JJ shrugged. “Nah, he said when he was a kid he had his places, too, and it’s good for kids to have hidey holes. ’Course, back then he was hiding from his big sister, but whatevs.”
The tunnel was cool and dark, way cooler than the hot summer day outside, and you could go high enough inside to where you could see the river but no one could see you. It felt safe, somehow. Secure. Like all the bad stuff in the world could stay out, stay far away.
To be honest, he felt that way around JJ and his dad, too. And around Rev and Marla. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that way—really, truly safe. Not since Mama had died, he imagined.
Now, Devon watched Marla’s SUV get to the end of the street and turn. He knelt down at the memory garden after they were long gone and sat there awhile, talking with Mama in his mind. The night air felt good, the gentle breeze a caress reminding him of Mrs. Martha’s powdery cheek, and he didn’t even realize he was crying until he felt the wetness on his cheeks.
Then, standing from his crouch, he wheeled his bike around the back and went inside to bring Memaw her dinner.
CHAPTER 21
Rebecca
The Monday after giveaway night brought the most beautiful sunrise Rebecca had seen since she’d arrived in Dahlia. She’d awakened before dawn, tried to remember the barest hint of a dream but couldn’t. Unable to go back to sleep, she’d given up and found herself in the kitchen, nursing a quiet cup of coffee. When the sun peeked over the trees, a giant nectarine against a hazy rose-gray sky, a gasp slipped from her. Somehow, the massive sun, the dim sky, and the faint hint of trees at the horizon made her feel timeless, reverent, and incredibly, incredibly small.
She heard the pad of slippered feet behind her. “God sure did create a masterpiece, didn’t he,” Granny murmured, her voice still husky with sleep.
“It’s beautiful,” Rebecca whispered, eyes still on the sun.
Granny filled a cup, took a chair beside her, and together they watched the sun make its slow ascent.
After a few minutes, Rebecca took a sip from her mug, the sound breaking the hush of the room. She smiled at Granny.
“Mornin’, sunshine.”
Granny brought her mug to her lips. “You stole my line. Busy day today?”
“Very. We lay out the paper tomorrow, so today is finalizing—last minute stories, typing, calls to advertisers dragging feet. Oh, and read over Tiff’s stories to make sure they’re not so syrupy sweet.” She made a face.
“Tiff’s your reporter? How’s she coming along—still very junior?”
Rebecca toyed with her mug. “Tiff’s, well, sweet. It’s a struggle to get her to think like a newshound. She loves feature stories, and she’s a good writer, so I can pawn off most of those on her, but sometimes ...” She shook her head. “Her favorite color’s pink, if that tells you anything.”
“Your favorite color used to be pink, might I remind you.”
“When I was five!”
Granny fanned a brow. “I remember a certain young woman who used to refuse to wear old clothes fishing with her Gramps and threw an all-out hissy fit when her favorite pink sneakers got soaked.”
Rebecca covered her mouth. “Oh, those shoes! They were magnificent.”
“And pink as the risen day.”
Rebecca giggled again. “You’re right. I did love pink.”
They watched the sun rise higher, and Rebecca stood to refill their mugs. She remembered those mornings with Gramps, how at first she’d hated being awakened at dawn. On a weekend, of all times. But Gramps had said he’d needed help, and Granny had been insistent, so she’d gone. Those reluctant mornings ended up becoming one of her favorite things about summers in Dahlia. She missed them, missed so much of that time, and wondered why she’d never come back to visit in all those years except that once, for the funeral. It wasn’t just the fishing. It was the way you could be with Gramps and not have to say anything at all. “You just beyou, and let everybody else worry ’bout the rest, girl,” he’d been fond of saying. His words still echoed in her ears at times. She remembered the feel of the pole in her hands, how Gramps would show her how to pull it back, just so, and barely flick it out over the water. “Easy, girl. You don’t need much, just enough to do the deed,” he’d say.
She thought of young JJ, the look of pride on his face when he’d landed that bass the other day. The way Josh had stood back, let his son have his moment, before helping with the net.
A flood of warmth rushed over her.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Granny said, and Rebecca remembered the mugs in her hands.
“Thinking of Gramps, I guess. How much I miss him.” Rebecca set the mugs on the table, took her seat. “You know, I went fishing the other day and ended up casting with my old friend JJ—well, I guess he goes by Josh Jamison now.”
“Now that was a nice boy. He’s turned out to be a fine man, too. And not too shabby on the eyes, if I don’t say so myself.”
Rebecca laughed. “He is a good guy. Though it’s hard to get used to calling him ‘Josh’ and his son ‘JJ,’ I have to admit. Fishing with him made me think a lot about the old days. It’s funny how you don’t realize how precious something is until it’s gone.”
