Simple Gone South

“Meatloaf, green beans, carrots, and fried green tomatoes.” The tomatoes were the splurge and she would have a piece of cornbread.

“Dessert?” he asked.

“No, thanks,” she said as if she didn’t want it.

“Are you sure? I’ll buy you all the pie you want but I’m not giving you a bite of mine. I know what that turns into. I’ve been on the wrong end of Missy Bragg wanting just one bite.”

“I’ll eat first, and then see,” she lied.

Lou Anne brought them iced tea and took their orders. Thankfully, she seemed to have no more time for editorial comment on the fact that they were here together. With any luck she wouldn’t call Missy.

“Don’t come crying to me if there’s no pie left,” Brantley warned.

“I can contain myself.”

“There will be pie at Big Mama’s table on Thanksgiving,” he said with some hesitation. Then he added, “I want you to come.”

She laughed. “To your family Thanksgiving? No.”

He shrugged. “I don’t see why not.” He looked at the table, and did his voice shake a little? No. She must have been mistaken. He met her eyes again, all oozing golden smiles and cocky head toss. “My daddy and I are going to fry a turkey, I reckon. Evelyn will make the dressing. Plus, the pumpkin pie. You should come. Sit by me. Let me run my hand up your skirt while we eat cranberry sauce. Let me smear pie on you and lick it off.”

“Brantley!” She looked around. “Be quiet. Someone will hear you.”

“I’ll be quiet if you’ll come to Thanksgiving. We’ll watch football later.”

“No. Aunt Annelle and I have plans. It’s just the two of us this year.”

“Bring her. Aren’t she and Big Mama buddies anyway?”

“Yes. They’re on the church altar guild together, but you can’t just invite people to someone else’s holiday meal.”

“That is where you are wrong, Lucy. I can. I can go break out every inmate in the county jail and march them in to Caroline Brantley’s table and all she would care about was that I was there. I am adored.”

He sounded a little sarcastic. She’d never heard that out of him before. For some reason it made her uncomfortable. Some people could do sarcasm but it was a bad fit with Brantley.

“I cannot come to your family’s Thanksgiving, Brantley,” she said. “Annelle has plans for us.” She was surprised that he looked truly disappointed, maybe even upset. Well, life was full of disappointment. Brantley had not learned that well enough.

“Okay,” he said. And that was all. She could never remember another time when he had uttered a one-word sentence.

Time for a subject change.

“So,” Lucy said. “Miss Caroline called me today. She said the press conference would be Monday afternoon. We need to talk about that.”

“We do not,” Brantley said. “Not tonight. I don’t intend to have any conversations that would allow me to deduct what I spend tonight as a business expense.”

What? She had counted on talking about this.

“You can’t mean that. We need to make a plan. Know what we’re going to say.”

He shrugged. “It won’t be any problem. Big Mama will do most of the talking—about how she’s giving the building to the city and what it’s going to be used for. Where the present tenants are moving. Time frame for the restoration.”

“Brantley! We cannot go in there with nothing.”

“We won’t.” He took a drink of his tea. “I’ve been thinking on this. Got a few sketches. I’ll bet you have too. I’ll round us up an easel. Mount my pictures on a presentation board. If anybody asks any questions, we can answer them. Probably.”

“I do not like probably.” And she did not. She liked assurance. Preparedness. Guarantees.

“No? Lucy Mead, probably is the best life has to offer. There is no more.” His eyes turned upward. “Except this. Here comes our food.” He met her eyes. “Probably.”

If there had been any awkwardness, it melted away as they ate and bantered with each other and the people who stopped by their table to say hello.

It turned into an easy night with easy talk and easy laughter. Simple even. And true to her word, she didn’t order dessert though—in spite of what he’d said—he shared his beloved pumpkin pie.

And later when he took her home, it had been so easy for Lucy go into his arms on the sofa. She had reminded him that she wasn’t ready to sleep with him, and he did not press the issue.

He’d only laughed softly into her ear and whispered, “It can still be a sweet ride, Lucy.”

And it was—a hot, sweet, skin on skin ride, even if they did stop short of the finish line.

* * *

Brantley was seated at the antique drawing board that had been a graduation gift from his father when the carriage house door flew open. In bounded Missy Bragg, with Lulu perched on her hip and a diaper bag hanging off her shoulder.

“Brantley!” She set Lulu on her feet and tossed the bag on the new tweed couch that Lucy had picked out. “I need to talk to you!”

“Well, good morning to you too, Melissa.” He didn’t look up from where he was mounting early photographs of the Brantley Building to foam board. “Imagine my delight when I heard a knock on my door and found you on the other side. Won’t you come in and bring your delightful child?”

Missy waved him off and collapsed into his leather easy chair. “I don’t have time for this. I’ve been up since five o’clock. I’ve already bought groceries, been to the dry cleaners, and taken my car to be washed. And it’s not even ten o’clock.”

Lulu toddled up to him and threw her arms around his leg. “Juice!” she demanded. Like mother, like daughter.

He swiveled his chair around to meet his audience. Might as well.

“Sorry, kid,” he said to Lulu. “All I’ve got is beer. Why don’t you and I have one? We deserve it. Your mama is a hard job.”

“Brantley! Don’t say that to her.” She reached into her bag and brought out a sippy cup. “Lulu, come here. Come to Mama.”

And Lulu did. She already knew Missy had been put on this earth to be obeyed.

“What is it, Missy?” Brantley asked, but he knew.

“It’s all over town! And no one told me. Not you. Certainly not Lucy. In fact, she denied it, said there was nothing going on between the two of you.”

“And what, exactly, is going on?”

“You took her out to eat at the diner last night. Everyone knows.”

“A sure sign that there are ‘goings on.’ My God! The ties that are formed over pie.”

“You kissed her wrist. When y’all left, you were holding hands.”

He let his head drop and shook it in mock defeat. “Guilty. But I must confess the diner mating ritual was not complete. She did not eat from my fork, though I urged her to.”

“Brantley, I am warning you. Do not mess this up. Do not hurt Lucy.”

“I can’t hurt Lucy. I can barely get her to go out with me.”

Eller ran into the room and Lulu went into hysterics. Missy sprang up and snatched her baby into her arms.

“I didn’t know she was afraid of dogs,” Brantley said.

“She’s not. Huge rats are another matter.” She picked up the diaper bag. “I’ve got groceries in the car. I have to go.”

“Are you going to stop by Lucy’s and tell her not to hurt me?”

“Ha!” Missy stopped with one foot out the door and turned back to him. “Football watching—my house tonight. I’m making chili. Pick up Lucy. Might as well. It’s out of the bag now.”

Brantley nodded, having no idea what he was agreeing to. Not that it mattered. She was gone.