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  “Halls of terror?”

  “I’m kidding,” he said. “Mostly. I just know how people can be in school. But that was Atlanta. Maybe it’s different here.”

  “Why did y’all leave Atlanta?” The question was out before I could filter it. “I mean . . .” I stumbled. “It’s just, you were almost done with school. Seems like a hard time to move and start somewhere new.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t mind. I didn’t love my school, and my mom . . . Well, Dad just needed a break. I think he wanted to revisit his roots a little, and I’m just along for the ride.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  “Maybe I needed the break too.” He glanced out the window again and sighed. “So much for this being a quick rain.”

  “It’s fine. I can just run for it. I need to check on Gus anyway. She’s probably on the phone with the police about the car in the driveway.”

  “Gus. Your grandmother with the . . .” He wiggled his fingers in the air.

  “Yes, my grandmother with the horse manure on her hands. It’s a long story.”

  “I won’t even ask. She seemed . . . fun.”

  I laughed as my phone vibrated with a text. It was Mom again, of course. She assumed I was already inside, tucked into bed, but it was barely after eight o’clock. I texted her back, then slid my phone back into my pocket.

  “They’re almost done. I should probably be inside when she gets here.”

  “Good idea. I don’t want your mom to think I didn’t fulfill my chauffeur duties.”

  I cracked open the door, and Nick handed me the damp towel. “Here, you can hold this over your head or something.”

  “Oh, so I don’t get my hair wet? I’m not worried about it.”

  “So, I’ll see you around then.”

  I nodded and pushed open the door. It squeaked in protest.

  “Sorry about that,” Nick said. “I need to work on the door. Next time it’ll be fixed.”

  I shut the door behind me and waited there in the driveway while he backed up and turned onto the street. Just before he drove away, he stuck his arm out the window and waved.

  CHAPTER 14

  When you see signs of decay—dropping petals, brown leaves, refusal to bloom—don’t be quick to rip out the plant. Take a step closer and examine the stem. Even if the stem appears brown, scratching your fingernail against it may reveal green life just under the decay. And, my friends, in the garden, green equals hope.

  —VIRGINIA PEARCE, THE WATCHFUL GARDENER

  JESSIE

  Hit me.” Ben drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Rain pelted the windows as we drove the few miles to the school. “What are the parents around here like? As the new kid on the block, who do I need to watch out for?”

  I laughed. “The PTO women run everything at the schools. The same group cycles through the board positions each year, and they head out like an army getting parents to sign up for their committees.”

  “Committees, huh? You mean like bake sales? I don’t bake.”

  “Don’t worry, it doesn’t all involve baking. I’m sure if you have problems finding the right thing, someone will be more than happy to tell you when and how to contribute.”

  He exhaled. “All right. Consider me armed and ready. I’m glad I’m not doing this alone. You sound like you’ve got the hang of things.”

  “I don’t know about that. I’m just used to it, I guess.”

  Rain streaked down the windows and blurred the world outside. Ben adjusted the AC and a chill blasted my face and made the hair on my arms stand up. Other than the persistent beat of the rain, silence filled the car and magnified the strangeness of the situation.

  I’d often wondered what it would be like to be around Ben again. To hear his voice, see his familiar stance, soak up his calm presence. Sitting in his Jeep with him was almost too much—weird and uncomfortable, familiar and soothing, all at the same time. How was that possible? So much time had passed, yet it almost felt like it hadn’t passed at all. But when I glanced at him—the beard, the faint web of lines at the corners of his eyes, the still-thick brown hair—it was a grown man sitting in the driver’s seat, not the teenager I’d once spent so many idle hours with, like time outside of time. He was now a man with a twenty-year history I didn’t know, except that it included a teenage son, computers, and, soon, a vegetable garden.

  The rain slackened a little, and one of the windshield wipers scraped against the glass, giving off an irregular squeak.

