There’s a place off Interstate 75 South called Spirit of Choice. It’s a tavern accommodating to all walks of life. Truckers, college kids, moms and dads in need of a night out are all welcome at Spirit of Choice. This joint is famous for its selection of bourbon plus they serve great bacon. Oh yeah…and I own it.

My name is Charles Cunningham. Y’all can call me Charley. And this is a story about the night I learned fate exists. I’d always had a hunch there was a divine being watchin’ over us all. I started to suspect I have no control over my own destiny when about a year ago I placed a newspaper ad for a cook and ended up with a wife.

I’d pushed the thought of divinity to the back of my mind until it reemerged on this particular occasion. It was the middle of summer and hot as hell in Georgia. On that random Tuesday night Spirit of Choice was empty save for one young gentleman.

His name was Timothy Kelly. I know because I checked his ID to make sure he was old enough to drink. And just in case he wasn’t one of those undercover rascals trying to bust me again for not carding.  He wasn’t one of them which became apparent when he broke down sobbing at my bar.

Spirit of Choice was anything but the type of establishment where one should be crying. The air reeked of Marlboro cigarettes, a sickly scent of stale PBR, and its walls were coated in Sharpie signatures, dollar bills, plus a few bras. And here I am – the proprietor — a large, red headed man with a burning bush of a beard — and my wife — who most folks would describe as rather plain but I think she’s the sexiest thing alive — standing on the other side of the bar watching our patron, Timothy, cry his eyes out into a cocktail napkin.

Together we looked with consternation at Timothy. My wife rubbed her pregnant belly while her eyes darted back and forth between me and this troubled young man. Her light brown curls were piled high away from her face and sparkling hazel eyes studied Timothy’s sad form.

“Darlin’,” she said. “I was fixin’ to make us something to eat. Would you like a nibble?”

Timothy looked down at the scuffed toes of his black shoes, “No thank you, ma’am. I’m fine.”

“Anyone who says their fine hardly ever is,” she said.

“Aw come on baby,” I sighed. “Leave the guy alone. Go on and make some sandwiches. Timmy, if you don’t want yours, then I’ll eat it when I’m closing up the place.”

Timothy shrugged. “Whatever suits you best.”

She shot one eyebrow up at me, and I raised both my red brows in return, then she spun on her heels and trotted back to the kitchen yelling on the way, “You didn’t say please!”

“Please, Miss Dee! I love you!”

“Only because I cook for you!”

“She knows I’m playing Timmy,” I said turning to my customer. “Or is it Timothy? You did say your name is Timothy right? My brother and I had a good pal growing up named Timmy. Hadn’t seen him in years. Would you mind if I called you Timmy?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Alrighty then, pleased to meet you Timmy.” I twirled my beard. “I’m Charles Cunningham, founder and owner here at Spirit of Choice. You can call me Charley. That sassafras upstart grilling you a sandwich is the love of my life, Mrs. Deidra Leigh Cunningham. You can call her Miss Dee if you like. It’s what I do.”

Timothy said nothing at my proclamation which made me even more perplexed. Here was this good-looking man, only a few years younger than me with spiky brown hair, donned in a black leather jacket. He could have been a rock star except for his slump. Like the weight of the world was betwixt his shoulders. I was determined to help ease my customer’s troubles. It’s something I was good at and my business focused on making sure folks had a good time while Spirit of Choice. I poured my guest a shot of bourbon then slid it across the bar, pouring another for myself. “Here’s to meeting new people.”

Timothy Kelly raised his drink in return.

“Cheers” I said clinking my shot glass. I tilted my shot back while pouring another round in the same movement. “Do you know why people toast that way, Timmy?”

“Why?”

“It’s how one uses all five senses. You can see your drink, it’s lovely color waiting for consumption. You can smell it,” I lifted the shot glass and sniffed the bourbon, its warmth burning my nostrils. “You can taste it,” I said shooting back my drink. “Then you feel it warming up your insides. One way you can hear how much God loves you, and wants you to be happy, is while toasting. This is why we never drink alone. It’s not a true experience unless you can use all your sensory perceptions.”

Timothy didn’t reply. His blue eyes glistened with tears under unkempt eyebrows. I would find out later that technically Timmy wasn’t even supposed to be drinking while taking antidepressants; however, the liquor seemed to make his mind relax.

“Would you like another shot, Timmy?”

