Celia stands and reaches across the table to shake Sarge’s hand, but he bends down and taps his lips to her knuckles instead, winking as his lips leave her. I have to admit, the old man’s still a charmer.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Celia smiles and tilts her head. “Tell me, why do they call you Sarge? Were you in the military?”
“No, I’ve never had the honor.” His gravelly voice fills the room as he leans forward and places both hands on the table. “They call me Sarge ‘cause I’m a mean sonuva-bitch. Always have been.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I have a feeling, deep down, you’re a big old softie.” Celia matches Sarge’s wink with a sweet-as-sugar smile.
“Ha! Deep down, girlie, I’m pretty sure I’m nothing but piss and vinegar. I don’t think I could find it in my black heart to be mean to you, though. You’re a pint-sized sweetie. You’d fit right in my pocket,” he says with a wheezy laugh before pointing at me. “I like this one, Tucker, she’s a keeper.”
“Yes, sir. Who wants fettuccine?” I ask with a big smile, ignoring his slip up. Celia places her hand on my thigh and squeezes. I bow my head and meet her understanding eyes with a slight smile.
As dinner moves along, I try to guide the conversation to safe topics:
“Summer is heating up fast this year.”
“This chocolate cake is amazing.”
“How do you make garlic bread again?”
Titillating conversation? Not at all, but I’m making a concerted effort not to date the conversation—I can’t be expected to be fascinating, too.
“Sarge, how did you and your wife meet?”
He waggles his eyebrows and chuckles at Celia’s question. He gazes lovingly across the table at Granny and smirks. “She couldn’t resist my masculine charm.”
“Is that so, Malcolm? I remember things a little differently,” Granny says as she turns her attention to Celia. “I was engaged to a friend of his. Mark Comeaux.”
“Really? Engaged?” Celia laughs.
“Oh yes,” Granny admits with a solemn nod. “I met Malcolm at a church bazaar. We hardly spoke a word to one another, but we knew with just one look. Malcolm turned to Mark and said, ‘I need you to get that ring off my future wife’s finger or I’ll have to ask you to step outside.’ The rest is history.”
“I’ll never tire of hearing that story,” Mom says with misty eyes.
“She was a vision … still is. Now, that’s true love, girlie,” Sarge says with a wink in Celia’s direction. “I’ve been married to this beautiful woman for … for…”
Sarge’s gaze shifts around the table, gathering clues, trying to make sense of it all. Confusion is etched on is face, and agitation follows close behind.
“Tucker?” His puzzled eyes leave me and swing to my mother. “Lila Jane, where’s my boy?”
“Malcolm, why don’t you come upstairs with me? I need you to see about changing the hallway light,” Granny says, standing and reaching out her hand to Sarge.
“He’s gone, isn’t he? And who the hell are you?”
Shit, that stings. I know it shouldn’t. My head tells me it’s normal, expected, for him to be confused. But my heart feels different. He glares at me with bewildered eyes.
I turn to Celia and lean into her, needing comfort, reassurance maybe … I’m not really sure what I need, but whatever it is I want it from her. She meets me halfway and laces her fingers with mine.
“I think it’s time to go,” I whisper.
Her hand traces the line of my jaw, and she smiles. Her expression isn’t filled with sympathy or pity, like I would expect. Only understanding.
We drive in silence. This is why I resisted when Mom initially invited Celia to our family dinner. With the bad days far outweighing the good ones lately, I should have known better.
The truck approaches the pond, and I make a split second decision and slam the brakes to turn in.
“Whoa,” Celia squeaks, clutching the “oh shit” handle.
“Sorry, I’m not trying to kill us, but I thought we’d make a pit stop. You game?”
She looks out the window at the pond and turns back with a huge smile. “Sure.”
After helping her out of the truck, I grab a blanket I have stashed in the back seat. I smell the honeysuckle bush before I see it, and it reminds me of her. I walk over and snap a flower, then slide it behind her ear.
“Perfect,” I say as her shiny blue eyes melt just a bit more. I tug her hand, pulling her with me. “Come on.”
She peers off the wharf into the tiny boat and looks back at me with wide eyes. “You never said anything about a boat.”
I roll my eyes and step into the boat, tossing the blanket at my feet. I outstretch my hand and give her my most charming smile. “Live a little, my beautiful fairy. I’ll keep you safe.”
“Oh really? You’re the reason I’m afraid. No way a guy your size should be in a boat this tiny. We’ll sink for sure!” She crosses her arms with a huff and gives me a skeptical look.
“Celia, I fish in this boat every Saturday. Trust me,” I say as I reach for her again. This time, she reluctantly takes my hand and carefully steps into the boat.
Once I have her settled on one of the tiny benches, I start the motor and putter out to the center of the pond. The only sounds are the chirping crickets, the croaking frogs, and the water lapping the sides of the boat. After spreading the blanket out on the bottom of the boat, I settle in and tug Celia to join me. I sit her between my legs, her back to my front, and wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into my chest. A long, relaxed sigh releases from her lips as her head falls back onto my chest.
“You have the best ideas, Cain,” she whispers.
“That’s a fact.” She chuckles lightly at my response, and we both settle into the silence while we stargaze. Everything is amplified out here, away from the city. The sky is blacker, the stars are brighter, the words we whisper seem to hold more meaning.
“He thinks I’m his son, my mom’s brother,” I say, breaking the silence.
“What?” Celia shifts to see my face.
“Tucker. He was my mom’s brother. He died in a car accident before I was born. It was a tough time for everyone, from what I’ve been told. Sarge took it especially hard.”
“That’s terrible, Cain. I’m sorry your family had to go through that,” she says.
“Yeah, me too. Anyway, I hold a small resemblance to Tucker, so he gets confused.”
“When was he diagnosed?”
“Gosh,” I say, blowing out a breath, thinking back to the beginning, when I wasn’t even aware of what was going on. I was just a kid. “It’s been over ten years now. We moved home because Granny started seeing signs. Missed payments, lapsed permits, things she could no longer attribute to simple forgetfulness. Mo got him in to see the best neurologist in Shreveport, and he confirmed what they already knew. Sarge was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s.
“Mom took over the books for his rental properties, and, as I got older, I’ve taken on more and more responsibility. I pretty much run everything now, with the help of my cousin, Will. He’s still in college, but we’ll run the business together.”
I still remember the first time I saw Sarge lash out at Mom. The more she tried to explain things to him, the more agitated he got. After getting right in her face and yelling, he threw the papers in the air and stormed out of the house. I’d never in my life seen him act that way. Unfortunately, it’s become all too common as time goes on.
“That has to be hard for your family,” Celia says as her fingers run absentmindedly through my hair.
“The worst part of it is, I don’t recognize him anymore. He’s not the man who helped raise me. Sarge has always been a hard ass, but he was a fair man. He took on the role of father figure in my life; he taught me what it means to be a man.” I shake my head and think of all that’s happened in the last decade. “His personality has changed so much. He’s become rigid and unwavering—cruel even. Do you know Mo can’t even be around him anymore? He tells her she’s going to hell for her ‘deviant lifestyle.’ The Sarge I know would never say things like that. He’s always loved Mo.”