  “I don’t know if Nick told you, but I met him a couple nights ago when I was out running. He was outside with Stanley.”

  “Ah, that was you. He told me he’d met a neighbor. He said Stanley about knocked you down.”

  “I think I held my own pretty well.” I smiled. “It felt like worlds crashing together when I realized who he was. I saw the Jeep and . . .” I paused, felt his gaze on the side of my face. I reached up and tucked a stray hair behind my ear. “I can’t believe you still have this thing.”

  He chuckled. “Sometimes I can’t either. But I can’t bring myself to get rid of it. I left blood, sweat, and tears in this thing. You remember?”

  “I do. So what’s going on with your parents? They moved out and you moved in?”

  “That’s the short answer, yeah. They got a call that space was available at this retirement village if they could move in right away, so they did. They basically gave me the house and said I could live in it, rent it, sell it, whatever. If I’m going to sell it though, it needs some work first. A lot of painting, new wood around some windows. I need to pull up the carpet in a couple of rooms. Nothing too big, but it needs to be taken care of.”

  “Couldn’t you have hired someone to do that without having to move here to do it?”

  He rubbed his cheek and opened his mouth but paused.

  “I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right. I just mean, it’s a big thing to move when you have a kid in school. And to move to Perry, of all places.” I let out a small laugh. “It just seems . . .”

  “I know. I get it.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Atlanta can be hectic and things were . . . complicated. So when my folks moved and I knew the house was just sitting here, I asked Nick what he thought about a little adventure.”

  “And he was up for it?”

  “He and I are alike in a lot of ways. I think he needed a fresh start. He said as long as he could play baseball, he was game.”

  “It worked out well then. Have you started work on the house yet?”

  “Nah. We’re still trying to find all our stuff in boxes. I’ll start soon though. How handy are you with a paintbrush?” He grinned.

  “You know, it’s funny—I’ve never minded painting. Turn on some music and open the windows, and I can paint all night.”

  “Okay then. I may take you up on that.”

  “Fix my computer and I’ll paint whatever you want.”

  He laughed. “You’re on.”

  Just up ahead, the school appeared in a swirl of watery lights. The gym was ablaze, light from the open double doors spilling out onto the wet concrete.

  Ben didn’t have an umbrella, so he parked as close to the doors as he could, then we ducked and ran into the gym. Just inside, we stopped to wipe water off our faces and arms. My bare legs were wet, and thin streams of water pooled at the top of my running shoes. All around us, parents flowed in through the double doors and from other hallways. Most held damp umbrellas in their hands, their hair and clothes perfectly dry. Next to me, Ben shook droplets of water from his hair. “I should have grabbed an umbrella. Sorry about that.”

  “I was already damp. An umbrella wouldn’t have helped much.” From across the gym, I caught the watchful gaze of Carol Anne Davies, which did nothing to make me feel better about my appearance.

  “Is that”—Ben squinted—“Carol Anne? Miss Head Cheerleader herself?”

  “Yep. All these years later she’s still the Perry Pirates’ most
devout cheerleader.” I waved at her.

  She held up a hand in greeting, then turned her eyes back down to the podium in front of her. She stood and cleared her throat into the microphone. It buzzed, then gave a high-pitched whine before settling down. “Hello, everyone. I’m Carol Anne Davies, PTO president for the upcoming school year. Thank you so much for coming out on this wet night. Please find your places and we’ll begin the meeting.” She eyed Ben and me. We hurried to the back of the gym where there was standing room only.

  The principal spoke first, then Carol Anne and various committee members spoke about different areas of need. As they did, I pulled out my phone, carefully tilted the screen down, and tapped out a quick text to Evan.

  At home?

  Yes. All is well.

  Great, I texted back, one eye on the screen and one in the general direction of the podium. Is Gus still there?

  Yes. Will get her home soon.

  Ben leaned over and whispered, “Everything okay?”

  “Nick got her home fine.”

  “Were you worried?”

