Secrets over Sweet Tea Read online

  She dropped the Bobbi Brown mascara into her bag and tried to distract herself by thinking of all the viewers out there who thought she was like one of those major anchors who had someone to do her hair, brush her teeth, and wipe her nose. Wouldn’t they love to know that she drove herself to work at two thirty every morning, dressed herself, did her own hair and makeup, and wrote her own teleprompter notes? It had taken her three years of begging before Leo finally agreed to put makeup lights in here so she could actually tell what her face would look like on camera. Before that it had been a case of trial and error. Mostly error.

  She stuffed the workout clothes she’d worn to the studio into a bag, grabbed her purse, and headed out into the morning sunshine. Most people were just getting to work about now. Her workday was over.

  She yawned as she beeped her car open and strapped herself in. The drive from Nashville to Franklin would take her thirty minutes. She used the voice command to wake up her cell phone. Rachel would talk her home. She always did.

  “I can’t believe you went in this morning.” Her friend’s voice sounded in her ear.

  Grace was almost too tired to laugh. “It’s my job, Rachel. And unlike you, I’m not a big vacation taker.”

  “Hey, hey, now. Play nice. I worked full-time with one kid and another on the way. I needed those days off.”

  Grace and Rachel settled into comfortable best-friend chat as the miles sped by. After almost thirteen years, they could practically finish each other’s sentences. They’d met at the television station fresh out of college—but different colleges. Rachel took pride in being a Carolina Gamecock like Leo, though she had graduated quite a few years behind him. And she always pointed out she and Grace were friends in spite of Grace’s University of Tennessee diploma. But Rachel still refused to go out with Grace if she wore UT orange. She insisted that Gamecocks gagged at the color because it represented the two teams they hated most, Clemson and Tennessee.

  Rachel had risen to producer pretty quickly and was a huge advocate for Grace’s getting the anchor chair. The two of them were called chocolate and vanilla around the station. Rachel’s smooth brown skin, raven-black hair, and matching black eyes next to Grace’s golden skin, blonde locks, and chestnut-brown eyes had heads turning wherever they went. When baby number two arrived, Rachel had opted to stay home. But she and Grace still talked at least once a day—and almost always on the drive home.

  “I hope you didn’t bake Leo something.”

  “I just moved, Rach. I haven’t even unpacked my pans. I brought Krispy Kreme.”

  “The man needs a Krispy Kreme like he needs a comb.”

  “It’s not nice to make fun of bald men.” Grace laughed.

  Rachel did too. “So I’d offer to come help you today, but you wouldn’t let me.”

  “You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

  Rachel was silent for a minute. They’d had this conversation before. Finally Rachel asked, “How was Tyler this weekend? If he’s yelled at you once, I’m coming over there to slap him myself. And why you let that man make you move again is beyond me. A woman needs to nest. She needs to plant roots. She needs to—”

  “You can breathe, Rachel. It’s key to survival.”

  “Well, that man just infuriates me. How can one living creature infuriate someone so much?”

  “Rach, stop.”

  She could hear Rachel’s buff-colored nails tapping on her countertop. She knew they were buff-colored because that’s all Rachel wore. And she always talked on the phone in the kitchen near food. Rachel loved food. They both did. They claimed it was part of being a Southern woman—okay, any kind of woman. Women bonded over food. So Rachel felt they were closer if she was in the kitchen eating something while they talked.

  “Tyler’s my husband,” Grace reminded her friend.

  “Yes, he is. He is your husband. And usually I am an advocate for your husband, just as you are for mine. You know Jason always says you’re the best friend of this marriage. But when Tyler doesn’t value you like you deserve to be valued, Grace . . . well, it makes me angry. Anyway, I’m through venting. No more venting.”

  “Good. Now, you have successfully talked me home. Can I go now?”

  “You can go. But please, please be kind to yourself this week. I love you, girl.”

  “You too,” she said as she rounded the corner and reached for the garage door opener. “Bye.”