Timothy’s tummy burned as the alcoholic mixed with the acid of an empty stomach. I would later learn he hadn’t eaten that day. After only eating Cinnamon Toast Crunch and Campbell’s Soup for the past month, he didn’t want to force anything else down. Nothing tasted good anymore. Food was only a form of sustenance. His medicine wasn’t working. My liquor did though.

“I take it by your lack of response you don’t want another round?”

“Oh no, Charley, please, I’d like one more.”

I half-smiled and poured his shot. Timothy Kelly watched the honey liquid flow into our two glasses, then wrapped his lean fingers around the shot, brought the whiskey’s scent to his nostrils, and clinked glasses with me. I was right: the only way to hear his drink was by toasting.

“To you good sir,” I said putting the bottle of bourbon back under the bar then asked, “What do you do to pay the rent?”

“I’m a freshman math professor over at Mercer. Before that I worked in a music shop, selling guitars and giving lessons. It was a great gig…didn’t pay enough to make ends meet. I’d always had a knack for math and the college needed a teacher. I’ve been doing that now for a few years.”

“And does it make you happy?”

“Huh?”

“Are you content with your job teaching math?”

“For Heaven’s sake, Charley!” Deidra cried coming out of the kitchen. “I leave for a hot minute and come back to find you interrogating our guest!”

“It’s alright, Miss Dee.” Timmy said.

Deidra shot up that eyebrow of hers eying me again. “If you say so, Mr. Kelly. Sandwiches will be right up.” She turned, belly first, and headed back into the kitchen.

“Lord I love that woman. But I swear she didn’t have an attitude until she got knocked up.” I chuckled. “Only playing. She’s a pistol ain’t she?”

Timothy ignored my remark. I suppose his belly full of bourbon was a bit unsettled and even more so at my candor. Timmy was shaking inside though he attempted to make conversation. “Um…so…how far along is she?”

“Miss Dee is almost full-term and due in October. I was always hoping to time it right so we got pregnant in the late summer, have a little girl born in the spring, and name her something sweet like April, May, or June. My calculations were off.  Our girl was meant to be born in the fall so we could name her Autumn.”

“Is that what y’all are going to call the baby?”

“Yes sir. Autumn Leigh Cunningham. And if she’s anything like her parents, she’ll be a hand full. Deidra’s pretty keen on the name Autumn. That woman always gets what she wants.”

“Aw, Charley,” Deidra said returning to the bar. She carried a platter laden with grilled cheeses and to the side was a stack of crispy bacon.

“Dee – you made us bacon! Guess you do love me.”

“It’s how I keep you on your toes,” she winked. “The bacon expires today and it doesn’t look like we’ll have a truckload of people comin’ in for breakfast tonight.” She set the platter down on the bar and handed Timothy a napkin. “Dig in.”

Timothy reached for a sandwich while studying the two of us. Miss Dee and me were quite the pair. I was dressed in my usual uniform: a pair of dark jeans with a chain on my hip linking to the wallet. A long black tee shirt faded with age stretched across my burly chest. I noshed on a strip of bacon, the crispy remnants clinging onto my red scruff, using a free hand to pat my wife on the back.

Deidra was downright short. She had very modest features by comparison to me — her outrageous husband. A tiny nose set between freckled cheeks, and she didn’t have on a scrap of makeup. Her breasts perched atop her gigantic stomach which were the only part of her that had put on weight. I thought back to her pre-pregnancy. Not much was different — just lack of the bump. Dee was still a very tiny thing. She’d taken to borrowing my shirts in her third trimester, and an over-sized black shirt formed a tent around her belly.  I never thought a woman would wear my nasty shirts, let alone carry my offspring. We were very different folks bound together by our love. Here Timothy sat, eating a grilled cheese, watching me in my happy state with his bloodshot eyes.

“What do I owe y’all for the meal and drinks?”

Deidra looked to me for a response. I was face-full of bacon so I just nodded. She smiled at Timmy and replied, “It’s on the house darlin’.”

“Much obliged, but, y’all don’t have to do that. I can’t remember the last time someone made me a grilled cheese.”

“No offense, sir,” I said. “It just looked like you could use some foodie love. To me, nothing says love like grilled cheese and bacon made by a hot woman.”

“Oh, Charley,” Deidra playfully slapped me on the shoulder. “Seriously, Mr. Kelly. If you need to talk, we’re here. As you can see,” she gestured around the empty bar, “it’s not like we have a lot of guests right now.”

Timothy sat for a moment and stopped munching on his grilled cheese.

“Am I the saddest person y’all ever met?”

I shot Deidra a look of surprise and she titled her head. “No sir,” I replied. “A lawyer who came in here and drank himself stupid every night after work would have to be on the top of my list.”

