Gone South (26 page)

Carrying the pizza box toward the garage with Daisy scampering beside him, George felt considerable trepidation about sharing his news. Several times during the afternoon, he’d nearly called Calv but chickened out every time.

He heard music long before he rounded the camellias. When the garage came into view, George had to grin. Calv had hauled so many amenities into the garage that it had started to resemble a clubhouse. His boom box was pumping out some Stevie Ray Vaughan, as usual, and now he’d added a large cooler, four sun-bleached camp chairs, and a giant oscillating fan, although the weather hadn’t even warmed up yet.

Calv was occupying one of the camp chairs and reading one of the old newspapers he swore by for their glass-cleaning properties. Looking up, he let out a deep sigh of contentment. “I just love readin’ about other folks’ troubles. They make mine look a little smaller.”

“When did you turn so hardhearted?”

Calv reached into the cooler and pulled out two dripping cans of Coke. “When did you turn so grumpy?”

Ignoring that, George got Daisy situated with her own dinner and water bowl in the corner, then took one of the camp chairs. His hands black with grease, Calv tore off paper towels to use as plates and napkins, then opened the box. The pizza seemed greasier than usual, and that was saying something.

George cast a furtive look into the yard, half expecting Mel to show up before he’d said anything to Calv. Or maybe she’d already told him. “I have a confession to make.”

“Sounds serious. You killed somebody? You stole something?”

“No. I’ve lost something.”

Calv regarded him in silence, took another bite, and waited while Stevie Ray’s guitar carried on. And on.

“My mind,” George said. “I’ve lost my mind.”

“Ah. What did you do this time, Zorbas?”

“At the shop, I … I hired Mel. Well, not officially. I told her we had to talk about my conditions, but she seems to think it’s a done deal.”

Calv’s smile was sly. “She sure does. She came running out here, screaming her fool head off. Said you gave her a job.”

“You let me suffer in silence when you already knew?”

“Yes sir, I think it’s good for you to stew in your own juices sometimes.”

George shook his head. “Speaking of juices, that’s disgusting.” He studied the paper towel in Calv’s hand, smudged with pizza sauce, pizza grease, and automotive grease. “Good thing the ladies aren’t around to comment on your table manners.”

“Or yours. No, the ladies went out to celebrate Mel’s job. Tish gave her a choice. Pizza or Bag-a-’Cue.” Calv frowned. “Mel wanted Bag-a-’Cue. She said pizza makes her think of Dumpsters.”

“Dumpsters?”

“And stray cats. And after she said that, she started squalling like a baby.”

“Crying, you mean?”

“Yeah, except she was laughing at the same time.” Calv shook his head. “I hope you didn’t hire yourself a crazy girl.”

“At any rate, it’s too late to change my mind now.”

“It was too late the minute you said anything to Mel.”

George nodded glumly. “I’m an idiot.”

“You won’t get no argument from me.” Calv laughed. “Actually, I see what you’re doing.”

“Hanging my head in despair?”

“No, you’re trying to impress Miss Tish with how kind and generous you are.”

George shook his head emphatically. “She hardly knows Mel, but she gives
her a place to stay. I’ve known Mel all my life. I can at least hire her a few days a week.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s only on a trial basis, and I’ll give Mel some strict rules. If she can’t abide by my rules, she’s gone.”

“Uh-huh.”

Grease oozed from the pizza onto George’s paper towel, reminding him of Mel’s strange comment about Dumpsters and stray cats. “I wonder how my loyal customers will react when they find out.”

“Dunc won’t want his wife shopping with us anymore, will he? Just when you bought another big batch of
Gone with the Wind
garbage.”

“Collectibles,” George corrected. “Moneymakers.” He frowned. “You think he’s afraid Suzette will do the right thing and be nice to their kid?”

Calv shook his head. “She’s been under his thumb so long that she’s forgotten how to think for herself. No, I think he’ll order her to stay away to spite the both of you. You and Mel. Behind the Mr. Nice Guy act, he’s ugly mean. And sometimes I wonder about Stu.”

“Nah. Stu’s all right. He just needs to grow a backbone, if it’s not too late for that.”

“It’s never too late for a man to change,” Calv said. “Or a girl.”

George nodded, hoping he was right.

Sitting cross-legged on a blanket, Mel licked barbecue sauce off her fingers and let out a huge sigh. It was awesome to sit in the park and watch the town begin to close up for the night without feeling homeless.

She loved to be outdoors, and she would be happy to sleep in the park again someday—when she didn’t have to. That made all the difference. If she slept under the stars because she wanted to, then it was camping out. If she slept under the stars because she had nowhere else to go, then she was a loser.

She wiped her mouth with a napkin. If Darren came by again, she didn’t want to have sauce on her face. Like a messy little kid. Especially because Valentine’s Day was coming up and he might be looking for a special date.

Tish peeked into one of the bags. “Have some more, Mel. There’s plenty. Come on, eat up.”

Tish sure was antsy to finish and get home. Okay, she was probably upset because she wasn’t the one who found a job, but still, she needed to chill out.

“I’m stuffed, but—well, I’ll have some more fries. Bag-a-’Cue has the best fries.” Mel grabbed a handful and dipped one in ketchup. “I loved the way you walked right up to the pick-up counter and said your name, loud and clear. ‘Carry-out order for Letitia McComb, please,’ and the old guy behind the counter nearly had a heart attack.”

Tish laughed. “I ran into him there once before, when I first came to town. Before I knew my name would be a black mark against me.”

“It shouldn’t be. It’s a nice name.”

