Chapter 18
“You’re too purty to be embarrassing yourself like this, young lady.
” I clucked my tongue and motioned toward a guy doing all sorts of tricks with his dog by the park swings.
“Look at that dog over there, listening to his owner.” I gasped.
“He just did a backflip! Seriously, Jazzy, the least you could do is get up and walk.”
Jazzy responded by rolling away from the talented canine. Her fluffy gray-and-white coat was getting dirty, but I couldn’t muster enough energy to care. This oppressive heat had wrung the life out of the both of us.
I lifted the collar of my T-shirt and used it to mop the sweat off my face. “I’m gonna have to look into walking you and the others earlier in the morning.”
Jazzy lifted her head and glanced my way.
“What, little girl?” I caught myself baby talking to her, something I did without realizing it most of the time. “What’s Miss Jazzy need?”
She rolled onto her back and let out a playful bark.
“I’m not rubbing your belly. No rewards for bad behavior, missy.”
That stinker shimmied like an inchworm until she was close enough to nudge my leg.
Giving in, I plopped onto the ground and rubbed her belly.
I fished out a bottle of water and the collapsible bowl from my pack and shared it with her.
We remained in the shade until the water was gone and she seemed to find enough energy to make it back to her home.
After dropping Jazzy off, I started toward my house, but stopped to check my vibrating phone. Cy’s name flashed on the screen, sending me into a tizzy.
“Cy? Everything okay?”
“Yes. Just calling to check in. How’s it going?”
Relieved, I pressed the phone between my ear and shoulder and rolled up the leash. “Good. Just finished dog-walking duties for the day. I’m gonna grab a quick shower, then get started on a hat project. I’m using some of Olla’s quilt squares underneath the brim. It’s going to be so cute.”
“Hmph . . . You’re still attending meetings, right?”
Rolling my eyes, I tucked the leash into my pack. “Yes. Two a week in person. Tuesday and Thursday. I’m catching online meetings and I’m going to church on Sunday like a good girl.”
“Listen, I uh . . . I have something important to tell you.”
I stopped fiddling in the pack and clutched the phone in my hand. “Is it Fern?”
“No. Well, in a way, yes.”
“Just spit it out already, Cy.” I sidestepped a jogger. In her own little world, I doubted she even saw me.
“Don’t freak out, but . . . I’ve been offered a position at Vanderbilt in the fall.”
“Where’s that?”
“In Nashville.” He cleared his throat. “They want me there by mid-August. Lana has already started packing. We have a lot to get done.”
“Oh . . .” I took my own emotions out of the equation and focused on my brother. “Cy, I’m excited for you! I can come up this weekend to help. Then Fern can come home with me.” I picked up my pace, happy to have a mission to focus on.
“No. Fern is coming with us.”
My shoe caught the lip of the sidewalk and I almost tripped but righted myself in the nick of time. Between the near miss and Cy’s declaration, my world slanted, making me dizzy. “But you know I can’t leave South Carolina. I’m on probation for another ten months.”
“So you expect me and my family to just put our lives on hold until you get your life straight?”
Knees weak, I veered off the sidewalk and leaned against a street marker. “You’re talking about my family too. My daughter more specifically.”
“You mean the daughter I have custody of because you got arrested?”
I rubbed my chest, but it did nothing to relieve Cy’s blow. “But I’ve been working so hard to fix this! Please don’t take her that far away from me. Two hours away is already unbearable as it is.”
“Listen, we both know she’s better off staying with me and Lana. So, cool down and we’ll talk some more about this soon.” Cy hung up.
Panting, I placed my hands on my stomach, worried all my innards were seconds away from spilling all over the place.
Pressure under my ribs made it impossible to take a decent breath as my composure began unraveling, fraying like a dry-rotted rope ready to snap.
I couldn’t even inhale enough to sob, only able to push out a wheeze as my entire body shook.
“Are you okay, sweetie?”
I blinked to fight against the blur of my vision and caught sight of an elderly man standing in front of me. Nodding, I coughed and wheezed.
“I’m not so sure . . . I can call the 911.”
Waving him off and sucking for air.
“But it could be a heat stroke or something.”
I pushed to standing. “No . . . Thanks . . . though.” I started down the street as quickly as my weak legs would carry me. I need Gilbert.
*
“They can’t take my baby to Tennessee!” I paced the living room, dodging the wingback chair, nearly stumping my toe on the leg.
Sitting on the couch, Gilbert sighed. “Then you probably need to talk to a lawyer.”
I stopped mid-lap and gripped the back of the chair. “I can’t afford a lawyer!”
“Stop yelling!”
“Sorry!”
“You’re still yelling.” Gilbert wagged a finger at me. “Don’t get yourself worked up in such a lather.”
I glared. “You say that and all I can picture are soap bubbles.”
He glared back. “Then use them to wash away your attitude.”
I inhaled deeply to regain my composure. “Again, I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to do.”
“There are legal aid services to help those who can’t afford to pay. Start there and also call your caseworker.” He checked his watch and rose from the couch. “I need to head out.”
“Why? You just got here. And hello!” I motioned at myself, arms flapping like a loony bird. “I’m having a crisis!”
“And you’re yelling again. Stop it.” He continued toward the front door. “I have an appointment to get to.”
I hurried out behind him and stood at the edge of the yard as he got into his shiny Corvette, my panic barely ebbing. “I could really use some advice, Gilbert.”
