The plane finally landed at the Hays Airport and she made the short walk to baggage claim to get her suitcase. She didn’t know the man holding the sign with her name written on it but Bernadine had texted her last night about having hired a new driver. She’d described him as Gary Clark’s uncle and being near Gen’s age, but she’d left out how nice he was to look at. Dressed in a well-tailored black suit and a crisp white shirt that showed off his large trim frame, he could’ve been a CEO. The small silver hoop in his ear added a bit of intrigue to his dashing appearance. The old Gen would never dare think such a thing, but the new and improved version of herself definitely appreciated his tall dark handsomeness. In spite of the changes she’d made to herself, she was still a lady and so she approached him and extended her hand. “Hello. I’m Genevieve Gibbs.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Terence Barbour. Most people call me TC.”
“What’s the C stand for?”
“Christopher.”
For a second she looked at him and he looked at her, until he finally said, “Um, let me take that bag.”
As she handed it off, she wondered why she felt so warm. Before she could analyze it his voice brought her back. “When we get outside, will you be okay waiting by the curb while I bring the car around? It’s in the lot.”
“That will be fine.”
Once they cleared the doors and stepped out into the chilly early April sunshine, he said, “Be right back.”
Yes, Genevieve decided, he was very handsome. Maybe even more so than Mal, or Clay for that matter. Thinking about Clay made her realize she needed to make a decision about whether their slow-moving relationship was still viable. Clay was a sweet, lovely man but he seemed to prefer the meek doormat Genevieve that she used to be, and since she didn’t, they were having issues.
The black town car slid smoothly to a stop beside her. TC got out, opened the door, and held it for her. “Thank you,” she offered quietly.
Once she was settled, he closed her in, took his seat behind the wheel, and off they went.
After clearing the airport property, he caught her eye in the mirror. “Some people like to talk while riding, others like silence. Which would you prefer?”
“A bit of both, I suppose.”
He nodded. “Sounds good. You want music? I found some jazz on one of the streaming channels.”
“That would be nice.”
As they turned onto the interstate, Gen listened to the music and mused upon being back in Henry Adams. She had to admit that little Dorothy from Kansas was right: there was no place like home. That also got her to thinking. When a woman her age decides to reinvent herself, living with someone like Marie who used every day to throw a pity party for herself was not her idea of fun—nor was it healthy. Marie needed to deal with her issues, make her apologies to everyone she’d offended and move on, but since she wouldn’t, Gen would be the one moving on instead. The idea broke her heart, but rooming with the cold and silent Marie was like living in a freezer and Gen wanted warmth in her life.
The station played an instrumental that was so memorable and familiar both she and TC said at the same time, “Haven’t heard this in years.”
They both laughed. It was Wes Montgomery’s “Bumping on Sunset”—a classic.
“Still sounds good,” TC said.
“Yes, it does.”
They listened with quiet appreciation to the groundbreaking guitar virtuoso who’d paved the way for greats like George Benson, Lee Ritenour, and others.
When the tune faded away, TC said, “Can you imagine how big he would’ve been in the music world had he lived?”
“If I remember correctly, he died rather young.”
“Yes. A heart attack at age forty-five,” he informed her solemnly. “Tomorrow isn’t promised.”
“No, it isn’t.” She sensed a sadness in his tone that made her wonder about its roots but she’d never be so rude as to ask.
A few more classic tunes played: “The Sidewinder” by Lee Morgan and “The Sermon” by organist Jimmy Smith. Her father Nelson had loved jazz. Growing up, she had her Motown and Stax, and he’d had his Blue Note and Verve labels.
TC’s voice interrupted her musings. “Ms. Brown said you were visiting Washington, DC?”
“Yes. My first trip and I had a great time. Have you ever been there?”
“No. Haven’t had the pleasure.”
“You should go. I toured the White House. Although going through the security checks was longer than the tour.”
He smiled at her in the mirror.
