CHAPTER 40

WALTON, GEORGIA

DECEMBER 2019

Time marched slowly in Walton, and I sometimes wondered if it marched at all. It had been more than a decade since I’d lived here, yet it seemed everything had remained frozen in time, like a lightning bug stuck in amber. The welcome sign that greeted all visitors to our small town still stated proudly, WELCOME TO WALTON. WHERE EVERYBODY IS SOMEBODY. The unique Statue of Liberty sculpture with the driftwood head continued to give its come-hither look to the Confederate soldier on horseback on the opposite side of the town green. The Dixie Diner still did a brisk breakfast and lunchtime business, although they’d added a vegetable plate and gluten-free items to their menu. This last was served with a side of pork rinds, but the citizens of Walton didn’t seem to mind.

Reverend Beasley still worked hard to come up with new slogans for his sign outside the First United Methodist church, and he had hired my fourteen-year-old brother, Harry, to help. This week’s was TWEET OTHERS AS YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE TWEETED. The week before it had been WALMART ISN’T THE ONLY PLACE THAT SAVES.

It all made me feel as if I’d been away too long and at the same time like I’d never left. I’d sublet my New York apartment and had my mail forwarded; I spent my days keeping busy with Knoxie’s wedding plans while accepting new freelance work and writing copy for my aunt Cassie’s advertising firm, which I found I actually enjoyed.

I had finished and submitted Arabella’s article. It wasn’t the entire story I wanted to write, but the article simply didn’t have the scope to include it all. But I’d kept my notes, my copies of the photographs and letters. I wanted to find a way to honor Precious and the lives of those who’d survived the turbulent war years, to capture all the wisdom she’d shared with me and taught me. I simply didn’t know if I could give her story the dignity and justice it deserved.

My article had been published in the July issue of British Vogue, in conjunction with the new exhibition at the Design Museum. Arabella had sent me an invitation to a private black-tie event the night before the grand opening, but I’d declined, citing other obligations. It was only partly true, as I’m sure Arabella guessed.

I hadn’t heard from Colin at all, aside from Arabella’s communicating his disappointment that I hadn’t said good-bye. I found myself wondering what she really meant by “disappointment”; the British understatement could have meant anything from a frown to the gnashing of teeth.

I told myself it was for the best, but in the wee hours, in my father’s house, I’d sneak down to Suzanne’s home studio, where she had her large-screen monitor, and stick in my memory stick to watch the videos I’d filmed in London. It hurt to see Precious, to remember that she was gone, but it almost hurt more to see Colin again.

Suzanne had walked in on me once when I’d frozen the frame on Colin’s face. Immediately, she’d gone to the kitchen and brought back a half gallon of Blue Bell Buttered Pecan ice cream with two spoons. She sat next to me while I told her everything. About Precious and Eva. About Colin. She didn’t ask me what I was going to do. Like Aunt Cassie, who’d also heard the whole story, she understood that I would eventually figure it out on my own. And if I needed a little advice, I knew where to turn.

After two months of carefully avoiding places where I might run into him, I’d finally bumped into Rob Campbell with his pregnant wife and little girl at the playground named in my mother’s honor. Contrary to what I’d imagined, I didn’t burst into flames or tears, and the earth didn’t open up and swallow me. Nor did Rob give any indication that he was haunted in the same way I was by the memory of what he’d said to me when I’d given him back his ring. It was very clear that he’d moved on and assumed that I had, too.

Seeing him hadn’t brought me peace or closure or anger. Instead I felt an impatience with myself, a need to escape my past. Which, despite what Aunt Cassie said, would always be just one day away, dogging the heels of my present.

I stayed in Walton through the remainder of spring and the hot days of summer, and watched as the leaves turned and fell as autumn approached. I was no closer to making any sort of decision about my life than when I’d arrived on my daddy’s doorstep with all my belongings in one backpack and one suitcase.

I made paper flowers and stuffed gift bags with Knoxie, met with the bakery and the Dixie Diner about the wedding reception, and discussed music with the organist Brunelle Thompkins at First United Methodist, but I couldn’t make the first decision as to what I was going to do next either with my life or with Precious’s story.

On the Saturday morning of the wedding day, Suzanne drove me to Bitsy’s House of Beauty, where we met with Aunt Cassie and the rest of the bridal party for the day of beauty required for any Southern wedding. My fifteen-year-old niece, Suzy, was the junior bridesmaid and had chosen the nail color. It wasn’t that I didn’t love lime green, but I wasn’t sure if it matched the deep purple taffeta of our bridesmaids’ dresses.

