Page 13 of The Cannon
Walking into the Swift home is like being inside a hug. Never have I felt the same wave of affection and welcome. And we hardly know each other. I think it’s just what makes them special. Whatever lives between them bubbles up and can’t be contained. Think it’s real contentment.
“Sawyer!”
Voices rise in warm greetings when they see me enter. My shoulders relax and I exhale for the first time since we came inside. The impressive great room is open to the kitchen, where everyone is gathered. The aroma of something wonderful floats in the air. I’m suddenly hungry.
“I’m so happy you’re joining us!” Lucinda says coming in for a kiss and hug. Her long flowing dress flutters with the approach.
“Give Grandma Birdie a little Texas sugar, darlin’.”
I kiss the cheek of both women and hand the flowers to the hostess.
“These are for you, Lucinda.”
Then I offer Grandma the jar. “I hear you’re a great cook, Grandma Birdie. Thought you might like to try one of my staples. Real Texas chow-chow.”
“How thoughtful. Of course I would. Grandpa is already giving me the eye to give him a spoonful.”
Grandpa Davis sits in a club chair by the French doors.
“See young people, that’s the sign of a good match. We don’t even need to speak for her to understand me.”
I see no sign of Bristol or her friend. January must have been watching my eyes darting around the room.
“Bristol’s showing Raul the back property.”
“Oh. Nice,” I say nonchalantly, not fooling anyone.
“Are you a Jack man, Sawyer?”
“I am, Mr. Swi…Boone.”
“I thought so. A man can tell. Come join me on the patio.”
He pours us both a drink and I follow him past the family, out through the double doors. The Colonel trots beside me. He hasn’t left my side.
“What a great view. Is this all your property, Boone?”
We take a seat in deep-cushioned chairs. There’s an iron table between us.
“Here you go,” he says handing me the glass. “Everything here and all the way back into the trees at the edge there, it’s all Lucinda’s and mine.”
“It’s really remarkable.”
“This entire place, the house and property, were gifts from Atticus.”
“Wow.”
He takes a slow sip of the golden liquid and savors the taste.
“Are you from Memphis, Boone?”
“Born here. Both of us. We raised our children about five miles from this place.”
“It’s quite a family you have. They’ve been kind to me. Every one of them. I appreciate the welcome.”
Leaning back in his chair he studies my face.
“The Swifts are good judges of character. It’s a gift.”
