Please blame FF for the delay in posting this - I couldn't log in for 2 days. Go figure.
This is my favorite chapter to date. I highly encourage you to at least look at the lyrics of the song that inspired this - "The House That Built Me" by Miranda Lambert - if you aren't familiar with it. I won't share why this chapter is my favorite so as not to run the risk of spoiling anything to come, but there are a few lines/moments throughout that will eventually be something bigger.
Thank you to all of you for being so wonderful and reading and reviewing. I do my best to get back to you, but with my real life schedule, that doesn't always happen. Please know that I so appreciate you!
THINGS I OWN: A bunch of Martha Stewart's new office supply line. Best day ever when I discovered that. THINGS I DON'T OWN: Hart of Dixie.
The dust on the stairs muffled her footsteps as she climbed towards the locked door at the top. She was nervous. She didn't know what she would find, what she would learn about her father and her own past, a past she hadn't known existed until a few short months ago. What if it was riddled with scandal or she uncovered some deep, dark secret? Although, she reasoned, she was his scandal, his deep dark secret.
She paused outside the door, the key to unlock it in her hand. The practice below her was quiet, no patients filling the waiting room with coughs and wailing babies, no Brick jockeying for her appointments or Addie making small talk about the weather or sharing the latest gossip. She had never really appreciated how big and grand the old home-turned-medical-practice was as she looked down on it from the top of the stairs. With a deep breath of courage, she fitted the key into the lock and turned it. The door swung open and she paused in the door frame.
The smell was the first thing she noticed. It had the same stale scent as old library books that hadn't been taken from their shelves and opened in ages. The apartment itself warranted the same sort of silence a strict librarian requested amongst her shelves. It was also chilly from being closed up tight for so long. She left the door open to let heat creep up the stairs and took several tentative steps inside.
A thick layer of dust coated everything – the floor, the furniture, the windowpanes. Her steps disturbed it, creating small puffs each time her foot landed. Her nose started tingling and she sneezed violently. She turned and looked back at the door, wanting to take in every detail. A narrow table sat in the small entryway, empty except for a small woven bowl with knickknacks dropped in it and a book. On the opposite wall was a small coat closet.
She wandered back to the table and found the book was actually a well-worn Bible with 'Harley Wilkes' embossed on the front. She picked it up and blew the dust off it before opening the yellowing pages. It fell open to the place that had been bookmarked one of the last time his hands had touched it. Several lines were underlined with a red pen, notes made in the margins. She read the verse:
"Only take care, and keep your soul diligently, lest you forget the things that your eyes have seen, and lest they depart from your heart all the days of your life. Make them known to your children and your children's children." – Deuteronomy 4:9
Zoe's eyes trailed to the margin where written in one neat word was her name – 'Zoe.' She frowned and re-read the scripture, the words resonating now. Harley had always meant – or at least hoped – for her to come to Bluebell, to take over the practice. In his perfect world, she imagined, they would have worked side by side, him teaching her everything he knew about Bluebell, its people, his patients, before handing her the reins, much like she had envisioned working alongside her heart surgeon father throughout her childhood and even a year ago.
She flipped through the Bible, realizing most of the pages contained underlined verses and notes. Inside the front cover was a brief inscription – the Bible had been presented to him on the day he'd been baptized, June 3, 1971. She picked up the bookmark to replace it, her finger having held the spot it had originally been. She read the words on it: A Bible falling apart usually belongs to someone who isn't. She wasn't religious and considered herself half Jewish but the words comforted her because, she assumed, they had once comforted Harley. She returned the bookmark to its place between the thing pages.
Where the Bible had been was a dust-free square. She put it back in the same place and moved to examine the basket of knickknacks. With a pang, she realized it must have been Harley's catch-all basket. It was full of items found in people's pockets – spare change, an old container of Tic-Tacs, a couple of crumbled receipt, a set of keys that Zoe thought were to the practice. In her mind, she saw him come through the door, set his Bible on the table and empty his pockets before moving into the rest of the apartment. She moved over to the coat closet and pulled it on open.
The stench of staleness was stronger, mixing now with moth balls. A few of Harley's coats hung limp with dust. On the shelf above them were odds and ends, things Harley probably didn't have a place for. There was a spare medicine bag and an old, tattered briefcase, what looked like a bowling ball bag and even a pair of light hand weights. The floor was bare, save for a single pair of brown, dusty loafers. A bag of golf clubs were propped in the corner. She shut the door and ventured into the rest of the apartment. She tried a light, but none cut on. Brick must have had the power shut off to the upstairs of the practice to save on the energy bill.
