He cocked his head to one side. Footsteps were approaching his shop, yet Tex hadn’t barked. Thinking it might be a customer, Jackson waved over his shoulder. When he reached the other end of the hope chest, he laid the block of wood down and turned around.
“Hello, I’m Flynn O’Riley,” the guy standing in the doorway said.
Jackson removed his work glove and stuck out a hand. “Jackson Devereaux. You’re Miz Lucy’s grandson, right?”
“That’s right.” Flynn had a good strong handshake. “My two cousins and I are living in Nanny Lucy’s house.”
“Welcome to Blossom.” Jackson dropped Flynn’s hand. “There’s only two places out here by Hope Creek, so it’s a small neighborhood. What brings you out this way?”
“Well, I figure Nanny Lucy talked about us enough that you know the basics of why we’re in Blossom. But for today, I’ve been up in the attic all afternoon,” Flynn said, “and needed to take a walk and stretch my legs, so I came over to thank you for taking care of Waylon for us.”
“You’re welcome,” Jackson responded. “Mind if I work while we talk?”
“Not at all,” Flynn answered. “I should be going anyway.”
“Don’t rush off,” Jackson said. “What were you doing in the attic?”
“I’m rewiring the place so we can have air conditioners,” Flynn said.
Jackson picked up the block with sandpaper wrapped around it. “Y’all will appreciate that. This is just the beginning of summer, and we’ve already had temperatures up in the midnineties. It’s going to be a hot one for sure.”
“Amen!” Flynn focused on what Jackson was doing. “What are you working on?”
“Another hope chest. I can’t make them fast enough. Folks used to order coffee tables, end tables, even rocking chairs, but in the last five years, I’ve had more calls for these hope chests than anything else.” Jackson went back to sanding. “Pull up a chair and have a seat. There’s cold water and tea in the cooler if you want something to drink.”
“Thanks.” Flynn opened the lid to the red cooler and took out a bottle of water. He sat down in one of the old metal folding chairs over by the wall. “So you knew Nanny Lucy pretty good.”
“She and Uncle D. J. were good friends, so she kind of took me in because of him, and because she missed her family.” Jackson had often felt sorry for Miz Lucy, living over there all alone. She’d had her quilting buddies, gardening friends, and church family, but those were not family.
Flynn shrugged. “Life gets in the way.”
“Don’t I know it. I hadn’t been around to see Uncle D. J. in ten years until five years ago. I remembered some good times when I came to see him as a kid, so when I got burned out with the law business, I came out here—he’d gotten tired of it back when he was probably about my age,” Jackson said.
“Did you intend to stay when you came here?” Flynn asked.
“No, but he talked me into staying all weekend. The morning after I arrived, he took me to the shop and handed me a block of wood like this”—Jackson held up what he was working with—“and I sanded a chest of drawers he had built. That night I slept better than I had in years, and the next day we worked side by side from about eight o’clock until after five. I was hooked after that, and I never left. What about you? You going to stick around here? Miz Lucy said you had a good job with some oil company.” Jackson went back to work.
“I’ll be here for a few weeks, maybe longer,” Flynn answered.
“Ever done any sanding?” Jackson asked.
“Not on wood.” Flynn turned up the bottle and drank a third of what was in it.
“Want to give it a try?” Jackson wrapped a piece of sandpaper around a block and offered it to him. “See that box over there? It’s the beginning of a hope chest. Sand with the grain, but without too much pressure. You want a smooth finish, so it’s better to go over it several times rather than dig into the grain.”
Flynn stood up, crossed the messy shop floor, and started sanding. “Like this?”
“Yep, that’s good.” Jackson smiled. Miz Lucy had said that all three of her grandchildren were as misguided as her kids had been, and that she hoped making them spend some time together would help them. Sanding that chest of drawers had sure put Jackson on the right track. Maybe sanding a hope chest would do the same for Flynn.
Nessa had a glass of cold sweet tea in her hands when she heard Flynn and April talking in the backyard. Leaving her drink, she got up from the porch steps and went around to where April was pruning rosebushes and Flynn looked like he had rolled in cornmeal.
Nessa’s finger shot up and pointed right at Flynn. Somehow her arm felt separate from her body. She wondered if it had moved on its own. “Where have you been, and what’s that all over you?”
“I don’t think anyone has asked me that question in fifteen years.” Flynn grinned. “Does that mean you care about me?”
“Not in the least. It means that I’d like to know where you’ve been. I thought maybe you’d seen a pretty woman and headed for the nearest motel,” Nessa threw back at him.
Flynn dusted the sawdust off his shirt with the palm of his hand. “I went over to Jackson’s place to thank him for bringing Waylon home, and I spent a couple of hours sanding on a hope chest. It wasn’t finished, but I really enjoyed doing that. Is supper ready?”
Nessa wondered if Flynn had found a way to work through his problems. If so, she hoped that he’d go visit Jackson every day. “Leftovers are on the stove,” she said. “April and I have already eaten, and we are going to the waterfall for a swim.”
“I’ll see you after I eat.” Flynn whistled as he headed into the house.
April kept nipping the dead buds off the bushes and catching them in a paper bag. “Go on without me. I’ve got one more rosebush to prune, and then I’ll be down there.”
“Don’t take too long. The sunsets are always beautiful over the falls.” Nessa picked up her towel and took the first steps down the pathway to the creek.
She dropped her towel on the grass beside the water, slipped off her oversize chambray shirt, and kicked her flip-flops to the side. The grass was cool and soft beneath her bare feet, just like she remembered it from when she was young. She wished that she were an artist or a poet so she could do justice to the only place where she’d ever truly felt content. She had always associated being here with her grandmother, but after some of the vibes she got off April, maybe she had been content here simply because she needed a happy place to go to when things were rough at home. Evidently, things were different when April was alone with Nanny Lucy.
She stuck her toes in the water and gasped.
“It’s not all that cold,” a deep voice said from the top of the rocks that formed the actual falls. “Miz Lucy said the red-haired granddaughter was Nessa. I guess that’s you, right? We met when I brought Waylon home.”
“Yes, we did.” She nodded. “What are you doing here?”
“My property line cuts right across the middle of the falls. You’re sticking your feet in my part of the creek. I don’t mind, but we’ve got ‘No Trespassing’ signs put up all over the property.”