“I’d say it was you, Charley,” Deidra said. “At least before you met me. But that’s a peculiar question to ask, Mr. Kelly. Why do you think you’re sad?”

“Because I am. Nothing makes me happy. Ever since I was diagnosed as depressed I’ve had this sadness I can’t shake. My thoughts betray me. All I can think about is ‘maybe I should kill myself’. Every day when I’m in class trying to teach statistics the thought ‘what’s the point?’ churns through my mind. I can barely eat, at least until now, because food had no taste. There’s no strength left in me to carry on.”

“Ah, but we can fix this!” I cried. “You have a brilliant mind. It’s easy to see you’re an intelligent fellow. The problem with today’s society is that we have great minds going to waste due to lack of gumption.”

“Here we go,” Deidra sighed.

“Do you know the definition of gumption, Timmy? Our favorite Georgian, Margaret Mitchell said it’s what makes some people survive and others go under. You must have gumption, because if you were really as sad as you say then you would’ve taken your own life long ago. You found something that made you happy: playing your guitar and teaching other people. For some God forsaken reason, you claim it was for money, you gave up doing what made you happy. Timmy, I assumed you’d be smart enough to recognize that life is a math equation. Positives and negatives blended together for one sum. You’re choosing to focus on the the negative. Whatever idiot psychiatrist your mama brought you to as a kid effectively destroyed your self-esteem. A quack said ‘you’re depressed’ so you grew into adolescence with this dark cloud of insecurity cloaking your persona. My pal Milton Gay once told me there is no normal. There is only happy or sad. How about we try finding a way to make yourself happy?”

“‘Mr. Kelly doesn’t know how to make himself happy, Charley.” Deidra declared. “If he did, we wouldn’t be talking him down from his existential crisis.”

“Is that what y’all would call it?” Timothy asked, looking to both me and Dee.

“Darlin’, you’re debating your very existence,” Deidra said. “Do you realize you have all the freedom in the world to make your own choices? And the one you’re grappling with now is whether you’re living what you called a sad life. Wouldn’t you call that an existential crisis? It seems like the whole world is going to hell due to an absence of gumption and sincere lack of faith. The best prayer we can say is ‘help me.’ Someone is bound to hear our call.”

At that, the door to Spirit of Choice flew open. As hot as it was that night, I swear a cold wind filled the room and ran chills up my spine as a female form stepped across the threshold. Her long inky black hair was a mess and dark makeup smudged along the rim of her almond eyes.

“Damn car battery died again,” she said flinging her denim jacket on the bar to reveal a black tank top. Both her skinny arms were filled with tattoos. “And of course my cell phone died. I had to trek back a few miles along I-75 because no one would stop to help me.”

“Lord have mercy, Jackie!” Deidra cried. “I told you not to buy that old Bronco. It was bound to have problems. No one is going to stop to help your car when you look like a hellion in those leather pants and boots.”

“Hellion with a heart of gold,” I chuckled. “Come here, girl. Have something to eat and then maybe young Timmy here can give you a lift.”

“What a rotten night.” Jackie said, crossing the bar to pick up a strip of bacon. “First, we have no customers, which means no tips, then my car breaks down.”

“That’s why you’re our favorite bartender,” I replied. “Because your piece-of-junk car doesn’t let you leave! Come on, Timmy. Would you mind giving Jackie a ride? I would but I don’t want to leave Miss Dee here alone to tend the place.”

Timothy had kept his head down focusing on his sandwich and finally lifted it to Jackie’s gaze. She was beautiful in the most unconventional way. I couldn tell he didn’t want to stare, so Timothy averted his eyes to the vine of red rose tattoos gracing up to her narrow shoulders.

“Where did your car die?” Timothy asked.

“Just off the next exit.”

“I’ve got jumper cables in my car. That should give you enough juice to make it there.”

“Awesome possum,” Jackie said. She grabbed another strip of bacon and slid it between half of a grilled cheese sandwich. “Damn, Miss Dee, you sure know how to make a mean cheese.”

“It’s what I do,” Deidra smiled. “Want me to wrap some up for y’all?”

“Nah, I’m straight,” Jackie said.

“What about you, Mr. Kelly?”

Timothy thought for a second before replying. Does the sum of all the world’s negativity outweigh the good? His grand plan to take himself out of this sad life was still intact; yet, I swear I could hear me and Dee’s words echoing in his mind. Timothy Kelly did have gumption. He might not have faith, but helping Jackie gave him a choice to make. After all, faith lives in the spirit of choice.