It was more spacious than she had expected it to be, spanning the full size of the building. In her mind, she had pictured it as a compartment of sorts, maybe half the size of the practice below. It had hardwood floors throughout that beneath the dust, looked to be in good condition. The windows were big but few, probably a result of the home being so old. With a good cleaning, they would probably let in enough light during the day. She used her sleeve to wipe a clean circle in the glass. She could see the lake in the distance. She liked that.
The living room was a big, open room, furnished with a sofa and two arm chairs, all dated in style, probably fashionable twenty or so years earlier. A box of a TV with a set of rabbit ears was situated so there was a good view from any point in the living room. The coffee table in the middle of it was scattered with medical journals, some dated more than two years earlier. One was open and Zoe wondered if Harley had been reading it shortly before he passed. She realized she didn't know where he had died or any details surrounding his death other than he'd died of a heart condition. She'd have to find out what she could, maybe even bite the bullet and ask Brick.
The kitchen was a decent size, not too big, not too small. The appliances were old and the tile was cracked near the oven. An old microwave with an actual dial instead of digital buttons sat on a counter next to a yellowed coffee pot and a small, two-slice toaster.
She tried the water but wasn't surprised when it didn't flow from the faucet. A juice glass sat upside down in the drying rack, left there by someone expecting to come back to put it away later. She opened cabinets and drawers, finding dishes and utensils, pots and pans. With some hesitation, she opened the fridge and was glad to see someone had had the foresight to clean it out. Other than some canned and dry goods in a pantry, it was devoid of anything that would have expired in the time since Harley's death.
There were two bedrooms, she discovered. The first had a full-sized bed and a dresser, but it looked like Harley had used it for storage. It was full of clothes and boxes, even an old exercise bike. She found herself itching to dig through it, to at least clear a path to the closet that was blocked by closed up boxes and see what was inside. Instead, she left and peeked into a moderately sized bathroom – with a garden tub, she observed – and entered Harley's bedroom.
She instantly felt a connection to the room. Maybe it was how much of Harley, more so than any other room, was still there or maybe it was the charm of the room, save for old-fashioned décor. His bed was made, draped in an old quilt. Photos littered his dresser. She'd noticed photos throughout the house, but hadn't taken the time to peer at them. Now, she bent over to see them.
She didn't recognize anyone in the photos – she didn't expect to – but if they were displayed in a frame in his bedroom, they had to be people who were important to him and, therefore, important to her. There was a woman with a kind face, a man who wore a scowl but had a twinkle in his eye, groups of people, laughing and smiling at the camera.
With a promise that she'd return for a closer look, she ventured back into the apartment and tried a door at the end of a short hallway. It was a small office that overlooked the town square. It was full of medical books and journals, old Bluebell newspapers and more photos. Zoe knew it was the room she would either dive into first or save for last as it would likely be the one she learned the most about Harley in.
"Where do I start?" she asked herself out loud. Now that she was here, it seemed like an impossibly large task.
After a moment's debate, she decided on the kitchen, the least personal place in the apartment. It would be a good way to ease into things. She pushed up the sleeves of the old sweatshirt she was wearing and pried open a window to air the place out some. Then, not sure what she'd do with everything, started pulling things from cabinets and stacking them neatly on the counter.
Wade pulled to a stop in front of his childhood home. Like every time he stopped by, he sat in his car for a minute and just observed. The two story farmhouse, once a crisp white with sharp navy shudders, rocking chairs situated on the front porch and whatever flowers were in season planted along its front, was now peeling paint and missing shutters. Another one had fallen off since Wade had last been there a month or so ago and was laying discarded in the yard. It needed a new roof and it looked like one side of the porch was starting to sag. Earl's old Chevy truck sat on four flat tires off to the side, the keys long ago confiscated by Wade, the truck, which had been on its last leg anyway, left to rust.
He'd tried to keep up with the repairs for a long time, but as the years had progressed, keeping up with Earl had taken priority and now he just did whatever he needed to make sure the place didn't fall in. It looked like he'd be out there sooner rather than later doing another round of repairs, stabilizing the porch and patching the roof where it needed it the most.
