“I think so, but it’s not going to be an overnight thing. Have you ever heard that song by Miranda Lambert that talks about ‘the house that built me’?”
Jackson turned south off the gravel road. “Yes, ma’am. I like Miranda’s voice. It’s old country. I’m not much for the new alternative stuff.”
“April mentioned that song when we were talking. The house didn’t really build our parents, but what happened there did, and understanding that helps,” Nessa said. “I’m not making a bit of sense.”
“More than you know.” Jackson drove past Weezy’s and made a right turn toward the cemetery. When they arrived, he parked beside Lucy’s tombstone. “Did you come visit her the last five years? I keep thinking that we should have met before now.”
“I’m ashamed to admit that I didn’t come often enough.” Nessa’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away. Perhaps if she’d come to see her grandmother more, she would have understood more about her trouble and could have helped her. “Were you at her funeral?”
“Yes, but I stayed close to the back. I saw you and Flynn from a distance, but I didn’t know if you were April or you, or if Flynn was the grandson or your boyfriend,” Jackson answered. “Why didn’t you come around more often? Too far to drive?”
“It’s hard to explain. I loved coming here, liked the peace I felt in the place, but the older I got . . .”—she paused and tried to think of the right words—“it seemed like I was interrupting Nanny Lucy’s lifestyle. An afternoon with me around appeared to wear her out, or even annoy her. We would talk about her quilts, my job, and then she’d begin to look at the clock every five minutes.”
She made a mental note to ask Flynn and April if they’d had the same feeling when they came to visit.
“She was a very private person.” Jackson nodded. “We had Sunday dinner with her pretty often, and then a game of checkers or dominoes, but by midafternoon I got the feeling she was ready for us to leave.”
“Maybe she was afraid she would forget and say something that would reveal her past,” Nessa said. “I feel guilty that I didn’t come more often than I did. Being here was strange. There was peace, but it was sprinkled with angst, if that makes a bit of sense. Nanny Lucy took that uneasy feeling to her grave with her, and that makes me feel guilty, because it’s like I got the peace I wanted at her expense.”
“I understand.” Jackson nodded.
“Thanks for listening,” Nessa said as she opened the truck door and got out. “See you in a little while?”
“Uncle D. J. is over on the other side of the cemetery. Fifteen minutes long enough for you?” Jackson asked.
“For tonight.” She waited for him to drive away before she sat down in front of the stone. Most folks who were buried beside their spouses had one tombstone with both their names on it. Sometimes the stone even had their wedding date etched into the middle of the stone and their children’s names on the back side. Not so with Nanny Lucy and her husband. They were buried side by side, but they had separate tombstones, and now Nessa understood why.
“I know why you didn’t want to share a stone with him, Nanny Lucy. He promised to love and respect you when y’all got married, and we all know how that turned out now.” She pulled a few weeds from around the stone. “I’ll bring fresh flowers for the vase next time. I need to talk to you, but I don’t even know where to start. I cleaned out the hall closet today. We know your secrets, Nanny Lucy. You can rest in peace.” She swiped a single tear from her eye with the back of her hand.
“Thank you for letting me think everything was perfect in your life when I was growing up.” She blinked back more tears. “I needed that back then, but I’m sorry you had to carry that burden alone so many years. I feel a little silly talking to a chunk of granite, but it makes me feel better. There’s something else I need to tell you, Nanny Lucy. Something I’m very excited about. Something that you instilled a love in me for. I’m considering getting into the quilting business and staying in Blossom. Jackson says he’ll show me the ropes when it comes to the craft fairs.” A soft breeze kicked up, rustling the leaves on the oak tree that shaded Nanny Lucy’s grave. If Nessa had been a superstitious person, she would have sworn it was a sign that her grandmother was giving her an endorsement of sorts.
Nessa didn’t know what else to say, so she just sat there in the quiet of the cemetery and listened to the birds flitting about in the trees until Jackson drove up in front of the grave. She got to her feet at the same time that he got out of the truck, jogged around the back side of it, and opened the door for her. Maybe it was a date after all, she thought as she stepped up on the running board and got inside.
“Feel better?” Jackson asked.
“Yes, I do,” she answered. “But talking to a tombstone feels kind of silly, doesn’t it?”
She watched him as he walked around the front of the truck. He would probably have looked exceptionally good in a three-piece suit, but she liked him even better in those tight-fitting jeans and that chambray shirt. She couldn’t take her eyes off the muscles that bulged the seams at the sleeves.
He slid in behind the wheel and put the truck in gear. “I felt like that, too, the first time I talked to my uncle. I know he’s not there, but it makes me feel good to talk to him. I told him about you three cousins tonight and even let him know that you and I are on our second date.”
Nessa raised an eyebrow. “This is a date?”
“I pick you up. We go somewhere. We have ice cream at Weezy’s. Everyone sees us out together. I believe that’s the definition of a date,” he answered as he drove back toward town.
“What if I’d rather have a hamburger at Weezy’s?” she asked. “I haven’t had supper.”
“Me either, and that makes it officially a date. And I’d also love a burger,” he answered. “What do you usually do on a second date?”
“Been too long since I had a second one . . .” She stopped. “How is this a second date?”
“Last week I saved you from breaking your leg, and we had a really hot good-night kiss, and I walked you to the door. That’s the first date. This is the second.” He parked in the café parking lot. “Are all the men in Turkey, Texas, blind or just stupid?” He turned off the engine, unfastened his seat belt, and turned to face her.
“Why would you ask that?” she asked.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Nessa O’Riley. If you haven’t had a second date in a long time, then there must be something wrong with the cowboys out in that part of Texas.” He got out of the truck and opened her door by the time she undid her seat belt.
He thinks you’re beautiful, she singsonged in her heart. “Thank you for the compliment, but I imagine the second-date thing is more my fault than theirs. There just wasn’t any chemistry, so I didn’t see any reason to go any further.”
He laced his fingers in hers and slowed his stride to match hers. “Well, then, we must have chemistry between us because we’re on a second date.”
“These are pretty unconventional dates,” she said as they entered the café.