Marilyn Pappano - Copper Lake Encounter

They were making their way across the gravel lot, Ty offering his arm again, when Nev realized they were headed in the opposite direction of her car. She started to speak, but an elderly man waiting beside an old boat of a car caught her attention. He was clearly waiting for them.

“Miss Nevaeh Wilson,” he said, his voice thin, creaky but strong. It was a good description of him in general. He might have been six feet tall before age stooped his shoulders and rounded his spine. His skin stretched tightly over the bones of his face and his swollen knuckles, burnished and gleaming in the midday sun, and his gaze was sharp and...peaceful. This gentleman was happy with himself, his life, his past and present and future.

She took the hand he offered, but he didn’t just shake it. He folded both of his own hands over hers. “I’m Obadiah Gadney. Ty, here, is my grandson. All that charm and presence and intelligence? Comes straight from me.”

“I can see that, Mr. Gadney.”

“If you aren’t tired of hearing it, can I say you have a lovely voice?”

“Do you get tired of hearing that you’re a devilishly handsome man?”

He laughed and gave her hand a light squeeze. “Not at all. Would you do an old man the honor of having Sunday dinner with him and his boy?”

Nev glanced at Ty, but if the invitation was an unwelcome surprise, he didn’t show it. Since she wasn’t looking forward to another take-out meal alone in the motel room, she smiled. “Oh, Mr. Obadiah, the honor would be mine.”

With fingers that trembled slightly, Obadiah pulled a set of keys from his pocket. “Ty, why don’t you come with her? Easier than givin’ her directions. I’ll drive the barge home myself.”

“Yeah, right. It’s not that hard to get to. Besides, she won’t mind following us. It’s not like she’ll lose sight of this baby.” Ty patted the pale blue trunk before meeting her gaze. “You don’t mind, do you?”

His unspoken message was clear: he’d rather not have his grandfather behind the wheel of the car in Sunday post-church traffic. If her family didn’t live close enough to walk to church most Sundays, she would feel exactly the same about YaYa, for her own safety as well as everyone else’s. “I don’t mind at all.”

“Then I’ll go ahead and get settled while Ty walks you to your car.” Obadiah gave her a wink. “It takes me a bit longer than you young folks. I don’t move as fast as I used to.”

With only half a mind on vehicles backing up and exiting the parking lot, Nev walked alongside Ty to her car. Small, sleek, silver, convertible, it was her third-proudest possession, after her voice and her shoes. A fancy car didn’t make up for being short and fat, Marieka had said disdainfully, right before she’d tried to borrow it for a night out with her besties. It wasn’t going to provide any protection if she got into an accident, Lima had pointed out.

Put the top down and let’s drive real fast, YaYa had suggested.

“Nice car,” Ty said.

“I like it.” She opened the door and tossed her purse onto the passenger seat, and then she paused before sliding in. “In case I do lose sight of the big blue baby, where are we going?”

“108 Easy Street. But I’ll keep you close.”

Now, there was an image to make a woman hot, as if ninety degrees and matching humidity weren’t enough on their own. Then his answer registered. “Your grandfather lives on Easy Street?”

“Yeah, I know. It’s aptly named in some ways, grossly misnamed in others. You’ll see for yourself in a few minutes.”

She sat in the driver’s seat, swinging her legs in last, and had the satisfaction of seeing Ty’s gaze slide with them, from the adorable peep-toes all the way up to where her dress slid a few inches above her knees. He was gorgeous and probably preferred women who matched him for breath-stealing perfection. He probably had never dated a woman who wasn’t as dedicated to fitness as he was—like Marieka—but he still had a man’s appreciation for a few soft curves.

Wordlessly he grinned, closed the door and walked away. By the time she got the engine running, the air conditioner blasting and her seat belt fastened, a low rumble sounded behind and to her left. He and his grandfather, in the big old blue car, were waiting for her to back out and follow them.

Going to a stranger’s house for dinner? And no one knows you’ll be there? She wasn’t sure whether the voice in her head was Lima’s or Marieka’s. Granted, Marieka had been plenty of places with strangers, and done a whole lot more than eat dinner, but rules were different for her. She considered herself savvier, more sophisticated, far more experienced and bulletproof. She was the golden girl, not only of the Wilson family but of their neighborhood, of the entire city of Atlanta. Bad things could not happen to her.

And drowning out that voice as she followed the Gadneys from the parking lot was YaYa’s: Ooh, mama, that man is hot!

The church was in the north part of town, situated off a two-lane road that would have been better suited as a country lane: paved, broad shoulders, meandering this way and that. Houses lined the left side; the right opened onto a forest of tall pines, oaks and crape myrtles. In thin places between the trees, she caught sight of wooden fences, the privacy kind people built around their backyards, and soaring roof peaks, houses that probably cost twenty times what the compact little homes across the street ran.

The contrast seemed a perfect definition of the South to her.

When they reached River Road, they turned right and then a short distance later made a left. One more turn put them on Easy Street. The sign mounted at the intersection looked brand new. Thinking back to her school days, she’d bet theft was a problem. A lot of her classmates would have loved an Easy Street sign to hang on their walls.

The Gadney house was on the right, third house down on the single long block. There were no shoulders here, just deep ditches that collected the runoff from the rain. Luckily, Mr. Obadiah’s driveway was long enough to allow docking of the blue barge with plenty of space left over for her car behind it.

As she climbed out, she breathed deeply and smelled woods and water. From the internet photos and maps she’d studied, she would guess they weren’t far from the river, maybe a block through the tangle of tall grass and trees on the far side of the street. The sound of kids laughing came from a yard a few houses to the north, a beagle’s baying from the house directly south. His face was pressed to the chain-link fence, begging for attention or sounding an alarm. She wasn’t sure which.

Ty helped Mr. Obadiah out of the car, but as she joined them, the old gentleman shook off his grandson’s hand and offered her his arm. “You’ll have to pardon the mess inside. I don’t often have women guests.”

“At least, not ones who can see without their glasses,” Ty murmured from behind them. “Usually not ones who can see with their glasses.”

“I heard that.”

Nev grinned. Elderly, stooped and slow, but nothing wrong with his hearing. Would PawPaw have been like Mr. Obadiah if his heart hadn’t given out on him before she was born? Still alert, smart, friendly, compassionate and happy? She liked to think the answer was yes.

Steps led to a screened porch, along with a ramp that Mr. Obadiah ignored. A trio of ancient rockers, plus an old wooden church pew, were sheltered inside, and a door with a nine-paned window led into the house. It was small, square, little space wasted on hallways, decorated in the style of decades past, and it felt like home the moment she walked through the door. Delectable smells drifted on the air—beef roast, potatoes, carrots and onions, the usual dinner every fourth Sunday in the Wilson house.