Page 21 of Lightning in a Mason Jar

Her laugh carried as she dumped a tub full of colorful blocks onto the rug, effectively distracting the child from discussions of her father.Together, they stacked, then toppled, then repeated the process over again. Each time, Cricket giggled in surprise like it was the first.

Martin couldn’t draw his eyes from Bailey Rae.

Then he heard apop, pop, popbehind him and nearly hit the floor. Only to realize it was just the grits bubbling in the pot. The grits he’d forgotten to stir. His mind still full of wartime gunfire, he sprinted back to resume his post at the stove.

Stirring, he let the even movement slow his heart rate and took in the sound of voices drifting from the other room to will away the echoes of the past in his head.

“Keith,” Gia said, softly. From fear? Or because of the ache in her jaw? “It’s kind of your mother’s friends to look after her while you’re here.”

“They insisted it’s no trouble at all,” Keith answered. “We’re a tight-knit group. Those women helped raise me after my dad died. Now they’re there for her as she would be for them.”

Libby had seemed so disoriented at the market sale, no wonder they were keeping a close watch on her. A hand on his shoulder made him jolt, only to find Bailey Rae had come up behind him undetected. He needed to get his head together. He would be no good to these women in need of protection if he let the past smother the present.

Bailey Rae closed her fingers around his and took over stirring again. He slid his hand away slowly and turned to face her. Her green eyes held his, her aloe scent mingling with the spiciness of the gumbo. His guard down, he couldn’t deny that she tempted him as he stood beside her, both of them unmoving other than her slow stirring of the grits, while voices from the other room filled the silence.

“I’m curious.” Gia resumed her talk with Keith. “You’re good with Cricket. Do you have children?”

“No, just stepkids and divorces.”

Gia gasped. “I’m so sorry.”

“Well, I guess you could say I’ve mastered the art of knowing when to call it quits—” Keith stopped short. “That came out wrong. Please don’t take offense.”

Martin cleared his throat, stepping away to resume his post in the doorway connecting the kitchen to the living room. The sensitivity from Keith surprised him. But then Martin hadn’t learned much about the man in the past few months.

His instincts from days as an army cop resurfaced. A part of him that he’d hoped to leave behind after he’d ended his time in the military. But he was learning the past couldn’t be so easily buried. “Bailey Rae”—he lowered his voice—“are you sure you’re comfortable with Keith staying here?”

“He’s like family,” she answered without hesitation, ladling food into the to-go container. “Libby, Thea, and June too. A couple of those ex-wives of Keith’s had trouble with how close we all are. Then the last one left when his mama began showing symptoms of Alzheimer’s. The woman kept insisting on correcting Libby. Keith finally told the wife that if his mama insisted a sandy field looked like snow, then wet it down and build a snowman. Because saying different wouldn’t erase her confusion.”

“It’s admirable the way he takes care of her.” Martin walked to the counter as she sealed the lid on the plastic container. “Okay then, if you’re sure about him staying in the Airstream. I’ll do a sweep of the grounds before I leave. Promise me you’ll keep the doors locked and your cell phone close by at all times.”

“Of course.” An impish light glinted in her eyes an instant before she scooped a spoon through the remainder of the grits. Cupping her hand underneath, she lifted the spoon to his mouth. “I’m curious about the verdict.”

He looked at the unappetizing glob, but then he’d never been one to turn down a dare. He stepped closer, cradling his hand under hers as he angled forward to taste ...

Once again, she’d surprised him.

The buttery smoothness melted along his taste buds. “It’s good.”

“Told ya so,” she said with more of that sass that drew him. Easing back, she dropped the spoon in the sink with a clank. “I’ll set the alarm system, and we have Skeeter as a backup.”

Her words returned him to reality. That state-of-the-art security system seemed pricier than he would have expected since Mrs. Winnie had been so frugal. Still, would it be enough so far out in the country? “I can stay over too.”

She thrust the container into his hands, holding on for a moment, the two of them connected by that tub of grits and gumbo. “Thank you. But we’ve imposed enough, and you mentioned needing to get to the office to finish some paperwork.”

Rather than argue, he decided to take the evening off and eat his supper in the truck, parked at the end of the driveway where he could keep watch.

Because both of his jobs had taught him all too well. The worst creatures came out at night.

1971

I wondered how long it would take for the fall weather to cool down. The walk from the factory to the gas station to pick up Keith from Annette felt twice as long. Even when fanning my face with a church bulletin the mill had misprinted.

Back in Mobile, I hadn’t realized how much the breeze blowing off the Gulf blunted the heat. I’d lived in a house on the coast with a pool growing up, and near the ocean with Phillip before moving to the country. Here, the river was beautiful, but the marsh gave the air a pervasive mugginess that no breeze could alleviate.

This summer adapting had been rough for Libby. For me too since we didn’t see as much of each other, but her difficulties were rooted more in the logistics of caring for her young son.

I volunteered to help with Keith when I could, if she wanted to pick up a swing shift. The offer just fell out of my mouth. Maybe from some latent grief over not having a child and from a sense of guilt over having it easier than she did. She’d agreed, but only if I would let her teach me how to cook something other than desserts.

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