Six hours later, I pull the truck into a little gravel driveway that leads to a brick house with a lovely front porch. The house is two-story, and the wooden porch is seducing my attention. Hanging swings call to me; I’m dying to sit on one and write while the crickets sing and stars shine overhead. Maybe I’ll do that tonight while Stone is away at the bachelor party. I don’t want to impose too much on Stone’s mama while he’s not with me.
Speaking of…
“Are you sure I shouldn’t run to a gas station and clean up more?” I ask Stone, who is biting his bottom lip as to not burst at the seams at my condition.
After we ate at a cute little diner in the middle of nowhere, I had the misfortune of running over a nail, resulting in a flat tire. Fortunately, he had a spare on hand, but unfortunately, I had hit the man in the face with a small cast iron skillet earlier in the day.
Which meant I had to assist in a tire change.
And now I am a certified grease monkey.
R.I.P. to my floral skirt and white top.
“This is Small Town, Mississippi, Lucy. This place is smaller than Juniper Grove. The only people who will see you this evening are my mom, Brother Johnny, and possibly my sister and her husband. But look around.”
I do as he says, noting there is only a brown Tacoma in the driveway.
“See,” he says. “That’s Brother Johnny’s truck, which means only he and Mom are home right now.”
“But shouldn’t I make a good impression on your mom?”
He laughs and opens the door of the truck. “The fact that you are here, my little lion, is enough to make the grandest impression of all.”
My insides flip upside down at his new nickname for me. I can imagine it’s stemming from my lion-like appearance this morning in my apartment, which is an every morning thing for me regardless if a man is breaking in or not. I could be upset by it, but something in the rich, smooth tone of voice he uses when he says it tells me it's an endearing term, not something he is using to mock me for my morning looks.
Stone closes the door, but I’m still clutching the steering wheel, feeling like I really should back out of this driveway and go attempt to better clean this grease off my skin and change my clothes. The wipes in the truck didn’t cut it, and by the time we made it to a restroom stop, the stains had set and Stone wouldn’t give me time to change due to the fact that we were already running so late.
The man is punctual; I’ll givehim that.
My door opens, and Stone holds out a hand for me to take as I quite literally drop out of his lifted truck.
Don’t even get me started on how terrified I was driving this monstrosity all day long.
Once I’m solidly on my feet, I smooth down my skirt and grimace at the grease stains on my white shirt. I open the back door of the truck and dig inside my bag for my coat. Who cares that it’s the middle of June in Mississippi? I HAVE to cover this dingy shirt.
Stone is laughing at me as I zip up my plain black cotton jacket. I ignore him and throw my backpack on my back and toss my duffle bag over one shoulder. Then I remember my purse in the front seat and grab it.
Stone grabs his things then bounds up the five wooden steps that lead from the ground to the porch, and within three giant steps, he’s in front of the door and knocking. I rush up beside him as the screen door opens, revealing a short, older woman who has graying hair and wrinkles in her skin but whose eyes are bright regardless of their steel-gray color.
He must have his father’s eyes,I think to myself.
Those steel gray eyes of hers widen to the size of softballs as she takes us in. “Did you two get in a wreck on your way here?”
Stone side-eyes me, and I stifle a laugh.
“More like I got beat up this morning, which resulted in Lucy here having to change our blown tire on the drive down,” Stone says with a half-hearted wink in my direction, wincing at the action.
“Hi, Mrs.—” I glance at Stone, realizing he forgot to tellme her married name.
Thankfully, she speaks up. “Clark. But you can just call me Marian, honey.”
I clear my throat. “Hi, Marian. I’m Lucy Spence.” I hold my hand out to her, but she disregards it and takes a step out the door, wrapping me into the biggest hug I’ve ever experienced in my life.
On instinct, I hug her back as well as I can around my bags.
Because unlike my twin sister, who can’t stand touch, I very much like warm hugs.
And this embrace feels like Mama’s.
