Bayou Born(2)

As much as she wanted to end the search, she had to find a place to live. Weary or not. Besides, good manners dictated that she follow Meredith’s lead. “All right, let’s go see.”

They drove another block before Meredith pulled onto a wide concrete driveway. “Here we are.”

Branna looked up. The cottage looked like something from a Thomas Kincade painting with its sloping roofline, carved shutters, and arched front door. “Interesting.”

The well-tended flower garden in the front and the window boxes with trailing greens and sprouting purple and white flowers provided attractive curb appeal. One word came to mind. Charming.

Meredith pulled a listing sheet from a folder. “One car garage converted from a carport. Spacious two bedrooms, two and a half baths. One could be an office-slash-guest room. Not tiny rooms with no closet space in this home, which is an usual footprint in a house of this age. Not a cookie-cutter when built, however, the spacious master bath is a recent add-on.”

“It makes a nice first impression.” Branna stepped out of the car slowly, captivated by the view. A gentle breeze ruffled her hair. She smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her sundress. “This one, I’m anxious to see inside.”

Meredith turned the key in the lock, then swung the wooden door open wide. Branna walked through first. Once inside the foyer, she scanned the living room with a fireplace. Natural light streamed through the large windows. A deep sigh of relief let go. Her body relaxed as though she’d been holding her breath all day. The house had definite possibilities.

She explored like a kid at Toys R Us for the first time. Details mattered. Crown molding. A master bedroom big enough to comfortably fit a queen-size bed, a dresser, a chaise, and a reading light. Granite countertops in the kitchen and bathrooms. Gas, stainless steel stove. A dining room with French doors that opened to a large screen porch, where she could curl up and read mosquito-free in evening’s dappled sunlight.

“The patio is brick. There are raised beds for vegetables and flowers. Do you have a green thumb?” Meredith asked.

“No. Not so much. However, I’m determined to learn.” At home, they had a fulltime gardener to make the scenery perfect. A formal garden in the front and back required expert care. A well-manicured landscape had proved to be an important detail to brides when selecting Fleur de Lis for their wedding location.

“The garage, it’s only one-car wide, but very deep, has a new opener. There’s not a lot of grass to mow, because of the raised beds. You’ll probably spend more time weeding than walking behind a mower,”

“I want another look from the front.”

Back outside, Branna walked down three brick steps to the sidewalk and scanned the tree-shaded neighborhood. Across the street, an older woman carrying a shopping bag with a crisp “L L” logo strolled by. In the distance, a scratchy bark from a little dog punctuated the quiet. A late-model black sedan with darkly tinted windows drove slowly past. Was it the one that stopped short of hitting them only minutes ago?

“Not much traffic on this street,” Branna said.

“It’s quiet. The price is right. What do you think?” Meredith asked.

“I’m not quite sure. Give me a few minutes to take it all in.”

“I’ll be in the backyard in the swing. Call when you have a decision.”

Branna strode to the street and turned back to look at the yard and house. Her gut said, “This is the one.” But signing on the dotted line? True commitment. Was she ready for that?

After six months of therapy to heal the gash in her self-esteem that Steven had carved, her confidence remained tenuous at best. Could she trust herself to make such a major decision? It wasn’t like cutting her hair. That would grow back.

Half panicked, she dug through her purse for her cell phone. Her cousin, Biloxi, would provide the perfect “atta-girl” support. As her hand grasped the small weighted phone, it vibrated. She jumped. Her breath caught in the back of her throat. A text message flashed on the screen.

I will find you. Steven.

She bobbled the phone and almost dropped it. With trembling fingers, she flipped to her cousin’s number and pressed the button.

“Hello?”

“Biloxi. Oh. My. God. Steven just texted me.”

“What? No!”

“I don’t know how he got my number.”

“What did he say? Are you going to tell your parents? Aunt Macy and Uncle Charles will want to know.”

As Branna considered the question, she looked down the street to the main road. The battered pickup, the one from the Victorian property, distracted her as it crossed her view. The odd sensation she’d experienced when she met the vehicle’s owner quivered in her chest.

