CHAPTER 11 #2
Years fell away as they stared at each other.
A sharp staccato began in her chest then, and suddenly she remembered fishing on these same banks with a freckle-faced, overweight, acne-riddled teenaged boy named JJ, who used to bring apples and Hostess cupcakes to share after they’d caught a bucketful of catfish to bring home.
The staccato became an all-out thrum. This had to be the same JJ.
Josh broke into a grin as Rebecca saw the recognition suddenly match her own.
“Should be Triple J, but Dad says that’s a mouthful,” the boy said, oblivious to the looks his father and Rebecca exchanged.
The Josh Jamison of today looked nothing like that pimply, chubby kid. Absolutely nothing. I mean, this Josh was downright cute. Handsome, really. If she was being purely objective.
“I’m nine,” the kid prattled on, “definitely old enough to hook my own worm this summer.”
“Becks? It is you, right? I should have realized.” Josh’s smile was as open as his son’s, his shoulders doing that familiar half-shrug he’d done as a teen.
The wary look was gone, as though it had never been.
“You look so different. I mean completely different. All blonde and ladylike and professional-looking. No offense, but back then you were almost a tomboy—brown ponytail and baggy T-shirts and none of that makeup stuff. And of course, there’s the whole ‘Rebecca’ thing.
If you didn’t have the whole ponytail hairdo deal going today, I might not have even made the connection.
Well!” He took a breath, held out his hand for their old handshake. “Good to see you, Becks.”
She returned the handshake, smiled in spite of herself.
“Becks. I haven’t heard that in years. I can’t believe I didn’t realize it was you at the Rotary breakfast.” She looked at young JJ, his freckles gleaming boldly in the late morning sun. His boyish face open and kind. “Your son looks just like you.”
“Minus the craters and the flab. He takes after his mom in that area, thankfully.”
Rebecca laughed, tried to imagine what kind of woman he had married. Probably pretty, athletic, good-natured. Fun like him.
“You weren’t that bad.”
“Please.” Josh gave her a “what-you-talkin’-bout-Willis” smirk, and she laughed again.
Josh looked down at JJ, put his hand on the kid’s shoulder. “I used to fish this very same river with this lady here, back when I was a few years older than you are now, son.”
“Fish with us now!” JJ said, his smile all teeth and a gumball.
“I can’t. I really do need to get some work done today.” Rebecca winked. “Rain check?”
“My dad says that! Yeah, rain check. And I’ll hold you to it.” JJ winked back at her. “And maybe you can come to church with us next Sunday! Dad and I, we always fish the river or the pond behind our house after church. We even brought a picnic.” He patted his backpack.
She was still laughing to herself as she walked off down the path. Good for JJ—Josh. A family, a business, and a house in his own hometown. Living the nice, clean, wholesome life. It suited him.
She wondered about the woman he’d married, where they lived, what it would have felt like to have stayed here in this little Southern town, where they spent their Sundays going to church and their Fridays at the high school football game instead of rubbing elbows with the Who’s Who of the city.
She sidestepped a thick branch in the path.
Two invitations to church in one day. She gazed up as she walked, peered at the sun behind a big mass of white.
God was out there, in the clouds somewhere, sure.
But how in the world people got from this abstract higher power notion to daily prayer and what Granny liked to call “a personal relationship with Jesus Christ the savior” was beyond her.
It all sounded like a bunch of wishful thinking.
◆◆◆
Early the next morning, Rebecca was fumbling with the house key, locking up on the front porch, when her cell phone rang. Granny.
“Hi, Granny, what’s up?” Her shoulder jammed the cell phone to her ear.
“Honey, I left a box of school supplies that I desperately need sitting right there on the kitchen counter. Have you already left the house? Do you see it?”
Rebecca set her workbag down on the porch and headed back to the kitchen. The big brown box was there, filled with neat little stacks of crayon boxes, notepads, and a healthy clutter of glue sticks, rounded-point scissors, and mechanical pencils.
“It’s here. You’re already out and about?”
She’d been tiptoeing around all morning, trying not to wake Granny, not realizing she’d had the house to herself. Clearly being an early riser runs in the family.
“First day of the summer enrichment program at James Watkins Elementary, and we’ve got fifty-three kiddos set to arrive in less than an hour.
” Granny sounded breathless. “Would you mind terribly? It’s the school way down on the outskirts, out toward Aberville.
Should take you ten minutes. I’d come myself, but—”
“No problem, Granny. Just come in the main doors of the school?”
Rebecca hoisted the box onto a hip, her heels clicking briskly on the linoleum and then the wood floors and thin carpet as she walked through the small house and out to the porch again.
The sun was already bright and unwavering, even at this early hour, and the birds had some sort of song competition going from the big oak tree in Granny’s front yard. The door slammed with a sharp bang.
“Yes, come to the admin office. You can’t miss it.”
It took less than ten minutes to navigate the quiet Dahlia streets and turn onto Aberville Road, and Rebecca noticed how the town changed as she drove.
In Dahlia proper, the houses were bigger, with great expanses of lawn and forested areas in patches between the homes.
Lawns were well manicured, and the houses themselves were those pretty old Southern masterpieces, the kind with dormers and big porches and lots of cleanly painted wood exteriors, usually a crisp white, though there was one pale pink at the corner of Elm and Main, and someone had done some creative colorscaping with the shutters of a house on Granny’s street.
The maples and crape myrtles stretched out overhead like a soft green roof, and the drive soothed her, made her feel like she was somehow snuggled within the trees. Safe.
The houses got smaller as she drove, then closer together, the older homes replaced by some newer models and a few squat brick ranch styles.