He got out of his car and headed to the house, wearing blinders to how overgrown and abandoned the fields surrounding the place were after years of neglect. He could remember when they were filled with plumes of cotton and the soft green of uniformed rows of soybean. He climbed the stairs, careful to avoid a loose step halfway up. He didn't bother knocking as he pulled the rickety screen door open and then pushed through thick wooden door behind it.
"Earl?" he called. He heard Earl's grunt in reply and tracked him down to the kitchen. He was seated at the old kitchen table, a bottle of whiskey just open, his glass sitting by him, still full of the amber liquid. Wade had timed his visit so he got Earl as sober as he'd be all day. It looked like he'd time it just right.
"What are you doin' here?" Earl asked.
Wade frowned as he took in his father. It had been a few weeks since he'd seen him last, a fact that probably should have made him ashamed of himself since they lived in the same town and just a fifteen minute drive apart, but he thought the man looked especially tired. His skin had an odd color, a sort of yellow-tinted green, and his beer belly was bigger than ever. Wade chalked it up to how much drinking the man did.
"February 1st was a few days ago. You didn't make your monthly appearance on the hardware store roof – ain't for the last few month, matter of fact. I figured it was 'bout time I came out here and made sure you won't dead." A flicker of something crossed Earl's face, but Wade didn't pay him much mind. "Here, brought you some food from the Rammer Jammer." He slid the takeout container across the table.
"Thanks," Earl said, catching it. He opened it and found an assortment of breakfast foods, whatever had been left over after breakfast had been served. He picked up a piece of bacon. "You can sit down, you know," he told Wade.
"Ain't plannin' on stayin' that long," Wade answered. He walked over to the sink which was full of dirty dishes that were starting to smell. "Throwin' these out might be easier then cleaning 'em up."
"Don't go throwin' away your momma's china," Earl countered, an edge creeping into his voice.
"Momma's china won't meant to be used every day, let alone left in the sink dirty for days." A trickle of water ran from the base of the faucet. Wade turned the knob and as water fell from the head, the trickle at the base turned into a steady stream. He turned it off. "Did you know this was leakin'?"
"Thought it might be."
Wade squatted and opened the cabinet underneath the sink. Using his bare hand, he managed to tighten up a gasket that had loosened. He checked and the trickle had stopped. He left Earl in the kitchen and headed upstairs, noticing he bannister was dangerously loose. He'd have to fix that too although he didn't think Earl made it upstairs much, passing out on the couch or at the kitchen table most nights.
He bypassed his childhood room, mostly empty save for a bed and empty dresser, and went into the room that had been Meredith's. As he'd expected, a large, brown circle had formed in the ceiling. The twin bed, nothing now but a saggy old mattress and worn frame, was soaking wet from the melted snow that had dripped through the worn roof. He'd hoped to wait until spring before he had to climb the roof, but he'd have to do it sooner rather than later. Deciding there wasn't much he could do right then, he headed back downstairs.
"One good gust of wind and this place'll be on the ground," he said as he walked back into the kitchen. "You done let it go past the point of repair."
"The house is just fine," Earl said. Wade just shook his head and watched his father wash down fried potatoes with a long swig of whiskey. Earl winced and let out a grunt as he sat down his glass, his hand going to massage his stomach.
"You alright?" Wade asked.
"I'm fine, nothin' to worry 'bout." Earl picked up his fork again and continued eating. "Where's your girlfriend?"
"She's busy," Wade answered. "Can't say I'd bring a girl here anyway."
"I like her," Earl said simply.
"Yeah, well, I like her too."
"I suspect you might do a little more than like her," Earl replied. "Suspect she might do a little more than like you too."
"We'll see what happens," Wade said, not wanting to discuss his relationship with his father. Earl finished off his glass of whiskey and poured another. Wade suddenly wanted to be anywhere else. "I'm headin' out. I'll see you when I see you." He turned to leave. He was nearly to the front door when he heard Earl trailing behind him. He turned to him. "What is it this time?" he asked. "It's too early in the month for you to need money."
"Just thought I'd see you out," Earl said. Wade noticed then how slow his father was moving. His skin looked even more oddly colored in the natural light pouring in through the windows in the front of the house. It worried him more than he cared to admit.
"You sure you're okay?"