“I saw the African American Civil War museum and their beautiful monument across the street. It has the names of every man of color who served in the Civil War.”
“Wow. I’d really like to see that. I served in the Army during ’Nam. What else did you do—if you don’t mind me being nosy?”
She didn’t. “I took a fabulous nighttime tour of the monuments on a double-decker bus. And I saw the Native American museum.”
“I didn’t know there was such a museum.”
“There is, and the National Museum of African American History and Culture will be opening in the fall and I’m definitely going back to see it.”
“I’ve heard a lot about it. Saw specials on 60 Minutes and on C-SPAN.”
“C-SPAN? I don’t know too many people who watch C-SPAN, TC.”
“Impressed you, have I?”
She laughed. “Definitely.”
“Good.” He caught her eye in the mirror again, and Gen’s heart began a dance it hadn’t done in years. Surprised because she didn’t know Gary’s uncle from a can of paint, she forced herself to turn to the window and gaze out at the passing landscape lining the highway.
When they arrived at the Jefferson place, he parked, came around, and opened her door. She stepped out, thanked him and waited for him to remove her suitcase from the trunk.
“I’ll take this up to the porch for you.”
Once that was accomplished, she handed him his tip.
He declined it. “Not necessary. Ms. Brown pays me well.”
“But—”
He was already on his way back to the car. “Pleasure meeting you, Ms. Gibbs.”
Before she could respond, he drove away. Having enjoyed his company, she said wistfully, “Pleasure meeting you, too.”
Putting him out of her mind, she stuck her key in the lock and went inside.
Marie, wearing her signature cat-eye glasses, was seated in the front room watching All My Children.
“I’m back,” Gen said cheerily. “How are you? What have I missed?” Because there was always something going on in Henry Adams.
Marie shrugged. “Nothing. Same old same old.”
“I had a really good time. You should have come.”
No response. Gen sighed silently. Lately, trying to have a conversation with Marie was like pulling staples out of concrete. “I’m going up to my room and unpack. Do you want to do something later? Dinner at the Dog?” The Dog, formally named the Dog and Cow, was owned by their lifelong friend, Malachi July.
“No. I’m good. You can go if you like.”
Swallowing her disappointment, Gen and her suitcase climbed the stairs. It was official. She was definitely moving out, and the sooner she did the better.
That evening Genevieve checked herself out in her vanity mirror and nodded approvingly at her reflection. The new black velveteen jacket she’d purchased in Washington looked very classy with her red turtleneck, charcoal-gray wool pants, and black short-heeled boots. The simple gold chain around her neck matched the bangle on her wrist and the small hoops in her ears. She’d gone back to wearing her gray hair natural and she thought the elegant cut she’d also gotten in Washington set the tone for the image she wanted to convey: trim and fashionable yet classic. She and Clay had talked earlier on the phone and were going to have dinner at the Dog. In spite of their issues, she’d missed him and looked forward to the evening. They agreed on a time and that
he’d pick her up—since Gen didn’t drive—something else she needed to remedy. She’d relied on other people to get her around all her life and it was time to step up. She wondered if Clay would be willing to teach her.
When she got downstairs, Marie was still in front of the TV watching Wheel of Fortune. “Clay and I are going to the Dog for dinner.”
Marie replied with a distant nod. Gen wished she could help her friend find peace but that seemed impossible at the moment, so she left her and stepped outside to await Clay’s arrival.
He pulled up in his truck and she hurried down the walk to meet him.
“Hey, good-looking,” he said as he got out and came around to open the passenger-side door. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Good to have you home. Worried about you being in DC alone.”
She waved him off. “I was fine, just like I told you I would be.” She climbed in and he closed her door. Before her trip to Washington they’d had a small argument about her traveling alone. She’d appreciated his concern but her mind had been made up and that was that.
After getting into the truck on his side, he started the ignition, looked her way, and said, “I know you think you’re all that and a bag of chips, too, but no more trips by yourself. Okay?”
