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“Do you have your phone?”
“Yeah, here it is.” He unsnapped the case attached to his belt and pulled out his phone.
“I left mine on the plane, so I need to call the airline.”
I spent the last few minutes of the ride home on the phone with Alaska Airlines. They confirmed my seat and my name and said they had it. I could bring my photo ID and pick it up in the morning. At least they had it.
The smellof bacon woke me. Lucas must be cooking. He’d gotten pretty good at it if I did say so myself.
My eyes opened to my childhood bedroom. Not Lucas. And the crush of loss hit my chest. Like Lucas’s room, this room was officially for guests now, but the wallpaper was still the little pink roses I picked out when I was ten.
I pulled the covers back and hoisted myself out of bed, struggling under the fresh morning weight of defeat and disappointment. I reached for my phone on the charger and remembered it was at the airport.
I needed copious amounts of coffee.
“Good morning, sweetie. Did you sleep well?”
“Yeah, Mom, thanks.” I shuffled to the coffeepot.
“I made it extra strong for you,” she said.
“You didn’t have to do that. Make it like you would for you and Daddy. I don’t want to be a burden.”
“It’s no problem. We can make that fancy coffee like they have in Seattle. I bought a bag of high-test Starbucks French Roast at Kroger.”
I shook my head at the reference to caffeinated versus decaf coffee and helped myself to the offerings. Brenda Patree was nothing if not the consummate hostess. She always saidmanners don’t cost money, so you can always afford to have them. Having manners meant up at dawn cooking for your family and guests. Coffee with sweetened creamer, Mom’s egg casserole, and wheat toast with her homemade jam. It was like a celebration breakfast, but I was not feeling it. I was glad they were happy I was home. I was not.
“What time is your interview?” Mom asked, brushing a loose silver wave of hair to the side of her face with the back of her hand.
“Four. At Puckett’s in Franklin.”
“Do they live near there?” She crossed from the stove on the opposite wall to the little peninsula counter where I was sitting and set down a full plate of bacon. I sat in this same bar height chair many times and talked to mom while she chopped, cooked, and cleaned up. I helped as much as I could, but the kitchen was mom’s kingdom, and I respected the chain of command.
“I guess. I’m not sure where they live. She didn’t say.” I poked at the food in front of me.
“Well, either way. It’s exciting. I know you’ll get the job.”
Her faith in me was as unwavering as always. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Oh, and hey, get their fried chicken if you eat there. See if you can figure out how they make it so good. That one has me stumped.”
I decided to get my phone on my way to Franklin later that afternoon rather than make two trips into town. I didn’t need to spend my entire daywhite knuckle drivingon the interstate, holding the steering wheel so tightly my hands cramped. Some folks around here drove like they were in NASCAR or something, speeding up and cutting people off. Southern hospitality, my ass. Not on I-65. I always wanted to slam on my brakes and have a zooming NASCAR contender rear-end me in Daddy’s big ol’ truck. It would serve them right. And Daddy could use a new truck on their insurance. My heartbroken self was ornery enough to do it today because fuck them. Yes, I saidfuck. So, all the ladies-tea types could go on ahead and faint while clutching their pearls.
After breakfast, I helped Daddy in the garden, pulling weeds until the sun got too hot. It was early June, and already the air was sticky, scented with fresh-cut grass and earth. So different from the clean sea air of Perry Harbor.
Inside with the air conditioning I was no longer accustomed to, I cleaned up and dressed for my interview, then flipped through the local paper at the kitchen counter, reading the small-town news and wedding announcements. Actual newspapers delivered to your door were still a thing around here. I didn’t know anyone getting married this week. Most of the people I knew in high school were already married or divorced.
I talked to my mother almost every week since I left for culinary school. She knew about Lucas, and she probably knew I loved him though I never said it. I’d caught her glancing in my direction all day, but she hadn’t asked about him. I’m sure the heartbreak and my lack of desire to discuss it had been obvious.
With my phonesafely back in my hands, I tried to check my messages, but it was dead. What were the chances of Daddy having a charging cord in his truck? Not good.
I pulled into the parking lot at Puckett’s Grocery and Restaurant a few minutes early. This area was quaint but booming with new businesses in historic buildings set among big oak trees. While Perry Harbor had younger buildings and older trees, Nashville had older buildings and younger trees.
The room was crowded, as usual. I gave my name to the hostess, and she pointed me toward a back table where a stunning woman, not much older than me, sat with a glass of iced tea and a book.
“Hey, you must be Sammy Jo,” she said as I approached her.
“Yes, just Jo, actually.”