“Thank you Miss Dee. I think I’m fine.”

“You sure darlin’?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Alright then you two,” she slapped Jackie on the bottom. “Scram. Bar’s closed. My tired ass needs to go home so both Autumn and I can get some rest.”

“I’ll walk y’all out,” I said.

Timothy wiped his mouth, zipped up his leather jacket and slid off the bar stool. Timothy was a tall, handsome specimen of gentleman and Jackie was checking him out. That girl didn’t know he’d just broke down crying at the bar where she slung shots five nights a week.  To her, he was a hot dude helping her get home, and that’s all a girl could really ask for.

As I walked Timmy out, I prayed for him. Talking to God wasn’t something I did very often, but that night I asked the divine power to help Timmy would learn to trust himself, to appreciate all the goodness within him. I suspect Deidra was doing something similar because when I walked back into Spirit of Choice she was crying in the same spot Jackie stood a few moments ago. Tears rolled out of her hazel eyes causing a silent steady stream down her freckles.

I asked my wife. “Why you crying, Miss Dee?”

“I forget,” Deidra replied wiping her eyes. “Damn hormones got me all over the place.”

“Baby, you’re better than that. What is it?” I approached my wife with all the compassion I’d ever felt for her. “In this equation that is life, all we can do is add up our happy moments and subtract the sad.”

Deidra looked to the empty bar stool where Timothy had previously sat. She walked across Spirit of Choice to me, nestling into the nook against my broad chest.

“You and your big ole bleeding heart.” I sighed and placed my hand on her belly containing our daughter. “I hope we see Timmy again soon.”

“You can say that again.”

“Gee, I hope we see Timmy again soon.”

“Oh you fart face,” she slapped me but I pulled her in for a hug, as close as Autumn would let us get.

The next night when Jackie showed up for work I asked her if she got home safely. She shrugged and replied yes but her car was still acting up so “Tim” had given her a ride. I didn’t say anything, but Timothy Kelly was back at Spirit of Choice that night. And he was every night until he put a ring on Jackie’s finger and together they left Spirit of Choice.

Editor’s Note: this is the second chapter in a working novel. Click here to read Chapter 1. All material belongs to the author and may not be republished or copied without written consent. Should you want to publish this story, well please let us know by emailing editor(at)prettysouthern.com

In our large family home, the intercom was the preferred method of communication. Our house possessed six bedrooms, with the master suite on the main floor and five bedrooms upstairs. Kate, Macy, and I each had our own room, with another bedroom for guests, and the fifth bedroom (once serving as our playroom) recently turned into a staging area for everything we needed to take down to St. Simons for the wedding weekend. All five hundred programs, favors, yards of yellow ribbon matching our “daffodil” bridesmaids dresses, votive candles and their holders – stacks of wedding stuff was piled high into the corners of our former playroom before being loaded onto trucks and couriered to our beach house. When we were little, we’d play for hours in that room, flipping our mattresses into forts to hide out from Mama and Daddy. Of course, they’d always find us, and often Daddy would help us build our fort. He was in construction after all. Mamma would always bring us back from our hideouts and into reality. While the intercom served to help Mama reach us from her bedroom or the kitchen on the first floor, the lady of the house still hollered when she deemed it necessary.

“Vivienne Grace!” Mama shouted from the kitchen. “Don’t make me come up there. We are going to be late and hit traffic!”
“I’m comin’!” I yelled back. Lord have mercy! Everyone was so uptight that morning. And we still had the road trip, welcome barbecue, bridal luncheon, rehearsal and all that jazz to get through before the darn wedding. I stomped down the flight of stairs in our grand foyer. I reached the bottom of the staircase and dropped Kate’s bag next to our front double doors. Marble floors took over from the plush carpet of the upstairs bedrooms. I passed the formal living room boasting luxurious silk couches and mahogany end tables. Mama’s collection of Swarovski crystal figurines accented the polished surfaces. Our dining room was to the left, which was used only for special occasions. Mama’s grandmother, the late great Grand Mere Vivienne Baptiste, gave my parents the cherry dining room furniture, her elegant collection of fine china, and a matching hutch as their wedding present.