“When I was a kid, I hated it. My first name, I mean. It’s so old-fashioned. I was probably your age before I decided it was a name I could be proud of.” Her eyes went squinty for a second. “It still is.”

Mel thought about that while she ate her fries. Someday, she would be proud of her name too. She would walk into Bag-a-’Cue and say “Carry-out order for Mel Hamilton,” or maybe she would say “Melanie” to sound more ladylike.

“Maybe it’s time for me to stop being a tomboy,” she said.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a tomboy,” Tish said. “You’ll have to dress and speak appropriately for your job, but be yourself. It’s healthier than putting on an act.”

“Yeah. I never want to be like Amanda.”

“Amanda?”

“The nasty-nice checker at Target, remember?” Mel started imitating Amanda’s voice. “The one with the sweetsie-peetsie baby-doll voice. I’ll never be a prissy-face like her.”

Tish laughed around a mouthful of fries. “Thank God.”

Mel smiled, glad Tish saw through Amanda’s act. Tish was almost like another Hayley. Another friend.

This morning when Mel took the hoodie to the Shell station, Hayley wouldn’t let her give it back. Mel had cried, just a little, once she was outside again. When people were supernice like that, she felt soft as a marshmallow inside. Then crying made her like a marshmallow in the rain, turning into a soggy mess.

There was a certain kind of cop that made her feel that way too. Darren for one, and the old cop who’d talked her out of running away when she was little. If he’d been hard nosed about it, she never would have climbed into his car.

“The sunset makes a nice backdrop for our fancy dinner,” Tish said with a smile.

Leaning her head back, Mel stared out at the red-orange sky. “Yeah. I love to eat outside. When I was little, I’d go to Hayley’s house and her mom would let us have a picnic in the backyard. It felt special, even if it was only PBJ sandwiches.”

“Like coffee tastes special when I make it in my vintage percolator and pour it into a beautiful porcelain cup. But we don’t all have the same ideas about what’s beautiful and what’s not.”

Mel snickered. “George thinks his Chevelle is beautiful.”

“But it is.”

“To him, maybe.”

“Whatever you think of his taste in cars, he’s a nice guy who’s giving you a chance to prove yourself. I hope you’ll be a good employee, and that starts with ‘Do unto others as you’d have them do unto you.’ ”

Mel nodded. “Yeah, I’ll try. I always try.”

A woman walked by with a tiny dog on a leash, and it reminded Mel of the last time she walked Daisy. She’d never lied to Calv. She’d said she would take the dog down Main Street, and she did. She just hadn’t mentioned she’d go all the way to the edge of town. She’d carried Daisy most of the way, of course. She was too little for a long, long walk.

But it was all for nothing. Even though the code was stuck in her head, she wouldn’t use it. She had a real job now. She could buy brand-new clothes, maybe one or two things with every paycheck. Nicky was more important than the clothes she could have grabbed from her closet.

Nick, she reminded herself. He wasn’t little-boy Nicky anymore.

A cop car cruised by, and her heart did a somersault. She thought she saw Darren at the wheel. Hoping he was close enough to see her, but not close enough to notice her crappy clothes, she waved.

The driver waved back, but it was a cop she’d never seen before. An older dude. He was blond like Darren but had a hard, square face. Like a robot. She shuddered and zipped up her hoodie.

“It gets cold when the sun goes down,” Tish said. She straightened as if she’d been looking for an excuse to leave. “Are you ready to go?”

“Sure.” Mel picked up their trash while Tish closed up the carry-out containers. “Thanks, Tish. That was fun. I wish you’d found a job already too.”

“I’ll find one, sooner or later. It might take awhile.”

Walking toward a trash can, Mel watched traffic backing up for a red light half a block away. It was getting too dark to recognize faces inside the vehicles. They were like cocoons made of glass and metal, keeping people boxed up and separated from each other when they were only a few feet apart. Like people could be boxed up in separate rooms in a house, so close to each other but never talking.

She wished she could call her mom and tell her about the job. Maybe she would be just a little bit proud.

On foot in the brisk night air, George turned onto Jackson. Away from the streetlights on Main, he could hardly see the sidewalk curving away in front of him.

He’d chased Daisy down Main for half a block, then slowed to a walk and let her run ahead. He knew where he’d find her. And he didn’t blame her. He was drawn to the old house too, and not just because he used to live there.

When he’d nearly reached Tish’s place, piano music floated into the night. Someone was playing “When the Saints Go Marching In”—but slowly, like a dirge. The playing broke off in the middle of a line. After a short silence, light spilled onto the porch as Tish opened the front door. She turned on the porch
light and stepped outside. About to call out, he decided to approach quietly. He wanted to know if Tish, like Si, secretly encouraged the dog’s visits.

Now he was close enough to see Daisy bounding up the steps and into the light. Tish, barefoot and wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, crouched in front of the door, wasting a perfectly beautiful smile on the mutt.

“You little nuisance,” she said. “You think it’s still your house, don’t you?”

George stopped at the beginning of the flagstone walk as the dog rushed Tish in a frenzy of joy. While Daisy feinted attacks and play-growled, Tish played with her and lapsed into baby talk.

“But this is my house, yes it is! Nobody’s gonna run me off. Nobody. I’m staying, yes I am! I live here. If people don’t like me, who cares?” Her voice wavered on the last two words.

George wanted to blurt that he liked her just fine, but he kept his mouth shut.

After one more play-growl, the dog trotted to the door and lifted her head to stare at the doorknob.

“No.” Now Tish’s voice was firm. “Sorry, baby.
I
live here. You don’t. We’d better call George.”