  “No, I just like to know she’s in safe.”

  “Yeah.” He paused. “It’s a little scary, isn’t it?”

  “What’s scary?”

  He shrugged. “Letting our kids out of sight. Giving them that little bit of leeway. Hoping they don’t get hurt.”

  Our whispered conversation died when someone shushed us, but my mind remained tipsy, reeling from the surprising turn of events that landed me next to Ben at a parents’ meeting at our children’s school. It almost took my breath away to think what might have been if such small moments had gone another way. If I’d responded differently—if I’d responded at all—when he told me how he felt about me at the bonfire all those years ago. Or if I’d had the courage to speak up even earlier than that, to put into words what it meant for him to accept me so fully, to see who I was inside my polished and well-liked shell. If I’d let myself love him.

  With just a few small twists of circumstance or intention, would we be raising our own children, running out to the parents’ meeting together after having eaten dinner at home with our family? It seemed impossible, but such small twists had led us in opposite directions. Was it possible that similar small twists could have bound us together?

  Before I realized Carol Anne had finished speaking, chairs were scraping across the floor as everyone stood and moved around. Conversation swelled, and parents migrated toward tables set up on the other side of the gym.

  “What are we supposed to be doing?” I whispered to Ben.

  He laughed.

  “Sorry, I was . . .” I held up my phone and shrugged.

  “I give you a D- for not paying attention.” He bumped my shoulder with his. “We’re supposed to pick up information at those tables over there.” He pointed across the gym where parents were lined up behind various tables loaded with papers and clipboards. “So this is when I sign my life away. Think they’d notice if we skipped out?”

  “Carol Anne would definitely notice. Come on.”

  He followed me as I waded through the tables in search of a place to sign up to bring food. I figured if I signed up to bring enough of Mama’s baked treats that’d get Evan off the hook for going door-to-door selling wrapping paper or buckets of cookie dough. I knew she’d never go along with that.

  “Hi, Jessie,” Claire Brody said as we approached her table. “Good to see you.” She glanced up at Ben. “Hi, I’m Claire, PTO party coordinator.”

  Claire had moved to Perry from Mississippi when her kids were in elementary school. If she’d been born and raised in Perry, like many parents at the meeting, she would have recognized Ben too.

  “Ben Bradley,” he said. “New kid.”

  “It’s so nice to have you. And you two already know each other?”

  I liked Claire, but I wondered if she was gathering tidbits of information to pass to Carol Anne. It was probably a requirement for all PTO members under Carol Anne’s authority. I didn’t give her much to go on. “We do.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m glad you’re both here. Just sign your names up wherever you like. We have all kinds of needs, so I’m sure whatever you can bring will fit in somewhere.”

  “I’m going to respectfully decline to add my poor baking skills to the list here,” Ben said. “I think I may find something over in the”—he waved his hand toward the tables on the other side of the room—“in that general direction.” He patted me on the back. “Good luck,” he whispered.

  I wrote my name down to bring treats to a few different parties, then moved on to the next table. As I made my way through the gym, I picked up flyers in various colors, each proclaiming a different group or club Evan could get involved with. Knowing my daughter well, I bypassed the table advertising cheerleading tryouts but picked up a flyer about the school theater troupe and the science team.

  I pulled out my phone and sent her another quick text.

  All tucked in?

  It’s 8:15, Evan texted back a moment later.

  I checked the time at the top of the screen. I could have sworn two hours had been sucked away by this meeting. Sorry. I should be home soon.

  Don’t worry about us. We’re good.

  I grabbed a few more flyers, then when my hands were full, I scanned the space for Ben. I finally saw him leaning over a clipboard, signing up for something with the baseball team. I headed toward him, but before I got there, Carol Anne stepped out from behind a group of parents next to Ben. Her voice rose above the buzz in the room.

