The Space Between (6 page)

He obviously wasn’t looking then.
 

“You know what? Forget it. You’re never gonna get it.”
 

“Get what? If you tell me what you want I can give it to you, but I’m not a mind reader.”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you, Nate. You should just know.” Her voice was taking on a shrill quality.

“That makes no damn sense, Georgia.” He turned the key and peeled out of the parking lot, gravel flying under the tires.
 

 
If she had to tell him, then what was the point? He would do it because she was mad at him, not because he thought it was the right thing to do. She wanted
him
to tell the guys no, without her having to say it. It seemed obvious to her, but men and women spoke different languages…and she had no interest in learning clueless moron.

They didn’t speak the whole drive home, and that was fine with Georgia. Anything that came out of her mouth wouldn’t have been pleasant anyway. The silence continued as they walked into the house. Nate threw his keys in the dish by the door.
 

Georgia let their dog out into the backyard. She stood on the patio and looked up at the soft moonlight, feeling the anger dissolve. She was still upset, but the need to stab him with something sharp wasn’t as strong.
 

Her thoughts drifted. She could be anywhere right now, gazing at these same stars. She imagined herself somewhere other than her small hometown—where she never thought to find herself at this stage in her life.
 

“Come on, Bear,” she called out into the dark yard. Georgia scratched behind his ear and let him inside. Nate was on the couch watching a college basketball game.
 

“I’m going to bed,” Georgia said over her shoulder as she walked down the darkened hall to their bedroom.
 

She sighed as she unlatched her bra—the underwire had been digging its way past her ribcage all night. She opened her drawer and held up a teal negligee. Nope. Cramming it back into the drawer she grabbed the oldest, ugliest t-shirt she could find. And to make double certain Nate didn’t get any ideas, she put on a pair of oversized flannel pants…with ballerina hippos on them. That should do it. Nothing said ‘not tonight’ like flannel.

She brushed her teeth and washed her face. When she wiped the hand towel across her eyes she found Nate leaning against the frame of the bathroom door.

“You gonna stay pissed at me all night?”

She thought about it a second. “I’m not mad…well, anymore. I’m more disappointed, I guess…Just please, stop putting me in those situations.”

“Okay, baby. And I’m sorry the night ended like it did. Come on, watch some TV. with me.” She gave him a look. “I’ll even let you pick.”

 
“Okay, but there won’t be any balls involved, just so you know.

He grabbed her around the waist and smiled. “Oh, there’ll be balls involved, but that comes later.” The kiss that followed had apology written all over it, which she accepted.

He never gave her pajamas a second look, and they never made it back out to the living room.

~Chapter Six~

A red radio played on her kitchen window sill. Georgia sang along with the tune and stirred in time with the beat—still riding the high of her night with Nate. The ending of it, anyway. She smiled just thinking about it.
 

He’d taken his time, like he was trying to make it up to her. And with an empty house, they were as loud and creative as they wanted.

She took the spoon around the edge of the bowl two more times. Satisfied with the look of the batter, she turned it over and let it ooze into the greased baking dish.

This was the worst time for the telephone to ring, but that was always when it rang. Georgia huffed as she looked down at the dark batter on her apron and hands. She cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear while she wiped her hands clean.
 

“Hello…Hey, Momma…I’m working on the cola cake right now…Yes, frosting’s done…No, that’s not all I’m bringing, Momma. I made a Greek salad, too…Feta cheese, olives, mixed greens…yes, Momma, people will eat it…Because I didn’t want to make a Caesar or anything that required ice berg lettuce. I wanted to bring something different…the Barefoot Contessa, that’s who…No, I won’t be embarrassed if no one eats it…No, Nate won’t be either…Mom, Mom! It’s just a salad, it’s not like I’m bringin’ foie gras…never mind.” Georgia rolled her eyes and threw the dirtied dish towel onto the counter. “Yes, Momma…No, Momma. Okay, I need to get this into the oven if I’m gonna make it to church by three…Uh huh, love you too…Ugh! That woman makes me crazy!”
 

“What woman?”
 

She flinched, then turned to find Amelia standing by the counter.

“One guess.”

“Gran?”