"Just fine. Little tired is all."
The two Kinsella men stepped out on the porch. Wade was suspicious. Earl rarely bid him farewell when he dropped by, let alone walked him out. "That car of yours sure is lookin' good." Earl nodded towards Wade's Camaro which was in desperate need of a wash after driving around the brine-covered roads of Bluebell the last few days.
"I take care of it," Wade said with a shrug. "Holler if you need anything, okay?"
"I will," Earl answered.
Wade got into his car and cranked it up, watching his father lean on the rotting porch railing for support. He didn't buy that Earl was okay, but then again, he reasoned, when a person single-handedly kept the liquor store in business, it was probably nothing shy of a miracle they'd lived as long as Earl had.
He backed out of the driveway and debated on what he wanted to do. He had to be back at the Rammer Jammer after dinner to help close up after telling Shelley she could leave early for a date, but he had some time to kill. He wanted to head over to the practice and see if Zoe needed any help with Harley's things, but she'd distinctly asked to make her first visit on her own so he'd have to leave her be. It was too cold to go fishing and Lavon was off somewhere with Didi so he couldn't challenge him to a rematch of Madden.
He made a decision on a whim and turned his car in the right direction.
It had been a long time since he'd been there and he remembered why as he maneuvered between the cold stones, each engraved with a name of someone who had been a mother or a father, a son or a daughter, a set of dates marking their entrance and departure etched below it, maybe a quote or verse if the person was loved enough. It was depressing, being amongst cold stones and dead bodies six feet below him.
It was colder here, the trees shading the place, a few clumps of snow clinging to the bases of trees and around some of the stones. Even though it had been years since he'd stopped by the graveyard and there were many more tombstones added since, he knew exactly where his mother's gravesite would be. He stopped when he reached her marble stone, unsure of what to do next.
Some people talked to their loved ones. Others cried silently. Some wept openly. He knew Zoe talked to Harley, that she visited the graveyard regularly, gave him updates on the practice and her life. He wondered what Harley would think of him dating his little girl. He hoped Harley would have approved, that he would have been able to see how crazy about Zoe he was and how he'd do just about anything to make her happy.
That led him to wonder what his mother would think of Zoe. He was pretty sure she would have liked her, especially when she seen how happy Zoe made him. In his mind, his mother would have welcomed Zoe to Bluebell despite her being from New York. She probably would have seen right past Zoe's brave front and gone out of her way to make Zoe feel welcomed. She probably would have had his hide for the way he teased Zoe, how he dragged his feet getting up the courage to ask her out.
His mind started down a road he didn't allow it to go down often. A road of 'what ifs' and 'what might have beens' had his mother never gotten sick. He'd have made a lot of different decisions, been in a whole different place. Earl would have been a better father and Meredith's kids would have had two sets of grandparents instead of one set and a grandpa they only got to see on visits timed according to how sober he was.
But life had worked out how it was supposed to, he guessed. If Harley hadn't found his mother's cancer all those years ago, he probably wouldn't have be with Zoe now. It was a long and complicated path with a lot of twists and turns, but he was where he was supposed to be. He nodded in an affectionate way at his mother's gravestone and turned towards his car. Harley's tombstone caught his eye as he maneuvered through the stones once more.
"Hell of a daughter you've got there," he told the piece of granite. He climbed back into his car and headed towards the plantation, thinking up several chores he could bury his busy mind in before he had to head back to the Rammer Jammer.
"I think I liked the red one better," Zoe said, eyeing Lavon's royal purple shirt critically.
"Seriously?" Lavon asked, looking down at his shirt. "You don't like this one?"
"You kind of look like Barney."
"Well what about the blue one? Did you like the blue one?"
"The blue one was fine. But you wear blue all the time. Mix it up. Put on the red one. Look snazzy." Lavon raised an eyebrow.
"Snazzy?" he asked.
"Fashionable?" Zoe tried. "Um, sharp? Every girl's crazy about a sharp dressed man…"
"You're really bad at this," Lavon informed her, undoing the buttons on his shirt. "And here I thought you being all fashion forward and such, you'd have some good advice." He reached for another one of the button downs he had laying across his sofa and pulled it on over his white undershirt.
"Don't even bother buttoning that one up," Zoe told him. "Pink is not your color." Lavon yanked the shirt off and went for yet another one. "What are you so nervous about, anyway? Didi's parents are going to love you. It's not every day you get to tell people your daughter is dating a former professional football star."