“One can always tell the quality of cherry by the pits.” my grandmother, Grand Mere, explained to me when I was a little girl. She laid her hand atop of mine to run it along the smooth wood surface. “The pits: they’re recognizable but finished over. Never, ever buy cheap furniture mon petite. This is the stuff that’s built to last.”
I smiled at the memories of all the gatherings in these formal rooms. All of my family would soon be together for the start of Macy and Campbell’s wedding weekend. Grand Mere would be in St. Simons Island tomorrow, and Uncle Charlie and my cousin Autumn would be there tonight. It was only a few weeks since I saw them, since they all came up for my graduation from Magnolia Academy. Still, I was already looking forward to us all being together for Macy’s wedding and the party. I heard about that giant white tent that would be staged next to the beach for dinner, and dancing, and oh, I would get to see Wesley! Goodness it had been so long since I’d seen him, and now I was finally old enough to actually make something happen! My mind flashed his handsome face but then my happy thought ended abruptly when I heard Mama’s heels clicking across the marble floor. I would have plenty of time to think about Wesley later on the road trip, and scampered into the kitchen to face my mother.

“Vivienne Grace!” Mama called stamping into the hallway. She was immaculate with her hair curled and full makeup applied even for a road trip, just as any well-bred former New Orleans debutante should be. Her white linen shorts were pressed into pleats, a pink sweater wrapped around her toned shoulders over a white camisole. Chanel sunglasses perched on her short, white-blonde hair curled into a neat coif. Her emerald eyes darted towards me looking anxious. If it wasn’t for the thirty years she had on her children, Mama could have been Macy’s twin. She was a true Buckhead Betty. In our neighborhood known as Buckhead, from Paces Mill all the way to Peachtree Street and lower Roswell Road, women who always dressed to the nines, carried themselves like ladies, and presented an attitude of sophistication were coined “Buckhead Betties”. These were the women who could afford to spend hundreds of dollars on highlights every six weeks, who had the time to maintain and sculpt their lean bodies, plus manage their households and children without ever breaking a nail. There was even a hair salon with the same moniker “Buckhead Betties”. It didn’t matter Mama was born and raised in New Orleans. Mrs. Caroline Bissett Cunningham knew everyone in Buckhead, and she’d graced the pages of every good magazine in Atlanta, especially now that Macy was marrying Campbell.

“Darlin’!” Mama declared. “Did you just roll out of bed?”
“Maybe,” I said moving past her into the kitchen. I knew Mama wouldn’t be happy at my unkempt appearance. Macy may not have cared what I looked like, but Mama always did.
“Lord almighty, Grace. Are you even packed?”
“Yes. I’ve got my stuff ready besides my toothbrush. I wanted to eat first.”
“Honey, don’t you know there might be photographers outside?”
“Pish posh, Mama! That’s the same thing Macy said. There’s no one out there.”
“How would you know? You certainly don’t look like Miss Magnolia this morning.”
“Ma-mah!” I stomped my foot. “Just because I won our school’s beauty pageant doesn’t mean I always have to look perfect.”

She gave me an icy look with her piercing green eyes. Her left eyebrow arched high into her forehead. Whenever Caroline Cunningham raised that one eyebrow of hers, we all knew we were in trouble. I gulped hard, backing my way slowly into the kitchen. For a girl heading off to college, I was reduced to childlike fear at the sight of Mama’s stare down.
“Let me tell you somethin’, Vivienne Grace. I wasn’t expecting perfection this morning, but you have a closet full of pretty dresses and you couldn’t even put on one of ‘em. It’s such a big weekend for our family. Heaven forbid someone from the press saw you looking like you’d just rolled out of bed, when your sister is about to marry Governor Brayden’s son. Why, I can’t imagine the reprimand we might face from his staff, or even worse from Mrs. Brayden.”
“Okay, Lordy, I’ll change. Can’t I at least eat and have some coffee first?”
“If you’d like, but your breakfast is cold though, and so is the coffee.”
“Fine, I’ll just put it over ice and in a cup for the road.”
“Well do be quick about it. We have got to go, so eat up, and then we can move out.”

She spun on her heels with her blonde curls and pink sweater flinging like a queen’s cape behind her. I followed her into the kitchen. It was bright, way too bright for an under-caffeinated person. Sunlight reflected off the custom-built glass cabinetry giving the whole room an unworldly glow. Through the bay windows I could see our swimming pool in the backyard. Now that I was on the first floor I could tell it really hadn’t been cleaned at all in the past week. I’d been so busy with all the wedding craziness there wasn’t time to go swimming, not like I could have anyways. If I was going to continue to face this day with a smile I needed coffee – and stat. Mama took the cold coffee pot and poured the remnants into a Tervis tumbler. She splashed in a heavy pour of soy milk and a packet of Splenda and passed it to me across the counter, along with a plate of runny scrambled eggs and toast.

