against the new backdrop though, it was pretty shabby.
“Give it a coat of red enamel or decoupage it and it’ll look fine for now,” said April.
She was right, of course, and besides, beggars can’t be choosers. I pulled out one of the drawers. It seemed to be stuffed with sixth-grade spelling papers. “Do all teachers save this much paper? You’re worse than Mrs. Avery.”
“Is she a paper saver, too?”
“You better believe it! When I was over there the other day, she pulled out a note that I’d tried to pass to Portland when we were in her sophomore English class.”
April gave a rueful laugh. “I would cluck in superior horror if I hadn’t just found an absentee excuse from the mother of a student who graduated from college last month. I keep thinking I’m going to sort through and keep selected samples—you do like to see how the children compare from one year to another—but look at all these cartons! I’m tempted to just close my eyes and have A.K. take them all to the firehouse.”
“Firehouse?”
“They have a recycling bin there for white paper. The dump recycles newspapers, magazines and corrugated cardboard but they’re not into copier paper yet.”
For a minute I hesitated, almost feeling a connection somewhere.
Then it was gone.
“How’s it been going?” I asked. “With A.K. and everything?”
“Okay.” Her bright face dimmed a little. Then she shrugged. “It kills me that he’s going to have a record, but I keep reminding myself that it’s not as if I had serious hopes of his going to Harvard or becoming a brain surgeon. All he’s ever wanted to do is farm just like his daddy and a jail record certainly didn’t hurt Andrew’s ability to farm. So all in all…”
“A.K.’s a good kid,” I said.
She smiled. “Oh, Deborah, honey, I do know that. But he doesn’t always think. These three weekends may truly be what he’s needed. A taste of what can happen if he’s not more careful. He’s going to be just fine.”
“Okay,” I said briskly. “Will said something about a sleeper couch?”
“Right. You may not have seen it before because we’ve had it up in the spare bedroom. Ruth’s decided she wants to switch rooms, so we’re going to get rid of it. It’s one my Aunt Mildred had. The fabric’s awful but it has good lines and the mattress is very comfortable.”
I winced when I saw the blue and purple stripes with little pink morning glories twining in and out.
“We can reupholster it,” she said brightly.
“Aunt Zell probably knows somebody.”
“So do I, but it’s a lot cheaper if we do it ourselves. Anyhow, let me know when you’re ready for these things and I’ll have them sent over.”
I hugged her hard. “Thanks, neighbor.”
Will was gone when I got back and I used my new keys to get inside and walk through the empty rooms. I noted how the late afternoon sunlight fell through the windows, looked at the view from the sunroom, saw from my screened porch how the pond reflected the willows and overhead clouds.
Nothing is certain in life and heaven knows the county is changing out from under our feet, but I thought how I might very well live out my life here. Fifty years from now I could be an arthritic old woman who sits on this very same porch to enjoy afternoon sunlight and to watch summer clouds float across a mirror-flat sheet of water.
I will plant pecan trees, I promised myself. I will have daylilies and gardenias, azaleas and irises, and all the flowers of my mother’s garden. I will take cuttings of Aunt Zell’s lilacs and Miss Sallie Anderson’s pink roses and Daddy’s figs. I’ll dig dogwoods out of the woods and maples and willow oaks.
Deep inside my head, the preacher and the pragmatist nudged each other in the ribs and began to laugh. I ignored them. I would too make the time.
And yes, Haywood was going to have to move that damn greenhouse or I’d move it for him. It was just like—
Parallel construction, I thought, remembering Mrs. Avery’s English classes. Or did I mean math? If A is to B as C is to D, then A equals C?
More like C squared, I decided, as everything I’d observed over the last few weeks began to line up and make sense.
25
My phone line hadn’t yet been connected, but even though I had my cell phone on the car, I didn’t have a directory. I suppose I could have called 911 and explained that it wasn’t really an emergency and could I please have the fire chief’s home number, but in the end, it was easier to call Seth and ask him.
It took three calls to locate him, then two more to locate the deputy chief, who said No, not as far as he knew, but he could ask some of the others.