"Her daddy went to Auburn," Lavon informed her. "Her cousin was a wide receiver for the Tigers when I was playing for Bama. I intercepted a pass to him and ran it back for a touchdown in my last Iron Bowl. It turned out to be the game winning touchdown. According to Didi, she's the only one in my family who has forgiven me for that."
"And you're going to win him over by wearing an appropriately colored shirt?" Zoe asked.
"Yes," Lavon confirmed. "Which is why I can't wear the red one – too crimson. I'm also taking them to Fancy's and encouraging them to order whatever the want and as much of it as they'd like. Even had champagne shipped in special." He held out his arms for Zoe's thoughts on his latest shirt.
"Brown? Also not your color. The pink was better than that."
"You are no help. No help at all." Zoe opened her mouth to retort but Wade came breezing into the kitchen from somewhere outside just then.
"Hey, yo," he said to Lavon, doing one of their many hand gestures in greeting, this one a weird sort of across the room air handshake. "Hey, darlin,'" he said to Zoe, leaning down to kiss her quickly. "What's this? A fashion show?" He leaned on the counter next to where Zoe was seated and took in the number of shirts scattered around the living room as Lavon, dressed in black slacks, an undershirt, and shoes so shiny he could see his reflection, stood with his hands on his hips, surveying them critically.
"Lavon is having dinner with Didi's parents tonight," Zoe told him. "Apparently it is of the utmost importance that he wears the proper color of shirt." She watched Lavon pick up a black button down. "I told you, Lavon, wear the red one."
"He can't wear a red shirt," Wade interjected. "Too crimson. Didi's cousin was Jackson Martin, played wide receiver for Auburn. Lavon intercepted a pass intended for him…"
"And ran it back for a touchdown that turned out to be the game winning score," Zoe finished. "I heard. You know, for someone who claims not to like football, you sure know a lot about it." Lavon frowned, listening to their exchange as he tried to decide which shirt to try next.
"That play solidified Lavon's hero status in this town," Wade countered. "Probably boosted his draft stock as well. You'd have to live under the biggest rock in all of Bluebell not to know about it." Lavon rolled his eyes and buttoned up the blue shirt he'd decided he was going to wear whether Zoe approved or not.
"Blue?" she asked. "We discussed this."
"Ain't nothing wrong with blue," Lavon countered.
"He always wears blue," Wade told Zoe. "It works for him."
"Thank you, Wade." Lavon gave Zoe a pointed look. She rolled her eyes. They didn't get it. But she accepted that she'd lost the red shirt battle. "I'm off to what could be my funeral. You two enjoy your evening and if I don't come back, tell the good people of Bluebell I am against Delia Ann taking my place."
"We'll fight to the death to prevent that from happening," Zoe said with a mock salute.
"Yeah, somethin' tells me she wouldn't be too fond of my playin' Modern Warfare in her doily-covered living room," Wade agreed. Lavon laughed.
"Good luck," Zoe told him. "Don't be the first to bring up football."
"And when it does come up – and it will – try not to brag too much," Wade added. "They may not like that."
"Lavon Hayes does not brag," Lavon countered.
"Lavon Hayes still puts his old Carolina Panthers uniform on and walks around his office," Wade retorted.
"I'm gonna remember this the next time Zoe's mom comes to town."
"She loves Wade," Zoe interjected. "Something about protecting her daughter from drug dealers."
"Yeah. I've got an in," Wade said seriously. Lavon shook his head and left, leaving the two laughing in his kitchen. "Hey," Wade said to Zoe, leaning in to kiss her the way he'd wanted to when he'd walked in the kitchen.
"Hey," she replied back just before his lips met hers for a nice, long kiss. "How long do I have you for before you head back to the Rammer Jammer?" Zoe asked when they pulled away.
"Not long," Wade said. "I reckon I got enough time to eat something real quick before I head back." He went to the fridge and started rummaging for something to make a sandwich out of. "How was your day?"
"It was…" Zoe searched for the right word. "Weird."
"Weird? How?"
"Going into Harley's apartment was like walking into a time warp. There was this table by the door – it looked like he'd just came in from church or Bible study or something, dropped his Bible on the table, emptied his pockets. There was a juice glass in the drying rack of his sink and a medical journey was open to an article on flu vaccinations. It was like everything was there waiting for him to come home."