“Thank you, Mama.” I grimaced. She didn’t notice my sarcasm and dumped the remaining breakfast dishes into the dishwasher. I’d seen Mama stressed before, and she usually took it out by cleaning. At least there wasn’t a speck of dust in the house. That week she’d been a hot mess from stress and taking it out on all of us, including her kitchen. Between my graduation and heading off to college, plus Kate graduating and heading to Yale, that would leave any mother stressed. Add on the fact she was planning a wedding for five hundred people, where the governor is the father of the groom, and it’s a wonder the woman didn’t have an aneurysm. That’s where Daddy came in. He was always there to help Mama, even just to hug her when she reached her breaking point.

“Good mornin’, Grace.” I heard a warm, loving voice call from the kitchen table. There was Daddy. He smiled at me from behind his graying beard. Finally, my ally! Daddy was a saint given all the arguing between my sisters and Mama. I beamed back and took my breakfast to his side of the kitchen. I perched on the chair next to her father, who was finishing up his breakfast while working on his laptop.
“How’s my Angel Baby doing this morning?” he asked, as he tilted up his cheek for me to give him a kiss.
“Peachy keen,” I smiled as I gave him a peck, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He returned my hug with a smile before turning back to his work on a laptop. I took a cue from him to try and be as pleasant as possible.
Mama shouted across the kitchen, “Baby, tell Grace she needs to go change.”
“Now, now Caro, leave the girl alone,” Daddy called back. “Angel Baby, you look beautiful as always. There’s no way in heaven you could possibly ever look bad.”

Randolph Cunningham was fifty-seven years old and his age was starting to show. His once auburn hair faded into shades of grays and whites; yet, his tan face and shining blue eyes carried a youthful vigor. He was wearing his usual uniform of khaki shorts, Topsiders, and a mint green Polo shirt. The lines around his cheeks and jaw were covered with a full beard. I thought the facial hair made Daddy look even more like a gentleman, especially when he cast a warm smile of approval in my direction.
“Aw, thanks Daddy. It’s nice to know someone else isn’t worried about what they look like for a car ride. But I thought you were going to shave?”
“If I had my way he never would have grown that beard.” Mama fussed as she finished cleaning the kitchen.
“I plan on shaving before the rehearsal dinner,” Daddy replied.
“Good.” Mama replied. “Grace, is your iced coffee too sweet?”
“Oh gosh, Mama, it’s perfect. Thank you.” I tried butterin’ her up to see if sweet talk may smooth over her general dislike for our appearances.
“I know you still like that kiddie coffee with lots of milk and sugar.”
“You know it.”

Daddy smiled at us, looking back to his laptop. My eggs and toast were gross from getting cold but I wasn’t really hungry anyway. The coffee was what I was really after, and good Lord, Mama learned how to make great coffee, hot or iced, from Grand Mere’s housekeeper Tara. Unlike my grandmother, Mama didn’t have full-time help except for the lawn care team and a housekeeper who came twice a week to clean. Earlier that week she said she didn’t need the housekeeper, but watching her slam dishes around I thought she might break something. Thankfully she didn’t. After putting the breakfast pans in the dishwasher, her attention focused on getting us on the road. Mama was in the zone.

“Honey, should we leave the A/C on?”
“No, leave it off to save the money?”
“But the house will smell musty. And since when have we been concerned about penny pinching?”
“My wife, I’m paying for this wedding and two college tuitions. We could do a little saving this summer.”
Mama ignored him and began counting up the number of wine bottles in an open cooler. “Do you think we packed enough Chardonnay?”
“Six bottles should be enough.” Daddy replied not looking up from his laptop.
“Well how much are you planning on drinkin’ tonight and tomorrow before the parties?”
“Hm…”
“Are you even listenin’ to me?” she asked leaning down in front of his screen. Her light locks fell across the laptop causing her husband to focus his attention on her.
“Caro, I am sorry, but I’m trying to wrap up some business before we leave. If you don’t think six bottles will be enough for the house we can certainly buy more down at St. Simons.”
“That local island market doesn’t come close to a proper grocery. The only wine they ever seem to have in stock is terrible. Perhaps the only thing close to wine that I know they carry is Boone’s Farm! I once asked the girl working there if they had Chardonnay, and she said no. Besides Boone’s Farm, they only carry ‘chab-less” and when I asked her ‘do you mean Chablis?’ she looked at me and drawled out, ‘oh, so that’s how you say it!’ like I was a genius.”

