Dancing Naked in Dixie (7 page)

Mary Katherine lowers her eyes and takes a tiny nibble of her toast. At this rate, we’ll be here a million years.

I dip my spoon carefully into the creamy-white grains, as if I’m testing the water of a swimming pool the first day of summer break. A bit of it sticks to the end of my spoon. Looks harmless enough. I close my eyes and put the spoon to my lips. Hmm. Bumpy and kind of bland. A little salty.

When I open my eyes, Shug is staring at me with an amused look on his face. “You really should try it with cheese,” he recommends.

“Oh, no,” I say, horrified. The brown sugar arrives and I am totally distracted. I dump half the bowl into the grits and begin to stir. The sugar melts into a lovely taupe swirl. Without hesitating, I spoon some into my mouth. Mmm. Pure heaven.

“So, tell us about how you became a writer,” Shug asks.

I smile, grateful he’s changed the subject. “I grew up around it, so it seemed like a natural career fit for me, too. My father’s been a journalist all of his life. He started out as a newspaper reporter in the South, worked his way up the East Coast, then went to New York and got into the magazine industry.”

Even Mary Katherine looks impressed. “Shug’s in the family business,” I hear her say.

“Really? The travel and tourism business?”

“No,” Shug tries not to laugh. “She means that I’m part owner of Jordan Construction and so is my sister. My father runs the business. The Historic Chattahoochee Commission is my full-time job.”

“For now it is,” Mary Katherine adds tersely. “It’s a great service to the community. But it’s so demanding and keeps Shug here all of the time.”

Somehow, I don’t think I’m getting the full story. I focus on my grits and brown sugar.

“Traveling is so glamorous.” Mary Katherine sounds wistful, almost human. “I’ll bet you’ve been to all of the most wonderful places. Paris, London, Rome.”

“I’m just back from Italy. Belize before that,” I say, nodding.

“Do you love it?” she asks, hopeful, leaning closer.

“I do. I see so many different places and different people. I don’t have any commitments. I’m not stuck anywhere.”

Then, I see Shug staring off into space.
Have I upset him?

Staying here is probably what’s expected of him. Like the mafia, but not as clandestine and illegal. He does it for family. A sacrifice.

“But there’s nothing wrong with living in a lovely place like Eufaula.” I look at Mary Katherine with an apologetic grin. “Besides, travel isn’t all that glamorous. You lose your luggage, miss flights, the weather can be awful, and hotels can lose electricity. I never get my mail.”

Mary Katherine looks unconvinced and takes another bite of dry toast. Doesn’t she have somewhere to go? Something to do? Exercise? Haircut? A job?

Which reminds me about my own career.

I put down my spoon, dab at my lips with a napkin, and prepare myself to listen, forcing my body to be still.

“So,” I say, “Tell me all about Eufaula.”

Chapter 7

Mary Katherine looks immediately pained and purses her lips, as if someone poured a pound of salt in her sweet tea.

“Oh, my. Gotta run, y’all,” she twitters and pushes back her chair. Ever the gentleman, Shug jumps to his feet again.

She pecks Shug on the cheek and turns to me with an apologetic look. “Have to get to Dothan. I’m squeezing in a mani-pedi before my meeting at the bank. Can’t be late.”

The thing is, as I gaze in her direction, Mary Katherine’s fingernails and toes look immaculate, like tiny shells painted a pale coral color. Not one chip.

She gathers her purse, then takes time to fuss with Shug’s collar. I’m certain the gesture is a sign, a symbol, perhaps a warning to me. Mary Katherine is marking her territory, making sure that I know what’s what. She might as well hammer a sign above Shug’s head, “Private Property. No Trespassing.”

Don’t worry sweetheart, I want to say. It’s all business. I play with the straw in my water glass to illustrate just how detached I am from the whole scene. I wonder why someone as beautiful as she is has to put so much effort into demonstrating ownership.

Andrew wouldn’t know what to make of it if I acted swoony. I’m the first to vouch that my boyfriend deserves more attention. He always teases that he’s going to file a missing person report when I’m off on assignment for more than a week.

With men, staking a claim doesn’t do any good anyway. If they want to leave, they just do. Take my father, for example.

“Julia,” Mary Katherine is trying to get my attention. She waves a finger in front of my face. “Thought we’d lost you for a minute there.”