  Grace pushed the button to open the garage. Boxes were stacked floor to ceiling in the back. Tyler had promised to move some into the house so she could start unpacking this morning.

  Not one had been moved.

  Grace’s body ached just looking at them. All she wanted to do was get unpacked and back into some kind of normal routine. For a moment she was grateful she had waited to open the garage door until after she had hung up with Rachel. She was too tired for another comment.

  Miss Daisy greeted her at the door. “Hey, beautiful girl.” Grace slipped her hand down into the champagne fur of her shih tzu and rubbed. Miss Daisy’s moans came out soft but clear. “Oh, I know. I know.”

  The dog wriggled free from Grace’s hand and went to stand by her bowls. Grace followed her. Both were empty. “Didn’t Daddy feed you this morning?”

  Miss Daisy looked at the bowls and then back at Grace, her meaning clear. Grace set her stuff down on the kitchen counter and filled the bowls, then left to the sound of slurping. She made her way down the unfamiliar hallway to the bedroom. Tyler was still sleeping. No surprise. That’s the way she found him most mornings lately.

  At thirty-three, Tyler was considered old for professional hockey. Hockey wasn’t an old man’s game. Few players stayed around until their forties. Or rather, she should say, few were kept until their forties. About the time Tyler hit thirty, he’d started getting yearly renewals in place of the multiyear agreements he’d signed before. The three years since then had been a spiral down to painful places.

  Grace moved quietly to the closet for her pj’s and her black ballerina bedroom slippers. After she had changed, she walked over to the bed. Tyler never stirred. His sour-sweet breath seemed to fill the room.

  Her feet moved slowly back to the kitchen, where she poured a large glass of sweet tea. Her mother had always made sweet tea so thick it practically oozed out. Grace didn’t think the recipe needed changing. Since turning thirty-five, she had thought occasionally about switching to an artificial sweetener, but then she’d decided there was enough in her life that was artificial. This was the one place she was going to let the real thing have its way. She didn’t care if it had its way with her hips as well; she wasn’t giving it up. Sweet tea was her liquid sunshine. And she needed some sunshine in her life.

  She picked up a wadded napkin from the floor and opened the garbage can to toss it in. An empty Jack Daniel’s bottle lay at the bottom. She dropped the napkin in the can and closed it, then went to the garage and found a box she could carry. She had deliberately used small boxes to pack, knowing this would probably happen—a true sign of how low her expectations had dropped. She set it down in the kitchen and picked up her utility knife, expertly slicing the tape that sealed it. Dining Room was written large in black Sharpie across the side.

  She could close her eyes and do this, she had done it so many times. She should be a professional mover. In ten years of marriage she had lived in two apartments, one town house, and three different houses—not counting all the remodeling jobs she’d endured in many of those homes. She had the process down pat. That didn’t mean she liked it.

  This was Tyler’s pattern—the same pattern he had with cars and electronics and new clothes. To her it felt like some desperate attempt to fill a vacancy in his soul with something new. When they moved the last time, she’d told him that was it. They didn’t need another house. They didn’t need another car. And she wasn’t moving again.

  She had told him that, hadn’t she?

  She put down the knife and wandered aimlessly through the rooms
. This house was big—bigger than the two of them could fill up. But it had been a foreclosure, so they had gotten a good deal—something they really needed, considering their experience with their previous house. Tyler had been so excited about buying in a “high-end” gated community on the outskirts of town, going on and on about what a good investment it was. But he hadn’t considered the inflated market and the ridiculous mortgage. They’d lost more than Grace liked to think about when they sold that house. But it had been bleeding their retirement accounts dry every month, so at least this move had stopped the monthly hemorrhage.

  The new house wasn’t that bad, actually. The roof was tin, the floors were pine, and the marker outside declared it was of some historical importance. Being downtown was a plus. And then there was the hope. She always tried to hold on to that hope. Could this be the home that held their healing? Maybe.

  Yet every room in this new place still smelled and felt un-hers. It held no memories. She didn’t know how to get around it in the dark without hurting herself.

