Southern Charmed Read online

  “I remember.” I couldn’t keep the tightness out of my voice. Max had moved a few months after that night, but the fallout he’d left behind had lasted a lot longer.

  He swallowed. “Sounds like you remember it pretty clearly.”

  I shrugged. I hadn’t been angry about it in years, but I wasn’t dying to revisit the memory. “Sure. But it’s done. Don’t worry about it.”

  “That’s the thing. I’ve worried about it for a long time. I’ll drop it if you don’t want to talk about it, but I want to make things right.”

  I straightened and brushed my hands together to knock the specks of dirt off, ready to climb to my feet and leave. “Chalk it up to being a dumb teenager. I teach a few of those now. I get it. You turned out well. It’s nice to see some of them have a shot of growing out of it. I accept your apology, and we’re good.” I drew my feet out of the water, and Max rose to help me up, his expression unconvinced. But I was glad he didn’t pursue it. I hated it when someone insisted on making an apology that was more about them than the victim.

  Callouses on his palm brushed against mine. Rough skin for a business school pretty boy. He didn’t let go when I was standing, and I stared down at my hand, ordering it to let go of his. It didn’t. He feathered his thumb across the back of mine, and goose bumps rose along my arm. I pulled away and turned back down the pier.

  Having chemistry didn’t make someone the right match, but I wished it wasn’t Max reminding me how delicious that kind of attraction could feel. We’d shared a few shoulder bumps and a hand up. Easy come, easy go, exactly like Max would be whenever his job moved him again.

  We walked back to the house mostly in quiet. A couple of times he asked me what kind of animal or insect noise he was hearing, but he didn’t try to apologize again, and I gave him another brownie point.

  He stood aside to let me climb the deck stairs first, but when I took the second step, he reached out for my hand, holding me there and smiling up at me. “Thanks for putting up with me tonight.”

  I smiled back. “It wasn’t hard.”

  “Could we do it again some time? Hang out?”

  I squeezed his hand. “Bless your heart,” I said, and he groaned.

  “I know what that means.”

  “Bless your heart, but I don’t think that’s a great idea.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  I thought about how to phrase it. “It’s not you; it’s me?”

  “Is that a question?”

  “I’m trying it out to see if you’re buying it.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Not really.”

  “Okay,” he said, and I tried to ignore the whisper that wished he had tried to talk me into a date.

  Chapter 3

  “Liiiiiiiiiila!”

  I held the phone away from my ear while Hailey Benton squealed into it.

  “Did you see? Did you? I put it on Instagram! I’m so happy!”

  “I heard. Congratulations!” The Mormon grapevine was operating fine this Monday night. I hadn’t even had to check Instagram for this one. I’d gotten three texts telling me Hailey was engaged before she’d called. “Have you talked plans yet?”

  “It barely happened at dinner, so we haven’t really had time for that,” she said. “But I’m pretty sure the reception will be at the Hansens’ place, and I think September will be good for that, maybe late September so it’s after the worst of the heat but still nice outside. Their yard always looks so beautiful with those white lights strung up. And I think we’ll do a Southern-chic menu. I’d love to try to coordinate the food with my wedding colors, but I’m using peach as the main color, and I’m not sure how many foods I can find that would go with that.”

  “What about peaches?”

  “Very funny, Lila. Peaches aren’t even peach colored. They’re orangey. Anyway, you’ll come, of course. And I wondered if your mama would do the flowers? Could you ask her real quick if late September is open?”

  “I’ll check with her and get back to you.” Chances were poor. Mom had opened a floral shop when I was a senior in high school and she’d seen her empty-nest future looming ahead of her. She’d wanted to be proactive about filling her time when all of us were gone. With her impeccable eye, she’d had to do only a couple of events for Daddy’s business partners—a private party, a retirement dinner, a baby shower for his partner’s much-younger trophy wife—and pictures had shown up in the right Instagram feeds, giving her a steady clientele from the start.

