Finding Focus (4 page)

But first, coffee.

“Good mornin’,” the chipper girl behind the counter sings, her high ponytail swinging as she moves.

“Good morning,” I mumble, making a beeline to the coffee pot in the corner. Conversations do not happen this early without coffee.

“Sleep good?” she asks, watching me grab a Styrofoam cup off the counter.

I pour myself a cup and add in two packets of creamer. “Uh, it was okay.” I want to tell her it sucked—that their beds
suck
—but I turn and give her a smile. When I look back down at my coffee, it’s still black. Okay, maybe not
black
, but it’s definitely not the creamy tan I was going for. Opening three more packets of creamer, I pour them in and pray to God this doesn’t taste like road tar.

“So, where ya headed this mornin’?”

“Oh, I’m going to the Landry Plantation. Have you heard of it?”

She laughs, exactly the same way she laughed at me yesterday for referring to this
quaint
establishment as a hotel.

“I’m guessing that’s a yes?”

“Oh, honey,” she starts, waving her hand toward me, “
everyone
knows the Landrys.”

“Well, they seem like lovely people.”

“So, you’ve met them?” she asks, quirking an eyebrow at me. “
All
of them?”

“I met Mrs. Landry yesterday. Oh, and Travis, although I guess he’s not related, but he was really nice. He was working in the flower beds while I was there.”

“Just wait,” she says, her smile turning big and wide. I think her cheeks might even blush a bit. “Maybe you’ll have the
pleasure
of meeting the rest of the clan today.”

I nod, taking a step toward the door, needing to get going if I’m going to make it to the house before seven.

“Valerie,” an older man says as he walks from the room behind the counter.

Valerie?

“Hey, Dad. This is Dani Reed from New York City,” she says, nodding in my direction.

Hold the phone. Like,
Val
Valerie?

“Good mornin’, Ms. Reed. I hope your stay has been good so far.”

“Yes, it’s been good.” I nod, a hand glued to the door handle and the other holding on to my coffee.

Like . . .
that
Val? The Val who got fucked into next week? That Val? How many Vals
are
there in French Settlement?

“Well, you be sure to let us know if we can get you anything.” He smiles and his eyes crinkle. “Val, me and your mama gotta run into Red Stick today, so you’ll have to hold down the fort.”

Yeah, she’ll hold down the fort . . . with her back pressed to the door.
I almost laugh out loud before I catch myself.

“I’ve got it covered, Daddy,” she says, offering up a cheek for him to kiss. “No worries.”

“Have a good day, Ms. Reed.” He nods in my direction, and I wave with my coffee cup. His face is kind, and he has really pretty gray hair. It’s the perfect color of light gray and combed just so. His hair says, “I have a business meeting”, but his overalls and plaid shirt say, “Where’s my tractor”.

“Well,” I sigh, realizing I’ve spent a lot longer here than I’d intended, “I’ve gotta run.”

“See ya later.” She smiles and waves.

“Yeah, see ya later.”

On my drive back out to the plantation, I choke down my road-tar coffee and inhale a granola bar. When I was planning my day, I hadn’t considered there not being local fast food establishments nearby. I make a mental note to find somewhere to stock up on granola bars and, if I’m lucky, some bottled Starbucks . . . or a coffee pot for my room. There’s no way in hell I’m drinking that shit Val and her dad call coffee again.

I hope the inspiration I was feeling yesterday will still be there and I’ll get some good shots, something I can send over to Piper tonight . . . something that will make her proud and not regret offering me this job. I called her last night after my encounter with the fuck god and she said something came up and she probably won’t be able to visit as we originally planned.

During the quick drive, I roll my windows down and soak in the morning sun and fresh air. The warm breeze wraps around me, causing my heart to stutter, and suddenly I’m missing my granny so bad, my chest physically hurts. It’s funny how it just hits me out of nowhere sometimes. It’s been seven years since she passed away and seven years since I’ve been this far south of the Mason-Dixon Line. Being here makes me miss her more, but it’s also like a soothing balm, water in a desert . . . exactly what my soul needs. Letting out a deep breath, I try to let go of the sadness while keeping her memory with me. I could use a little granny magic today.