Daddy stared at her the same way he looked at Macy when she was throwing a fit about the wedding plans. “Then just pack some more bottles of our good stuff.”
“Can you please run down to the wine cellar for me?”
Daddy looked at his wife, who was now casting a stormy look. All Mama had to do was raise that one eyebrow of hers at her husband, who then sighed, and grew a stern expression at first but then immediately softened his face.
“Tell you what honey, I’m almost done so let me help you. If you go get the wine, then I’ll start loading up the car and round up the girls.”
“Thank you.” she replied walking away. “Grace, were your sisters ready when you were upstairs?”
“Macy still had her hair in rollers. Kate was reading.”
“Lord those girls.” Mama huffed moving to the intercom. “Georgia Katherine! Macy Bissett! Both of y’all! Let’s go!” She turned away to take my half-full cup of coffee.
“Hey! I wasn’t finished.”
“You’re done. We gotta go.” Mama replied heading downstairs to our wine cellar in the basement.

I gave Daddy a pitiful look, who chuckled softly in reply.
“Now, Angel Baby, your mama is just worried with all the wedding business. You know she and Macy have got a lot to do before Saturday. I think she’s just ready to get down to the beach to make sure the house is all set. It’ll be better once we’re all there.”
“I don’t understand why Mama is the one freakin’ out.” I pouted. “It’s Macy’s big day. And she was in a mood too. Did you hear her upstairs?”
“Indeed. But you know I never pay much attention to Macy’s tantrums since she grew out of diapers. We just have to keep them both cool. Everything will settle down once we can get on the road. Do you need help with your bags?”
“No, I got them.”
“Good girl,” he patted my head softly. “Go on and brush your teeth.”

I looked once more back to our swimming pool, and thought maybe Daddy had been busy too and hadn’t noticed the bevy of bugs littering the water’s surface. I heeded Kate’s words to not say anything to Mama, but Daddy was the one who usually took such pride in his yard that I figured he might want to know.
“Hey Daddy, just curious, did you happen to see the pool? It’s kind of nasty out there.”
“Hm…” he was fixated again on his laptop.
“The pool – there’s dead bugs and pine needles floating in the top. Did your guys not come to clean it this week?”
“Oh,” his head popped up as he looked outside. “Guess they didn’t. We’ll have to say something to the crew when we get back from the beach.”
“That’s not normal for them.” I remarked. “They always seem to come once a week, even when it’s in the winter.”
“Well, Angel Baby, there’s been a lot going on over the past few weeks. Your mama didn’t seem to notice either, and she’d certainly be the one to holler at ‘em that the pool is dirty.”

I playfully slapped his shoulder. He smiled then turned back to his computer screen to shut it down. “Well, I guess we’ve had enough of that. I better start packing up the truck before your mama gets back from the wine cellar.”
Through the other side of the kitchen windows, I could see the family cars lined up out in the driveway. Daddy’s toys – his White Diamond Cadillac Escalade, a big Ford F-250, a Harley, Canam, and a pair of jet skis – occupied the four-car garage therefore the entire family was resigned to park their own cars out front. All of us Cunningham girls had our own rides. My red Jeep, with its Georgia “G” emblazoned on the back windshield flanked Kate’s old Jetta. Macy drove Mama’s Land Rover (covered with Magnolia Academy Honor Roll stickers) as Daddy had sold her Mustang when she moved to New York a few years ago. Macy had only returned to the South after she and Campbell got engaged. Mama didn’t mind, because this afforded her the opportunity to purchase the BMW convertible she’d had her eye on for years.
“Daddy are you sure Kate and I shouldn’t drive our own car?”
“What would you need it for? Once we’re down at the beach, everywhere we go we’ll be together. Besides, we need to save on gas money.”
“So in the midst of all the wedding hoopla you’re concerned about saving money?” Kate asked coming into the kitchen.
“Now that I’ve got your tuition to Yale to cover,” Daddy replied, “unless you don’t want to go to an Ivy League school.”
“Oh no,” Kate rushed to Daddy’s side to give him a big hug. “Let’s all take one car. Please just don’t make me sit next to Macy.”
“You can sit in the back with Grace.” Mama stated as she came up from the basement with multiple bottles of Chardonnay. “By the way, Kate, I do like that new blue dress on you. It brings out the color of your eyes. You look much better than your sister does this morning.”
“Aw come on!” I slammed my fists on the kitchen table. “Can’t a girl get away with wearing a t-shirt and shorts for a freakin’ car trip?”

