paintbrush, wielding it like a weapon, but Luke grabbed my wrist before I had the chance to catch him with it. I tripped forward into him, and for one short but glorious minute we stood there, face-to-face, his hand gently gripping my arm.
I was afraid to blink in case I’d miss anything, so I stood there wide-eyed, my heart beating a mile a minute. The fleeting brilliance of that moment passed when Luke suddenly dropped my hand like it had stung him and stumbled backward, bumping into his worktable.
Neither of us knew what to say. There was a deep silence between us, and even the crickets seemed quieter than usual. I tried swallowing, but my throat was dry, and I backed up a little bit, awkwardly fumbling for my next move.
Luke was just standing there, looking toward the ground at nothing in particular, his eyes never meeting mine.
At length, I managed to speak after twice clearing my throat. “You got paint on your trousers.”
Luke seemed not to hear me for a moment; then he blinked a few times fast and bent his head down to look at his pants. “Ain’t I clumsy,” he mumbled uncomfortably. And then he took advantage of the opportunity to excuse himself from our strange meeting. “Better go scrub it off. I’ll see you later, Jessilyn.”
I watched him as he tripped over a chair and then a tree stump before managing to make it inside his house.
I knew my daddy would want me home before dark, but I still wandered home at a snail’s pace, lost in a daydream.
After all, my smile lit my way home.
Chapter 7
Saturday seemed a day like any other day when I woke up. I looked out the window at the pink streaks that were starting to fill the sky and glanced over at Gemma still sleeping in her bed. She had tossed and turned until very late last night just as she had done many nights of late. I watched her there and felt the sadness of our strained friendship, hoping this day wouldn’t bring more pain than I already felt.
As was common for me of late, my first thoughts were of Gemma and my second thoughts of Callie. True to his word, Luke had taken me to the hospital on Thursday night, but we hadn’t had any news of Callie since. I decided to head down the road in search of some.
Old Joe Callahan was fixing Miss Cleta’s roof when I passed by, and he waved a hello to me.
“Out awfully early this morning, ain’t you, Miss Jessilyn?” he called.
“Same for you, Joe.”
“You know Miss Cleta. She’s got to have things done soon as they need doin’, and she’ll bother you till she gets her way.”
Miss Cleta came out onto the porch, letting the screen door slam to with a clang that made old Joe jump up on that roof.
“You talkin’ about me again, Joe Callahan?” she hollered.
Joe grabbed his hammer back up good and quick. “No’m, I ain’t,” he lied, before his words were drowned out by the sound of his hammering.
Miss Cleta, her hands squarely on her apron-covered hips, nodded at me with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Come on in for some banana bread, Jessilyn. Ain’t nothin’ else for a morning like this but some banana bread.”
“I don’t want to take up your time, Miss Cleta.”
“It ain’t takin’ up my time. Just the same, I have somethin’ to talk over with you.”
I wandered into the house, where it wasn’t much cooler than it had been outside, but the smell of the bread took my mind off the heat. Miss Cleta gave no indication of what she wanted to talk to me about for the first little while. She just rattled around in her kitchen, setting out plates and butter. I sat idly by, knowing full well any offers to help her would be rejected since Miss Cleta felt no guest should ever lift a finger and today I was a guest, not her household help. It wasn’t until she was settled opposite me and halfway through her first slice of bread that she murmured a single word.
“You know, Miss Jessilyn, I think you seen a lot of unpleasantness in your short life.”
I looked
I was afraid to blink in case I’d miss anything, so I stood there wide-eyed, my heart beating a mile a minute. The fleeting brilliance of that moment passed when Luke suddenly dropped my hand like it had stung him and stumbled backward, bumping into his worktable.
Neither of us knew what to say. There was a deep silence between us, and even the crickets seemed quieter than usual. I tried swallowing, but my throat was dry, and I backed up a little bit, awkwardly fumbling for my next move.
Luke was just standing there, looking toward the ground at nothing in particular, his eyes never meeting mine.
At length, I managed to speak after twice clearing my throat. “You got paint on your trousers.”
Luke seemed not to hear me for a moment; then he blinked a few times fast and bent his head down to look at his pants. “Ain’t I clumsy,” he mumbled uncomfortably. And then he took advantage of the opportunity to excuse himself from our strange meeting. “Better go scrub it off. I’ll see you later, Jessilyn.”
I watched him as he tripped over a chair and then a tree stump before managing to make it inside his house.
I knew my daddy would want me home before dark, but I still wandered home at a snail’s pace, lost in a daydream.
After all, my smile lit my way home.
Chapter 7
Saturday seemed a day like any other day when I woke up. I looked out the window at the pink streaks that were starting to fill the sky and glanced over at Gemma still sleeping in her bed. She had tossed and turned until very late last night just as she had done many nights of late. I watched her there and felt the sadness of our strained friendship, hoping this day wouldn’t bring more pain than I already felt.
As was common for me of late, my first thoughts were of Gemma and my second thoughts of Callie. True to his word, Luke had taken me to the hospital on Thursday night, but we hadn’t had any news of Callie since. I decided to head down the road in search of some.
Old Joe Callahan was fixing Miss Cleta’s roof when I passed by, and he waved a hello to me.
“Out awfully early this morning, ain’t you, Miss Jessilyn?” he called.
“Same for you, Joe.”
“You know Miss Cleta. She’s got to have things done soon as they need doin’, and she’ll bother you till she gets her way.”
Miss Cleta came out onto the porch, letting the screen door slam to with a clang that made old Joe jump up on that roof.
“You talkin’ about me again, Joe Callahan?” she hollered.
Joe grabbed his hammer back up good and quick. “No’m, I ain’t,” he lied, before his words were drowned out by the sound of his hammering.
Miss Cleta, her hands squarely on her apron-covered hips, nodded at me with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Come on in for some banana bread, Jessilyn. Ain’t nothin’ else for a morning like this but some banana bread.”
“I don’t want to take up your time, Miss Cleta.”
“It ain’t takin’ up my time. Just the same, I have somethin’ to talk over with you.”
I wandered into the house, where it wasn’t much cooler than it had been outside, but the smell of the bread took my mind off the heat. Miss Cleta gave no indication of what she wanted to talk to me about for the first little while. She just rattled around in her kitchen, setting out plates and butter. I sat idly by, knowing full well any offers to help her would be rejected since Miss Cleta felt no guest should ever lift a finger and today I was a guest, not her household help. It wasn’t until she was settled opposite me and halfway through her first slice of bread that she murmured a single word.
“You know, Miss Jessilyn, I think you seen a lot of unpleasantness in your short life.”
I looked
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