We all kept a watchful eye on the heavy gray clouds outside, which suspiciously resembled snow clouds. I was afraid to voice my fear, not wanting to create a panic, but I could guarantee that my sister would have snow on her wedding day. It had snowed only twice before in Georgia in my lifetime, and I wasn’t eager to see a third.

I was sitting under the dryer with bits of foil stuck in my hair—Bitsy had insisted I get highlights—and cotton balls between my lime-colored toenails when my great-aunt Lucinda burst in, bringing with her an icy-cold blast of winter air. She was in her late seventies, but her recent marriage to the sheriff and her addiction to Zumba made her look and act about two decades younger.

She plastered herself against the front door, her eyes scanning the people in the salon until they rested on me. “Oh, my gosh, y’all.” She closed her eyes and pressed the back of her wrist to her forehead. “There’s a man just got out of an Uber car and walked into the Dixie Diner as I was leaving, asking for the nearest hotel. He’s got a funny accent—sounds just like Prince William. I just about fainted when he looked at me. Oh, my word, y’all! Don’t tell my husband, but that man is like a drink of ice-cold Co-Cola on a hot day.”

I froze at the part about talking like Prince William and felt both Aunt Cassie and Suzanne looking at me.

Aunt Lucinda continued. “And just as the door shut behind me, I heard Hal Newcomb saying something about Bitsy’s. What on earth would he be wanting over here?” She turned around to look out of the glass panes on the door, then quickly flipped around again and placed her hand on her heart. “He’s headed right here!” She fumbled in her purse and pulled out three tubes of lipstick. “Anybody else need some color?”

Cassie and Suzanne were already yanking the cotton from between my toes and unraveling the foil in my hair when the door opened, letting in another burst of cold air. Colin’s wide-eyed look of surprise matched my own; he paused in the open doorway, holding a small carry-on suitcase, his gaze passing over me twice before jerking back in recognition.

“Madison?”

Cassie helped me out from under the dryer, doing her best to block me as she and Suzanne continued to remove foil strips. I didn’t need a mirror to know I looked like an alien from a 1950s science fiction movie. But I welcomed the embarrassment. It distracted from the collision of my head and heart.

“Hello, Colin,” I said, grabbing Cassie’s arms to get her to stop fussing with my hair.

“You must be Colin Eliot,” Cassie said, extending a hand. “I’m Cassie Parker, Maddie’s aunt. We’ve heard so much about you. We are just tickled you could make it to the wedding. And do not even think about finding a hotel room. Not only isn’t there one within thirty miles, but I wouldn’t hear of it. You’re staying in our guest room, and that’s settled.”

“Yes, well, thank you. Not just for that, but also for the invitation. And the phone calls.”

“You called him?” I asked, failing at not raising my voice.

“Somebody had to,” Colin said softly, his cool gaze settling on my face before drifting upward to my hair.

Darlene Narpone, Bitsy’s shampoo girl, handed Colin a People magazine. “Could you please open this up anywhere and read a page out loud? I just want to hear your accent.”

I grabbed the magazine out of her hand and tossed it back on the stack. “He is not going to read out loud.” I faced Colin. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for your sister’s wedding. I hope that’s all right.”

About ten voices shouted some version of “Of course!”

Aunt Cassie stepped forward, her fingers flying on her phone. “My husband, Sam, is at the Dixie Diner right now. I’ve just texted him, so he’ll be expecting you. He’ll bring you to our house and get you all settled.”

I began leading Colin to the door. “I promise to come on over just as soon as I’m done here. So we can talk in private.” I sent a warning glance to the ladies listening attentively behind me.

Colin settled those striking blue eyes on me but didn’t smile. “I’ll see you shortly, then. As soon as you’re”—his gaze took in my half-foiled hair and the lime green paint on my toes—“done.” He gave a polite nod to the other women in the salon, who were doing a terrible job of hiding the fact that they were taking pictures of him with their smartphones.

An hour and a half later—Bitsy had insisted not only on making my hair as big as she could get it, but also on doing my makeup—Aunt Cassie and I returned to the old house she’d lived in since inheriting it from my grandfather. It was where my mama and Cassie had been born and raised, and where my daddy had proposed to both of them. He’d married only Mama, of course, but he still liked to pull that story out every once in a while to get a reaction.

The wide white columns on the front of the house gleamed in the sun’s valiant attempt to sneak between hovering clouds, the intermittent light masquerading as warmth as rays peered into the porch and reflected off the chains of the porch swing. Despite the chill in the air, Sam and Colin sat bundled up outside on the swing, drinking Budweiser out of bottles and laughing like they were old friends. They stood as Cassie and I approached, and Sam kissed Cassie on the lips in greeting while I pretended not to notice.

