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“Louisiana? Why?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Clearly.”
I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. So naturally, I filled the silence. “Davis?”
“Yeah?”
“I have time.” It was a lie. We’d been booked solid for weeks, with no chance of things slowing soon. Not with the summer season upon us.
“I know.”
“You’re not in trouble, are you?”
“No, it’s nothing like that.”
“You’d tell me if you were?”
“Of course.”
I wanted to believe him. At one point I would have. This time I didn’t.
“She’s not underage, is she?”
“Jesus, Ruth. No.”
“You sound nervous. Why do you sound nervous?”
“The reason I’m calling, actually… is—” His voice cut out. It was several seconds before I could hear him again. “I wanted to know if you could get the place cleaned up?”
“Hmm?”
“The house.”
“What house?” I knew what he was saying and suddenly everything made sense, and yet it didn’t.
“Magnolia House.” The phone jostled and then he came back, his voice clearer. “Can you hear me okay?”
“I can hear you fine.”
“Good. Anyway…like I said—we’re going to lie low here for a few days. Just until she’s feeling better.” There was a rustling noise in the background, and the line went quiet for a second.
“Davis?”
“Yeah—sorry. I think it’s just dehydration. It’s really humid here.”
“So you’re coming home?”
“The beach and the fresh air will do her good.”
“So you’ll be home in time for the Watermelon Festival, then?”
“I think so.”
“It’s in two days.”
“I know when it is, Ruth.” He exhaled deeply, right into the speaker. Right into my ear. Purposely and righteously. The way Daddy used to. It shouldn’t have, but it made me miss them both. “I’ve been there every year of my life.”