"I know what you mean," Wade said. He opened a jar of mayonnaise and dipped a butter knife inside. "That was the hardest part after Momma died, seein' all of her things and knowin' she'd never come back to them. A few days after her funeral, Meredith was foldin' some laundry and came across one of Momma's old shirts. She cried the rest of the night."
"I can't imagine," Zoe said. It was hard enough for her to go through the things of a father she'd never known. She couldn't fathom would it would have been like to be faced with all of his things if she had years of memories to go with them. Wade joined her at the bar with his sandwich.
"The day after that I was havin' a hard time with some math homework. I took it into the kitchen so Momma could help me before I remembered she was gone. Me and Meredith packed up most of her clothes and things after that. Dad didn't fight us too much."
"He didn't? He still loves her so much, even after all these years."
"He was already in the bottle. We kept a lot of her jewelry, her china, stuff like that. Meredith's got a lot of her jewelry. Probably should've taken the China too, seein' as most of it is currently piled in the sink with days of dried food on it." Wade looked at Zoe while he chewed a bite of sandwich, a thought occurring to him. "Say, Doc, what would make a person's skin real yellow?"
"Yellow?" Zoe asked cautiously. She had a feeling Wade had crossed paths with Earl.
"Well, not so much yellow as like a yellowish green," Wade corrected. He bit into his sandwich again.
"It could be a number of things. Jaundice, for instance. It's common in newborns due to excess bilirubin in the blood."
"What about an adult?"
"Why all the questions?" Zoe countered. She wanted to know what she was walking into before she started answering. Wade sighed.
"I went out to check on Earl today," he said. "I figured it'd be a good idea to make sure he won't dead or nothin' since he didn't show up in town on the first of the month. He just didn't look right, all yellow and stuff. I don't know. Didn't think it was normal."
"It's not," Zoe said, already feeling herself toeing the line between what she could tell Wade and what she couldn't. "It could be any number of things. He should probably stop drinking for starters, see if that helps anything."
"Good luck with that," Wade muttered. Zoe silently agreed. She watched Wade, noticing he'd gone from devouring his food to picking at it. She reached out and put her hand on his arm.
"You okay?" she asked. Wade hesitated before turning to Zoe.
"When I left today, Earl followed me outside, tried making small talk about my car. He usually don't even tell me bye. He looked real bad. I don't know. Just been thinkin' about it a lot, I guess." Zoe did the only thing she could think to do besides spill everything she knew about Earl's condition. She slipped off her stool.
"Hey," she said, sliding an arm around Wade. "Come here." She wrapped her other arm around him and hugged him. She could feel how tense he was, trying to decide if he was going to play it off like Earl's appearance wasn't bothering him or if he was going to let Zoe see that he was worried. After several moments, he relaxed and wrapped his arms around Zoe. The selfish part of her needed his comfort as much as he needed hers. She absolutely hated not being able to just tell him everything she knew.
"I should finish this before I have to go," he said, pulling away reluctantly. Zoe returned to her stool.
"So remember that time you sat on my porch with me and told me I should give my mom a chance?" she asked him.
"Thanksgiving, yeah."
"Well… Have you considered taking you own advice? Maybe talking to your dad, salvaging your relationship?" She gave Wade what she hoped was a hopeful, convincing smile. He shook his head.
"There's too much water under the bridge for that," he said. "I mean, I don't want anything to happen to the old man or nothin' but we ain't exactly gonna go on father-son camping trips neither."
"He is your dad though," Zoe pointed out. "Speaking as the girl with all sorts of daddy issues, I highly recommend addressing them." Wade sighed.
"Zoe, I know you mean well, but it ain't gonna happen." She could tell by the tone in his voice that he didn't want to discuss it any further. She knew she had to let it go, at least for now.
"Let's deal with my latest dad issue then," she said. "What do I do with Harley's stuff? I'll obviously keep some things, like his Bible and photos, but what do I do with is clothes? His shoes, his kitchen stuff, his furniture? I only managed to go through his kitchen today. Who knew a man who lived alone needed so many pots and pans?"
"Donate it to the church," Wade advised. "They're always having swap meets and fundraisers or donating stuff to shelters and missions. I can help you haul whatever over there." Zoe nodded.
