remember?”
“My mind ain’t gone, son. Full of holes, but some things I remember just clear as sunlight. Just clear as sunlight.”
Will stood and shifted the books to his hip. “Here. Let me take the boxes.”
Jacob handed over everything except the cardboard tube. “Heck, my memory’s just fine. Ask me about how your uncle and me went fishin’ down in the Eno this past summer with cedar poles we cut ourselves. Caught a lot of suckers down there.”
The window opened a crack, then slammed shut. Oh, Dad. You haven’t left this place in two years. And Uncle Darren died right before Mom. I know, because I paid for both funerals.
“If you throw liquid in the Eno, it’ll end up in the Atlantic Ocean.” His dad creaked up to standing. “It joins the Neuse River down in Durham.”
“I know, Dad.”
“And those rivers, they was trade routes and a source of food ’cos animals like bison got to have water. After the Europeans came they killed all the bison. One of the presidents, I forget which one...”
“Dad?”
The old man glanced around as if trying to orient himself. “When we was kids, Mother only let us play on the rivers and creeks. And on Occoneechee Mountain. It ain’t now like it was then. We was labeled colored and segregated in church, in school and in the movies, but they couldn’t segregate us in the woods. That’s how I met your mama. ’Course, she were only a little bitty thing first time I spied her.”
“Come on, old man.” He took his father’s arm. “Let’s get you packed.”
“Packed? We joinin’ Freddie?”
“I wish, Dad. I wish.”
Will stared up at the ceiling covered in bobbly plaster. Thirty-four years of practice at smothering his emotions, but how could he talk about Freddie with his dad person-to-person, lie-upon-lie, and not mentally disintegrate?
Five
Poppy smacked her cell phone on the steering wheel. Stupid cheap piece of shit. Best she could afford, but still... Aha! A ring tone.
“Han, it’s me. Where are you?”
“About to leave Saxapahaw. I had to put a Siamese cat to sleep.”
The line crackled.
“And how was that?”
“Peaceful. You’re not driving and talking on the phone, are you?”
Poppy laughed. Her friend had her pegged years ago, even before she’d liberated Miss Prissy and accused Asshole of felony animal abuse. He’d tried to bully her out of the lawsuit, since he hadn’t wanted his rich friends to know about the banging of the hired help, but it was Hannah who’d persuaded her to walk away. And offered up her pasture for Miss Pris. That was Han, the world’s biggest fan of lost causes and underdogs. Underdogs, ha! Besides, if she hadn’t done the dirty with Asshole, she might never have been fired from the interior design company for sleeping with a client, might never have branched out on her own, might never have met Will Shepard.
Will was definitely no asshole. Plus he was the cutest guy she’d met since dumping the last putz. But dating was like baking. Pie crust didn’t always turn out right the first time, either.
“Poppy, honey? You called for a reason?”
“Sorry, girl. Miles away.” Poppy swerved around a black snake. Dang. Car nearly off the road. “Guess what? I just met this total hottie. Looks kinda young, but didn’t Demi Moore prove age is irrelevant? Isn’t whatshisname fifteen years her junior?”
“What are you talking about?” Hannah said.
“Wait, forget that. They’re divorced. Still. Age doesn’t matter these days, does it? This guy looks like a young Daniel Craig. With more hair.” Poppy fanned her T-shirt against her boobs. “Lots of hair you want to run your fingers through. Bone structure says Johnny Depp, but his abs are definitely Brad Pitt in Troy. You know what? Picture the love child of Johnny Depp and Daniel Craig. He’s mighty purty.” She slathered on the sassy Southern accent that had cost her parents a small fortune to erase.
“Daniel who?” Hannah’s voice echoed.
“Girl, I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask that.”
Poppy pulled down her visor, grabbed the Green Day CD she’d burned with a continuous loop of “Horseshoes and Handgrenades” and shoved it into the slot.
“When d’you last go to the movies?” Silly question since all Han did was work and sleep. Sleep was so not Poppy’s thing. Lucky if she could crash for five hours a night. “You still there?”
The line had gone dead.
Piece of shit phone—oh. Out of juice. Must’ve forgotten to charge it again. Imagine that.
Poppy hummed along to Green Day and tossed the cell phone onto the passenger seat where it bounced off the boxed-up set of mugs destined for some Duke professor. She really had meant to deliver the order before 2:00 p.m. Package was C.O.D. and that grocery money could be mighty useful. Nah. She’d make up some excuse and take it over bright and early Monday. Painting Thoroughbreds on mugs for her parents’ country club friends sucked, but she loved the stock pieces. Always rearing up, her prancing mares reminded her to keep spinning just as she’d done since she was a little girl skipping in circles, earning her nickname of Poppy Bean. “Goodness gracious, child,” her grandmama always said, “you’re full of beans.”
But once in a while, when she looked at her painted mares, Poppy saw fear in their eyes, self-defense in their raised hooves. Not one for overanalyzing, she’d never followed that thought—until today. And it led to Hannah.
She was creepy calm. Did she not realize that her son was in a heap of trouble? Depression had been grabbing at him for years, and yet he’d always managed to stumble free. ’Course, Poppy didn’t know too much about these things, but Galen had confided plenty when he was a teen trying not to worry his mom. Should she have told Han how far back this crap went? Nah, Hannah would only have worried twice as much. And Galen? He would’ve been spooked worse than Miss Pris during a tornado warning. One thing about her godson, he was more locked down than Fort Knox.
Even as a kid, Galen had tried to protect his baby brother and his mom. But now he needed protecting, and Poppy could do that just fine without betraying any secrets. Steer things in a better direction. Interfere a bit.
Yes, Han told her frequently she should stop sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. Blah, blah, blah. But this idea about putting Galen in the cottage was beyond catastrophic. Give him too much personal space and who knew what could happen.
Han had always been the one to look out for Poppy. Now it was role reversal time. And her cunning plan had nothing to do with that stud-muffin, Will Shepard. Although, technically, he was more of a twelve-pack of Krispy Kreme original glazed donuts.
Poppy licked her lips and went back to singing.
* * *
The forest were his real home: his daddy and his mama, his ancestors and his past, his present and his future. ’Course, he didn’t have much future. His flame were goin’ out. But to finish his days in the forest? Now that might give him some peace of mind. There were trees all around. Not forest he recognized but didn’t much matter. If Willie stopped the car, he’d take hisself off for a walk so he could hear leaves rustlin’ under his boots.
Maybe Darren would be there, when they got home. Him and Darren were real tight as kids. Big fight, though, over the record deal. Darren wanted to go on the road, but how could he do that and leave Willie alone with his mama?
Be good to hear the clackety-clack and the whistlin’ of the trains again. Couldn’t hear no trains from Hawk’s Ridge. Missed home-style Southern cookin’, too. Institutional food