Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

LETTIE

" O hhh, you're just in time." Granny throws her arms around me, beating my back. "It's so lonely without you two here."

She squeezes Dane around his waist. "I think you've grown another few inches since I've seen you." She comes out of the embrace, craning her neck to see him. "And better lookin' too. Finally growing into that body. Don't ya think, Lil Bit?"

Yes, I'll vouch for his body and wow, does he know how to use it.

"He's okay." Granny has always called me her Lil Bit. When I sneak a peek at Dane, the smile he gives me sends an avalanche of emotions cascading over my body.

"What's the matter? Your face looks like I could fry an egg on it," Granny says to me.

Dane splays his hand across my back and saves me. "What are we just in time for, Grans?"

He's part of our family. Dane never treated me or my grandparents like we were less than. Never said a word about not having a clothes dryer and having to hang our clothes out back on the clothesline. He'd sit on the floral couch we picked up off the side of a road that was twenty years older than we were. In fact, Dane loved coming to our trailer as much as I loved going to his house, but they were different experiences.

At his house, we played hide and seek, watched movies, and played ping pong in the basement. His mom taught me how to set a proper table. Napkin and fork to the left of the plate, knife, and spoon to the right with the water glass just above the plate on the right. As I got older, I learned to set a table for a more formal dinner party with wine glasses, dessert, bread, and where to line up the forks and spoons for the different courses.

When we were at my house, we fished in the creek, played volleyball and badminton using the clothesline as the net, and helped Granny in the garden and Paps doing handyman stuff. Anything Dane knows about manual labor comes from my grandparents.

"We need to snap some string beans. You're lucky that Paps already pulled them from the garden."

We follow her to the back porch, and she motions for us to sit in the two tattered and torn lawn chairs. What will happen when Dane makes millions? Will he still sit in these chairs and snap beans? My stomach sinks just a little.

"Grans, why don't they call them snapping beans?" he asks.

"Don't know. My mama called them string beans and if you didn't snap them fast enough, she was mean as a snake."

Granny confided in me once, telling me that she had been too lenient on my mother because she didn't want her to feel the same sense of rejection she had felt. And Granny believes my mother's drug addiction was a direct result of her being allowed to come and go as she pleased. We all make decisions out of fear, and I think Granny's biggest one was that her daughter would despise her if she were strict, the same way she hated her mom.

She kept a much tighter leash on me. Of course, I was with Dane and my grandparents trusted him completely. So even when I made wrong, rash decisions, Dane was there to keep me safe and drive me home.

"You college kids may have forgotten," she says, showing us once and cackling through a hoarse smoking voice. "I've already washed them. Just snap off the edges and pull the string out."

"Got it."

"I'll be inside finishing up Sunday vittles."

When she says vittles instead of lunch or supper, embarrassment crosses my mind. Why does she have to say that?

"I love me some vittles." Dane laughs. "We'll be done in no time. Anything else you need a big, strong man to do?"

"Paps is chopping wood, so ask him when he gets back."

I throw a b ean at him as Granny lets the cheap screen door slam when she walks inside, and he throws one back. Then two. Before we know it, we're in a green bean fight, laughing like we're in middle school.

"We better pick these up, or Grans will have our hides," Dane says. He crouches down and holds his hand together, making a bowl. "Throw them in my hands. For each one that misses, you have to kiss me."

"Hell no. You have to work for these lips." I pucker up and tap my lips a few times. A grumble rolls through Dane's chest. Throwing the beans into Dane's large palms, I would have had to miss on purpose so when there's only a few left, I say, "If you can throw them all into my hands from the pinwheel, I'll let you kiss me goodnight. Deal?"

Giving me a crooked smile, he stands, invading my space. His tongue runs along the seam of his lips before saying, "Deal. You forget I'm a good shot."

Yes, he is, not just with his hands.

He walks backward, dropping the dirty beans into his seat, and then picks up the remaining. Dane throws the first bean, and it hits off my thumb and lands on the ground. Secretly, I'm disappointed. I wanted a kiss good night.

"One more chance?" Dane begs.

If I give into Dane now, I'll be like every other bimbo he sleeps with. Plus, we can't keep kissing and having sex when we don't know where this is going. Obviously, we both love the sex, but there's our friendship to think about.

"Sorry. " I shrug my shoulders and smile. It's better for him to find out now that I'm not going to fall at his feet even if I want to.

"But…"

"Looky here," my grandfather says, "My two favorite people." He lets out a hearty laugh as he grabs us both, one in each arm.

"Lil Bit, come help me," Granny yells through the open kitchen window.

"Coming." I press on my toes, giving Paps a kiss on the cheek.

Granny hands me the hand mixer. I grab the milk, butter, and salt and set it beside the bowl before plugging in the mixer.

"Just eyeball it."

"It'd be easier if you just told me how much."

Granny has had a hard life but a mostly happy one, and I like to think I'm one of the reasons for her happiness. But it's her sayings that always make me do one of two things: laugh or contemplate.

"Life is like mashed potatoes; sometimes you get lumps, and sometimes they're as smooth as silk. What's going on with you and Dane? Are we in the smooth as silk stage?" she asks.

Is she a fr eakin mind reader?

"What do you mean? Dane and I are what we always are."

"Best friends and nothing more?" She pauses, moving her spatula in circles. "I've seen the look that boy has been giving you and the one you're trying to hide."

How can she know? I turn the mixer on high, hoping the whirring will drown out her questions.

"Don't go too fast; you'll make the potatoes tough."

"Is that a metaphor for something?" I ask.

"Just slow down."

A little too late for that.

