The Sweet Smell of Magnolias and Memories Read online

He moved his hand away from hers. “I was hoping . . . Well, I’m not sure what I was hoping.”

  “You a pweecha?” she asked.

  “I’m a minister, yes,” he said.

  Jacey didn’t answer.

  “Does it make a difference?” he asked.

  Once again, she didn’t reply.

  Georgia appeared with the Benadryl and opened the bottle. “Here, drink,” she said. “All of it.”

  “The whole bottle?” Colin asked.

  “It’s children’s Benadryl,” Georgia said. “It won’t hurt her, and the antihistamine will take care of the swelling. She’ll be good as new after the two-hour nap she’s about to take—whether she wants one or not. The antihistamine is gonna knock her on her . . . It’s gonna knock her out.”

  “I can heah you,” Jacey said.

  “Yeah?” Georgia said. “Then hush up and keep chugging. Colin, do you mind taking us home?”

  “Not at all,” he said.

  “Turn left on Bluebonnet,” Georgia said, “then take a right on Highland.”

  They drove in silence for a few minutes while Georgia made sure Jacey was drinking the pink liquid.

  Jacey was already becoming drowsy. “I need my cah,” she said.

  “For what?” Georgia asked. “You can’t drive your cah. Flip that bottle around. See the ‘do not operate heavy machinery’ sentence? The car is what they’re talking about.”

  “Ugh,” Jacey said, then took another shot. She made a face. “Hawable.”

  By the time they arrived at home, Jacey was sleeping like a baby.

  “Will you help me get her inside?” Georgia asked.

  “Here,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

  Colin scooped her up easily into his arms and followed Georgia into the condo.

  “Let’s take her to her room,” she said. “This way.”

  Colin laid Jacey gently on the bed and gazed down on her for a moment. He took the thick, creamy-white afghan from the cedar chest at the foot of her bed and spread it over her while Georgia watched. Then he gently touched her hand with his and turned to look at Georgia.

  “I can’t believe it’s her,” he whispered.

  “Come on,” she whispered back. “I’ll fix you a cup of coffee.”

  Georgia quietly closed the bedroom door, and they walked down the hallway to the cheerful kitchen adorned with crawfish sketches and fleurs-de-lis.

  Colin sat at the kitchen island and ran his hand absently over the smooth, silver-white granite while Georgia made coffee. “You have no idea how long I’ve searched for her.”

  “I think I do,” Georgia said. She put the pod into the coffeemaker. “She’s looked for you just that long.” She pushed the power button and the Keurig sputtered to life.

  He looked surprised. “Really? She didn’t seem . . . happy to see me.”

  “I think she’s still shocked,” Georgia said. “About seeing you and, well, about that Bible-toting thing.”

  He shook his head. “I could’ve sworn I told her on the roof that I was studying to become a minister.”

  “Are you allowed to swear?” Georgia smiled.

  He chuckled. “Touché.”

  “Exactly what kind of minister are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” Georgia said. “I mean, since you were pinch-hitting for the Baptist guy, I’m assuming that’s your team?”

  He chuckled again. “Yep, that’s my team.”

  Georgia handed him a cup of coffee.

  “Already?” he asked. “Is that a bionic coffeemaker?”

  Georgia shrugged. “Bionic? I’m not sure,” she said. “It’s a Keurig. Haven’t you heard of them?”

  “I guess not,” he said.

  “You don’t get out much, do you, Rev?”

  Colin chuckled. “I don’t like technology.”

  Georgia raised a brow. “How do you survive in the year 2016 without it?”

  “Quite well. You should try it.”

  “I’d rather eat dirt and worms for breakfast than be without my cell phone, thank you very much,” Georgia said, pouring her own cup of coffee. She joined him at the island. “So . . . where were we? Oh, yeah, so you are a Baptist guy, and that’s like . . . hellfire and brimstone, right?”

  “A pretty good description of some of us.” He smiled.

  “So what else do you do?”

  He took a sip of coffee and set the cup down. “Are you sure you’re a nurse? Because you seem like a reporter.”