“That’s some hair you got going there, Maddie,” Uncle Sam said, indicating my new do with his bottle.

“The bigger the hair, the closer to God,” Cassie said as she put her arm around his waist, nodding like she was serious.

“I approve of this young gentleman, Maddie. Colin’s a pretty cool guy if you can get past that accent.” Sam winked, and I suddenly felt sorry for his daughter, Suzy, and all the dating years she’d suffer through with Sam as her dad. “Hey, if y’all want to talk, I can go get a fire started in the living room,” Sam offered.

“No, thanks. This won’t take long. I’ve got to go get dressed so I can help Knoxie into Grandma’s wedding gown.”

“Okay, then. We’ll leave you two out here for a little privacy.” They moved inside, Aunt Cassie reappearing a short time later with a large plaid blanket. She handed it to me with only a wink before disappearing again.

I sat down on the swing and Colin joined me. After a moment of consideration, I pulled the blanket over both of us.

He looked up into the threatening sky. “I think it might—”

“Don’t say it. Don’t even think it. Nothing good has ever come out of a snow in Georgia. Except a spike in the birth rate.”

A corner of his mouth turned up. “I think your aunt and uncle are smashing. I even like Walton, what little I’ve seen of it. Although I did wonder about that monument on the town green. I recognized the soldier on a horse but not the other.”

I started to explain how our Statue of Liberty had been assembled from scrap all those years ago by well-meaning citizens of Walton, but stopped myself. “It’s a Southern thing. Just go with it.”

He took hold of one of the chains on the swing. “I like this, too. I’m going to get one for my parents, I think. I can’t imagine a house in summer without one.”

“It might be against the law for any Southern porch not to have a swing.”

He raised his eyebrow, and I wanted to kiss him so badly I grabbed the beer from his hand and took a swig just so I’d have something else to do with my lips. “Why are you here, Colin?”

He pushed the swing with both feet, the chains creaking as it moved back and forth. “Because you didn’t say good-bye.”

“I told Arabella to tell you. That counts.”

“No. It doesn’t.” I felt him looking at me, but I couldn’t meet his eyes. “I brought something for you. From Precious.”

That made me look at him, and I wished I hadn’t. I’d wanted to forget him, to pretend that he was an insignificant part of my past. That I didn’t have any feelings for him. Lying to myself had always been one of my best talents.

“What is it?”

“A book of poetry. Wordsworth. She told me she wanted you to have it. I left it with your father at the diner.”

I felt a little squeeze of my heart as I thought about Precious giving me the book that Graham had given her. “Thank you. Although it would have been cheaper to airmail it.”

He gave me a half smile, the familiar expression that haunted my dreams more often than I cared to think about, and I had to avert my eyes. “She also said that I needed to remind you about something after she was gone. In case you forgot.”

“In case I forgot what?”

He glanced down, studied the plaid pattern in the blanket. “Reinvention.” He lifted his head, met my gaze. “How life is all about reinvention. If you don’t like how your story’s being written, rewrite the ending.”

I nodded, hearing her voice in my head, her Southern accent fooling even me.

“And . . .” He stopped, laughed.

“And what?”

“And that you’re a formidable woman. As was she.”

I wanted to laugh and cry, remembering Precious in all her incarnations. She was, indeed, a formidable woman. She could almost make me believe that she’d thought I was, too.

His face became serious again. “We found Graham’s grave. The name on the marker was John Nash. Rather fitting, I thought.”

“It is,” I agreed, wondering if David had been behind that.

“We moved both Nana and Graham to the family plot at the local churchyard and buried them next to each other. We had the name Precious Dubose inscribed on her headstone, and buried Graham with the unopened letters. I thought you’d like to know.”

I nodded, blinking back tears, comforted in the knowledge that they’d finally found their way back to each other. And that I’d played a part in it, albeit a very small one. “I love that. Was it your father’s idea to bury them together?”

He shook his head. “No, it was mine. And now my mother and Arabella think I’m a true romantic.”

I found myself studying his beer bottle intently so I wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. “As if flying across an ocean to deliver a book of poetry wasn’t enough to convince anyone.”

He gave me that half smile again, and I wanted to tell him to stop, that every time he did it my heart stuttered and swelled and rose into my throat so that I couldn’t breathe.

“I guess I’m going to have to tell our kin in Memphis that Precious died in nineteen forty and is buried in England. I suppose this makes us cousins.” The idea was so absurd it made me want to laugh. “So, why are you here?” I repeated.