  “Ben Bradley, I heard you were back in town!” She reached out and hugged him. “Marissa told me the two of you are working things out, and I have to say I’m so glad. I know it means so much to have you and Nick in her life again.”

  The noise level in the room didn’t change, but for a moment it felt like everything went silent. Marissa? A girlfriend. Of course. In a rush all the noise came back and filled the muffled silence in my head. I reached out for a clipboard on the table in front of me and hunched over, trying to make myself disappear in the scattered group of people around me. I kept my head down but turned my eyes so I could still see Ben and Carol Anne.

  “Um . . . yeah. Things are . . . things are going okay.” Ben’s voice was tight.

  She playfully hit him on the arm. “Better than okay, as she tells it. Although I don’t see how with the two of you in different cities. I don’t know why in the world you’d move back to little old Perry and give up the excitement of Atlanta.”

  He shuffled the papers in his hands. A little muscle at the base of his jaw worked back and forth. “Nick and I just had some things we needed to take care of around here.”

  “Well, I know it must be good for all three of you. I’m happy for you.” She smiled at him and shook her head. “It must feel weird to be back at your old stomping grounds. Have you gone out to the field? I’ll never forget the night you caught that pass in the end zone against Fairhope. And just as the clock ran out!”

  He straightened up and cleared his throat. “Yeah, that was quite a night.”

  I didn’t want him to see me, but before I could make my escape, Carol Anne called out to me. “Oh, Jessie! I didn’t see you there.” I cringed. I could feel Ben’s gaze on my cheek as sure as if he’d touched me. “I hope you’re signing up to bring some of your mama’s lemon icebox cupcakes to the Fall Festival.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I glanced down at the clipboard in my hand. “I’m writing them down now.”

  “That’s great.” She scooped a lock of bright-blonde hair over her shoulder with her manicured hand. “You know, your mama’s cupcakes are the best in Perry.”

  I laughed a little. Perspiration pricked under my arms and at the back of my neck. “I’ll tell her you said so.”

  “You do that. Oh and, Jessie, have you seen Ben is here? It’s so great to have him back in town, isn’t it?” She smiled at us both, then scurried over to another group of parents, her voice full of eager excitem
ent.

  Ben exhaled, then nodded toward the door. “You ready to call it a night?”

  Outside, the lights from the gym cast a wet, shiny glow over the parking lot. Inside the car I crossed my hands in my lap, unsure of what to say, unsure if I wanted him to bring it up at all. He was dating someone. Why wouldn’t he be? And more importantly, why did that fact make me feel like something had slipped out of my grasp?

  The couple of minutes it took to drive back to my house were silent, making the single mile feel more like ten. We finally approached my house. Lights glowed in the windows, and from the driveway, I saw Mama on the couch watching TV.

  He put the Jeep in Park and ran his hand through his hair, then turned to me. His dark eyebrows were pulled together, his mouth set in a thin line. Before he could speak, I did. “Do you still leave the car running so you don’t have to deal with it not starting again?”

  He hesitated a second—I’d caught him off guard, I could tell—then laughed. “You remember that?”

  “Sure. I remember you used to lean your forehead on the steering wheel whenever it wouldn’t start. You actually thought it would work.”

  “It always happened in the movies. Whenever someone’s car wouldn’t start, the forehead-against-the-steering-wheel trick made the engine turn over, without fail.”

  “Things are always a little easier in movies than in real life.”

  He sniffed. “That’s the truth.”

  “I guess you don’t have to leave it running anymore.”

  “Yeah, the engine is pretty dependable now. I fixed a few things.”

  It grew quiet again. I should have gotten out of the car as soon as he stopped in the driveway, thanked him for the ride, and waved good-bye. The evening had already been complicated, and now all of a sudden my throat felt thick, like I was about to cry. “I need to—”

  “Look,” he said at the same time. He nodded up to the front porch. Mama stood in the front window. She likely thought we couldn’t see her since she’d turned off the porch light. The full moon blew her cover though.