  Georgia laughed. “Nosy is what I am. Ask her.” She gestured to Jacey’s bedroom. “Nosy and curious.”

  “To answer your question,” he said, “these days I’m a carpenter.”

  “Oh.” Georgia nibbled a cookie. “Sorta like Jesus. Well . . . that’s pretty good company, I guess.”

  He laughed. “I’m glad you approve.”

  “So, what do you build? Houses?”

  “Mostly,” he said. “Right now I’m working in Mississippi. Still rebuilding from the flood.”

  “Oh, that’s cool. You have your own company?”

  “I work with a company that rebuilds communities after natural disasters. It’s a little like Habitat for Humanity.”

  “So it’s charity work,” Georgia said. “Commendable. I get it . . . So, who pays you?”

  He raised a brow at her and smiled a little.

  “Too many questions?”

  “My turn,” he said.

  She shrugged. “Okay, shoot.”

  “What does she do?” he asked. “For a living, I mean. She’s some sort of writer? I remember her saying she was a writer, but I’ve looked for books by Jacey Lang and can’t find any.”

  “She is a writer, but she writes for magazines mostly,” Georgia said. “She has contracts with a couple of big regional Southern magazines and does a lot of local stuff in Baton Rouge. But you probably didn’t find her because she uses a pseudonym . . . a pen name. It keeps the phone from ringing off the hook.”

  “She’s . . . famous?” he asked.

  Georgia laughed and reached for the cookie jar again. She took out a couple of gingersnaps and shoved the jar toward Colin. “No, she’s not famous, but her articles are really well-known around the South. She just likes the anonymity.”

  “I see,” he said. He grabbed a few gingersnaps and set them on the napkin Georgia handed him. “Is she seeing someone?” he asked.

  Georgia sighed and weighed her response. She was always fiercely protective of her friends and even more so after Jacey’s accident. She answered the question carefully. “Jacey doesn’t have a boyfriend, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Colin smiled. “That’s what I was asking,” he said. “Do you know why she never contacted me?”

  Georgia paused. It was obvious Colin had no idea what happened to Jacey and the others. How would he have known? She hated to be the one to deliver the difficult news, but there was no way around it. “Jacey was involved in an accident the day she got off the roof,” Georgia began. “The motorboat that rescued her and the others collided with another one. It was nobody’s fault, just a crazy stroke of bad luck. No one realized how bad the flood was at first, and most of it was in rural areas. After a couple of days, when word finally got out that people were stranded, they began to help. There were so many boats in the water looking for survivors. I guess you remember how the weather took a turn for the worse again during all these rescue efforts, and tornadoes were popping up everywhere. Everybody was trying to hurry out of the storm.”

  She paused and took a sip of coffee, then went to Jacey’s bedroom door to check on her. She closed it gently and returned to the kitchen.

  “It was a terrible accident,” Georgia continued. “I really hate to tell you this, Colin, but the mother of those children and one of the boys were killed, along with two people in the boat they collided with. I’m so sorry.”

  Colin felt like he’d been punched in the gut. This was the last thing he’d expected to hear. He thought about Lillie, who was
so brave and so protective of her children. He thought about the boys, whose faces were permanently etched in his brain, and how much the youngest one seemed to adore Jacey.

  “To be honest, I’m surprised you didn’t already know about it,” Georgia said. “It was all over the news for a few days. Even here in Baton Rouge.”

  Colin stared at her blankly for a moment, still trying to digest the news she’d given him. When he found his voice again, he said, “I was on the roof another two days after they left. When I was finally rescued, I was . . . severely dehydrated. I had a cut on my leg and it became infected. Almost lost my leg. I was in the hospital for three weeks, in and out of consciousness for a few days, I’m told.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Georgia said. “Is your leg okay now?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “You didn’t read about any of this later?” Georgia asked. “I mean, after you got out of the hospital? It was online too. In fact, I worry all the time that Jacey’s going to read about it while she’s surfing the net. Maybe it’s the memory thing, but she doesn’t even know that people were killed in the accident. Or she just ignores it, which is what I suspect.”