Mama’s one eyebrow started to rise again. Kate gave me a knowing glance, and she started to open her mouth in protest until Macy came downstairs. Her long blonde hair curled into perfect coils at the ends cascading down the front of a white Polo shirt and pressed pink Lilly Pulitzer skirt. Macy had on full makeup with her lipstick in the same shade of pink as her skirt’s fabric. She looked like she was about to walk down the aisle with her perfect blonde hair and glowing green eyes.
“Look at you!” Mama gasped. “You’re practically ready to slip on a wedding gown. Can’t you take a style tip from your sister this morning?” She shot up that eyebrow of hers at me again.
“Gracie is so cute she can get away with wearing anythin’,” Macy cooed. “Mama, it’s fine, really.”
“Hmph.” Mama miffed.
“Oh my God, y’all! I’ll put on a freakin’ skirt or something!” I screamed and stomped out of the kitchen, leaving behind my family who I know was shooting each other looks like “what the heck is Grace’s problem this morning?”

My mama was already driving me crazy, and was really fixin’ to set me off. I went back upstairs and flung open my closet door. I’d already sorted through my entire wardrobe this week trying to pick out what to wear for this weekend, so I just grabbed the first Lilly Pulitzer printed skirt that my eyes landed on and one of my many white linen tank tops. If Mama had thought Macy looked so good then I’d just try to match her. I slipped on my trusty Rainbow flip flops, gave my teeth a good brushing, then tossed my toothbrush in its traveling case before zipping up my final pink Vera Bradley bag. My Kate Spade sunglasses, a graduation present from Macy, were resting next to my first real Louis Vuitton bag, another graduation present from Grand Mere. With my sunglasses perched atop of my brown curls, my Louis purse balanced on my shoulder, and my Vera Bradley hanging bag resting between my arms, I started down the hallway to the foyer. I checked my reflection one last time in the hall mirror and looked somewhat presentable, or wheat at least I hoped would pass Mama’s inspection.

The front door was ajar letting in the heat and humidity from a steamy Southern morning. Outside Daddy had pulled up the Escalade to the front circular drive. Its trunk was open and already packed to the brim with luggage for the wedding weekend.
“Angel Baby,” Daddy called from the car. “Let’s boogie.”
I trotted down our porch steps to face my family waiting by our SUV. My father nodded at approval for my changing into a skirt, then stuffed my bags atop the rest of the load.
Mama was already waiting in the car with Macy and Kate. All three of the Cunningham women were glowing in blonde perfection.
“Thank you for changing, Grace. Now you look like a girl whose sister is going to marry into the governor’s family.”
“Funny a skirt could have that much power,” I thought to myself but didn’t dare say it aloud. I simply smiled as I climbed past
Macy in the middle seat and took a seat beside Kate tucked in the back row. She smiled at me and then turned back to her book. Macy was equally preoccupied with scrolling through her iPad to review the seating chart for the wedding.

Macy had been growing her hair out for her big day and her long mane of straight gold glimmered in the July sun. Like Mama, Macy would be a Buckhead Betty in her own right. She and Campbell just bought a house in Peachtree Hills and were set to move in after they came home from their honeymoon in Bermuda. Next to me in the back seat, even with her nose buried in a book, Kate looked similar to Macy with the same blonde hair (sans highlights). Other than that, my sisters had little else in common. Macy also had our Mama’s piercing green eyes, and Kate and I shared Daddy’s deep blues. I was so proud of Kate. She was heading off to New England only two weeks after the wedding. I knew how hard she studied for the LSAT and the entire family was honored by her accomplishment. Although secretly, I knew Mama and Macy wished she would meet a guy at law school…hopefully not a Yankee.

Daddy plopped down in the driver’s seat and fired up the engine to his Escalade with a loud roar. The Doobie Brothers “Old Black Water” came crooning over the radio. Our car started down our driveway. Outside, our expansive front porch with its white rockers swayed to-and-fro in the summer breeze. Magnolia trees with their bright white flowers lined the driveway leading up to the stone columns. The whitewashed bricks of our house were hugged by vines of wisteria and morning glories. Beds of azaleas, roses, daffodils, and hydrangea bushes dotted the front acre of green grass which swept down the lawn to our front porch. I noticed the grass was much taller than our usual closely-clipped and manicured greens. Daddy’s guys definitely hadn’t come to mow the lawn, or clean the pool. But I wasn’t about to say anything because no one else in my family seemed to notice. Daddy clicked a button and the wrought iron gate swung open.
“Next stop, St. Simons!” Mama called from the front seat.
Macy cheered, “Wedding of the Century, here we come!”