She smiled and pulled her daughter into a hug. “You guessed it….And I promise, I won’t drive you crazy when you’re grown.”

“I know that, Momma.”
 

Amelia was still young enough to think her mom was cool, yet old enough to get where she was coming from. It was the best. She figured she had a few more years until she became enemy number one.

“Mom, do I have to go to this thing?”
 

Georgia gave her a look. “Uh, yes. If I have to go, you have to go. Granny expects us to be there and there’d be heck to pay if we didn’t show. You know that.”

“But it’s a bunch of old people eating corn on the cob and pinching my cheeks. Can you say coffee breath?” Amelia asked, cocking her head to one side.

Georgia laughed. “I know what you mean, but everyone goes to the spring picnic, including the Bristols. So, go, get ready, and make sure you brush your hair, please.”

“I did.” A dubious look from her mother followed. “I did!”

“Well, try again. You have to brush underneath, not just the top three strands…Don’t give me that look, miss. Now scoot.”

“What was that about you not driving me crazy?” Amelia threw out over her shoulder.
 

Georgia chuckled and slid the clear baking dish into the oven, then set the timer. She ran down the long list of things she needed to get done in the next hour, including getting herself and Bonnie ready. Nate would meet them there. He was doing something with his brother out at their parents place. Probably fixing or shooting something. The extra help would have been nice, but she could handle it. She was a mom. She was used to wearing many hats…while using both hands.
 

She took the world’s fastest shower and threw on a pair of dark jeans and a cream cable knit sweater. A cold front had blown in the night before, but the sky was clear and the wind wasn’t blowing for once, so it should be a perfect crisp day. Georgia didn’t have time to fix her hair, so she ran a brush through the wet tangle of waves and wrapped it into a loose bun. She looked pale and the small bags under her eyes were evidence of the two a.m. wake-up call her toddler had given her. Bonnie had fallen right back to sleep after a sip of water and a kiss. Georgia, however, wasn’t so lucky. Nate hadn’t even stirred.
 

Men were either proficient at faking unconsciousness, or became deaf after midnight.

Concealer and blush helped bring some color to her face. It was a church picnic, so she wasn’t concerned about impressing anyone, but that didn’t mean she wanted to look like a corpse.
 

“Hey, Bon, time to put your toys away, angel. We have to get dressed and go play.”

“Go play?”
 

“Yes. There’ll be lots of treats and yummy things to eat, too,” she said, kneeling down by her daughter.
 

“Treats?” Bonnie was in the turn everything into a question phase.

“Yes, baby, treats. Granny and Pawpaw will be there.”
 

“Granny and Pawpaw?”

“Mmmhm.”

“Daddy coming, too?”

“Yes, daddy, too.”

Georgia grabbed one of the canvas bins from the small white shelf and began to pick up. Bonnie was more interested in her stuffed animals than cleaning.
 

“Come on, help mommy.” Georgia began singing the “clean up” song and Bonnie started to join in—the singing that is, not the cleaning. She pushed the bin towards her daughter and Bonnie placed one doll dress inside. Georgia figured it was better than nothing and quickly finished the rest herself.

The colder weather had forced her to put the new ruffled dress she’s bought Bonnie for the occasion back into the closet. She dressed her in thick polk-a-dot leggings and a purple tunic instead. More appropriate for playing anyway, in her opinion.
 

They sang “Old MacDonald” while Georgia brushed her daughter’s golden hair. Bonnie moo’d loudly as her curls disappeared into the braids on each side of her head.
 

“E-I-E-I-Oooooooo!” They sang loudly and off key, immediately followed by giggles and a peppering of kisses. Amelia must have heard their concert and appeared in the doorway of her sister’s bedroom. The smile on her face was wide and unfiltered. Georgia opened one arm and Amelia quickly became part of a group snuggle.

“Love my girls.”

The sun was like a crown in the sky by the time they arrived at the church. She held Bonnie to her hip with one hand and a bowl in the other. Amelia held the cake. A very boisterous game of chase had already commenced in the large expanse of grass between two lines of trees. Her girls looked to her with hopeful looks on their faces. Georgia nodded and they were off to join the ruckus.
 

