Carolina Moon

my life. Then I met Iris and, Christ Jesus, she makes me feel twenty years old again.”
    “You put stars in her eyes.”
    He blushed deeper at that but his lips twitched into a shy and delighted smile. “Yeah? I’m good with my hands.” At Tory’s uncontrollable snort of laughter, his eyes went huge. “I mean to say I’m handy around the house. Fixing stuff.”
    “I know what you meant.”
    “And Stella, that was my wife, I guess you could say she trained me pretty good. I know better than to track in mud on a clean floor, to toss dirty towels on the floor. I can cook a little if you’re not too particular, and I’ve got a decent living.”
    Gran was right, Tory decided. The man was a sweetie pie. “Cecil, are you asking for my blessing?”
    He huffed out a breath. “I mean to marry her. She won’t hear of it just now. Mule stubborn, that woman. But I got a hard head of my own. Just want you to know that I’m not taking advantage, that my intentions …”
    “Are honorable,” Tory finished, wonderfully moved. “I’m pulling for you.”
    “Yeah?” He sat back again, making the swing groan. “That’s a relief to me, Tory. That’s a relief, all right. God almighty, I’m glad that’s over.” With a shake of his head, he drank more beer. “My tongue gets all tangled up.”
    “You did fine. Cecil, you keep her happy.”
    “I aim to.” At ease again, he draped his arm over the back of the swing and looked out over Iris’s back garden. “Nice night.”
    “Yeah. A very nice night.”
    She slept deep and dreamless in her grandmother’s house.
    “I wish you’d stay, just another day or two.”
    “I have to get started.”
    Iris nodded, struggling not to fuss as Tory carried her suitcase toward the car. “You’ll call, once you settle in a bit.”
    “Of course I will.”
    “And you’ll go see J.R. right off, so he and Boots can help you along.”
    “I’ll go see him, and Aunt Boots and Wade.” She kissed both her grandmother’s cheeks. “Now, stop worrying.”
    “I’m just missing you already. Give me your hands.” When Tory hesitated, Iris simply took them. “Indulge me, honey-pot.” She held firm, her eyes blurring a bit as she focused.
    She didn’t have the brilliance of light her granddaughter had been gifted with. She saw in colors and shapes. The smudgy gray of worry, the shimmering pink of excitement, the dull blue of grief. And through it all was the dark, deep red of love.
    “You’ll be all right.” Iris gave her hands a last squeeze. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”
    “I’ve always known that.” Tory climbed in the car, took a deep breath. “Don’t tell them where I am, Gran.”
    Iris shook her head, knowing Tory meant her parents. “I won’t.”
    “I love you.” She kept her eyes straight ahead as she drove away.
    The fields began to roll, gentle ripples on the earth covered with the tender green of growing things. She recognized the row crops. Soybeans, tobacco, cotton; the delicate shoots hazed the brown soil.
    She’d missed planting time.
    The land had never called to her as it did to some. She enjoyed puttering in a flower garden now and then, but had no driving need to feel earth under her hands, to tend and harvest, to put by what she’d grown.
    Still, she appreciated the cycle, the continuity. She enjoyed the look of it. The neat and practical fields men plowed and nurtured rode side by side with the tangled lushness of the live oaks and moss, the ubiquitous sumac, the ribbons of dark water that could never, would never, be truly tamed.
    The smell of it was rich and again dark. Fertilizer and swamp water. More, she thought, the perfume of the South than any magnolia. This was its true heart, after all. Beyond the formal gardens and lavish lawns, the South beat on crops and sweat and the secret shadows of its rivers.
    She’d taken the back roads for solitude, and with every mile felt herself drawn closer to that heart.
    On the west edge of Progress some of the farms and fields had given way to homes. Tidy developments with yards kept green and lush with underground sprinklers. There were late-model sedans and minivans in the drives, and sidewalks running wide and even. Here were the young marrieds, she mused, most with double incomes, who wanted a nice home in the suburbs for raising a family.
    These were her target customers, and the primary reason she’d been able to justify the move. Successful home owners with disposable income