backpack and swiped to the home screen. Concentrating on her phone, she stumbled on a creeping tree root and, realizing she was nearing the trunk, she dumped her backpack on the ground and leaned her hand against the ancient bark. Finally opening her inbox, she scrolled through the entries logged several days earlier.
“Robinson, John,” was stamped like a beacon, twenty-something messages down. She exhaled in relief, and plopped down next to her bag to read.
“Candy. You’ll never believe it, but I am transferring to Andrew Jackson this year. Weird, right? I’m sure you’ve already heard about my grandfather, and how my dad needs to come help run things for him. I decided to come with him, but mom’s staying here. Will explain more when I get there, but I’m really looking forward to seeing you and experiencing that “quiet” country life this year. John.”
Candy savored a long, cleansing sigh, settling back against the solid tree trunk and trying not to think too much about the joy rushing over her. She let her head fall back against the old tree, looking up into its interwoven branches, the wide, oval leaves filtering the harsh sunlight overhead. Oblong, delicately scaled, green fruit that gave the Cucumber Magnolia its name were visible here and there; most of them already split open in places to reveal the bright red seeds within. John always said those seeds looked like poison jelly beans. She patted the tree above her head in reverence, always feeling more comfortable in the surety of such an old, constant presence. She closed her eyes, breathed in the sharp scent of leaves, and felt the cool earth under her hands.
“Candace?” A jarring falsetto sounded around the corner of the shop. “Candace!”
Feeling like Alice in Wonderland, she shook herself out of her fog and stood, dusting herself off and waving lazily to the frantic crafter, Ms. Willow. “Hello, ma’am. I’m here.”
At least half an hour later, after co-appraising each piece and listening to detailed instruction on how the artwork must be handled, Candy gingerly stowed Ms. Willow’s handmade treasures for transport. She really did make nice stuff, and Candy was happy to help her get it sold. Big Joe’s wasn’t an art gallery, by any means, but a fair number of tourists wandered into the grocery and the coffee shop where Mr. Robinson let artisans display their wares, and they always loved local crafts. Candy had heard the instructions many times before, however, and her patience to get on the road was nearing an end.
Come on come on come on. She was desperate to get the morning errand over with. Her heart skipped a beat in anticipation of what hopefully awaited her at Big Joe’s, beyond Ms. Willow’s craft displays. She donned her backpack and hopped on her bike, assuring the good lady of her artwork’s safety on the ride into town.
“Now, make sure to put them in the front window and in the case, Candace.”
Yeah, yeah. Candy fired up the engine to speed the last of the conversation along. Ms. Willow was almost as long-winded as her father.
“And don’t let Joe put pricing stickers on them—tell him to use the cards I made.” Ms. Willow launched into another repetition of her instructions. Nodding and smiling widely under her sunglasses, Candy gave her bike some gas. “Alright, thank you, Candace. You’re a dear…”
“No problem, Ma’am. Glad to help.”
Glancing toward the back door of the mechanic shop, as Ms. Willow finally took her leave, Candy wished once again for the foresight of leaving a spare of clean, sweat-free clothes inside for just such an occasion. Knowing it was her last chance to primp, she rolled her bike over to duck down and view herself in a window. She polished her teeth with the wrist of her leather jacket and ran fingers through her short hair, knowing it would just get crazy again on the ride. Looking around to make sure she was alone, she reached in her shirt and adjusted her breasts,
“Robinson, John,” was stamped like a beacon, twenty-something messages down. She exhaled in relief, and plopped down next to her bag to read.
“Candy. You’ll never believe it, but I am transferring to Andrew Jackson this year. Weird, right? I’m sure you’ve already heard about my grandfather, and how my dad needs to come help run things for him. I decided to come with him, but mom’s staying here. Will explain more when I get there, but I’m really looking forward to seeing you and experiencing that “quiet” country life this year. John.”
Candy savored a long, cleansing sigh, settling back against the solid tree trunk and trying not to think too much about the joy rushing over her. She let her head fall back against the old tree, looking up into its interwoven branches, the wide, oval leaves filtering the harsh sunlight overhead. Oblong, delicately scaled, green fruit that gave the Cucumber Magnolia its name were visible here and there; most of them already split open in places to reveal the bright red seeds within. John always said those seeds looked like poison jelly beans. She patted the tree above her head in reverence, always feeling more comfortable in the surety of such an old, constant presence. She closed her eyes, breathed in the sharp scent of leaves, and felt the cool earth under her hands.
“Candace?” A jarring falsetto sounded around the corner of the shop. “Candace!”
Feeling like Alice in Wonderland, she shook herself out of her fog and stood, dusting herself off and waving lazily to the frantic crafter, Ms. Willow. “Hello, ma’am. I’m here.”
At least half an hour later, after co-appraising each piece and listening to detailed instruction on how the artwork must be handled, Candy gingerly stowed Ms. Willow’s handmade treasures for transport. She really did make nice stuff, and Candy was happy to help her get it sold. Big Joe’s wasn’t an art gallery, by any means, but a fair number of tourists wandered into the grocery and the coffee shop where Mr. Robinson let artisans display their wares, and they always loved local crafts. Candy had heard the instructions many times before, however, and her patience to get on the road was nearing an end.
Come on come on come on. She was desperate to get the morning errand over with. Her heart skipped a beat in anticipation of what hopefully awaited her at Big Joe’s, beyond Ms. Willow’s craft displays. She donned her backpack and hopped on her bike, assuring the good lady of her artwork’s safety on the ride into town.
“Now, make sure to put them in the front window and in the case, Candace.”
Yeah, yeah. Candy fired up the engine to speed the last of the conversation along. Ms. Willow was almost as long-winded as her father.
“And don’t let Joe put pricing stickers on them—tell him to use the cards I made.” Ms. Willow launched into another repetition of her instructions. Nodding and smiling widely under her sunglasses, Candy gave her bike some gas. “Alright, thank you, Candace. You’re a dear…”
“No problem, Ma’am. Glad to help.”
Glancing toward the back door of the mechanic shop, as Ms. Willow finally took her leave, Candy wished once again for the foresight of leaving a spare of clean, sweat-free clothes inside for just such an occasion. Knowing it was her last chance to primp, she rolled her bike over to duck down and view herself in a window. She polished her teeth with the wrist of her leather jacket and ran fingers through her short hair, knowing it would just get crazy again on the ride. Looking around to make sure she was alone, she reached in her shirt and adjusted her breasts,
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