Bayou Born(45)

“Be with you in a moment,” a man called out when she entered the store. She hitched herself up onto a stool in the middle of the long counter, then turned when she heard a woman behind her.

“You stay here while I finish my shopping. I’ll be back in an hour.” The tall woman looked like she walked out of a fashion spread from Glamour magazine. Sundress. Sandals. Bangle bracelet and Coach purse.

“Yes, Momma.” With slumped shoulders, a girl took a seat two stools away. She laid a five-dollar bill on the counter and placed an old-fashioned sugar jar on top of it to keep if from floating away as the air swirled from the ceiling fans overhead. She flipped her long, fawn-colored braids over her shoulders.

“Hi. I’m Branna.” Branna reached across the space and offered her hand.

Keeping her eyes glued to the counter, the girl mumbled.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch what you said.”

“Don’t mind her. She’s Ida Walker. I’m her uncle. The usual Ida?” the clerk behind the counter asked. “And what about you, Miss?”

“What’s your usual?” she asked Ida.

“Vanilla ice cream with pecans and caramel sauce on top,” Ida’s uncle replied.

“I’ll have what she’s having.”

Ida’s mouth quirked into a half-grin as her uncle walked away, but she kept her shoulders hunched and eyes glued to the counter, as though pouting was important.

“Well, Ida,” Branna said, changing stools to sit next to the girl. “How’s your summer going? You’re out of school, right?”

“I’m bored,” Ida grumbled. “I’m home schooled.”

Branna leaned in close and whispered. “I saw you the day you borrowed the nail polish.”

“I didn’t—”

Branna reached into her purse and pulled out a lace hanky. The blood-red smear couldn’t be missed. “Look familiar? So, how about some honesty?”

“I’m honestly bored,” Ida said, taking the hanky and stuffing it into her pocket.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Branna tried to sound cheery.

Ida’s elbows thumped the counter. She cradled her jaw in her hands, and looked straight ahead, instead of at Branna. “I’m an only child. I don’t have anyone to play with me.”

Branna’s heart pinched. How often had she wished to be an only child? Then she wouldn’t have the words, “You must live by example,” imprinted on her psyche. There would be time alone and holidays devoid of chaos. She wouldn’t have had to worry about anyone but herself.

However, she missed her family so badly she ached. Missed them so much, the silence of her home drove her to town in search of human interaction. Sad thing when the sound of strangers’ voices provided comfort.

And, she missed James. Was his trip going as planned? Would he call her from the road? What would he think if she suggested something closely resembling phone sex? Her cheeks heated at the thought.

Beside her, Ida grunted, then poured sugar on the five-dollar bill. Teenage mischief that passed for entertainment? Loneliness appeared to be the girl’s only friend. Branna’s large-family problem looked different through an only child’s eyes.

“How old are you, Ida?”

“Ten, almost eleven, but people think I’m older because I’m so tall.”

“Yes, I imagined that you were maybe thirteen. Do you know anything about pulling weeds? Would you be interested in a part-time job helping out with my flower garden?”

Ida straightened. She looked from side to side, then swiveled on the stool to face Branna. “I’ve got a green thumb. I can make things grow.”

The child’s enthusiasm made Branna smile.

“Yes, well, I’m trying to stop the weeds from growing.”

“I can do that, too.” Ida nodded. Her braids bounced.

“I live on Townsend Street. Do you live near there?” She was hopeful the girl lived nearby. She recognized Ida as the child that had darted into the street and caused her to spill tea on Meredith’s skirt on her final day of house hunting. She had to remember to contact her Realtor. Meredith had never sent her a cleaning bill.

“I live two streets over.”

“How about if we sip our shakes and wait for your mother to return? Then, I’ll ask her if she’ll allow you to help me a few hours a week.”

“Okay.”

After the shakes arrived, Ida chatted about gardening. Most of her knowledge fell into the category of farming.

“Daddy grows watermelons and corn. Sometimes he stays all night in the country with granddaddy at his farm. Momma works part-time at the bank. So I stay in town with her because I have to practice the piano every day.”

The child talked nonstop and made Branna think of the going, going, going Eveready Bunny.

Branna understood Ida’s loneliness. Or the opposite of it. Peace and quiet were a rare commodity at Fleur de Lis. It made her feel selfish and small. Here this girl wanted a big family, or at least a sibling to play with, while she’d grown up surrounded with playmates and had taken them for granted.

“Wednesdays would work good. What’s your name again?” Ida asked.

“Branna Lind.”

“Miss Branna, I could come to your house before it gets really hot.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

When Mrs. Walker returned, Ida was grinning from ear to ear.

Branna rose to meet the woman. “Mrs. Walker, I’m Branna Lind.”

“I hope Ida wasn’t a bother.”

“No. Actually, I think she might be a big help to me. I’m an instructor at the community college. Based on what Ida says, I live about three blocks away from you. With your permission, I’d like to hire her to help me in my garden on Wednesday mornings.”

Mrs. Walker’s face transformed from stern to glowing. “Ida can be a handful. She’s very willful. You, a successful teacher, I’ll bet you never gave your mother any problems.”

“Ah, I think my momma would emphatically disagree.”

“A bit of responsibility might be good for Ida.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Walker. My garden thanks you even more than I do.”

“We’ll give it try. Sometimes her attention span doesn’t last. I hope you won’t be disappointed.”

“See you on Wednesday,” she told Ida as the girl left the store with her mother. At the door, Ida turned back and waved. A smile replaced the girl’s earlier frown.

Invigorated by her good deed, Branna drove home and decided on a walk around the lake. She changed into shorts and a t-shirt, then grabbed her sunglasses.

Afternoon temperatures had peaked early. Humidity made the air liquid and walking outside was like strolling in a steam bath with no exit. She wiped sweat from her forehead using the edge of her t-shirt. Sweat dripped from every pore like a block of ice melting in hell. She was thankful for the tree-cover that protected her skin from burning. The lack of physical activity for the last couple of days made her body ache, more than the discomfort of her injuries.

With purposeful strides, she walked halfway around the lake moving in a quick clip. Tall oaks with long limbs and lush dogwoods provided a partial barrier between the street and the trail. Reaching the halfway point, she stopped and rested on a bench beneath a stately magnolia, it had to be close to a hundred years old. Nearby, a group of men set up chairs around the large white gazebo. She’d seen the posted flyers for the Friday night, outdoor concerts and guessed that night would be the inaugural event of the season. Spring had rolled into summer despite the fact that summer was officially a few weeks away.

Across the lake, above the trees, she caught a glimpse of the yellow Victorian on the hill, the one Meredith had owned. Whoever bought the house had done some sprucing. Maybe she’d continue the walk around and take a closer look. It was stubborn of her to refuse to tour the house when Meredith had offered to show it. But it reminded her too much of Fleur de Lis, then and now. She hated to admit it, but she missed home.

As she cooled down, a black sedan with darkly tinted windows rolled by on the road that circled the lake. The car stopped and made a U-turn in the street, then pulled into the nearest parking space about a hundred feet away. It looked familiar. Like the one that almost hit Meredith’s car. She paused to see if anyone stepped out. Would she at least recognize them? Her wait was in vain. No one appeared.

Maybe the person in the car was waiting for someone else. Maybe a lunch rendezvous. The lake was a pretty spot for a picnic, or even a ten-minute work break with a view.

When she rose, tiredness washed over her. The heat had drained her energy. She began the trek homeward, retracing her steps. The Victorian would have to wait for another day.

Meandering more than walking, she stopped to read the inscription carved into a large stone marker. The black sedan came into her peripheral view. It headed in her same direction at a slow roll, and then stopped nearby.