“Not okay.” His lips tightened but she didn’t care. Keeping her voice soft she asked, “Can we fuss after we eat?”
The smile that he showed cut the tension. “Yes, ma’am.”
As he drove toward town she sighed inwardly. His treating her like he always knew what was best was driving her nuts, but she reminded herself that she’d loved him since high school. Marrying Riley Curry instead had been the worst decision of her life. Now they were trying to rekindle what they’d lost decades ago and she was doing her best to ignore the tiny voice in her head that kept whispering it was too late.
The Dog and Cow was the only diner in town and, as always during the dinner hour, the place was jumping. The booths lining the walls and tables positioned in the middle of the large room were filled with people, and myriad conversations competed to be heard over the sound of the flashy red jukebox playing “Cowboys to Girls” by the Intruders. The family of the Dog’s owner, Malachi July, had lived in Henry Adams for over a century. Mal was also Clay’s BFF.
Upon seeing them enter, Mal came over and gave her a hug. “Welcome home. Did you have a good time?”
“I did.”
“Good. Hold on a minute and I’ll get you two a booth.”
While they waited Gen shared smiles and waves with a host of people she knew: from members of the young waitstaff like Bernadine’s daughter, Crystal, to Sheila Payne, the town’s director of special events, and Sheila’s husband, Marine Colonel Barrett. When Gen was young her main goal in life had been to leave town and see the world, and she thought by marrying Riley with his boastful plans it would happen, but as the years passed she found herself stuck in a loveless marriage with a man who cared more for a hog than he did for his wife. Now that she was finally in charge of her own life, she was content with this small town and the wonderful friendships she’d made because she was no longer stuck. In spite of Riley’s embezzlement, she was still financially secure—thanks to Bernadine’s advisors—and if she wanted to spend a week in Washington, DC, or even Paris, she could.
Mal waved them over to a booth on the far side of the room. When the smiling Crystal came over to take their order, Gen ordered the trout and veggies. Clay opted for steak, salad, and a baked potato. “I’ll get this right out,” Crystal promised.
She headed off to the kitchen to put in their order and Gen asked Clay, “So, what have you been doing while I was gone?”
“Besides worrying?”
Lord save me from this man! “Besides worrying.”
“Not much. Bing and I drove over to Topeka for the Black Farmers’ meeting. We’re still dealing with the fallout of the lawsuit. Some people with legitimate claim numbers are being told their cases were filed too late for them to be compensated.”
He was a member of the class action suit filed by Black farmers nationwide against the Agriculture Department for its decades of unethical loan disbursements and illegal land forfeitures. “Do the people who were denied have any options?” she asked.
“It doesn’t look like it, but we’ll see. We were also told that the ombudsman hired to look after our interests is raking in millions that should be going toward the settlement.”
She knew that Clay, his elderly housemate Bing Shepard, and some of the other farmers in the area had already received their portions of the landmark settlement, but others, particularly many of the women, had yet to receive a dime, and she found that shameful. “Did you see Marie at all while I was gone?”
“No. She’s been keeping to the house just like she did before you left. I’m worried about her.”
“So am I, and I wish I knew how to help. Living with her is like living in a tomb. I think I’m going to look into getting a mobile home.”
He paused. “Really?”
She nodded. “Time for me to move out and be on my own. I’ll talk to Lily and see what I need to do.”
“Are you going to put it on your land?”
“Yes. And sometime in the near future I’m going to have another house built.” And once it was ready she’d replace the roses and the sunflowers Riley’s damn hog had rooted up at her old place. She wouldn’t be able to replace the heirlooms and knickknacks given to her by her mother or grandmother, though. They’d been lost when Cletus trashed the house so thoroughly the county condemned it and then bulldozed the place. Her heart still ached over the loss. She glanced up to find Clay staring at her. “What’s the matter?”
“Why are you building a house?”
“So I’ll have a permanent place to stay, Clayton.”
“But what about us?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I thought you and I would be together.”
