“Hey, it’s okay. My buddy from school didn’t go till three weeks ago. He caught a huge bass, too. Guess they call that beginner’s luck, huh.”
“Guess so.”
The kid talked fast, like he’d just had a bunch of sugar. Devon decided he liked him. JJ.
“Maybe you can come with us sometime. We usually go every week after church, but today, Dad got the day off, on account of it being my birthday’n all, and we always go to Mama’s grave and put flowers on so she can say happy birthday, too. And now it’s—burger time!” JJ held out his arms wide like he was saying ta-da.
Miss Becca seemed to pick up on that last part, because she stopped talking to the dad, turned to look at JJ. Her mouth hung a little open. “Your mama’s grave…?”
“Yeah, she died giving birth to me,” JJ said matter-of-factly. “She had a heart condition, so my dad gets to be mom and dad. It’s a boys’ house. Me, Dad, and Choco.”
“The ultimate man cave,” Miss Becca said and smiled, but her eyes looked sad. “Well, you and Devon here have something in common.”
“My mama died too, two years ago.” He tried to sound as casual as JJ. JJ gave him a surprised look, and then a nod. The No-Moms Club.
JJ and his dad moved off a few moments later to their own booth, but not before JJ invited him again to come fishing at the river on Sunday. It sounded like fun. It would be a good long ride on his bike, and it would get him out of the house for the day. Between that and church and helping Mr. Allen, he could probably manage to stay out all day long and avoid Uncle T.
As they walked off, Mr. Josh slung his arm around JJ’s neck, and Devon felt a pang of something settle in his stomach. For a moment he wished—no. No matter. His dad didn’t know what he was missing, like Mama had always said.
“You got kids?” he asked Miss Becca after JJ was long gone, and she laughed.
“Not me. I’m too busy at work to be anybody’s mom.”
“Mama used to say the work would always be there, said if she’d known before how great it was being a mom, she would have had twenty more.”
“Twenty!” Miss Becca giggled, and for a moment, she sounded like a kid. “Your mom sounds like one amazing woman. I wish I’d known her.”
Mama would have liked Miss Becca. He told her as much, and her cheeks got a little pink then.
“Thanks, Devon. I know I would have liked her, too.” She clicked her pen. “So talk to me about how the camp is going? You’re, what, two weeks in now?”
After, she dropped him at the school. To his relief, the guys were long gone, and the afternoon had settled into that soft glowy time, when the evening was just starting to build and the sky was changing, like it had whispers at the edges. He spotted his bike still in the rack, and the tightness that had gripped his chest a moment ago was suddenly gone in a flood of gratitude. Thanks, God.
“See you tomorrow, maybe?” She smiled at him. She had a nice smile.
“Hope so.” He meant it. “Thanks for the burgers, Miss Becca.”
“Thanks for the help with my story. You want a ride home?” She glanced nervously at the small clump of trees up ahead past the school, like she was worried someone was going to come jumping out of them like in the movies or something. “Those guys won’t come back and bother you, will they? I can fit your bike in theback, I’m sure.”
“Nah, thanks, though. Besides, I’m supposed to meet my friend, uh, CJ here.” He made a showy move of looking around, like he expected CJ to walk up any second now. He felt bad for lying. He was doing a lot of it lately. But there was no way he wanted Miss Becca bringing him home, seeing Uncle T. Or worse, Ray or one of the other really rough guys. “It’s fine, I promise.”
She bit her lip. “If you’re sure. Bye, Devon.”
He watched her drive away, watched her little gray car turn right at the stop sign. JJ and his dad came to mind then, and the arm slung around JJ’s shoulders like they’d walked like that a thousand times before.
And suddenly Devon felt very, very alone.
CHAPTER 17
Rebecca
A week later, Rebecca sat at her desk, skimming this week’s paper. All around her the newsroom bustled with noise—Dinah schmoozing with a customer on the phone, Millie chatting with a subscriber about tomatoes, Tiff’s stilettos tap-tapping in time with the click of her computer keyboard. The smell of fresh coffee swirled, and reminded of the half-empty cup before her, she took a long sip.
Next to the cup sat a thin vase with one chunky blossom perched neatly above. The rounded white and burgundy flower looked almost like a lollipop atop the long, skinny stem, but for the spiky, graceful petals. A “Rebecca’s World” Dahlia, the older farmer had told her that morning, when he and his wife had popped by to renew their subscription and bring her the vase.
“Used to think they’d named it after my wife, here,” he’d said, gesturing to the white-haired lady with the soft smile and wispy bun who stood next to him, holding his arm like she needed the balance. “But that’s just the name of it. Did you know they have forty-two different names for dahlias? Why, there’s a Jessica Dahlia, and a Clara Marie, even a Bahama Mama Dahlia, if you can believe it!”
“You’re doing a fine job, dear,” the older Rebecca had told her, looking straight into her eyes and smiling as she patted her husband’s arm. “Plucked this flower right from our garden, just for you. Welcome to Dahlia.”