  Except that she hadn’t gone into the shop more than a couple of times in the last two years, leaving it in her manager’s hands, a young widow she’d hired a year after she’d opened, who she’d trained until the woman had as much faith in herself as Mom had. The only flowers Mom arranged anymore were the ones she brought to Daddy’s grave.

  I didn’t bother explaining any of this to Hailey, who was charging right ahead with all the details she “hadn’t really had time to consider.”

  “Lila? Are you listening?”

  “Of course.”

  “Anyway, I know there’s lots of weddings coming up, but the Relief Society can help my mother’s ward with the food service, right?”

  I didn’t guess she was going to accept no, so I made a noncommittal “Hmm” sound that she interpreted as a yes.

  “I’m so excited!” Another squeal. “I better let you go because I have a lot of calls still to make, but let me know about the flowers, will you?”

  “Sure thing.” I ended the call and set the phone on the coffee table, then dropped my head back against the sofa, closed my eyes, and blew an exasperated raspberry.

  “What a becoming noise, Lila Mae. Long day?”

  I didn’t even have the energy to open my eyes. “Always. But that was for the call I just got off of with Hailey Benton.” For a split second, I considered not telling her that Hailey was engaged, but it’d get to her in the next hour or so anyway, so I filled her in.

  “Isn’t she marrying a boy down in Thibodaux?”

  “Yeah. His daddy’s the bishop down there, I think.”

  She shook her head as she sat in her favorite armchair and picked up the needlework from the basket beside her on the floor. “I hope his mama is fine with him living up this way because no way is Linda Benton going to stand for Hailey moving an hour out.”

  “They’ve got a while to figure it out. He’s only got a semester done at LSU, so they’ll be in town until he’s finished with school.”

  “When did he get back from his mission?”

  “Two months ago.”

  “And already engaged, even with all those cowlicks.”

  The statement reeked of subtext. If he can do it, why can’t you?

  “Can we not discuss this right now?” I asked, pulling a lacy throw pillow over my face.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sugar.”

  “Good. Let’s move on to flowers. Hailey wants to book you to do the wedding, so I told her I’d check with you and let her know.”

  “When’s the wedding?”

  It was a delaying tactic. She wouldn’t agree to do it. “Well, she said they hadn’t talked about it yet, but she already knows it’ll be late September, reception at the Hansens’, and there’s going to be a lot of peaches.”

  “Peaches in September? The season will be over.”

  “Maybe she said peach colors. I don’t know.” I set the pillow back on the sofa and pushed myself up. “I’m going to bed. Thinking about another wedding makes me tired.”

  “Don’t be like that, Lila. If you won’t get married, that’s fine, but you can’t begrudge those who do.”

  “I don’t begrudge anyone. But I can’t say I love the idea that now we have another wedding belle, and they all seem to think our tiny Relief Society is their volunteer staff. I’d much rather be using our energy on other things.”

  “Another wedding belle. That is the cutest thing. Who thought of that?”

  “I d
on’t know. Maybe Becky Robert.” She’d been the first, and then two other girls had quickly followed in what had felt like a rash of engagements over the last year. They’d started meeting weekly for lunch to discuss wedding plans so that no one would duplicate anyone else. Apparently it was fine to all have the same photographer, florist, and caterer, but it got touchy quick when two of the brides both wanted an ice cream sundae bar. They’d worked it all out to each other’s satisfaction, and somewhere in the discussions they’d begun referring to themselves as the wedding belles. It was sweet enough to make my teeth hurt. Lately it seemed like no sooner had one of them married out than a newly engaged one joined them.

  “Beth’s a clever thing. Beautiful bride too.”

  “You only like her because she did peonies.”

  “That’s the truth. If you get married without peonies, I’m cutting you out of my will.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Like I would ever get married without peonies. The bigger problem was getting married at all. “Mom? I do want to get married.”

  “I know, baby girl. Your prince will come.”

