One Second After [5]
There was a car parked at the top of the driveway. Mary's mother, Me-ma Jennie.
Me-ma Jennie was behind the wheel of her wonderful and highly eccentric 1959 Ford Edsel. Ford ... that's where the family money had come from, ownership of a string of car dealerships across the Carolinas dating back to Henry Ford himself. There was even a photo framed in the house up in the Cove of Mary's great-granddad and Henry Ford at the opening of a dealership in Charlotte back before World War I.
Though it wasn't polite to be overtly "business" in their strata and Jennie preferred the role of genteel southern lady, in her day, John knew, she was one shrewd business person, as was her husband.
John pulled up alongside the Edsel. Jennie put down the book she was reading and got out.
"Hi, Jen."
She absolutely hated "Ma," "Mother," "Mom," or, mortal sin of all mortal sins, "Me-ma" or "Grandma" from her Yankee son-in-law, who was definitely not her first choice for her only daughter. But that had softened with time, especially towards the end, especially when he had brought the girls back home to Jen.
The two got out of their cars and she held up a cheek to be kissed, her height, at little more than five foot two, overshadowed by his six-foot-four bulk, and there was a light touch of her hand on his arm and an affectionate squeeze.
"Thought you'd never get here in time. She'll be home any minute."
Jen had yet to slip into the higher pitch or gravelly tone of an "old lady's" voice. He wondered if she practiced every night reciting before a mirror to keep that wonderful young woman—sounding southern lilt. It was an accent that still haunted him. The same as Mary's when they had first met at Duke, twenty-eight years ago. At times, if Jen was in the next room and called to the girls, it would still bring tears to his eyes.
"We got time. Why didn't you go inside to wait?"
"With those two mongrels? The way they jump, they'd ruin my nylons."
Ginger and Zach were all over John, jumping, barking, leaping about... and studiously avoiding Jen. Though dumb, goldens knew when someone didn't like them no matter how charming they might be.
John reached in, pulled out the bag of Beanies, and, walking over to the stone wall that bordered the path to the house, began to line them up, one at a time, setting them side by side.
"Now John, really, isn't she getting a bit old for that?"
"Not yet, not my little girl."
Jen laughed softly.
"You can't keep time back forever."
"I can try, can't I?" he said with a grin.
She smiled sadly.
"How do you think Tyler and I felt about you, the day you came through our door?"
He reached out and gave her an affectionate touch on the cheek. "You guys loved me."
"You a Yankee? Like hell. Tyler actually thought about driving you off with a shotgun. And that first night you stayed over ..."
Even after all these years he found he still blushed a bit at that. Jen had caught Mary and him in a less than "proper" situation on the family room sofa at two in the morning. Though not fully improper, it was embarrassing nevertheless, and Jen had never let him live it down.
He set the Beanies out, stepped back, eyeballed them, like a sergeant examining a row of new recruits. The red, white, and blue "patriot" bear on the right should be in the middle of the ranks where a flag bearer might be.
He could hear the growl of the school bus as it shifted gears, turning off of old Route 70, coming up the hill.
"Here she comes," Jen announced