  “I hate computers,” Colin confessed. “I have a laptop and an e-mail address, but I rarely check it. I can barely use my iPhone. I can build you a house. I could build you a mansion if you asked me to, but the internet is still a mystery to me. I did manage to Google her name. I’m not even sure I spelled it right, but I searched for every ‘Jacey Lang’ and every variation of it I could think of. There were a few hits, but obviously none of them was a match. I don’t remember her saying even once that she was from Louisiana.”

  “Really?” Georgia asked. “So, what did you talk about all that time?”

  Colin shoved his cup away and reflected for a moment. “Surviving. We talked about the mom and her kids and how to help them. And what was really important to us.”

  “That makes sense,” Georgia said.

  “Tell me more about what happened after the accident,” Colin pressed.

  Georgia took their cups and rinsed them before putting them in the dishwasher. “They found Jacey in the water holding the boy who died. Apparently she had swum to him with a broken ankle and a head injury but wouldn’t let go. She had a pretty serious concussion, and her ankle required plates and pins to repair. After the hospital stay, she went through months of rehab on her foot, had to keep it elevated in case of blood clots. Couldn’t sleep. Didn’t eat. Then a lot of post-traumatic stress that she still battles from time to time. It was really bad for a while. So . . . you see . . . she really couldn’t contact you.”

  “I had no idea,” he said. “No idea . . .”

  He thought of what Jacey must’ve gone through those first few days and weeks, and how sorry he was not being able to help her. He thought about the children who clung to their mother on top of that roof. They had been terrified, just as their mother and Jacey were. He had put them all in the boat, thinking they were rescued—and since there hadn’t been room for all of them, he had stayed behind. He shook his head. He’d sent two of them to their death. He trusted God, but he’d never understand his ways.

  “It was . . . more than the physical wounds, Colin,” Georgia said. She brushed her dark curly hair from her face and pondered how to convey what he needed to know, without invading Jacey’s privacy. “Jacey’s a strong girl. Always has been—strong-willed and strong in body. She has days when she is totally and completely fine, but then there are days when she’s preoccupied and moody. And that’s never been who she is.”

  “Is this normal after a head injury?” Colin asked.

  “Head injuries are strange ailments. The way the brain reacts to trauma is still somewhat a mystery. But I can tell you, she’s had some . . . problems remembering. And when she does remember, she doesn’t want to. She has never acknowledged the boy dying. And we don’t talk about it. Her mind has pretty much blocked it. It’s all very unsettling for her, to say the least.”

  He let that information sink in for a moment. “Do you think my being here will make it worse? In your professional opinion.”

  “I don’t know. But I can tell you this,” Georgia said. “She asked for you constantly in the hospital.”

  “I should’ve dug around more. I should’ve hired a private investigator,” he said. “But I thought that maybe she didn’t want me to find her. She had my contact information. Or at least I thought she did. I took her silence as rejection.”

  “Hey, Rev, it wasn’t your fault. How could you have known? Especially since you were having a little issue yourself, you know?”

  He shook his head. “Maybe I can come by tomorrow to see her?”

  “I think that’s a question for her.” Georgia smiled. “Why don’t you leave your number, and I’ll give it to her.”

  He took a pen from his pocket, wrote something on the back of a business card, and gave it to Georgia.

  She took the card and smiled. “I’m pretty sure we’ll see you soon.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Jacey stared at the card in her hand. “Colin Jennings. Construction. Builder of Houses. My Brother’s Keeper.” A cell number. And a Biloxi, Mississippi, address. She flipped the card over. “Promise I won’t try to baptize you in the bathtub,” he had written on the back of the card. It made her laugh.

  “Well?” Georgia said, throwing an armload of warm towels at her. “Here, help me.”

  “Well, what?” Jacey said. She began absently folding.

  “Are you going to call him?”

  Jacey shrugged. “I don’t know. Should I?”