"Okay," she said. "That seems like a suitable suggestion. He was a big part of Bluebell. It only makes sense that his stuff should go to Bluebell."
"Well, there's your latest dad issue solved," Wade said. He leaned over to kiss her cheek. "Want to come with me to the Rammer Jammer? I'll pour you all wine you want and let you boss people around." Zoe considered. She was tempted, but it had been a long day.
"I think I'll pass," she said. "I bought some of Harley's old medical journals home with me. I'll probably read bad medical advice from 2007 until I fall asleep."
"Sounds excitin,'" Wade said.
"Very," Zoe confirmed. "But I won't stop you if you choose to come sleep at my place when you're done."
"I might just take you up on that, Dr. Hart," Wade said. He gave her a suggestive wink. "Come on. I'll at least drive you to the carriage house on my way out."
"Evenin,' Tucker," Wade said as George took a seat at the bar. "Got your Save the Date card the other day. You've got what, five, six months to back out of this?" George rolled his eyes.
"You laugh now, but one of these days, I'm going to be getting your own Save the Date card out of my mailbox," he said.
"You got a while before that happens," Wade countered. He was just figuring out how to be a boyfriend. He certainly wasn't thinking about things like Save the Date cards and wedding invitations. "Want a beer?" George shook his head.
"I actually need to talk to you. You weren't here when I dropped by at lunch, but Shelley said you'd be back. Can we go back to your office?" Wade was instantly suspicious. He jerked his head for George to follow him back to the office. Inside, George took a seat and pulled out the piece of paper he'd made a few notes on from the inside pocket of his jacket. Wade shut the door, instinctively knowing they were about to have a discussion he didn't want overhead, before moving to perch on the desk.
"What's going on, Tucker?"
"I finally got some movement on your case." Wade was all ears. "The good news is that pending a hearing, everything should go through without too much of a problem."
"The bad news?" Wade asked, hesitant to get too excited about the good news until he knew the whole picture. He'd been let down before.
"The bad news is, the hearing isn't until the end of May. I did what I could to get it moved up, but May was the best I could do. Considering they initially had you down for August, I'd take it."
"What's the hearin' about?"
"It's all pretty routine. They'll just ask a few questions, look over the case. Once everything is confirmed, we can sign some papers and all of this is finally behind us. Should be pretty open and shut." Wade let out a relieved sigh.
"Three more months," he said.
"Three more," George confirmed. "We'll have to go up to Birmingham for the hearing though. I figure we can drive up there the afternoon before, get a hotel room for the night." Wade nodded in agreement, thinking. A certain brunette's face kept popping into the forefront of his mind.
"I should tell Zoe," he said, more to himself than to George.
"You should," George agreed. "But are you?" Wade pursed his lips.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I know I should, but things are going so well. I don't want to mess it up." He didn't add that come May, Zoe would likely know whether she got her fellowship which would ultimately determine the direction of their relationship. He liked to overlook that fact as much as he could, at least for the time being.
"It'd be better to tell her yourself, now, rather than it come out on its own," George advised.
"I'll think about it," was the best Wade could offer him. There was a knock on his door and then it opened. William, his bartender, was standing on the other side.
"Sorry to interrupt, boss, but the Jolton brothers are at it again," he said. "Might need some help getting them out of here."
"Be right there," Wade told him, already moving towards the door.
"Those Jolton boys are always fighting about something," George commented, standing to follow Wade out.
"Yeah," Wade agreed. "They're downright wild." He stopped before pushing through the door that opened into the bar and offered George his hand. "Thanks for all your help, Tucker." George shook his hand.
"I told you I'd figure this out," he said. "I just wish it didn't take me so long."
"It is what it is," Wade said. "And it's almost over. The sound of a bar stool hitting the floor made its way to their ears. "Guess I better go save my bar," pushing open the door. He glanced at the clock on the wall as he passed.
Three hours and he could lock the door and head back to the plantation, climb into bed beside Zoe who would probably be fast asleep. After being forced to think about too many things he liked to keep buried in the back of his mind, he wanted nothing more as he pulled Brice Jolton off his brother than to feel his girlfriend's warm body curled up next to his. She was more comfort to him than she could ever know.
Harley's post is kind of magical in my mind. But I have an affinity for all things old and traditional. :)
Thanks so much for reading and reviewing!