Filed to story: Love on the Sidelines (Natalie & Karl)
His chuckle was low and deep. “God, you’re going to kill me, aren’t you? Now, turn around and I’ll put the necklace on for you.” When he’d fastened it, I picked it up and slid it under my shirt, swearing never to take it off. And for the next year we did “practice” occasionally, but Karl was always very careful to keep things on an even keel. It was one of the happiest years of my life.
Looking back, I wonder why we were so secretive about our relationship. We never let on how we felt about each other in front of others, almost as though we’d made a pact. I think Aunt Jane knew. A few times when Karl was eating dinner with us I’d catch her looking from him to me, a sadness in her gaze that sent chills over my skin.
I’d been catching a lot of grief from Mama and Aunt Darla after my seventeenth birthday because I didn’t appear interested in dating.
“It’s just not natural for a girl your age to ignore boys,” Aunt Darla declared.
The whole family, Karl included, was sitting on the front porch that evening, and of course, everyone had an opinion.
“I don’t ignore them,” I told her. “I just don’t date them.”
“Sweetheart, surely there’s someone you like?” Mama said. “What about Hugh?
Helena told me he’s asked you to the movies.”
“I didn’t like what was playing.” I glanced at Karl and rolled my eyes. He gave me a brooding look in return.
“Leave her alone, Ellie.” The Judge spoke in my defense. “You should be thankful the girl’s got too much sense to be boy crazy.”
“She’s only seventeen,” Aunt Jane added. “She has plenty of time.” Later, I got Karl’s input on the subject.
“Maybe they’re right,” he told me. That brooding expression was still on his face.
“Maybe you should be dating.”
My mouth dropped open. “You actually want me to date other guys?” He sighed. “No. I’d probably go nuts if you did. But it might be better for you.” He hesitated. “Natalie, I’m always going to be Frank Hayes’s kid. The only future I’ve got is working at Hawkins’ garage. You deserve better than that. Somebody like Hugh could give you a good life.”
“I don’t love Hugh,” I said, hurt that he’d even suggest such a thing. “And I wish everyone would find something else to occupy their time and stop nagging me.”
Be careful what you wish for might be clichéd, but there’s usually a reason why those old sayings have lasted so long. The next day, my father came home.
“Are you going to the garden?” I watched as Mama gathered a knife and a large tin wash pan.
“Yes. The snap beans need picking, and so do the cucumbers and tomatoes. And I want to check the corn. It was almost ready a few days ago.”
“I’ll go with you.” I tossed aside the magazine I’d been thumbing through and got another knife. The garden was one of my favorite places on earth. The feel of the soft, moist dirt under my bare feet and the scent of growing plants was something I looked forward to every year. Almost as much as I looked forward to the first taste of a ripe, red tomato, warm from the sun, the juice dribbling down my chin as I sank my teeth through the tender skin.
When the garden was producing, it was rare for anyone to go grocery shopping.
About once a month someone would go for the staples-flour, sugar, coffee, and tea- things we couldn’t grow ourselves. Our meals were typically southern and no one ever worried about cholesterol or antioxidants. Even meat was no problem because the Judge paid to a have a calf and a pig slaughtered every year, and the white-wrapped packages with red stamps proclaiming the contents filled one entire freezer.
A typical supper for us consisted of meat, usually fried, cornbread, fried or mashed potatoes, green beans, sliced ripe tomatoes, green onions, and cucumbers in vinegar, salted and peppered. If you’d offered anyone in my family tofu, they wouldn’t have had a clue what you were talking about, and wouldn’t have eaten it if they had. To them, we ate healthy. It was the junk and fast food that could kill you.
The garden was an acre plot behind the barn, and I was dreaming about fresh corn-on-the-cob for supper that evening as I followed Mama down the back steps. We both paused as a shiny black car pulled into the drive.
“Who in the world…” Mama muttered, one hand cupped above her eyes to block the sun’s glare.
The car wasn’t familiar to me either, so I figured it was probably a salesman or the Jehovah’s Witnesses. We get a lot of both around here. Most folks simply sent the Witnesses on their way or didn’t answer the door at all, but heaven help them if Aunt Darla was around. She’d usher the Witnesses right into the living room, pour them a glass of tea, and set about converting them to the Southern Baptist faith. I’ve known her to keep the poor victims hostage for up to three hours at a whack while she quoted 56 verse and scripture faster than they could come up with answers. She said it was her Christian duty to show them the error of their ways.
But the man climbing out of the car didn’t look like a salesman or a Witness, in spite of being well dressed. He wasn’t carrying a briefcase or a handful of pamphlets. He was tall and slim, with dark hair that curled gently around his nape, and warm, dark brown eyes that smiled hesitantly as he walked toward us.
The first indication I had that all was not well was the sound of Mama’s tin pan hitting the gravel of the driveway. It was so loud I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, her face white as new cotton on the boll.
“Mama?” This wasn’t like her at all, and I was suddenly worried. “What’s wrong?”
“Go in the house, Natalie.”
“No. I’m not leaving you here alone.”
“Please,” she whispered.
By then he’d reached us, and when he spoke, his voice held both apology and determination. “I’m sorry it has to be this way, Ellie, but you haven’t left me much choice. She’s seventeen. It’s time you let her make up her own mind.” Mama stepped in front of me, her back tense. “She’s too young. Now get out of here before I call the police.”
“You can call them if it will make you feel better, but I’m not leaving until I have a chance to talk to Natalie.” His gaze fastened on me over Mama’s shoulder.
I was on the verge of panic. I didn’t know what was going on, but I knew Mama felt threatened by this man, and that set all my protective alarms screaming on high volume. Before I had time to react, Aunt Darla and Aunt Jane charged out of the house like angry mother bears. Aunt Jane put her arm around Mama’s shoulder while Aunt Darla grabbed me and tried to tow me back inside. I dug in my heels and refused to budge. They had been talking about me like I wasn’t there, and I wanted to know what was going on.