Georgia on Her Mind(55)

He regards me for a lingering second. “So what do I do?”

“Well, you read about Jesus, right? Tell Him you believe in what He said and did. Trust Him with your heart.”

“Dude, just like that? Say it?” His tone rises at the end of the sentence as if he can’t believe it to be that easy.

“Just like that. Speak from your heart, say whatever you want.” I stop short. I don’t want my excitement to overwhelm him.

Drag slides to the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, and locks his hands in front of him. He bows his head.

“Well, God, um, Jesus. Look, Dude, I believe You died for me, though I’m not sure why, but thanks. And forgive the bad stuff I’ve done. I want to be Your friend.”

A whoosh feeling hits me and I start to snicker.

“What?” Drag peeks out from under his bowed brow, irritated. “You’re laughing.”

I button it up. “Just happy. Jesus is your friend and now you are His.”

“Whoa, dude, heavy.” Drag smiles and I know heaven has touched his heart.

If everything I endured the past few months was to help Drag find this place of peace, I’d take a deep breath and do it all over again.





Chapter Twenty-Four




The first weekend in June I drive to Beauty for…um, I don’t know. Bored, I guess. Georgia on my mind, maybe. It’s a beautiful weekend on the eastern seaboard and my Single Saved Sisters are otherwise engaged.

Lucy and Jack are spending the weekend at Disney with his parents and sisters. Tamara is in Live Oak visiting family with Sam, and Adriane is starting a new book. She’s buried in the painful process of Chapter One and unable to communicate with any kind of human kindness.

So I throw a bag into the back of the car and head north on I-95.

I arrive in Beauty by late afternoon. Workmen are running a banner across Jasmine Street.

Welcome to Beauty Days.

Beauty Days start right after Memorial Day and go through Labor Day. June is Saturday In The Park month, where every Saturday the town gathers for the Beauty Games, craft showing and eating.

I cruise slowly down Jasmine, checking out all the shops and buildings, Saturday In The Park banners and balloons dancing in the breeze.

At the stoplight I have a perfect view of the park, where a small tent village dots the green lawn.

Well, if I was going to wander home for a weekend, this was a good one to pick. Saturday In The Park has always been one of my hometown favorite events.

As I turn onto Laurel, I catch a glimpse of the Braun Bikes tent. Right next to it, I see D. Sculptures. Dylan. The idea of seeing Dylan gives me warm fuzzies. Yeah, I know I’m moving to Chicago, but it is Beauty Days, and I can let my soul dream. A little.

A few minutes later I walk through the front door of 21 Laurel yelling, “Mom, I’m home.”

I hear a clatter and a crash from the kitchen. She peers around the doorway, shocked.

“Macy, what on earth? Is everything all right?”

“Yes, of course. A girl can’t come home for a visit?” I ask, arms wide. Yeah, I know, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve done this in the past ten years, two of them being this spring, but since I’m no longer living life as if my hair’s on fire, I find time for the simple things.

“Well, certainly you can visit. It’s just not like you.” She gives me a hug.

I breathe in her subtle scent and wonder if I’ve been that distant. A surprise weekend home and Mom nearly ruins dinner.

While she bastes the roast and pops rolls onto a baking sheet, she catches me up on the town and family news (Aunt May got a new poodle.) “Oh, Saturday In The Park starts tomorrow. You have to come out. Dad’s donated all the sauce for the big grill-out.”

I yank open the refrigerator for a bottle of water. “We’ll see.” The warm fuzzies I had earlier over Dylan have cooled a little. Why start what I can’t finish?

An hour later Dad comes in and pretends my presence is expected, an everyday event. He tells us how many cases of barbecue sauce he delivered for the grill-out, how e-orders are up since The Food Connection linked their Web site to the Moore Gourmet Sauces site and how Rhine is calling him with ideas for showcasing the product.

“It’s nice to have him so enthusiastic, Dad,” I say.

“I’m not complaining,” Dad counters, snatching a cooked carrot from the pan Mom’s pulling from the oven.

We enjoy a nice, yummy dinner together, but by nine o’clock I’m asleep on the couch. Without a million to-dos or looming project deadlines, my mind is starting to unwind and sleep comes easily. A little after midnight I stumble upstairs and fall face-first into bed without changing into my jammies.

Well after noon on Saturday I wander into the kitchen and find a note from the folks saying they’d gone to the park. “Look for us at the Moore tent.”

It’s a cold cinnamon bun for breakfast, then hop into the shower, hoping to run into Dylan today.

It’s a gorgeous day, and since the park is just down the street, I slip on my sneakers and head out on foot.

First stop, the Braun Bikes tent. Mr. Braun greets me as if I’m his prodigal daughter.

“Macy, welcome. Welcome home.” He wraps his Papa Bear arms around me and motions to a half dozen motorcycles stationed around the tent. “What do you think?”