  “I don’t want a prince. I want a partner. I want to be like you and Daddy.”

  “Then that means you need a prince because your daddy treated me like a princess. And you’ll find that kind of man. Do you get mad at me for being impatient?” She set down her embroidery to study my face.

  “Sometimes. I can’t do much to hurry up the process.”

  “You can do more. How about Internet dating? There have to be some single young men within a couple of hours who can appreciate a catch like you.”

  “I’ll sign up for Internet dating when you do, Mom.”

  Her eyes clouded, and I wanted to snatch the flippant words back. She picked up her embroidery again. “Are you saying you think I should date? I’m not ready for that. I’m never going to be ready for that.” Her voice had the distant, hollow tone I hated. It had disappeared during Max’s visit on Sunday, but now that it was back, chances were it would linger for weeks.

  “I was making a joke. I didn’t mean that you should date.” Hattie and Jim Guidry had been a seamless whole, and even after two years, the idea of them not being together was nothing short of walking to the Mississippi River levee and staring down at a dry river bed. It was unimaginable, yet it kept being true each day I woke up. I couldn’t even imagine what it must feel like to her.

  She didn’t look up from her hoop, where a magnolia blossomed from the floss. It wasn’t fair to call it needlework. It was more like painting with thread. Her flowers looked like oils on canvas. Her work even graced pillow covers in the sitting room of the governor’s mansion. She hadn’t had time to embroider while running her flower shop before Daddy died, but now that she wouldn’t go back to the store, embroidering filled a lot of hours that used to be full of Dad.

  “I’m truly sorry,” I said.

  “I know, honey. I’m not angry. But I think I’m going to work on this piece for a while, and it’s probably best if I turn on some thinking music.”

  I got up and set her iPod to an Andrea Bocelli album before heading up to my room to change into my pajamas. I stuck my hair up in a bun and grabbed a stack of history tests to grade until they put me to sleep. Sometimes my students’ essay answers could knock me out better than Tylenol PM. I needed one or the other tonight because the last thing I wanted to do was fight to go to sleep while feeling like a failure because someone else had gotten engaged besides me.

  I glanced down at the first question and sighed as I marked it wrong. Well, at least I wasn’t about to fail as badly as the captain of the basketball team.

  Chapter 4

  “Tests are graded,” I said, handing them out. “Just a note that while 1865 did technically mark the end of 1864, the correct answer was that 1865 marked the end of the Civil War.”

  Chauncy Tremonton groaned, and the class burst out laughing.

  “Also, Jefferson Davis was the leader of the Confederate States of America, not the leader of the pack, Jamarcus Lloyd.”

  “Leader of the pack? Dude, why you listening to oldies?” Chauncy asked.

  “My gramps likes that stuff. Besides, how you know that’s an oldie unless you listening too?” Jamarcus said.

  I did a settle-down gesture to stop the catcalls and paused at Sadie Litch’s desk. “Highest score. Good job.” I kept my voice low. The bright kids didn’t always like to advertise their achievements.

  “Nerd!”

  “Not okay, Jamarcus. Apologize,” I said.

  “For paying her a compliment? No, ma’am. Hey, Sadie. You ever tutor dumb jocks for fun?”

  Sadie grinned. “No, but I don’t mind helping a smart one. I’m in the library after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

  “See you there tomorrow.”

  We eased into the rest of class, which involved me carrying a suitcase around the room to try to snatch things out of open backpacks and off desks to claim for myself. It was an introduction to carpetbaggers and Reconstruction.

  The lesson landed, and I knew it would only get better with each period I taught it during the day, but I couldn’t fully celebrate having a lesson go right. Instead, when the bell rang, I called, “You need a rough draft of your Civil War essays ready for peer review tomorrow!” as they filed out. “Kiana? A moment, please.”

  She rolled her eyes but sat down and waited.

  The whole time I’d been clowning like a carpetbagger, an extra-large sliver of my attention had been drawn to her, my favorite and, not by coincidence, my hardest student in the class.