“We are, but I’m not ready to jump back into a marriage right this minute, and I’m too old-fashioned to live with a man who hasn’t put a ring on it.” Gen was a huge Beyoncé fan.
Once again his lips tightened. She wanted to ask him if he was planning to propose to her, but afraid he might say yes, she left the question alone.
He took a sip of water, and after putting the glass down leaned in and revealed quietly, “I’m not comfortable with who you’re trying to turn yourself into, Genevieve. You’re acting like you’re twenty-five.”
Her lips tightened this time. “I’m turning myself into the woman I should have been when I was twenty-five, Clay. Why is that making you uncomfortable? Don’t you want me to be happy with myself?”
Crystal’s return with their food stayed his response. After setting their plates in front of them, Crys asked, “Anything else I can get you two?”
“No, honey,” Gen answered. “I think we’re good.”
“Okay. Enjoy.”
Once Crystal moved away, Clay cut into his steak.
Gen asked gently, “Aren’t you going to tell me why you’re so uncomfortable?”
“Let’s just eat before our food gets cold.”
Shaking her head with exasperation, she began to eat.
The ride back to Marie’s place was as silent as their meal had been. When he stopped in front of the house, he confessed, “Honestly, I’m uncomfortable because I like the old Gen better. I enjoy looking after you, doing things for you, and you needing me. This new version doesn’t seem to need any of that.”
“I’m sorry I’m no longer helpless, Clay. For the first time in my life, I’m in control of me. Not my parents. Not Riley. Me. And I’m enjoying that. Can’t you be happy for me?”
“I’m an old-fashioned guy, Gen. I want to take care of my woman.”
She chose her words carefully. “And I appreciate that, but I don’t want to be taken care of, Clay. I’m finally figuring out who Genevieve Gibbs really is. Her strengths, her likes, her dislikes, and I would lo
ve it if you’d come along with me on this journey and cheer me on.”
He didn’t reply.
“You won’t even try, Clay. For us?”
He stared stonily out of his window and when he didn’t relent, she reached down and opened her door. “Okay,” she said, trying not to be overwhelmed by the sadness in her heart. “I’ll see you.” She got out, closed the door again, and started to the porch. He drove away and she didn’t look back.
Hearing Gen moving around upstairs, Marie couldn’t decide if she was glad to have her back or not. On the one hand, she’d been lonely knocking around in the big old house alone, but on the other hand, being by herself fed the funk she’d descended into since Rita Lynn’s visit last Christmas. Her cringeworthy behavior and the bridges she’d burned on that awful afternoon made her want to climb into a hole and never come out. Apologies to friends like Genevieve were warranted, yet she couldn’t bring herself to offer them due to her inner shame and humiliation. As a result, she hadn’t been to the Dog, attended the town meetings, or checked on how things were going at the beautiful school that bore her name. She knew she had to reenter the world at some point, but it was much easier not to. How do I face people again? She didn’t want to see the pity in Mal’s eyes now that he knew she’d been pining for him since middle school. They’d been friends over sixty years and he’d always viewed her as a sister. Marie had always prided herself on her inner discipline but when Rita Lynn, who’d given birth to Mal’s son while they were in high school, coolly revealed the truth about those feelings all that discipline flew out the window and she lost her mind. Age-old anger and resentment rose up like unleashed toxic lava, and next she knew she was spewing it all over the place—at Genevieve, Mal, and yes, Rita Lynn. If Rita Lynn hadn’t ended the encounter by dashing a glass of ice water in Marie’s face, there’s no telling how much more damage might’ve been done. Marie dragged her hands wearily down her face. And now, here she sat almost four months later, wallowing in self-pity and mad at a world that seemed to offer nothing but heartache. From her cold and distant mother, Agnes, to the son she’d been forced to put up for adoption and who wanted no contact, to her failed relationships with men. Marie was tired of being strong, optimistic, and hopeful. Her life had been one beatdown after another and she was tired of fighting back.