“He just works all the time,” Gran said as soon as he left. “Let’s sit and chat.”
Stella soon joined them and they enjoyed a long breakfast of pancakes and sausage. About halfway through, Stella broached the subject of an assignment she was working on for a class in the fall. She was required to gather as much information as possible about the health and fitness histories of her immediate relatives. The profiles would be studied in class with the goal of projecting the longevity of each student. On the Banning side, things looked rather grim. Pete’s father had died of a heart attack at forty-nine; his mother of pneumonia at fifty. Aunt Florry was fifty and seemed to be in reasonably good health, but not a single Banning, male or female, in the past century had lived to see seventy.
Joel claimed to be helping with the project and took notes. They discussed Gran’s parents, both dead, as well as Mr. Sweeney’s.
Mrs. Sweeney was sixty-six and claimed to be in excellent health. She was suffering from no maladies and taking no medications. She had never had cancer, heart disease, or any other serious illness. She had been hospitalized twice in Memphis for the births of her daughters, nothing else. She hated hospitals and tried to avoid them. Joel and Stella claimed to be relieved to learn that they had inherited more promising genes from the Sweeney side.
—
If Nineva told the truth, as she almost always did, why would Liza and Dexter Bell lie and create the ruse of visiting her mother, who was dying of cancer in a Memphis hospital? And hide it from the kids and everyone else?
Which led to the next question: What did they really do that day?
—
Two nights in Kansas City were enough. Gran drove them to the station and everybody had a hug. Promises were made to see each other soon and keep in touch. Back in the dining car, Joel and Stella took deep breaths and asked for some wine.
They stopped in St. Louis and checked into a downtown hotel. Joel wanted to watch a Cardinals game at Sportsman’s Park and insisted that his sister go with him. She had no interest in baseball but really had no choice. The team was in second place. Stan Musial was on a rampage and leading the league in hitting and homers, and this meant a great deal to her brother. Both enjoyed the game.
From St. Louis, they continued east, switched trains in Louisville and Pittsburgh, and finally arrived at Union Station in D.C. on the evening of June 17. Stella’s two-month internship with a textbook publisher began the following Monday and she needed to find a cheap room.
Joel’s hit-or-miss unpaid summer clerkship with the Wilbanks firm would resume when he returned to Clanton. He was not looking forward to it. He was fed up with the law and law school and was thinking of skipping a year, maybe two. He wanted to get away, to go search for adventure out west, where he could hide from all the crap he was dealing with. Why couldn’t he spend a few months fishing for trout in shallow mountain streams instead of sitting through dull classes, or driving to Whitfield for another depressing visit, or worrying about which legal hijinks Burch Dunlap might be cooking up next, or stopping by the pink cottage to hold Florry’s hand as opera wailed in the background?
He was low on cash, so he passed on first class and bought a regular ticket to Memphis. He was sitting on a bar stool drinking a beer in Union Station when she walked by. Short black hair, dark eyes, perfect features. Maybe twenty years old, a real stunner, and he wasn’t the only man in the bar to take notice. Tall, thin, nicely proportioned. When she was out of sight he returned to his beer, and his troubles, and found it hard to believe that he had passed on a first-class ticket because he was worried about money.
He drained his glass, walked toward departures, and there she was again. He maneuvered close and hoped she was going his way. She was, and he noticed a couple of other men measuring her up and down. He boarded behind her and managed to snag the seat next to her. He got himself situated, ignored her, opened a magazine, and stuck his nose in it. With their elbows almost touching, he managed to sneak another glance as the train jolted and began to move. There was some exotic ethnic stuff in play, and the result was stunning. Joel had never seen a face as beautiful. She read a paperback and acted as if she were alone on an empty train. Must be a defensive mechanism, he thought. She probably gets hounded every time she leaves home.
Outside D.C., as the temperature rose, he stood and removed his jacket. She glanced up. He smiled; she did not. He sat down and asked, “Where you headed?”
A smile that weakened his knees. “Jackson.”
There were several Jacksons down south and fortunately they were all at least a thousand miles away. If he got lucky, he would be at her elbow for hours. “Mississippi?”
“Yes.”
“I know it well. That your home?”
“No, I’m from Biloxi, but I’ll stay a night or two in Jackson.”
Soft, sultry voice, a trace of Gulf Coast accent. To the rest of Mississippi, the coast was another world. Heavily Catholic, influenced by the French, Spanish, Creoles, Indians, and Africans, it had become a melting pot with lots of Italians, Yugoslavs, Lebanese, Chinese, and, as always, Irish.
“I like Jackson,” he said, which was only partially true, but it was his turn to say something.
“It’s okay,” she said. She had lowered her paperback, a clear sign to him that she wanted to chat. “Where do you hang out in Jackson?” she asked.
Whitfield, because my mother is locked away in the nuthouse. He would offer his first name but not his last. That was his defensive mechanism. “There’s a little speakeasy behind the Heidelberg that I’m quite fond of. I’m Joel.”
“I’m Mary Ann. Malouf.”
“Where does Malouf come from?”
“My father is Lebanese; my mother is Irish.”
“And the dominant genes win. You are quite beautiful.” He couldn’t believe he had just said that. What an idiot!
She smiled and again his heart skipped a beat.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I’ll get off at Memphis.” Or, I’ll ride this train to Mars and back if you’ll stay right there. “I go to school at Ole Miss. Law school.” One reason to stay in law school was that young ladies liked to chat with young men who were about to become lawyers. During his first year at Ole Miss, he had quickly learned this clever trick and used it whenever appropriate.
“How long have you been at Ole Miss?” she asked.
“This will be my second year.”
“I haven’t seen you around.”
“Around? Around where?”
“Around campus. I’ll be a sophomore at Ole Miss this fall.”
The school had four thousand students and only 15 percent were female. How had he missed her? He smiled and said, “Small world, I guess. The law students tend to stay in one place.” He marveled at his good fortune. Not only did he have her to himself for the next ten hours, but they would be on the same campus in a couple of months. For a rare moment, he had reason to smile.
“What brought you to D.C.?” she asked.
“I was helping my sister get moved in, a summer job. We’re from a small town not far from Oxford. And you?”
“Visiting my fiancé. He works for a Senate committee.”
And just like that, the party ended. He hoped he didn’t frown or grimace or look as though he might weep. He hoped he managed to keep the same pleasant look and seem somewhat understanding, which he doubted in the face of such a calamity.
“That’s nice,” he managed to say. “When is the big day?”
“We’re not sure. After I graduate. We’re in no hurry.”
With romance and a future together no longer a possibility, they talked about their plans for the rest of the summer, and college and law school and what they hoped to do after graduation. As gorgeous as she was, Joel eventually lost interest and fell asleep.