My lips part, and I consider asking Hana what she remembers about Licking Lady Liberty, possibly the most idiotic name for a porn film. It’s pointless even to ask, she never remembers anything the next day.
Exhaling a heavy sigh, I sit up on the soft double bed across from the one holding Hana’s suitcase as she unpacks it. I’ve already unpacked and changed into black palazzo pants and a scoop neck top. My sister is still in the same floral dress, and the scent of cooking drifts up from below.
A soft knock on the door precedes the voice of Lurlene Jones, Hutch’s housekeeper. She reminds me of a golden hen, short and round, and the mother we never had. She bundled us up here and instructed us to make ourselves at home and let her know if we needed anything.
“Dinner’s ready if you’d like to come down.” Her smile is warm. “Roast beef and mashed sweet potatoes with fresh sweet corn. It’s pretty good if I do say so myself.”
Hana blinks at me curiously, and I shrug. “We’ll be right down.”
“We will?” My sister watches me like I’m someone she doesn’t know. “I thought we were staying here under protest.”
“We are, but we don’t have to starve.” Not that I’m sure I’ll be able to eat with the knots in my stomach.
“I’m fine staying up here if that’s what you want.”
I also know she’d get her supper from a bottle if I let her. Maybe this trip isn’t going the way I envisioned it, but I still have her out of the city, away from her usual crowd. Maybe I can use this time to get her closer to healthy.
“We’re going. Come on.” She follows me out the door and down the short hall to the staircase.
Hutch’s home is true vintage with polished oak furniture and pale plaster walls. Portraits hang on wires hooked in the crown molding, and chandeliers are anchored by elaborate ceiling medallions in the middle of each room.
Our footsteps are muffled by antique Persian rugs covering dark wood floors. It’s exactly what you’d picture in your mind if you thought of nineteenth-century southern architecture.
A wide, white porch wraps around the exterior, and it has pointed arches and huge windows looking out on massive live oak trees in the front yard.
The trees comfort me with their trunks as wide as cars and their black limbs swinging low to the ground. It reminds me of being a little girl and visiting Uncle Hugh with my father. Hamiltown dates back to the turn of the twentieth century, and these trees date back to the dawn of time. They remind me it’s possible to survive anything.
Entering the bright yellow dining room, I pause when I see our host standing at the opposite head of the table with a little girl looking up at him. Her head is just above his waist, and her light brown hair is styled in two braids on each side of her head.
She’s wearing knee-length white pants with elastic in the legs, gathered above her striped white athletic socks, and a bright red jersey with Stinky’s Snow Cones in white lettering over a giant number eight.
I’m pretty sure it’s a softball uniform, and she’s frowning up at Hutch. “But Coach Perkins asked specifically for you to throw the opening pitch at our first game. He wants you.”
“I’ve got a lot going on right now, Pep. There are plenty of other people in town he can ask.” Hutch puts his hand on her shoulder, making her look even smaller, and she crosses her arms, pouting fiercely.
“Uncle Dirk said you’d say no. He said I’d have a better chance of getting the devil to eat one of Stinky’s snow cones than getting you to do it.”
Hutch’s dark brow furrows. “Dirk told you that?”
“You’re not going to let him be right, Uncle Hutch, are you?”
“No, but I’m definitely having a chat with him.”
“So I'll put you down for the opener! Woo!” She pumps small fists over her head in a little victory move then holds out a hand. “Give me your phone.”
His frown relaxes, and he slides the device from his inside coat pocket.
She takes it and holds it up to him. “Face, please.”
A hint of a grin teases at his lips, and it does melty things to my insides. His sweetness with this girl, the way he allows her to order him around is so unexpected.
She starts tapping on his phone, and he scoops her up by the waist, looking over her shoulder. “What are you doing now?”
“Put me down, ya brute!” Her legs in those striped athletic socks swing as he sways her side to side.
“I’m not a brute, I’m your uncle. What are you doing with my phone?”
“I set up a series of reminders so you don’t forget.” A few more taps, and she gives it back to him.
He’s still smiling when the chair beside me falls forward against the table with a sharp crack, causing us all to jump.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” Hana rushes forward to catch it.
Hutch and the girl turn to face us, and his smile quickly melts into a neutral expression. Mine does the same.
Wait, was I just smiling?
“Blake, Hana,” Hutch gestures to the little girl, who’s blinking at us with big brown eyes. “This is my niece Pepper. She was my sister Judy’s child. Or is.”
“Judy was my mom.” Pepper marches over to where we’re standing and holds out her hand. “She got real sick last year, so God needed her to become an angel. Now she watches over me from heaven.”
My brow rises at her matter-of-fact tone, and Hana squats in front of her. “I like your name. My dad died when I was about your age… I think. I was thirteen.”
“I’m eleven.” Pepper nods. “But I understand your mistake. Everyone says I’m mature for my age.”
“You’re lucky. I’ve never been mature for my age.”
I bite my lip, genuinely impressed by this child’s ability to both boss Hutch Winston around and get my reclusive sister to be so self-aware–and then say it out loud.
“Let’s take our seats.” Hutch motions to the table. “Lurlene planned a big meal tonight. I think she expected to have leftovers.”
Hana glances at me as she carefully pulls out a chair on the other side of Pepper, away from Hutch at the head of the table. Pepper climbs into her chair, and I’m left staring at the empty seat at Hutch’s right.
Straightening my shoulders, I walk around the long table and take the chair beside him.
He hesitates before sitting. “Lurlene also made iced tea, but I have red wine if you prefer.”
“Tea is fine,” I answer quickly, not wanting to give Hana an opening.
He lifts a white pitcher and pours four glasses then takes his seat. I’m curious why he’s not having something stronger.
Lifting the lid on a large, white platter reveals dark brown, sliced roast in gravy surrounded by cooked carrots and onions. Pepper takes another bowl that holds red-orange mashed sweet potatoes, and the boiled corn is the last to make the rounds. Rolls are in a wicker basket wrapped in a red and white checkered napkin.
The clanking of utensils against china is the only sound for several minutes as we all serve ourselves. When we’re done and the dishes return to the center of the table, Pepper is the first to dig in.
I taste a small forkful of the sweet potato mash, and as soon as it touches my tongue, a burst of buttery, savory goodness fills my mouth. I’m embarrassed when my stomach makes a noise, and I quickly take another, bigger bite, noticing my sister doing the same.