“Because I wanted to give you another chance to say good-bye properly.” He paused. “And because I love you.”

My heart did that thing again where it got stuck in my throat and I couldn’t speak. We swung in silence; I watched our breath rise up to the haint blue–painted porch ceiling. “I need to go help my sister.” I slid off the swing.

Colin took my hand. “What are we going to do, Maddie?”

He’d said “Maddie” again. I wondered if he realized it. I didn’t turn around. “There’s nothing we can do, Colin. Nothing at all.” I dropped the blanket, hurried down the steps, and ran most of the way back to my father’s house while the sky hung heavy above me with the threat of inclement weather.

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Knoxie made a beautiful bride. She wore the same wedding gown that our grandmother and Aunt Cassie had worn, but not our own mama—she’d eloped. Part of the family history, all stored in that one dress of ivory satin and Belgian lace, and as I looked at the glowing bride and groom, I took it as a harbinger of a long and fruitful marriage.

I stood next to my sister as she said her vows and felt Colin’s eyes on me in all of my purple taffeta and lime green nail polish splendor. I wondered if he could still love me with that image now permanently emblazoned on his brain.

For the reception, the wedding party drove to the old bowling alley in the funeral home limousine—the only one available for rent in Walton. Aunt Cassie declared it too much of a squeeze for everyone, including all the girls with their crinolines and heavy coats, and invited Colin and me to sit in the backseat of Sam’s double-cab pickup truck.

It seemed as if Cassie and Sam were putting Colin through his paces, and when he managed to climb into the truck without grunting or asking where to put his feet, I imagined them giving each other a mental high five.

Aunt Cassie sat in the middle of the front bench seat so Sam could put his right arm around her shoulders while he drove with his left hand, and it seemed only natural that Colin would do the same in the backseat. I tried to remain unaware of his arm and his hand and the whole side of his body during the short ride, but by the time we reached the parking lot, my head had found its way onto his shoulder, and my nose might even have been pressed close to the side of his neck. On the radio, Hank Williams Junior crooned about a tear in his beer, and Colin was actually tapping his fingers in rhythm against my arm.

Without warning, Aunt Cassie turned her head to look into the backseat. “Don’t forget, you have your appointment with Dr. Grey next week. Although you’ve been home for months and you could have gone way before now.”

I sat straight up. “Seriously? Do we need to talk about that now?”

“I just didn’t want you to forget. I’ve also been meaning to tell you that my business partner and I have been talking about expanding the agency and taking it overseas. We already have clients in Ireland and England, and we’re thinking of opening up an office in London. ‘Atlanta, New York, London’ looks good on business cards, don’t you think?”

“I’m not . . .”

“That way, if you’d like a more permanent home base, you’d have a job that gives you the freedom to freelance when you want and more regular hours when you don’t. It would be nice, don’t you think? And then you and Colin . . .”

I hit the “down” button on my window so that cold air rushed in, drowning her words.

As Colin helped me out of the truck—not an easy thing to do with someone in voluminous taffeta and dyed-to-match heels—Sam looked up at the sky. “I think it might—”

“Don’t say it,” Cassie and I said in unison.

During the reception, Colin and I seemed to be circling each other like boxers in a ring, not sure when to engage. He appeared relaxed and happy, chatting with everyone, including the circle of admirers who followed him like he was some kind of a rock star. I even saw him sign autographs on cocktail napkins for some of the younger girls. I had to look away, afraid that if my heart kept doing that swelling thing, I’d have to be rushed to the hospital in the snow. Which wasn’t going to fall, anyway, so I should stop worrying.

I busied myself with my maid-of-honor duties, which consisted mostly of making sure Knoxie didn’t need anything and that she didn’t put her chair leg on the skirt of the wedding dress each time she sat down. When she told me to stop fussing, I threatened to release some choice photographs from when she was a teenager if she so much as pulled a thread on Grandma’s wedding gown.

It saddened me that some of the familiar faces from my childhood weren’t there, including Principal Purdy, whose porch I’d painted pink all those years ago, and Senator Thompkins, who’d always delighted the children at community gatherings with his inside-out eyelid trick. And sweet Miss Lena, who’d love to read the juicy bits of her favorite romance novels out loud to anyone who cared to listen. Or didn’t. Her house was now occupied by the new principal of Walton High School and her family, and I missed seeing Miss Lena waving from her front porch as I walked by.

The Sedgewick twins, Selma and Thelma, were there in their outrageous hats, albeit now with walkers and a young, handsome caregiver who strongly resembled Ryan Reynolds. No coincidence, I was sure. Their backs might have been bent, but there was apparently nothing wrong with their eyesight.

