Page 41 of Second Chance

19

Farmers Dot Come

[Mati]

After that kiss, the one that curled my toes, moistened my undies, and set my skin ablaze, Denton took me home. I shouldn’t have told him how I felt, but his immediate rejection tells me he wants nothing to do with me. It’s like the other night when he made me…you know…on the pillow and then he couldn’t look at me. This round, he doesn’t speak. Silence. Total silence.

While our drives usually involved no talking, music would play, and the lyrics filled the car and our thoughts. The other night, nothing. No music, just the sound of tires rushing down mountain roads and the wind whipping through open windows. Even my thoughts didn’t speak. It was my heart which kept telling me: You are so stupid.

My head overruled my body, and my emotions got in the way. It was a good reminder why I haven’t dated. I’d never be good at casual sex. I’d never be able to separate my feelings from the physical. It just wouldn’t be me. I fall hard. I love passionately. I get involved. That’s just me.

These thoughts follow me for days, especially as I drive to pick up Cora Conrad. Formerly, Corabelle Conrad-Devester. Corabelle lived on the Lane as a child, like my family and the mayor. The three estate homes lined a gravel drive set off by a private entrance from the main street. Her family owns the Conrad Lodge, a local resort which had fallen into disrepair over the years. Cora has been the strong arm behind a major renovation, along with adding a bakery run by her daughter.

Not friends as children, I strongly disliked Cora Conrad with her better-than-others attitude and her debutante wannabe ways, not to mention, she was nosy and a gossip. I especially disliked when she turned her daughter into a beauty queen, flaunting her daughter’s success as if it were an accomplishment all Cora’s doing. Then Chris died, and Cora wised up to the affair her husband, Karl Devester, Blue Ridge’s high school athletic director, was having with the principal’s secretary. Cora changed. She brought me an apple pie. Her condolences were genuine, and I found she was more like me than I remembered.

We both needed a friend.

Sunday after church, we plan to visit Magnolia and pay our respects to Caroline. Cora calls it “visiting.” I call it an obligation, although seeing Magnolia is never such a thing. My heart aches at the changes to her once magnificent home. The gray clapboard looks dirty and decrepit. The white shutters are in need of fresh paint and a proper hanging. Her front porch sags. My brothers visit occasionally, but Magnolia will have none of their help.

“You’re here to drink my sweet tea, not right my shutters.” Somehow, there always seems to be an innuendo under that statement. Magnolia’s house dates back to the post-Civil War era. I suppose the place would rot eventually like many of the classic homes scattered here and there in the area. The thought makes me sad.

“Heard Denton Chance is back,” Cora says, her voice a little snide like she knows a secret I don’t. “Also heard he’s been seen at your house.”

My head whips to Cora, blinking in disbelief a moment, before facing forward as I drive.

“Who told you that?”

“A little birdie.” The tone of her voice tells me she’s smirking, and I glance sideways to see I’m correct. The cat ate the canary with her expression.

“Who?”

“I’m not telling. In fact, I’m not speaking to you because you haven’t even told me he was back, nor have you mentioned him coming to see you. I thought we were friends, Matilda Harrington Rathstone.” And this is why we weren’t friends as children, because Cora is persnickety. Of course, she’s teasing me. Cora and I have had numerous conversations in the past year including some hidden truths of our relationships with our husbands and our current desires to move forward. Cora took it upon herself to prove she was still desirable to a man about a year ago, but that’s another story for another time.

“There’s nothing to tell, Corabelle Conrad,” I mock, leaving off the Devester as she removed it from her name. I won’t sling shit back so far as to insult her by including Karl’s name tacked to hers.

“Mati…” She pauses, smoothing down the denim on her legs. She’s still in a transitional phase—her words—to life as a divorcée. The material feels foreign to her as she typically wore only dresses everywhere, and I mean everywhere. She’s allowed herself jeans and even leggings over the past few months as an update to her wardrobe. “You can tell me, you know? I’d understand these things.”

I’d love to tell her something if I understood it myself, but I don’t. I don’t know what to do, and I don’t know how I feel.

Liar.

How I feel is I want Denton Chance. I want to do things with him, by him, for him. I want him in a way I don’t recognize, and it scares me.

“There’s nothing to tell,” I repeat, my voice lower, signaling my confusion.

“When you’re ready then,” Cora offers, and this is why we are now friends. She won’t press. She understands.

We pull up to Magnolia’s house. My chest clenches at the sight, and then my heart leaps like I’ve been tossed in the river on the edge of the Lane properties. Denton’s car is parked on the well-worn gravel drive. The same car he sat me on, stood between my thighs, and kissed me like I’ve never been kissed before. Chris and I kissed—a lot—and it was all fine and good, but Denton’s kiss is on a different level. He was…he is…I can’t find the words. My toes twitched, and my breasts ached, and I just felt him everywhere, yet needed more.

I open the door of my truck and hop down. I’m wearing jean shorts despite the fall chill with a bulky sweater on top and my cowboy boots on my feet. I look messy, but casual, and I like this combination. Coaching young girls keeps my wardrobe slightly in style. I shake my head. I don’t even know why I’m considering what I’m wearing. I never think about these things.

We help ourselves up the front steps. Cora carries a box of muffins from her daughter’s bakery. I made an egg casserole. We rap on the door and Dolores answers. She looks tired with purple rings under her eyes from tears or lack of sleep. Either way, losing her mother will be difficult. The McIntyre-Duncan-Chance clan has been a matriarchy for a long time. When Denton departs, Dolores will only have her grandmother remaining, whose days might be limited as well.

“Mati. Cora,” she greets us, leaning in for awkward hugs and tipping her head for us to follow her. We pass the empty front parlors, the dining room, the grand staircase in the center of the house, and a breakfast nook before reaching the kitchen. The counter is littered with baked goods and when she opens the fridge, we see it stocked with piles upon piles of meals from well-wishing community members.

“We’ll need a party to empty out all these things,” Dolores says, not meaning to hurt anyone’s feelings, but stating the truth. There is too much food for three people, which reminds me Denton is somewhere around here, making the total four. “Mama’s resting; otherwise, I’d allow you up.”

To be honest, I don’t want to see Caroline and it’s nothing against her, although I hold plenty against her. I don’t do well with death and I don’t do well with dying people I don’t consider close to me, so going up to her sick room is the last thing I want to do. I’d rather spend my time sipping sweet tea with Magnolia.