I can picture her at her kitchen stove, her back turned to me. When she would hear me come in the door, she’d call out my full name, telling me to get myself in there. Then she’d hug me tightly, tell me I’m too skinny, and make me sit at her table while she cooked for me. Her kitchen always smelled like sugar and fresh baked bread. The second I would walk in, I knew I was home. I haven’t felt that way in a long time. What I wouldn’t give to be able to drive this car to Mississippi to see her.

I pull up in front of the large white house and step out of the car, taking a deep breath of fresh air. Tilting my face to the sun, I let the warmth wash over. The yellow and gold of the morning illuminates the tops of the trees, making them glow. The drops of water on the grass from the sprinklers glisten like diamonds as the freshness of pine and lilac fill my nose. It smells like home and family and happiness.

As my feet touch the first step, the front door swings open and a radiant Annie Landry steps through, looking like the epitome of a southern lady. Her pale blue linen pants flow in the breeze, as does her loose-fitting blouse. “Good mornin’, Dani Reed,” she calls, waving from the top of the steps. “You’re sure out here early.”

“Early bird catches the worm, right?” I smile, making my way up to her.

“That, it does, darlin’. That, it does.” She takes my arm and links hers around mine, pulling me into the house. “I was hoping you’d stop by early enough for some breakfast. Everyone needs a good meal to start the day.” Her cheerful voice is like a song. I could stay and listen to her for hours, but I really need to get to work.

“Well, actually, I had a granola bar on the way out here this morning, and I’m running a little later than I had planned.”

“Oh, shoo.” She waves me off. “You have a few minutes to sit down and have a croissant. I just pulled them out of the oven.”

The smell of baked pastries and fresh-brewed coffee hits my nose and my mouth begins to salivate. “I’m sure a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt anything.” That’s my stomach talking.

Annie’s brilliant smile tells me I’ve made her very happy. “Good,” she says. “Now, sit. Let me fix you a plate.”

A moment later, she sets a plate full of fresh fruit and a warm croissant in front of me. “Juice, coffee, or both?”

“Coffee, please.” I practically moan in appreciation. I really did need this. “The coffee at the motel this morning left a lot to be desired,” I explain, trying to be polite. “And the last meal I had was yesterday before I left New York.”

“Well, that just won’t do.” I look up to see her expression take a serious turn. “We can’t have our guest starving. I mean, what will you write about us?”

We both laugh lightly. “I promise it will be all good,” I tell her.

“Maw!” a boisterous voice calls out from the foyer and a door slams shut, cutting me off from saying more.

“Kitchen, Deacon. And please, use your manners. We have company.” Annie rolls her eyes as a tall, buff man walks into the kitchen. He gives me a wide smile that matches his mother’s, and two large dimples dip into his cheeks. He’s cute, in a ruggedly handsome kind of way. Actually, he looks like the kind of person who would be offended by the word “cute”.

He immediately scoops Annie up in a hug, covering her small frame with his large one, and she squeals, demanding him to stop. “You’ve gotta watch this one, Dani.” She smirks, nudging Deacon with her elbow. “This one’s
canaille.
” She winks, swatting him with the dishtowel in her hand.

Having no idea what she’s talking about, I quirk an eyebrow in question.

She laughs. “He’s got mischief oozing out of him.” She reaches up and pinches his cheeks. “Can’t you see it?”

I laugh with them. “I can.”

Deacon looks at me with all that mischief his mother spoke of moments before.

“Dani Reed,” I tell him, offering my hand across the counter.

“Hello,” he says, dipping his head and taking my hand. “Deacon Landry, ma’am.” His sly smile and syrupy-sweet voice lets me know he’s pouring on the manners to suit his mother, and it makes me laugh. “So, you’re the city-slicker photographer who’s come to take our pictures?”

“Yes. I’m here to do an article on the plantation and all of you.”

“Well, this oughta be fun.” He slaps his hands together, and I can’t help but agree.

“Annie, thank you so much for the delicious breakfast.” I wipe my mouth on a napkin and stand to take my dishes to the sink before she can stop me. “Deacon,” I say, turning to the mammoth beside me, “it was lovely meeting you.”

“Likewise, Ms. Reed.”

I shake my head. If his mother weren’t around, I doubt he’d be this formal. From the smile on her face, she knows it, too.