  She peeked into the bedroom again. Tyler had rolled over and started to snore. She walked back down the foreign hall of a home it would take her two years to get used to—just in time for Tyler to want to move again.

  A small section of her longer bangs fell in her face. She readjusted the clip. Back in the kitchen, she leaned over to pull a dish out of the box and realized Miss Daisy was staring at her. She couldn’t help but chuckle at the ridiculous expression on this dog’s face. It was truly a face only a mother could love.

  Miss Daisy weighed almost eighteen pounds, far more than most shih tzus. Her eyes looked at times like they might pop right out of her head, and her underbite was bad enough for braces. And ornery—oh my, was she ornery. She never came when she was called. And she made it clear that she would let you know if and when she needed you. Otherwise the world was hers, and you were simply privileged to live in it. She was named after Jessica Tandy’s wealthy character in the movie Driving Miss Daisy because she, too, pretty much had everyone doing what she told them to do.

  Grace and Tyler had bought her a week after they got back from their honeymoon. They’d needed a dog like they needed a hole in the head, and they couldn’t really afford her. But of all the money Tyler had spent in their years together, the three hundred dollars they’d spent for Miss Daisy had been the most worthwhile.

  Grace rubbed her eyes. It wasn’t even noon yet, but she’d been up for nine hours already—a full day. This was what her body had been doing for ten years. It was what she knew. But that didn’t make it easy.

  She reached for her glass and took another sip of tea. She had already consumed two glasses, one she’d bought for herself from McDonald’s on her way to work and another she talked an intern into getting for her during one of the morning news breaks. She had done an entire morning news program and four segments during the Today show, and now she had a mountain of boxes to unpack. Forget sunshine—she needed sugar and caffeine.

  The thought of that mountain overwhelmed her in that moment. The enormity of the task felt as if it might take her breath away. With every move, she and Tyler seemed to have accumulated more stuff—ten years’ worth of it—and not just what awaited her in those boxes. If you could put ten years’ worth of accumulated resentment and disappointment into boxes, how high would the mountain rise?

  She reminded herself of the online devotional she had read this morning, one she had e-mailed to her every day. “Faith and obedience will move mountains,” this morning’s entry had said. “Mountains of evil. Mountains of difficulty. But they must go hand in hand.” She had always tried to be obedient. But the faith part—well, that seemed to be getting harder and harder.

  She tugged at the bottom of the black zippered sweatshirt that hung loosely over the black tank top and pants that served as her pajamas. Tyler liked to keep it freezing in the house when he slept, which usually didn’t start until the wee hours of the morning.

  She was pretty sure Tyler wouldn’t be awake for at least another three hours. There was no telling when he had finally gone to sleep, though he’d been beside her when her alarm clock rang. That wasn’t always the case. Some nights Tyler would watch the sun fall and rise before he ever let his head touch a pillow, and she’d have to leave for work before he made it home. You would think she’d be used to his schedule by now, but every day it bothered her. Even if their relationship had been wonderful—which it wasn’t—being married to someone you hardly ever saw could take its toll.

  When she pulled crumpled newspaper from a moving box, the red corner of a small box that rested inside grabbed her attention, tugging her heart to places she always dreaded going. The Santa plate and mug designed for Christmas Eve and children’s magic were nothing but reminders of what her home lacked. There had never been children’s magic at Christmas for her. She had never watched her child climb the large rubber-matted steps of a bright-yellow school bus going to a world of learning and laughter as she stood in her robe with a steaming cup of hot tea. She’d never wiped her child’s tears after a lost game, a broken arm, or a broken heart. She’d never hung Sunday school artwork on the refrigerator or kept a “mommy’s calendar.” But with every move, she still packed up the plate and mug as if one day her own Christmas magic would happen and she would have a child of her own.

  She swiped hard at the tears, tucked the red box in the farthest corner of the china cabinet, and said a brief prayer. “Please, God, let this be the house that holds the laughter of a child.”

  Her phone vibrated on the countertop. She picked it up and saw her mother’s picture staring back at her. “Hey, Mom.” She carried the phone over to the large picture window that overlooked Franklin’s quaint Second Avenue.