With his hand on the door, he stared off for a beat before saying, “If you see a toilet seat in your dreams, don’t sit on it.” In the span of time it took him to close the door, crank the car, and start backing out of the driveway, I finally made sense of his words.
“Huh? Oh . . .” I ran, waving my arms. “Hey! Wait!”
He rolled to a stop and the passenger window whirled down.
“Now’s not the time for lame jokes! I’m serious. Please! I can’t handle this on my own. I can’t lose Fernie for good!”
Gilbert tapped a thumb against the steering wheel. “Junie, if you keep saying you can’t then you won’t. Start saying you can, and you will. And instead of making a scene, make a plan. You’re grown, so act like it.”
I finally gave up and let him go. I knew he wanted me to be an adult and handle this problem myself. I’d have to start with the caseworker like he said, even though it felt like too big of a responsibility. But that’s what mothers had to do, right? Adult even when it’s hard.
In a dejected slump, one I seemed to have mastered, I started toward the front door. As I reached the porch steps, Gilbert’s car stopped and began reversing until coming to a stop by the mailbox. His window lowered once again.
Feeling guilty for holding him up, I waved for him to go ahead. “You don’t want to be late for your appointment.”
Gilbert flipped his sunglasses onto his forehead and frowned. “Get in.”
“Huh?”
“Hurry up!”
Let the poor man go. That would be the decent thing to do, but I was too keyed up to do the decent thing, so I made quick work of locking the house and loading up into the passenger’s seat.
Gilbert had done me a favor, extended with a great deal of trepidation, so I kept my mouth shut the entire drive.
My silence lasted until reaching the check-in counter at Topgolf.
“This is your important appointment?” I asked as we waited for the employee to confirm Gilbert’s time slot. Sure, Gilbert deserved retirement fun such as golfing, especially since he had to put up with my sorry behind, but I couldn’t help but razz him a little.
“It is, in my book.”
The young woman keyed in something on her computer screen. “You’re in Bay Seven today, Mr. Gilbert.”
“Thanks, Caitlyn.” Gilbert walked off and left me no choice but to follow.
“Y’all on a first-name basis? Wow.”
“This is my happy place.” He started up a set of steps. “Let me be happy.”
“Absolutely. Go. Be happy, my friend.” I made a sweeping motion.
We made it to our designated area and Gilbert held out a golf stick. “Here.”
“That’s okay. I’ll just watch.” I sat on the small couch in our lane.
I’m calling it a lane, because it reminded me of a bowling lane set up, except this was partially outside.
And instead of bowling, I supposed the object of the game was to smack the heck out of a golf ball and try aiming it at certain targets set out on an Astroturf field that was surrounded by a tall, humongous net.
“No. You’re playing. This’ll be a good stress relief.” He shoved the golf stick into my hand, then turned to the touch screen to set up our game—again, a lot like bowling, but not. He typed his name, then on the next line he typed what I guessed was supposed to be me. Pain in the Butt.
“I don’t know a thing about golf, Gilly.” I poked him in the side. “And that’s not my name, sir.”
He flinched away from me. “It is today. And it’s not hard. Just hit the ball with the club. Easy enough, yeah?”
“Sure.”
FYI, it was not easy enough.
The first round, I barely got the ball off the tee thingy. I’d be the first to admit God hadn’t divvied out any athleticism to me, frustratingly so.
“You’re overthinking it. Just whack the danged thing!” Gilbert huffed.
I placed my hands on my hips and glared in his direction. “Look who’s yelling now.”
He stood from the couch and grabbed his own golf stick—or whatever it’s called—and demonstrated for the hundredth time. With little effort, his ball sailed to the back of the net.
“Show-off,” I muttered.
A server came by and checked on us. “Can I get y’all something besides the waters?”
“No thanks,” I said, politely. Water was free, so I’d be sticking with that.
“You ain’t hungry?” Gilbert asked, motioning toward the menu on the table in our lounge area. “They’ve got some good choices.”
“I’m good. Thanks,” I repeated. Even though I’d not eaten since yesterday, my stomach was tied in too many knots to eat.
Most of the knots were made up of concerns about how to stop Cy from doing what he had planned to do.
The rest were made up of worry about how me going against him would most likely finish ruining our relationship.
I loved my brother, but I sure didn’t like him all that much at the moment.
I had a newfound determination with the next game.
I stepped up to the tee and imagined the ball as my stubborn brother’s face.
Gripping the golf stick tightly, I rotated and whacked the tar out of that ball, sending it far enough to reach the midway target.
The more into it I got, the looser the knots in my body became, and soon I was actually enjoying myself—and enjoying just hanging out with the old guy.
Humble brag here, I beat Gilbert’s score the second round by 225 points. Come to find out, I wasn’t too shabby of a player.
“Beginner’s luck,” Gilbert grumbled on our way out.
“Thank you, Gilbert. I feel much better now.”
“Good.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and I was pretty sure this was what fathers did, offering comfort, protection.
My own father was always distracted around me or overtalking me about something awesome and wonderful happening with his work.
As if sensing my thoughts, Gilbert added, “I’m always here for ya, kid. ”
To stop the emotions wanting to bubble up and out of my eyes, I cracked a joke. “Even if I whoop your butt at golf?”
He snorted. “Like I said, beginner’s luck.”
I was lucky. Lucky to have Gilbert in my corner.