiral notebooks and journals full of his poetry, his penned words a sweet salve to my grieving heart.
My city apartment is the exact opposite of my sister’s home.
It’s contemporary, with clean lines and minimalist aesthetics.
Bev often jokes that my place is an extension of my career, and it feels more like a hotel suite than a residence.
She repeatedly insists I add some bold color to liven things up.
But I don’t want to. I prefer my neutral palette and natural light through the large windows.
However, I wish my views were better. I’d much rather look out over rolling hills with a glimpse of the sunset than Atlanta’s bland, downtown office buildings.
“The deal isn’t done. Mr. Jamison asked me to come back to Heartsboro,” I explain.
“Come back for what?” Beverly pulls the cork out of the wine with a definitive pop and pours me a glass.
“He wants me to return and 'get to know the town and the community,'” I mock using quotation marks with my fingers and I purposefully leave out the part about getting to know George. I’m still trying to process that request.
Bev frowns again and pours some wine into her glass before we lock eyes, tap our rims together, and take a sip. Some rituals never change.
“Well, that makes absolutely no sense.” She walks around the island and waves her hand for me to follow her. “Let’s sit in the family room, and you can tell me everything.”
We sit opposite each other, Beverly on the overstuffed couch and me on the antique rocking chair where our mother once sat and sang lullabies to us.
“I’m not sure how to explain it. And I have no idea how I’ll be able to make Kevin understand.” I sigh. “The man is going to go ballistic when I call him. He told me that my job would be on the line if I didn’t land this deal.”
Beverly rolls her eyes. “Maddy, let me remind you, he always says that. It’s like his perverse way of getting you motivated or something.”
“Or something.”
I take a long pull of wine and lean my head back. “I wish you could’ve been with me to see this little town and Mr. Jamison’s gorgeous farm. Heartsboro is charming, and the folks there are polite and look out for one another.”
“It sounds lovely.”
“It really is.” I sit up with a great idea. “Hey, could you come back with me at the end of the week? Then you could see it for yourself and understand I’m not losing my mind.”
“Losing your mind? What are you talking about?”
I swallow another hefty mouthful of wine, the Sauvignon Blanc cool and crisp on my tongue. “There’s something about Heartsboro that draws me in. Radical, right? You know I’m a diehard city girl. I’ve never been into small towns, antiquing, or farming.” I smirk and shake my head.
Beverly seems to be tracking with me. “Not radical. Although, you have mentioned more than a few times how you wish your life was calmer and not so chaotic.”
“Yeah, serenity now!” I joke. We both laugh.
Bev grabs a throw pillow and rests it in her lap.
“I don’t know how you do it. You have a very high-pressure job, Maddy.
Is it any wonder you’ve been stressed out all these years?
Maybe Heartsboro is a little nudge from the universe reminding you to slow down and add a sprinkle of joy and simplicity into your crazy world. ”
“I will not start crocheting, collecting antiques, or baking banana bread.”
“That’s not what I mean. I’m talking about living more of a ‘soft life.’”
“A ‘soft life’? Explanation, please.”
I watch my sister pause and take a lingering sip of wine from her glass. She licks her lips and chooses simple words. “Slow down. Opt for pleasure. Make good coffee and enjoy it instead of gulping down that drive-thru mud you’re always drinking.”
“Hey! I think convenience matters, girl,” I laugh.
Beverly seems humored and shakes her head. “Watch the sunset. Sleep in for a change. Go on a real date, for crying out loud. It’s okay to stop running after whatever it is you’ve been running after all these years.”
Everything Beverly says makes total sense. And she’s right. What exactly is it I’ve been running after anyway? More money? I have more money than I know what to do with. Being single and childless has its perks at my age.
But there is a downside to being thirty-three.
I’m a workaholic woman in a career dominated by men. As far as dating, I’ve never really had any time. I’ve been going through the motions in so many aspects of my life, especially after our dad died over a decade ago. The things that used to make me happy or excited seemed to have stopped working.
I can’t shake the feeling that something is off. I feel… stuck.
I nod. “You know what these last two days reminded me of?”
“What?”
“When we used to go to Tybee Island.”
“Ahhh, Tybee. I loved those trips,” Beverly gushes. “I mean, who doesn’t love a sleepy beach town with a lighthouse. Remember the last Airbnb we stayed at?”
“The one with the wraparound deck?”
“Yes. I could’ve stayed there for a month, waking up every morning to the gorgeous sunrise over the Atlantic.”
“Me too.”
“Remember that Captain’s Sampler Platter you ordered for us at The Crab Shack?”
“Oh my goodness, we could’ve fed the entire restaurant with all that food,” I laugh.
“It was so yummy,” Beverly agrees.
“Mmhmm. Crab legs and fried shrimp.”
We sit quietly and sip our wine, reminiscing about our time on Tybee Island together. I exhale a long breath. Thanks to my sister, I’m finally relaxed.
“Hey, we should totally make plans and go to Tybee during the week between summer school and when your regular schedule begins.”
“We should.” Beverly puts her glass on a side table and looks me in the eye. “But first, I’d like to say something.”
“Uh-oh. I know that look, Bev. You’re about to impart your wise sisterly advice on me, right? Gosh, why do you have to be such a great teacher?” I sit up straighter on the rocker and slap my free hand on my thigh. “Okay. Lay it on me. I’m listening.”
Beverly’s smile is genuine as she tilts her head, her messy bun flopping over from the move.
She really is a beautiful young woman, named after Beverly Hills, California.
I’m named after Madison Avenue in New York City.
Our quirky mom explained how she always wanted the best for her daughters, which started with our classy names—well, classy in her eyes.
“For what it’s worth, you don’t accidentally meet people or towns. There’s a lesson and a gift in every situation.”
“I know,” I mumble.
“If something draws you to the farm or the little town of Heartsboro, don’t fight it. Accept it. You never know what might happen.”
“I know. I’m trying to, seriously. But my actions could cause me to potentially lose my job.”
“Who cares, Maddy. You’ve worked too hard for far too long at that company. And who knows? Maybe moving on is part of the plan. Maybe you’re ready and there’s something else in store for you. Something even better.”
I ruminate on my sister’s words. Perhaps she’s right? Maybe it’s time for me to slow down and practice a little self-care. To enjoy the fruits of my labor. To savor the good coffee and go on an actual date.
“You know I love you, right?”
“Love you back, sis,” Beverly replies.
She tosses the throw pillow from her lap at me, nearly causing me to spill my wine. We erupt in a bout of giggles.
“I’m going back in a few days. I promise I’ll keep my eyes and ears open.”
“Good girl.” Beverly stands. “Now I’m craving seafood, thanks to you bringing up Tybee. Are you up to grabbing some dinner? It will only take me a minute to change. I’m thinking of the Steamhouse Lounge.”
“Mmmm. Lobster bisque,” I moan, thankful for my sister. “You always have the best ideas.”