From the outside, the house was shaped a lot like Lettie’s, only it had a carport instead of a garage with an apartment above it. And instead of being painted yellow, it had white clapboard siding. But the big picture window with lacy curtains drawn back to reveal a table with a lamp in the center was the same and reminded Jennie Sue of the stylized pictures that she’d drawn as a child.
“We’ll take the stuff in through the kitchen door.” Lettie got out of the truck and headed to the back to open the tailgate. “I put things close to the end, so neither one of us has to climb up inside. You get that box, and I’ll take these two sacks and then you can come back for the potatoes. So we can expect you back here by eight o’clock?”
“Or before,” Jennie Sue answered as she picked up the box in one hand and the potatoes in another. “Something sure smells good.”
“I’m smokin’ a brisket, two chickens, and a pork loin.” Nadine came from the back of the house. “I just put more pecan chips in the smoker.”
“Are you expecting an army?” Jennie Sue asked.
“Maybe, but if there’s leftovers, we can eat on them all week.” Nadine opened the kitchen door for them. “I love this holiday. Christmas is about presents. Thanksgiving is about families getting together. ’Course since it’s just me and Lettie, that’s a sad one. But the Fourth is a fun time when friends can all gather up and have a good visit.”
Ninety years old and still making a meal for a crowd—Jennie Sue wanted to grow up and be just like her. She tried to imagine her mother or any one of the Sweetwater Belles at ninety, wearing a pair of baggy bibbed overalls and a faded T-shirt. Nope, the visual wouldn’t appear, no matter how hard she squeezed her eyes shut.
“Just put all that on the table. Me and Lettie will get busy and make up the sides that go in the refrigerator first. We ain’t spring chickens anymore, so we sit as much as we work, but we always enjoy the day,” Nadine said.
Lettie poked her thin arm. “Speak for yourself. The only reason we do one big holiday a year is because you are so bossy.”
“Well, Flora was the oldest. She said that gave her the right to boss me. When you came along, it was my turn, so stop your bellyachin’. If you’d wanted someone to boss, you shoulda got married and had kids.” Nadine pulled macaroni noodles from the box.
“I didn’t want a husband tellin’ me what to do,” Lettie snapped. “Women don’t really need a man except for sex, and you don’t have to stand in front of a preacher and promise to love and obey to get that when you need it. Jennie Sue can back me up on that, can’t you?”
Jennie Sue’s face burned. “I think I’ll leave you two to discuss that all by yourselves. I’ll see you this evening, and, Nadine, I’d love it if you’d save me a slice or two of that brisket.”
“Consider it done.” Nadine stopped and gave her a quick hug. “I’m glad you’ve come to work for us, girl.”
“Me, too.” Jennie Sue nodded.
With her face still on fire, she walked out of the house and got into the truck. Then the laughter started. Those two old ladies were a complete hoot. By the time she’d backed out and was on the road to her folks’ place, she was laughing like she hadn’t done in years. She braked at a stop sign and laid her head on the steering wheel. Once she finally got control of herself, she saw the little green sign pointing toward the cemetery.
She stared at it until a car behind her honked, and then she made a sharp left and drove down to the cemetery, through the gates, and straight to the Baker plot. Tears streamed down her face and dripped onto her shirt. Her baby had been buried right there in an unmarked grave for more than six months. There’d been no funeral, no saying goodbye—at the time, it seemed like the best thing to do, since she couldn’t leave the hospital, and there was no way she wanted her baby buried in New York. So while she was in the hospital with an infection, she’d let her mother take over the arrangements. She’d sent a pretty little white lace dress that she’d planned for Emily Grace to wear home. She didn’t even know if her mother had used it.
She opened the pickup door, and hot air rushed inside. She slung a leg out but couldn’t make herself move the other one. Maybe if she touched the grass above the place where she knew Emily Grace was buried, she’d have closure. But she couldn’t do it that day. She pulled her leg back inside the truck and slammed the door.
“I’ll be back, Emily. I promise,” she whispered as she turned the truck around and drove toward the Baker estate. She wanted to cry or hit something or maybe just scream. The one thing she didn’t want to do was face her mother, so she pulled the truck off on the side of the road a mile from the house and said a silent prayer for strength to get through the day.
After several minutes she started up the engine and drove the rest of the way. She parked in front of the garage and inhaled deeply, let it out slowly, and got out of the old truck. She’d never needed a dose of energy more than she did right then. Going into the house with all the Belles in attendance, plus her mother at the center, would take more strength than even God could give her.
She touched the key to start up the engine again, put it in reverse, and go to Nadine’s. But Frank opened the door for her before she could do anything.
“Hey, sweetheart, what’s the matter?” he asked.
“It’s been an emotional morning. I don’t think I can do this,” she whispered.
“That’s up to you, but if you are going to give it a shot, you’d best make a side trip through the bathroom in the garage. There’s black streaks runnin’ down your cheeks, and your mama will have a hissy if she sees you like this,” Frank told her.
“Thank you, Frank,” she sighed. “I might as well go on in and face the music since I’m already cried out.”
Rick’s truck bed was filled with paper sacks full of fresh produce that morning. With twenty stops to make in Bloom, it would take until lunchtime to get it all delivered. He’d thought about putting in a small produce stand out in front of his and Cricket’s house, but then he’d have to man it for several hours a day. A lot of his customers didn’t need to be out in the heat anyway.
His first stop was at the Baker place, where he took two huge bags of food up to the kitchen door and rang the doorbell. Mabel opened it immediately and motioned him inside. “Thanks so much for putting us first on the list. It helps so much today. Oh, Rick, these tomatoes are beautiful.”
“Thank you. Lots of water, healthy fertilizer, and bug spray. Be sure to wash them good,” he said.
Mabel pulled several bills from an envelope marked “Petty Cash” and handed them to him. “This is so much better than what I can get in the grocery store. Dill loves fresh food. Says it reminds him of when his mama had a garden.”
“Thank you. Let me know if you need anything else this week.” He was out the door when he saw Lettie’s old truck rumbling up the lane. He stopped and leaned on the porch post until the driver parked in front of the long multicar garage. Surely Lettie Clifford wasn’t coming to the Baker place to brag about Jennie Sue working for her.
Frank went out to the truck, then Jennie Sue followed him back into the garage. Rick left the porch and met them when they rounded the end of his truck. Jennie Sue. So much sadness filled her pretty blue eyes that he wanted to hug her.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine . . . or I will be,” she said.
Her eyes and all that mascara streaking down her cheeks didn’t agree with her words, but he wouldn’t pry into her business. “Can I help?”
She shook her head and glanced over into the truck bed. “Did Mabel order all this?”
“No, only a couple of bags. I still have to deliver the rest,” he answered.
“It all looks good.” She forced a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I love fresh better than frozen or canned. Could I get some delivered to my apartment once a week? If you’ll give me a couple of minutes, I’ll help unload it.”
“Wouldn’t want you to get those party clothes dirty. But about a delivery—I’d love to add you to my list. Here’s my phone number.” He fished a business card from the pocket of his shirt. “Just call me the night before you want it and tell me what you need. I can have it there the next day or bring it to you at Amos’s store. And I always take stuff to Nadine’s and Lettie’s on Fridays.” His heart kicked in an extra beat as he handed her the card. Jennie Sue would have his phone number. If she ever called, would they talk about anything other than tomatoes and watermelons?