It’s cute. They’re cute. Their ease and playfulness is contagious and kind of addictive, but I excuse myself and hurry outside, knowing I have a lot of work to do and hanging around with them would not be conducive to that.

I quickly pull my camera from the car, adjust the settings, and get to work, not wanting to waste these last few moments of precious morning sun. As I make my way around the property, the story begins to unfold in my mind.

The grand porches set perfectly for slowing down and listening to a friend.

The open doors.

Open windows.

White curtains dancing in the breeze.

Lush green against stark white.

Rolling fields that have stood the test of time.

Tall oak trees whispering quiet strength and confidence.

Inspiration comes easy. It’s just a matter of portraying what I’m seeing onto the glossy pages of a magazine.

Occasionally, I find a soft spot to sit, pull my small notepad from my pocket, and jot down specific shot locations and areas I’d like to revisit with different lighting.

The overhead sun beating down on me lets me know it’s probably noon. A small pond catches my eye and I stroll over, shooting a few midday shots. There isn’t a lot I can accomplish with the sun so harsh, but I make the best of my time.

A few hours later, I find myself under a welcoming shade tree and sit down to rest my feet. A bead of sweat drips down my face and I wipe it away as I pull a bottle of water and another granola bar out of my backpack. It’ll have to suffice for lunch. Thank goodness Annie insisted I eat some of her delicious croissants and fruit this morning, or I’d be famished.

Once I finish my snack, I stuff the trash back into my backpack and look up to see the house in the distance. I didn’t realize just how far I’d walked. Not ready to make the trek back just yet, I pull my shoes and socks off, and sink my toes into the coolness of the grass. Leaning back against the tree, I begin looking through the shots on my camera, immediately seeing a few I know are going to be keepers. I can’t wait to get them onto my laptop so I can see them on a bigger screen.

Placing my camera in my lap, I lean my head back and close my eyes. The breeze cools my hot skin, and I let my mind relax as it plays back beautiful images of the day.

Green grass.

Green trees.

Vast blue skies.

Dirt roads.

Slow pace.

Open embraces.

Warmth.

“Hey.” Something nudges my foot, and when I don’t open my eyes, it nudges my leg. “Rise and shine.”

A smile plays on my lips, but I still don’t open my eyes. “Hey, Deacon.”

“You’ve been out here awhile, city-slicker. Mama sent me to look for you. You can’t just disappear and not check in. She’ll have an all-out search and rescue party putting an APB on your ass.”

I open my eyes, realizing the sun is far into the western sky, which means I must have fallen asleep. “I’m sorry,” I tell him, trying to stand. His large hands grip my arms and pull me the rest of the way up.

“No big deal.” He smiles a big, toothy grin. “I wasn’t worried. You’ll have to apologize to Mama, though.”

I laugh lightly, not knowing whether he’s joking or not. “I guess I lost track of time,” I tell him.

“Sleepin’ on the job is more like it.”

The hint of a smile on his face tells me he’s just giving me a hard time.

“You gonna tell my boss?”

“I might. Is this a common habit?”

“Only when I’m working in the seventh layer of hell on a June day and slept like crap the night before.”

“So, Willow Oak Motel doesn’t have Sleep Number beds yet?”

I laugh loudly. “No. Willow Oak is lacking in several areas of hospitality . . . well, unless you’re a
special
guest.”

He frowns at me, not following.

“Never mind,” I tell him, waving him off. I’ve only been here a day. I think it’s a little too soon for me to join in on the town gossip.

“You hungry?” he asks, walking beside me as we make our way back up to the house.

“I could eat.”

“Good, because my mama made it my job to make sure you get fed, but first, we’ve gotta stop in the house and show her you’re still alive and kickin’.” He winks my way and the way he smiles lets me know there’s a little truth behind his claim.

“She seems really concerned about people eating.”

“She is. She makes it her job, and she takes it very seriously.”

“I can see that.” I nod.

“Maybe it’s a southern mama thing. It doesn’t matter if you’re her kid, neighbor, or a stranger, she’s going to make sure you always have something to eat.”

I smile, knowing exactly what he’s talking about. He just described my granny. She was always cooking for someone: me, church, someone sick, a new mom, her neighbors.