The DJ was good, the music mostly danceable, and a rotating disco ball above the converted dance space added a festive flair, but I kept myself busy avoiding eye contact with Colin. He never seemed at a loss for dance partners, so I didn’t have to feel guilty. After the cake cutting, while I was distributing hefty slices of the vanilla cream confection, Aunt Cassie took the plate I was holding, gave it to my old math teacher, Mrs. Crandall, then took my arm and pulled me aside. She kept walking until she’d pushed open a door and dragged me inside what had once been the bowling alley’s shoe room. Rows of shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, shoe sizes still stamped beneath the empty spaces.

“What are you doing, Maddie?”

“I was trying to serve wedding cake until you stopped me.”

Cassie looked up at the drop-tile ceiling as if asking for divine intervention. “I want to shake you and knock loose some of the good sense I know you were born with, but I know your kind of stubborn because I’ve got it, too. So I’m going to have to try to talk some sense into you.”

I turned to leave but she was quicker, blocking the exit. “No, missy. We need to have a little come-to-Jesus meeting, and I’m not letting you out of here until I’ve had my say.”

I crossed my arms like a petulant teenager. “Since I don’t have a choice, go ahead. I’m listening.”

“My gosh, Maddie. We are so much alike I feel like I’m talking to myself. Do you not think I was in your same position after your mama died? I was near crazy with grief. I didn’t know what I wanted anymore, and I almost made the worst mistake of my life by letting Sam go.”

She took a deep breath as if preparing herself for a long speech. “If God gives you one more year or one hundred years on this earth, it’s up to you to live every last minute of it. It’s your responsibility, and you owe it to your mama to take it seriously. One year of happiness is worth so much more than a lifetime of just existing. There are no guarantees in life, and you have to accept that and love all the beautiful and ugly that life throws at you.”

I tried to stop the tears, knowing what an ugly cry could do to my mascara. “Precious said the same thing.”

“Well, from what you’ve told me, she was a very smart woman. I want you to picture her here right now, standing next to me, you hear? Did you know that Colin told Sam about his brother who died? Yet here he is with you, and he apparently has no intention of accepting your belief that you’ve got a preordained expiration date like a carton of milk. Because it doesn’t matter to him. That fine young man out there would walk across burning coals for you. He flew from London to be with you at your sister’s wedding in Walton, Georgia, Maddie. If that doesn’t say love, then I don’t know what does.”

“You know that’s not all of it.” I sniffed loudly, and Cassie handed me a folded cocktail napkin to dab at my eyes. Mothers always seemed to have useful items at hand. My mother had, too.

“No, it’s not. But I would bet my eyeteeth that when you tell that young man out there the rest of your story, it won’t make a bit of difference to him.”

“Are you done?”

“I sure hope so. The rest is up to you.” She hugged me, squeezing me tightly, as if to make up for my long absence. “Don’t ever forget that you are worthy of love.”

I pulled back and looked into her eyes. “Precious said that, too.”

“Well, then. And I know I could grab Suzanne to come in here, and she’d tell you the same thing. Maybe you should listen to some of the smartest women you’ve ever known and do something about it.”

I left the room and found my way to the coatroom without being seen except by my brother Joey, whom I told to let my father and Colin know I was going home. The bride and groom had left directly after the cake cutting to try to make it to the airport ahead of the weather, so my official duties were done.

I let myself out of the building and into the frigid night air, which definitely smelled of snow. Huddling into my wool coat, I walked the short blocks to my daddy’s house and let myself in.

When I flipped on the light in my bedroom, I saw a book had been left on my dresser. It was the worn leather-bound volume of Wordsworth’s poetry that Graham had once given to Eva. I picked it up, thumbing through the pages with bleary eyes until something fell out of it.

I bent down and picked up Graham’s photograph, the one where he looked so much like Colin. I looked at it for a long time, at the young hopeful eyes and grin, the face of a person who didn’t know what was to come. Like the faces in every photograph, I supposed. I wondered if he would have done anything differently if he’d known how it would all end. I knew, somehow, that he would have still chosen to love. And to be brave.

I replaced the photograph and put the book down on my dresser, next to the white ivory dolphin that Precious had given me, the talisman of the love she and Graham had shared. I held it in my hand, solid and real, remembering what she’d told me about beauty and love.

After I got ready for bed and turned out the light, I lay in the darkness, holding the dolphin, listening to the stillness of the night, then the sounds of my family returning from the wedding. I listened as the water thrummed through the pipes and doors shut, as the house settled into sleep. And then finally, I listened to my own heart for the first time in years, and I knew what I had to do.