Dancing Naked in Dixie (10 page)

Shug moves his foot a few inches, then another. He’s barely picking up the soles of his shoes from the concrete. Only his hands give him away. They’re open wide, ready for his body to lunge forward.

I hold my breath as Ella Rae performs a slow pirouette on the banister, then extends one leg behind her. Her hands flutter, grasping at the air for balance, then she steadies herself.

Shug is closer.

Ella Rae has noticed. One eye on her uncle, she moves her leg perpendicular to the ground and dismounts with the grace of an Olympic athlete. In one smooth motion, Shug grabs Ella Rae underneath her arms and swings her up onto his shoulders. Ella Rae squeals with delight and claps, as Shug makes her bounce like a rider teaching her horse to canter.

“I’m thirsty, Uncle Shug,” Ella Rae announces with a sweep of her hand. As Shug sets her on the ground, Ella Rae breaks into a run. I realize she’s heading in my direction—for the pitcher of sweet tea, and six glasses beaded with condensation.

I concentrate on willing Ella Rae to stop before she plows into the end table next to my elbow. Just in case, I hold out my arms to brace the impact. I mean, really? How much damage can a 40-pound six-year-old do?

“Julia!” I hear Shug say with a hint of urgency. “You might want to—”

It’s already too late.

Ella Rae hits the table like a bowling ball; the glasses wobble like pins. One falls, then another. In slow motion, the rest knock against each other, crack apart, and tumble to the ground in pieces.

It’s a bit like a car crash, when you know you’ve made a mistake. You’re already in the middle of the intersection and the other vehicle is about to rearrange your fender. Everything’s in slow motion, and there’s not a thing you can do about it. You just sit and wait for the situation to play out.

“Yikes!” I can’t help but say when the tea and ice cubes hit my legs. It’s freezing cold and I’m now drenched with the syrupy brown liquid. Drops of it cling to my hair and cheek. I move my head to shake them loose.

I expect to see blood. But, on the ground to my right, Ella Rae’s managed to roll away unscathed. From a half-circle of broken glass, Shug deftly plucks his niece from the mess and sets her next to the front door.

Out of nowhere, laughter bubbles up in my chest. I try to cover my face with my hands in mock despair, but can’t because they’re bathed in a sticky film. Ella Rae, now pasted flat to the stucco wall, manages a smile.

“Are you okay?” Shug gives me a strange look of bewilderment.

I gasp for breath, but can’t stop giggling. How much worse can this get? In the span of several hours, I’ve had my rental SUV attacked, been accosted by fire ants, my religious life questioned, my Diet Dr. Pepper almost refused. Now, I’ve been bathed in a drink so sweet I’ll probably stick to the dining room chairs.

I inhale through my nose and try to swallow. Okay, there, you can do it. Focus.

“It’s just … it’s just,” I glance at Shug’s incredulous face and start to giggle again. I bend over and hug my knees, then pinch myself to get a grip. I try again.

Looking amused, he whispers to Ella Rae. She slips inside the house without a sound.

“It’s just that I am supposed to be in Manhattan. And I’d probably be out at a very nice restaurant where nothing ever gets spilled, and people are very, very serious about their meal, and equally serious about their hundred-year old scotch.”

Shug picks up a piece of glass. It glints in his hand, winking at me.

“I’m supposed to be
there
,” I say. “But I’m
here
.” Which is thousands of miles away from home, twenty degrees too warm, a trip that is—so far—just short of a complete nightmare.

Things aren’t turning out anything remotely like I planned. I haven’t done the first interview. And I’m starving. I tap my semi-soaked shoe, trying to gather my thoughts. With every movement, my heels squish. But I’m not unhappy. Not in the least.

“And so?” he echoes, not taking his eyes off me.

I glance down at my outfit, which I have to admit, isn’t completely ruined. It will dry.

“Not what you expected?” he prompts, his face is awash with worry.

“Something like that,” I laugh and dab at my face with the edge of my sleeve.

“Well,” Shug hesitates. “It would mean a lot if you’d stay.”

I’m about to unleash a silly comment when I see his face. And melt.

“What I meant to say is that I’m fine. I’m not leaving,” I muster a determined look and crouch down. “I’ll help clean this up.” My fingertips find the rough concrete as I steady myself and search for shards of glass.

“I have an idea. How about this?” Shug says.

