Chapter 11: Flowers for Granny

"Hey, babe," Bentley called up. "Long drive. You're a hard woman to find."

My lips were still wet from Jeb's mouth.

I wiped them with the back of my hand and went down the steps.

Jeb came right behind me. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. He just stood there, large.

Bentley looked him up and down through the car window.

"Who's this? The lumberjack?"

"He runs the sawmill," I said. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to apologize. To you, and to your grandmother."

He picked up the roses and smiled the smile that used to win investors.

"I made mistakes. I want to fix them in person. Like a man."

Behind me, the elder's screen door creaked.

Half the Easterly family was crowding the porch to watch.

"Go home, Bentley."

"I've got a room at the motel by the highway. I'm not going anywhere till we talk."

He put the car in reverse and backed down the gravel, waving out the window.

Jeb watched the taillights go.

"That's him?"

"That's him."

"Huh," he said. "I thought he'd be taller."

***

He came to Granny's at ten the next morning.

I was in the shower. I heard his voice through the bathroom window and nearly fell over the tub.

By the time I got downstairs with wet hair, he was on the porch in a quarter-zip sweater, holding Granny's hand.

There were roses on the rail. There was a store-bought coconut cake on the swing.

And the porch was full of neighbors again.

Word traveled fast in the Hollow, and a black sedan with Illinois plates traveled faster.

"Mrs. Sadler, I've wanted to meet you for eight years," he was saying.

"Torrie talks about you every single day. You're her hero."

Granny smiled up at him sweetly.

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