She balanced her prepared dishes, scanning the crowd. Lucy, Nate, anyone? She did spot her mom, who was helping a group of women set up the large glass containers of iced tea at the far end of the spread. Ten long tables, covered in checkered table cloths, had been pushed together. Smoke billowed from the five foot smoker, making it look like an angry tin dragon—no doubt filled with ribs and brisket. It was manned by Henry Murphy, whose rotund belly was wrapped in a straining white apron.
 

Jello mounds in every shade. Cookies, cakes and pies. Georgia eyed her bright green salad she’d set down, strange and conspicuous in the field of mayonnaise covered potatoes and macaroni. She heard someone ask, “Are those, raisins?”
 

Georgia realized the person was looking at her salad.
 

Raisins?

 
Don’t roll your eyes.

“They’re kalamata olives, Margie,” Georgia replied, gainfully keeping the annoyance from her voice. The older woman’s round cheeks puckered at the jaw. She was looking at Georgia like she’d answered the question in Chinese.

“Now what on God’s green Earth is a kalamata olive?” Her thick twang butchering the syllables.

Don’t roll your eyes.

“It’s a Greek olive…to go with the Greek salad.”

“Oh, well, isn’t that exotic. I’m sure everyone will just love your little olives, sweetie.” She shuffled past, stopping at the deviled eggs two plates down.

Georgia sighed, grabbing the tongs out of the bowl. She piled on as much as her plate could hold and found a spot under a tree. Raisins, olives, whatever…they were delicious.

She made two plates for her girls, and wrangled them long enough for them to scarf down the contents in less time than it took to fill them. Now with full bellies, they ran off to play a game of hide and seek. Amelia held her little sister’s hand as they picked their hiding spot, Bonnie’s braids swinging as she ran. Georgia mingled a bit and did her best to avoid her mom, who she knew was just dying to tell her
 
“told you so” about her salad. She must have been proud that the cake Georgia made was one of five cola cakes. In her mom’s eyes it was better to be an imitator than an innovator. “Best to blend into the herd, Georgia,” she’d say. “Stand outs are the first to be taken down by the lions.”
 

She guessed that was true, if they lived in the plains of Africa. It always baffled Georgia why her mom would want her to be ordinary.
 

Well, Mom, you certainly got your wish.

Nate finally made his appearance, nearly scaring her to death when he snuck up behind her.
 
“Hey, there, sexy.”
 

She smacked him in the shoulder and laughed.
 

His sandy curls were combed into place, but his navy blue thermal was not in the same shape as it was when he’d left the house that morning. Her eyes took in the way it stretched across his toned chest. The wrinkles and dirt became less noticeable.
 

“I was beginning to think you weren’t gonna show.”

“Yeah, sorry so I’m late. We were helping Dad with his new fence on the back side of the property. The old posts were a bitch to get out of the ground. It took twice as long as we thought it would, but you know it’s always like that when Dad does a project.”

“Yes, that
is
true. Remember when he replaced the wood floor in the den? Wasn’t that supposed to take a week?”

“Yep, and it ended up taking three. But he loves it—it’s his idea of bonding…So, what’d I miss?”

Georgia filled him in on the girls, then mentioned her snubbed side dish. He marched over to the table and grabbed a fork. He took a large bite and said, rather loudly and with his mouth full, how good the salad was.
 

“Have you tried this?” he’d asked loudly,
 
to no one in particular. “Damn, my wife can cook.”

“Nate Bristol!”

“Sorry, Bette,” he called out to his mother-in-law, not sounding a bit sorry.

Georgia teetered between mortification and amusement. The man had no shame.

“You’re crazy, ya know that?” she said, finally pulling him to the side.

He put his hands on her hips and grinned—it was a cocky, crooked grin.
 

“Crazy, for you, baby.” He kissed her on the tip of her nose. “I’m gonna catch up with the boys over there by the smoker and do manly things.”

“Oh, please don’t leave me. I haven’t seen you all day and there’s only so many conversations I can have about the new pastor’s wife and her wardrobe choices. Oh, and who has the best recipe using a can of mushroom soup. I’m bored to tears.”