I think he’s found something unusual, so I look up, and we nearly bump heads. Shug sits back on his heels and pushes his palms against his khakis. “We’ll start over,” he explains. “From scratch.” His hand stretches out to me again. “Shug Jordan. Nice to meet you.”

He has my attention now. Anyone who passes by this porch will think we’re insane. On hands and knees, I lift one arm and slide my hand into his waiting palm anyway.

The door swings open as Shug touches my hand. And doesn’t let go.

“Shug? Julia?” I hear a female voice call.

When I glance up, I wrench my arm back and my fingers wiggle free as PD takes in the shattered mess and spilled tea. Traces of liquid are left, but most has soaked into the crevices and cracks.

I paste on my brightest smile and direct it at Shug’s sister. “Care to join in? We’ve been doing gymnastics. Ella Rae was first on the balance beam.”

Beside me, Shug lets out a snicker.

PD just stares as if I’ve sprouted another head.

“Shug was trying for a handstand, but he’s not very good,” I said breezily.

“I think I’ll pass,” PD shoots a strange look at both of us. “Anyway, dinner’s ready. You’ll probably want to get cleaned up.”

The screen door creaks and closes.

“Julia,” Shug begins, “why—”

“It’s fine,” I cut in, straightening up and brushing off both hands.

“You didn’t have to take the blame.” Shug’s eyes search mine, curious. “Why did you?”

I don’t know quite how to answer. There are a million tiny reasons, all equally valid.

Just pick one, I tell myself—I was the same way, a little out of control, on the edge of everyone’s nerves?

Or, I could tell Shug that Ella Rae might have ADHD. Or something like it. And remind him that she’s already been in trouble once today.

Finally, there’s this answer: Given a little time—say, the next ten years—maybe Ella Rae will outgrow it. Or learn to manage it better. And she’ll be okay.

I don’t explain.

Instead, I sum it up this way.

“She reminds me … of me.”

Chapter 11

Unlike the streets of Manhattan, the twenty square feet of the Jordan dining room leaves little space to disappear. I press myself against the wooden edge of a side-table, out of the way.

When Mary Katherine and Shug’s father arrive at precisely the same time, the family sweeps them up into a hugging frenzy.

Shug’s father turns to greet me. From his profile, I’ve already noted the same dark hair, the identical angled jaw line. There’s an air of nonchalance in the way he carries himself, a hint of mischievous little boy.

“Julia Sullivan,” I say and extend my arm to shake his hand.

“Toomer Jordan, but you can call me TJ.” With the force of a steamroller, I find myself being crushed, arms flailing, against the barrel-chested man whom I just laid eyes on a moment ago. My feet lift off the floor, and I struggle for air.

Aubie saves me. I hear the kitchen door swing behind her. “Thomas Jefferson Jordan, put her down.” The words, slightly slurred, are rigid, nonetheless.

Immediately, I’m back to Earth, and the soles of my shoes slam against the carpeting.

“Thank you,” I gasp.
Do that to a stranger in New York and you’d likely be slapped with an order of protection or get sued.
Clearly, behind the Mason-Dixon Line, life is much cozier.

“Aw, Aubie, I didn’t mean nothing,” TJ’s voice lies. He winks in my direction and moves over to bear hug Ella Rae. TJ growls like an animal, and his granddaughter screams with delight as he throws her in the air, millimeters away from the fifteen-tier crystal chandelier. PD watches, tight-lipped.

“May I help with anything?’ I offer, as Aubie makes her way toward the kitchen.

She shoos me away with a firm push of her hands.

“Enjoy yourself, dear,” she urges.

I watch in awe as Aubie transports plates heaping with food to the dining room. She disappears, and I count five seconds, then she’s back with another dish, this time fried chicken, glistening gold. She sets down the plate, puffs of steam rise. Then, she’s gone again.

When I think no one’s looking in my direction, I snatch a moment to check the puffy, red skin on my ankle. As I twist my leg in the light, trying to see, Mary Katherine breaks her conversation with Shug to rush over and inspect my leg.

“Lord have mercy, bless your heart!” In four-inch heels, she tiptoes over and examines the raised, angry spots. “Did Aubie get you with the vinegar?” Mary Katherine asks, covering a smirk with wide-eyed innocence.

Before I can take a breath, Ella Rae pipes up, “Shug dumped it on her. A whole jug of it.” She sniffs the air, “Can’t you smell it?”

“Young lady,” PD cautions, giving her daughter a pointed look and shaking her head.