Not knowing if she's referring to Dane and me or the potatoes, I slow the mixer to medium speed. I add the butter first, so it melts before pouring the milk into the mixture. Another round of mixing, then I salt and pepper to taste. Granny leans around my arm, dips her own spoon into the creamy mixture, tasting it. "Perfect, call the boys to vittles."

Granny had my mom when she was sixteen, and my mom got pregnant with me at fifteen so even though Granny is older than most of my friends' moms, it's not by much. She's beautiful, even weathered and worn. But if she had the money, and if she cared, she could be on one of the homemaker magazines. "Seamstress of the Year shares her Mashed Potato Recipe."

As I tell Paps and Dane that supper is ready, I look around, recognizing that nothing has changed from the rusted red lawn mower by the shed to the same Jesus picture hangi ng over the couch.

They don't buy anything new and only buy what they need and nothing else. We bow our heads as Paps says grace. I can't remember the last time I prayed, reminding me of a country song.

In our house, Granny puts everything on the table in bowls, and we pass it around with each person taking a portion. Of course, she makes enough for Dane to have two pork chops, mashed potatoes, and Dane gets his own bowl of his favorite side dish, prepared country style—greased spinach with bacon.

"Young lady, are you ready for your competitions coming up?" Paps ask.

"I think so. I'll be training with Jasper Cole for a while. He won the Olympics in the show jumping event, the last time around."

"Do you have everything figured out with your classes? The Olympics is a snapshot in life; you can't make money riding horses forever," Granny asks.

She wants more for me than this small town. Sometimes, I think she lives vicariously through me, always wanting every detail of my classes or the rundown on who I've met or if I've been to a new restaurant. When I mentioned the Mediterranean restaurant, she had to know the flavors involved, and her eyes closed as if the food was in her mouth. I wish they would come to Lexington more often, but they only come up for one game a year of Dane's and turn around and drive back without staying the night. I make a mental note to get them a hotel room this year and take them to different restaurants.

Dane cuts in because Granny is a realist, wanting me to complete my education. "Grans, she's gotten it all taken care of like she always does. Lettie's being a good girl." He smirks, and his innuendo makes me flush. Quickly, I stuff my mouth, so she doesn't notice this either. Is he trying to out us?

"If you say so. Excuse me," she says, pushing back from the table, grabbing the orange Tupperware pitcher of sweet tea, and refilling our glasses. Without fanfare, Granny grabs a paper grocery bag that she's stuffed with some used tissue paper from when we celebrated Mother's Day.

"Happy early birthday. I wish we could come to your competitions, but we'll watch it on the computer. Allen's coming over to see if he can play it on the television, so you don't look so small on the phone."

My birthday isn't for months, and Allen is my uncle on my dad's side. He owns a hunting business.

"You didn't need to get me anything." She usually orders something from JCPenney, or we go to Ashland to shop at Kohls.

"Open it," Dane says, scooting his chair to mine.

I fling the floral paper onto the floor and peek in the bag. Looking up, I see the pride in their faces. As I pull out the black, long boots, tears slide around inside my lids. "This Is too much."

My first th ought is, did Dane help pay for these? These cost as much as Paps makes in two weeks. They've always given up so much for me. I'm the reason they don't have a new couch or lamp or one of those fancy zero turn lawn mowers. Sensing I'm two seconds away from sobbing, Dane rubs my back. It's day two of taking medicine, which means my body is still adjusting. I'm less depressed today, but I believe that has more to do with Dane and me having sex than it does about my ADHD.

"We're proud of you, Lil Bit. You'll never know how much and while we can't spend the money traveling to see you compete, we want you to know how happy we are that you've gone so far."

Paps agrees, "We sure are. I tell all the guys at work how you and that horse are practically glued together."

I lunge into hug her, and the chair topples over, taking us both to the white linoleum floor, with an ivy border. Paps and Dane come to our rescue, but Granny and I are on our backs, cackling. "I love you, Granny."

She cackles, "I just want you to be happy with your life and enjoy every minute of college and these days of competing. I want you to find someone who makes you as happy as your Paps makes me. Always has."

Paps tugs her off the floor and into his arms and kisses her nose. "Love you, Winnie."

"Love you, George."

Dane and I "ahh" in unison. "Thank you for the boots; they're beautiful." And I'm not lying. The leather is as smooth and soft as butter on the outside. I run my han d up and down the shaft, then I sit down to slip them on and then prance around the trailer like an equestrian princess. The entire time, Dane's gaze won't let me go as he wraps me in his appreciation.

We sit on the back porch that looks out to the woods, having a Ho-Ho cake and drinking a glass of milk in the early fall. The leaves are turning to lighter shades of greens and yellows, but in a few weeks, the trees will have turned to reds and oranges. It's one thing I miss about living here—so beautiful and undisturbed.

We kiss them goodbye and promise to call.

Dane opens my door, and I scoot inside the SUV. We've had an incredible weekend and if I had to rank my experiences, it would be:

1) Making love with Dane last night

2) Having sex with Dane this morning

3) Sitting on those plastic strap lawn chairs snapping beans with Dane.

4) My grandparents' gift.

The gift is great, but material things shouldn't come in front of our relationships. And as much I don't want to talk about what's next for Dane and me, I know we have to.

We chat about my gift, Granny's greased spinach and mashed potatoes, and then Dane's dad calls, and they talk for a few minutes about his schoolwork and basketball. Sometimes I wonder if they ever talk about anything else.

When he han gs up, I blurt out, "Let's make a list of pros and cons."

"A list? Our relationship shouldn't be defined by a list," he argues.