  Kiana and I had navigated a rough first quarter with each other. She would come in sullen on a good day. I refused to send her to the discipline office, instead making her come talk to me at lunch, asking questions to understand why she’d been upset. A lot of the time she’d come straight to me in first period after a fight with her mom. Soon I could recognize the expression on her face that told me she hadn’t gotten breakfast that morning, and I’d walk past during our opening-bell work and leave a protein bar on her desk. She never said thank you, but she always dropped an empty wrapper in the trash on the way out.

  By the end of fall semester, she was drifting into my classroom at lunch time just because. Sometimes she would talk to me. They weren’t fluid conversations. She’d sit quietly, fiddling with her jacket zipper or her phone, and then blurt, “Look at this,” and show me some YouTube video or meme. Her favorites were obscure pop-culture references or esoteric word play, which meant that the work she was turning in to me, when she bothered to turn it in, was far below the level she was capable of.

  “Why you always making me do extra, Miss Guidry?” she complained one day when I returned a test to her ungraded and ordered her in at lunch to complete the essay questions for real. “I did answer these.”

  “A single sentence is not a long-form answer. You think deeper than you’re letting on. Put it down here, and you can spend your lunch period however you want,” I said, tapping her paper. She’d grunted, grabbed her pen, and given a thoughtful, well-reasoned analysis of the Missouri Compromise and how she still saw echoes of its effects in her urban neighborhood. It had blown me away.

  She still tested me sometimes, probably to see if I was paying attention to her work. Today I’d had to hand back a red D-. That was a warning sign. But worse, she hadn’t cracked a smile at Jamarcus’s clowning, and when I’d tried to catch her eye, she’d looked away.

  “What’s going on, Kiana?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You loaded that word up with a whole lot of something. Talk to me.”

  “Got nothing to talk about.”

  Students from second period shuffled in. “Come see me at lunch.”

  She got up and left without a word.

  She didn’t come in at lunch either. By the end of the day, I was stressed, trying to figure out what the problem could be. I’d pulled her student file the month before, and I could guess some things based on the
antiseptic facts it had listed. Her primary guardian was her grandmother, so even though her mom was around, she didn’t have custody. That pointed to drug use, probably. A criminal record, possibly. Kiana wasn’t the only kid at the high school with that situation by a long shot.

  I pulled up her student contact info and tried the home number listed, hoping I could get her grandmother on the phone. It rang several times without going to voice mail. I hung up and tried to figure out what to do next. Would it make whatever was going on worse if I dropped by her house to check on her? Probably, since that would get me fired. I packed up, not able to focus enough to sit and do any grading or prep work.

  Mom’s car wasn’t in our driveway, and I paused to enjoy the quiet when I walked through the door. Every now and then when I had the house to myself, I pretended it was mine and that I got to live alone without any opera on the iPod.

  I waited for the wave of guilt that always followed that dream, and it showed up right on time. Living in my childhood home had never been in my plans after my mission. I’d stayed here for a few months while I’d saved up for my own place. I’d been getting ready to move out when Daddy died, and there was no way I was going to leave Mom at that point.

  She didn’t need me financially. There was no mortgage, and Daddy had always been so smart about saving that she’d be able to live in the house for a hundred years before she’d have to worry about money.

  It used to be if I came home to an empty house, it was because she was at the floral shop. Mom had loved that shop right up until the point she’d blamed it for taking her away from Daddy more than she’d meant to be gone and stealing hours she could have spent with him had she known she would lose him early.

  It wasn’t a rational argument, but I’d had two years of my own irrational grief, so I didn’t push her about going back to work. The shop did okay without her, and she had that income too, but I hated thinking about her with too much free time and four thousand square feet of house to somehow fill up with all the things she had lost.

  If I had a place of my own, I might not even be able to walk in and appreciate the peace and quiet. Maybe the silence would sound loud and the space feel empty.