Mary Katherine, ignoring the insult, lays a cool hand on my shoulder. “You just be careful, honey. Things aren’t the same here as in New York.”

So I’ve noticed.

“I’m going to get MeeMaw,” PD calls out.

“Everyone find a seat,” Aubie says over a pot of beans she sets in the middle of the table. She takes a wobbly step back to survey the scene.

Mary Katherine does her best not to scowl across the table as Shug sidles into the chair next to me. Before I can offer to swap seats, TJ lumbers by.

“You gonna watch Duke this weekend?” He yanks back the chair at the head of the table and nods at Shug. The chair groans as he plops down, leans back, and props one elbow lazily over the armrest.

“If I get time,” Shug answers. “And I think Carolina looks good.”

“Eddie Jackson’s got a pool goin’. Big money.
Big.
You want in?” With a muscled hand, TJ yanks at the napkin from beside his plate and flicks it open with the snap of his wrist. The fabric flutters in front of his ample stomach and disappears under the tablecloth.

I blink and take in the exchange, watching Shug react to his father.

“No thanks,” he says, offering an easy smile. “I like my money right where it is.”

TJ shakes his head and rolls his eyes, like Shug has just told him the world is flat, not round. “Son, we’re talking easy cash.”

“There’s no such thing,” PD snaps from the doorway. She is guiding a tiny woman in a wheelchair into the only open spot at the table. As they walk closer, PD pauses next to me. I turn to stand up and greet her.

“MeeMaw, this is Miss Julia Sullivan,” Shug’s sister yells, close to the woman’s ear. “From New York City.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say and take her tiny hand in mine. The woman looks as frail as balsa wood. Her skin is the color of parchment paper. MeeMaw’s white hair is swept away from her face into a simple chignon.

I expect to see the cloudiness of cataracts, the result of age and wear, but her eyes are a sharp, deep, black-brown mahogany. A small notepad and pencil are cradled in the folds of her long, blue cotton skirt.

MeeMaw nods hello, and PD nudges the chair further down the table, fussing over her with tenderness.

Shug bends his head close to mine. “Daddy’s mama. She had a stroke and can’t talk.”

The notebook and pencil make sense now. I can’t imagine losing the ability to speak. Everything would bottle up inside me, fill to the top, and burst.

Aubie downs another swallow of spiked tea. “Say the blessing, TJ,” she commands as she sets her glass on the table.

TJ clears his throat and lifts his arms like the conductor of an orchestra. Everyone, except for me, joins hands with the person next to them. I slide my palm to the table and let it rest there. Shug finds my fingers. Ella Rae’s tiny palm slips into my other hand.

Heads bow around the table.

“Heavenly Father,” TJ begins, “We thank you for this day and all the blessings you have bestowed upon this family. We are humbled in your very presence, Oh Lord, and feel you working in our daily lives. I pray that we may be forgiven for our sins, and remember that you sent your only Son to die on the cross so that we may have eternal life in your magnificent kingdom of heaven.” Shug’s father continues in this fashion for at least another five minutes, adding in blessings for the community, the governor of Alabama, and members of the Auburn University football team.

I try not to wiggle. My right leg is asleep, and my neck is starting to spasm. My eye opens a sliver, just enough to see Ella Rae glance at me from under the fringe of her hair. TJ keeps talking and we sit, smiling at each other.

“And thank you, dear Lord, for sending us Jessica from New York City …”

“Julia,” Ella Rae interrupts and I try not to laugh.

TJ clears his throat. “Thank you dear Lord, for sending
Julia
from New York City. Watch over her and keep her safe as
Julia
visits our fine city.” He takes a breath. “Finally, Heavenly Father, bless this food to our bodies and us to your service. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

Shug squeezes my hand and lets go. With a clatter, forks and knives are picked up and the conversation begins again in earnest. As I pass the platters, taking a sample of each, I notice that Mary Katherine chooses the tiniest drumstick and scoops only five beans onto her plate. She eyeballs my portion with a touch of satisfaction and sweeps her napkin onto her lap.

No wonder she’s so thin. Oh well.

“Okra.” Shug’s voice pulls me away from worrying about Mary Katherine. He hands me a steaming bowl with pellet-sized pieces of vegetable, each green piece coated with a golden breading. A tangy but sweet smell tickles my nose. I hesitate, then scoop a small helping onto my plate. At least three pieces bounce off onto the table and leave grease marks behind.