It had to be the mixture of exhaustion, heat and humidity, right? This was Lakeview, not an episode of Doctor Who.

“Branna? Hello? Are you going to tell your mom?”

“Ah, sorry. Um, no.” She used to confide in her mother, but the mess with Steven had changed that. “No,” she said slowly. “Besides, I won’t give that man the satisfaction of knowing he caused any ripple in my life. I’m not going to bring it up with Momma.” She drew in a breath for fortification. “However, I am going to tell them that I bought a house.”

“Oh, Branna. Damn it. The family’s going to kill you for sure.”





Chapter 2

Standing beside his truck in his parents’ driveway after an afternoon in a hayfield, James Newbern clicked his cell phone closed. Dr. Brown had asked him to make time to show a new faculty member around. “Like a sponsor or a good-will ambassador. Miss Lind is close to your age. From Mississippi. I’m assigning a seasoned faculty member to each of the three new ones. Thanks for helping out.”

Dr. Brown had asked, but the task was non-negotiable. James weighed his summer commitments. Buy a house. Repair it. Truck hay to south Florida with Bobby. Teach summer school. And, least he forget, farming. He understood Dr. Brown’s desire to smooth the way for new hires, and he didn’t object to the added responsibility, but how to fit it all in? He already had too much on his plate. But never would he refuse a Dr. Brown request. Their association began back when he had enrolled as freshman at the community college, and Dr. Brown appointed himself as mentor.

Crossing the threshold to his parents’ farmhouse, he walked into aromas of supper. Savory scents of roast beef made his hunger churn. Homemade creamed corn and zipper peas, his mother’s prizewinning dishes, simmered on the stove. A large bowl of her signature carrot and raisin salad with sliced bananas, just like he liked it, waited for delivery to the dining room table. A feast only made for special occasions.

“I’m starving,” he said.

“Son, when have you ever been anything but hungry?” his mother, Emmeline, teased. Standing on a stepstool, she pulled her fine china down from a tall kitchen cabinet. “Come over here and help your poor mother.”

When she took a good look at him, she drew back and refused to hand over the plates. “You don’t have clean hands. Don’t touch.” She gingerly climbed down from the stepstool with the plates, and then clunked them against granite on the kitchen island.

Granny, his mother’s mother, sat at the other end of the counter and smiled up at him. He grinned as she added buttermilk into in her big wooden biscuit-making bowl. With practiced efficiency, her hands swirled flour, Crisco, and buttermilk into dough. He never sat down to a meal at home when biscuits weren’t on the table. He kissed her cheek. “You’re my favorite girl.”

“Oh, you go on, now,” Granny said.

“Yes, you go on now. Look at you!” His mother scrunched her face as if he were trash too dirty for even the garbage man to pick up. “You’ve got five minutes to take a shower and get your be-hind at the dinner table. Now go!” She swatted at him playfully with a dishtowel, but it would never touch him. His mother never allowed dirt in her kitchen, ever.

Before leaving, he squeezed the tops of Granny’s shoulders. “You’re lookin’ lovely tonight. I’d ask you to go dancing, but the Queen has spoken, so let me take my be-hind out of here, if I have any hope of eating. Do you think she’d torture me by starving me if I don’t shower first?”

“You charmer. Dancing, really. Get washed for supper.”

He saluted, then pushed on the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the formal dining room. When he entered the living room, the lively discussion between his father and grandfather stopped. The two men straightened in their seats like boys guilty of mischief. He glanced from side to side at each of them as he headed to the hall.

His father, Cedrick, seated in his worn favorite easy chair next to the fireplace, cleared his throat loudly. The sound alone begged attention from even the most clueless of person. Something was up.

He winked at his grandfather. “How are things today, Papa? I offered to take your girl dancing, but she turned me down.” Then, he turned to his father, “Hello, sir.” Not waiting for a response, he continued the long walk across the wide living room. “Seems you’ve had a busy day, son.” The amusement in his father’s voice snagged him. He stopped at the entrance to the hall.