  Georgia sat down on the sofa. “Why wouldn’t you?”

  Jacey shrugged again. “You know, maybe it was just the circumstances that made the feelings so strong, and there’s no point in pursuing it. Maybe it was all just this grand illusion I created in order to survive. That’s possible, right?”

  “I guess so,” Georgia said. “But maybe it wasn’t. You’ve talked about him for a solid year. He’s here. Shouldn’t you explore it?”

  “I don’t think I can be hooked up with a preacher, Georgie. That’s just not gonna work for me.”

  “See, I don’t understand that. He’s still a guy. He’s not a priest. It’s okay for Baptist preachers to have girlfriends, wives, families. I was teasing when I said you were going to hell.”

  Jacey stood up. “Like I ever pay attention to what you say,” she said. “And it isn’t that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I . . . I like to wear shorts,” she said, moving the stack of towels from the sofa to the coffee table. “And cute little dresses. I like to go to parties. And although I rarely drink, when I get ready for a glass of wine . . . I want to drink it.”

  “So what you’re saying is, you’d give up what you’ve described for a year as the perfect guy for a Marc Jacobs dress and a bottle of Cabernet?” Georgia said. “That makes you sound pretty shallow, but that’s none of my business.”

  “Okay, point taken. Maybe it does sound a little shallow,” Jacey said. “But what about you? Would you give up something for another person?”

  “But we’re not talking about me.” Georgia laughed. “I’m not giving up anything for anybody. I’ve ridden that pony before, but my guy was a jerk. We’re talking about you. And this guy . . . I don’t know, Jacey. He seems like a pretty good fella. I get a good vibe from him. Besides . . . I haven’t heard him ask you to give up anything.”

  Jacey shrugged but didn’t answer.

  “I’ve gotta go to work,” Georgia said. “Listen, it ain’t like the man has asked you to marry him. Just visit with him. This conversation is very premature. Maybe he took one look at you in that pile of orange taffeta yesterday and wondered what he’d been thinking these past few months too. Especially after you spit on him in the car with them big fat swollen lips.”

  Jacey laughed. “I guess you’re right. Couldn’t hurt to talk, huh?”

  “You have chosen
wisely, grasshopper.” Georgia stood, grabbed her purse, then pressed her hands together. “Dear Lord, please help the people of this city behave tonight and not bring any hysteria, guns, or lawyers into my emergency room. Amen. See? I pray too.”

  Jacey laughed again. “Have a good shift.”

  “Good luck,” Georgia called out as she shut the door behind her.

  Jacey picked up Colin’s card again. The she closed her eyes and the memories came . . .

  She was sitting in her car, looking at the bridge in front of her. The water rushed over the road, but it didn’t look very high. Surely I can make it, she thought. She had the radio on the local channel, and they weren’t reporting any road closures. If it was unsafe to drive over this bridge, they would report it, wouldn’t they? The “Turn around, don’t drown” commercials kept playing over and over in her mind, but this didn’t look dangerous at all.

  Besides, she needed to talk to these people. The article she was writing had the potential to shed some light on an element of the South that was largely forgotten. The downtrodden. The poor. The uneducated. Many people subscribed to the theory that these people chose to stay in their current situation and live off of whatever the government would give them. But Jacey had spoken to too many of them to buy into that. They didn’t want a handout. They wanted a hand up. She would do all she could to extend hers and make sure other folks around the South had the opportunity to do so as well.

  She waited a few more minutes to see if any other vehicles were passing in either direction, but she saw none. The storm was getting more and more intense with every passing minute. Rain pounded the car so hard it was deafening. Wind bent trees in every direction and lightning popped right in front of her. She couldn’t turn around: This country road was too narrow and had no shoulder, and she certainly couldn’t back up. Her shortcuts had never been wise, and this one was shaping up to be the worst one ever. She made a decision and began driving . . . and for a moment, she thought she would make it . . .

  She shivered and opened her eyes. “Stop it! Stop it!” she said aloud. “Don’t relive it.”