Out toward Aberville, the landscape changed markedly.
Smaller houses gave way to well-tended trailers and cottages, then the not-so-well-kept.
A handful of closed-down businesses, rusted fences, overgrown yards, and gutted concrete homes came next.
One neat trailer stood in the middle of a shabby-looking street, the lawn trimmed back and a cheerful “welcome” sign with large yellow sunflowers posted at the front.
Someone had kept up lush bushes at that house, and potted flowers lined the front steps.
But on either side of the house it was a different story—rundown, unkempt yards, and one shirtless man stood smoking a cigarette on his front porch and glared at her as she passed.
A “condemned” sign with some yellow tape warned her to stay away from a house two doors down.
The neat, well-kept house stood out like a sore thumb, made her sad.
She wondered why the owners would bother to stay, why they didn’t sell and move to a classier neighborhood, where people seemed more like them.
Then again, she wondered why anyone would stay in Dahlia, period.
Little industry, lots of farms, a half-hour drive to the nearest small city—if you could call it a city.
The so-called city had a mall, at least. Dahlia had, well, churches. And pretty old houses.
By the time she pulled into the parking lot of James Watkins Elementary and got to the front walk of the school, the heavy box of supplies was slipping, and she had to juggle it several times to keep it from tumbling all the way to the ground.
She couldn’t imagine how Granny might have done it on her own.
“Need some help?” a young male voice said, and she felt part of the weight taken from her. She couldn’t see her helper over the big cardboard sides, but together they carried it to the front door.
“Thanks,” she said, as he held open the door. They walked inside. “I’m going to the front office with this.”
“It’s this way, on the left,” the helper said, and she followed him down the spacious hall.
The woman at the counter, a pale-skinned lady with an enormous red belt and matching earrings, greeted her with a warm smile. “Helen’s granddaughter? You’re a dear.” She took the box, waved Rebecca on—“I’ll see she gets this. Keep up the good work at the newspaper!”—and disappeared down the hall.
Rebecca turned to her helper for the first time. “Thank you,” she began to say, and realized he was a kid. He had close-cropped hair, soft dark eyes rimmed with long lashes, and skin the shade of rich creamy coffee. In another few years he’d be a heartbreaker. “I appreciate the help.”
“You’re welcome,” he said and tilted his head, gave a small smile. There was something in his eyes, something about the quiet hunch of the shoulders that tugged at her.
“I’m Rebecca Chastain, but Ms. Chastain’s a mouthful. You can call me Becca.”
What in the world had motivated her to say Becca? She hated that name, went to great lengths to get all former friends, family, and acquaintances to stop using it, and now she was tossing it out like everyone called her that.
“I’m Devon Robinson.” He ducked his head and gave a shy little shrug. “Nice to meet you, Miss Becca.”
“My granny helps with the enrichment program here. I should probably go say hi. You know where it is?”
“I’ll walk with you.”
“Thanks.” She grinned down at him as they walked.
There was something about his stride, upright, with a thin form but a bit stooped in the shoulders, that made her think he’d be very tall one day.
He wore a huge blue backpack, and as they walked, he tugged at the cords on the pack, the zip of the material against nylon matching the rhythm of their feet.
At the door to a classroom, he stopped. “I think she’s probably in here. Your granny’s Miss Helen?”
“Yeah. Hey, thanks!”
He scrunched up his face, like he wanted to ask her something. She waited.
“So, you work at the newspaper?”
“I do,” she said. “I’m the editor, which means I run the whole paper.”
He nodded. “Maybe you could do a story on us. The program here.” He gestured to the school around him.
The classroom door opened then, and Granny stepped out, her face lighting up with surprise and joy.
“I see you’ve met one of my favorite people in Dahlia!” Granny grinned, catching Rebecca in a hug. “And yes, I think you should definitely do a story on the program. In fact, your first interviewee should be this young man right here. Devon started the program.”
Rebecca’s eyes widened. “What … ?”
Devon shrug-ducked again. “Sort of.”
“Pfff, sort of.” Granny made a face and elbowed Devon.
“It was his idea! He laid it out, and the rest of us ran with it. You do a story, you definitely need to start with Devon here. Though you’ll need to wait till around three o’clock, when the program gets out.
Devon’s in the enrichment program, too.”
Wheels began to turn. “Wow!” Rebecca eyed him. “I’d love to interview you. Really. Would you mind?”
Devon tugged at his backpack cords, head down. “Um, sure, I guess it’s okay.”
“I could take you to Harold’s, the diner? Maybe drop you off at home after. Would your parents mind?” Rebecca remembered the paper had a big supply of parental waiver forms above the copy machine. “Could you get them to sign a waiver form saying it’s all right?”
“It’s just me and my grandmother, but I know she wouldn’t mind. She’d sign the form.”
“Great!” She held out a hand. “I’ll pick you up at four. Right out front.”
He shook it, then gave her a small smile. “See ya then.” He turned, gave a little wave back at Granny. “See you in a bit, Miss Helen.”
“Bye, Devon.” Granny gave a wave. “I’m glad you and my Rebecca here got a chance to meet!”
They waited until Devon was in the next classroom and the door had shut before Rebecca gave Granny a look.
“Are you just being nice to make the kid feel good, or did he seriously come up with this whole idea?”
“No, he really did. Girl, that child is something else. You’ll see when you talk to him today.” Granny wrapped Rebecca in a big hug, then put her hand on the doorknob. “Got to get back in class. We’ll talk later, and I’ll give you the whole story.”
And blowing Granny a kiss, Rebecca headed off to work.