“Oh no,” I recover, “just running through some ideas.” I certainly can’t tell her the truth. That she’s a possessive girlfriend with security issues.

Mary Katherine wrinkles her brow.

“For the article,” I explain.

“Oh, sugar,” she claps her hands. “I meant to ask you, Julia … and I’m sure you won’t mind, Shug.”

Uh-oh, I’m already thinking. Shug looks a tad uncomfortable.

“Please join us for dinner tonight at the Jordan’s. It’ll be great. You can ask all kinds of questions about Eufaula. And meet the rest of the family. They have all sorts of photos and books from the old days. Don’t they, honey?”

“Sure. Good idea,” Shug chimes in, relieved.

What?
He was supposed to disagree. I’m already shaking my head no. I need a bubble bath and a glass of wine. Then, sleep. Dinner can be Diet Dr. Pepper and a Hershey Bar.

They both look at me expectantly.

“I think I need to rest, with the long trip and all…” I start to explain.

Mary Katherine immediately pouts. Shug looks taken aback. Great, I’ve just broken some long-standing rule of Southern hospitality. Never say no to an invitation. “You need to meet MeeMaw. And Aubie and TJ.”

Who is she talking about? Does everyone have crazy nicknames?

My resolve crumbles. “Well, I suppose I can if it’s no trouble.”

“Good. Then it’s all settled. Say, about six-fifteen? See you then!” Mary Katherine reaches over and squeezes my hand like we’ve been best friends for years. “Can’t wait to see you tonight.”

Then she’s gone.

“Whew!” I don’t mean to say it out loud, but somehow it escapes from my brain and travels out my mouth before I can catch it.

Shug starts to chuckle. He throws a twenty and a ten on the table. “She’s something, isn’t she?”

“Um.” I’m not sure how to answer.

“Don’t worry about it. Mary Katherine operates at 150 percent all of the time. She tries to make a good impression. She wants everyone to like her. I’m sure she just wanted to make sure you felt welcome.”

“Oh,” I say and feel slightly guilty. Maybe I judged her too quickly.

“You ready to go?”

“Absolutely.”

“We’ll grab your bags and drop them off so you can get settled. Probably best if you leave the SUV at my office. No need to drive around with a shattered windshield.”

Balmy air hits me as Shug holds open the door. We step outside, and I am blinded, the way immediate bright light shuts down your senses. When I regain my focus, I get the strangest feeling. Then, I realize that the sidewalks are almost empty. One person wanders up ahead, window-shopping.

It’s so peaceful. So quiet. So not New York. In the City, there’s the rushed crackle of electricity on the streets. Everyone in his or her own little world. People too busy to strike up a conversation, every head on the subway buried in the
Wall Street Journal
. Hot dog vendors on every corner. Street salesmen hocking knock-off designer purses and jewelry.

There’s none of that here.

“It’s funny to think that folks managed without air conditioning for eons,” Shug is saying as we start to walk. “Of course, if you’ve lived here all your life, it’s not that bad.”

“I wouldn’t have made it,” I say, half-joking. “I’m not that tough. What does the temperature get to in the summer? Ninety-nine in the shade?”

Shug laughs and nods.

“If I had to stay outside in July, I’d probably melt.” I shade my eyes at the glare as we round the corner, and I try not to run toward the trees lining the street and sidewalks up ahead.

“Oh, I think you’re wrong,” Shug says with a sidelong glance at me. “We all underestimate our own strength and determination.” He pauses, thoughtful.

And I realize he’s not talking about the heat at all.

“Almost three hundred years ago,” Shug says with a sweeping motion toward the expanse of antebellum houses and trees in front of us, “none of this existed. Only Creek Indian tribes and wildlife lived here. Then, two hundred years ago, the first white settlement was established. The people built a steamboat wharf, which boosted trade between Alabama and Georgia.”

I nod, taking it in.

“None of it would have happened unless someone first believed it could be done, put the plans in place, and led the charge.”

He’s animated now, talking about the history of the region. I imagine he sees women with parasols and hoop skirts, the men in hats and long coats, horse-drawn carriages with the clip-clop sound of progress.