  “Hey. How’s the moving going?”

  Grace let out a soft laugh. “Like all the rest.”

  “Anyone coming to help you?”

  “After the fourth move, I quit asking people, Mom. I decided I wanted to keep my friends.”

  She could hear the concern in her mother’s voice. “You need me and Dad to come?”

  “No, I’m good. I’ll have most of it done by the end of the week. And then we’ll be back to normal.”

  “You okay, baby?”

  Grace shook at her urge to cry. Her mother had heard enough of her pain through the years. Now, she tried to let her see as little as possible. She didn’t want her to hurt too. “Yeah, all good. It really is a beautiful home, and I’ve always wanted to live in downtown Franklin. Tyler is convinced it’s a good investment.”

  “Have y’all decided where you’re going to church yet?”

  “No, hopefully we’ll visit a few here once we get settled.”

  “You couldn’t get Tyler to stay where you were?”

  “No. He just isn’t getting what he needs there, Mom. Not all churches are for everyone, you know.”

  She heard the deep sigh in her mother’s voice and hoped a sermon wasn’t next. She was too bone weary for that. She was grateful her mother could tell. “You’re taking the week off from work, right?”

  “No, I’m working.”

  “Grace, you can’t move and work at the same time.”

  “Mom, it’s fine. It will get done when it gets done.”

  “Well, please take care of yourself. When is the last time you baked something?”

  A distant memory of a chocolate cake came to mind, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember when she had baked it. With the packing, work, and now the move, the last month had just gotten away from her. “I can’t even remember. Can you believe that?”

  “Honey, promise Mom that you will do something for you. I’m sending you some money that is for you to go spend. Not on the house. On you.”

  Grace couldn’t help but laugh. She had money of her own. But her mother had been sending twenty-dollar bills in cards since she was in college. She could tell her not to, but it would do no good. “I’m fine, Mom. Honestly.”

  “Well
, if you need us, please call. You know either of us would be there in a minute.”

  “Sure. I know. I’ll call.”

  “Love you, honey.”

  “You too, Mom.”

  She hung up and walked over to the sofa. Her body sank into the green velvet and stretched out. She was so tired. She pulled off her slippers and realized she had forgotten her socks. She always slept in socks, though at some point every night she would kick them off and then find them as a lump under the covers the next morning. Now she was lying here with her body aching, her feet cold, and no clue on the face of the earth where she had packed the blankets. And she couldn’t get up if she tried. Not right now.

  In a moment she felt something land on the sofa. She looked down to find Miss Daisy staring at her with those large black eyes. “Whatcha doing, girl?”

  Miss Daisy didn’t respond. She simply walked around as if looking for just the right spot to plop herself. Then she did—right across Grace’s feet.

  In all the years they’d had her, Miss Daisy had never done that. Not once. This dog hadn’t even wanted to sit close to them when she was a puppy. And now, in this moment when Grace’s body was as drained as her soul, this creature as stubborn as kudzu chose to lie across her feet.

  A thought brushed through her heart: This is how much I love you—enough to warm your feet. She knew it was from heaven. It had blown through her on more than one occasion in her life. And right now she needed it—no, she was desperate for it.

  She pulled the sofa pillow up tightly underneath her face. As a deep rush of tears fled to the surface, she pulled it in tighter. She would bury her cries in the down feathers.

  Just as she had done so many times before.

  Scarlett Jo pulled at the bottom of her lime-green sweater, the phone against her ear. She loved wearing this color. It made her think of key lime pie, and she loved key lime pie.

  The school had called to tell her that her fourth child, Tucker, was sick. She knew he was sick all right. He was sick of school. He had done this every year since he’d started kindergarten, which was five years ago. At some point near the end of the school year, he would report some kind of complaint. One year he’d said he had typhoid fever. Another year he’d tried to convince the nurse he had tuberculosis, which triggered an uproar in the entire school. Truth was, Tucker could be pretty convincing.