“My office is the Hart House,” he explains as we pause in front of the building. “It’s Greek Revival; constructed in the mid-1800s. One of Eufaula’s original settlers, John Hart, built the home. We’ve been able to keep the integrity of the original structure virtually unchanged.”

Shug’s eyes caress the small cottage, its hipped roof, and the six white columns that shelter the front porch. “It’s home right now, which horrifies my parents, especially my mother, who’d love me to buy the Pitts-Gilbert House or the Russell-Jarrett—”

The confusion on my face makes him stop.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “Many homes in the area are named after the families who lived there. Those names are often combined with the families who live there or own them now. For example, my parents’ house is Jordan Manor, down the street is the Couric-Smith Home— it was featured several years back on the
Today
show. Katie Couric traced her own family history.”

I raise my eyebrow, impressed, and bite my lip. Perhaps if I would have taken the time to do some research, I’d have realized that. I find my keys in my purse, pop the trunk on the Expedition, and take out my lone piece of luggage.

“You travel light,” Shug comments and takes the handle of my suitcase. “Mary Katherine needs a trailer or two.”

“Years of practice,” I grin and hit the button to lock the SUV.

“Am I giving you information-overload about Eufaula?” Shug takes a step back to scrutinize my reaction. “Mary Katherine says I tend to do that. She teases that I know the ghosts from the past better than I do the people living around me.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe it’s true.”

He’s joking, but I sense a hard edge to his confession.

“Not at all,” I reply. “I’m fascinated.”

“Okay, good.” Shug smiles and waves for me to follow him.

“So,” I ask, “with all the generations of families, and with naming these mansions, it seems like every house would have its own story.”

Shug smiles. “Exactly. And every good story starts with asking the right questions.” He flushes. “I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job. It’s just my opinion. I’ve always wanted to write a book, maybe about Eufaula. I just haven’t found the time.”

As I half-listen to his explanation, I wonder if David warned him.

The right questions.

I brush off the hint of doubt creeping up my spine with the shake of my head.

Surely, David didn’t say anything.

I know how to do my job. I know how to get a story together. I know how to delve in, ask questions, and find the heart of the issue.

I’m a seasoned journalist, after all. I’ve won awards. I’m a professional who works for a national magazine.

But, the nagging uncertainty won’t disappear. It lingers with the persistence of a gnat buzzing in my ear.

Go away, David
, I want to shout.
Leave me alone. I know what I’m doing.

It’s the heat, I finally decide. The humidity is seeping into my brain.

We arrive at the bed and breakfast. It’s lovely, with huge, beveled glass doors and a sprawling porch. “Let’s get you inside. You might melt, remember?”

We both laugh, causing a passerby to stare.

“Meet you back here in an hour?” Shug grins again, his entire face lighting up. He’s really handsome, thoughtful, and smart. The total package. No wonder Mary Katherine is so protective.

“Okay,” I nod and smile as a shock of hair falls over his forehead. Adorable.

Down the street, a car honks, yanking me back to reality.
Stop it Julia. You’re in Eufaula on business, not to gawk at the South’s not-so-eligible bachelors.

As I watch Shug disappear around the corner of the building, David’s words float into my mind—rising and popping like air bubbles reaching the surface of a lake.

I’ll give you a chance to redeem yourself
.
Put your heart into it.

No sugar-coating there.

No hand-holding.

No promises or guarantees.

I straighten my shoulders and take a deep breath. I can do this. Piece of cake, right?

My personal pep talk doesn’t do much good. One thought—one niggling, twisting thought—shakes me to the core.

What if my best isn’t good enough?

Chapter 8

I desperately want to:

Put my feet up

Be alone for five minutes

Unpack my wrinkled clothes

Put on some lip gloss

Wash my face

Not too much to ask, right? But, when I see what—or should I say who—is waiting for me inside the B & B, I know I can forget all of it.

The owner—it has to be—is dressed like someone off the cover of last month’s GQ. His dark hair is close-cropped; his high cheekbones are set off by immaculate sideburns. Starched pale pink shirt, tiny wire-rimmed glasses, trim suit, and flowered tie.

In contrast to the massive walnut dining room table in the center of the room, he’s thin and wiry, with delicate hands. His body is bent slightly over a vase of flowers, like he’s telling a secret to the huge arrangement of lilies—all listening intently with upturned faces.