Page 70 of Free to Run
“It’s been mentioned a time or two,” I mutter.
“Then give me a few minutes to get everything out and I’ll show you.”
Alison guides me over to one of the picnic tables. “I love the beach, but I hate sand in my food. Now, the bag please, fine sir,” she says with mock courtesy.
I place it on top of the table and let her do her surprise dinner reveal while I absorb our surroundings.
The public beach almost appears to be private for the number of people on it. It’s almost remarkable how it appears to be carved out of the cavernous hills lined with thick lush trees. Despite the heat and humidity, a mild breeze kisses our skin.
It’s so peaceful here. You could almost forget the rest of the crazy world just waiting to intrude.
“It’s beautiful here,” I murmur.
“I know. I found it a few years ago when I was out driving. It’s crazy insane during the day, which is fun too. There are boat launches, kayaks, families. Inevitably, someone brings a volleyball net and sets it up, and someone gets whacked with the ball.” I’m captivated listening to her. “But at this time of night? This is when the true lovers of the beach come, just to absorb the essence of the water in their soul.” She shakes her head. “Sorry. It must sound silly.”
“Who taught you to love the beach that way?” I have my suspicions. In all the time I’ve known her, I’ve never heard her talk about her.
Alison fidgets with the plastic utensils a few moments. “Alison?”
“My mother. We used to go whenever we could in Charleston.” She lets out a deep sigh. Leaning her chin on her hands, she appears captivated by the water. I’m stunned when she quietly says, “Today would have been her fifty-seventh birthday. She would have loved this beach.” Reaching up, she wipes a stray tear from under her lashes.
“So, in honor of my mama, we have some good ol’ Southern favorites for dinner. I hope that works for you,” she drawls in such a way I’ve so rarely heard when she speaks.
“That sounds perfect. What did you bring?”
“First, we have to give thanks to Cori for running to Frances for all of this today.” Alison shoots me a baleful look.
I dutifully oblige. “Thank you, Cori.” Also, thanks for not flinging more whipped cream at me today.
“No, you don’t understand, Keene. This isn’t on the menu.” Alison reaches into the bag, and suddenly, the smell of homemade barbecue assails me.
“Gimme.” I reach for the container with both hands, but she smacks them away before I can touch it.
“I haven’t been back in eleven years, and this is still the closest taste to Melvin’s Barbecue I’ve had since I left. Good food is probably one of the few things I miss about that place,” she murmurs. Alison also pulls out containers of homemade mac and cheese, collard greens, and baked beans.
And cornbread. Sweet Jesus. If Corinna can get Frances to cook like this, I need to get on Corinna’s good side.
Once the bag is unloaded, Alison looks down at her plate and closes her eyes briefly, her hands clutched together.
I’ve never seen her pray before a meal was served. Respectfully, I bow my head.
When I raise it, it’s to find a sweet look on her face. “I don’t normally pray over my food. I was just wishing my mama a happy birthday. But I thank you for that.”
I relax, but there’s something I’ve been wondering.
“What happened to your family, Alison?” I ask bluntly. “I know what I read in the reports at Hudson when I was trying to find out if Cass was my sister, but it’s not the same as hearing it from you.”
Alison stills.
Shit.
“What do you want to know?” she asks quietly.
“Whatever you’re willing to tell me.”
Silence stretches out between us, and despite our physical closeness, I feel a chasm looming. I regret bringing up the topic and ruining our evening until she starts talking.
“It’s easier to talk about my mother than my father,” she says quietly. “My mother was…amazing.” She’s spooning food onto a plate before handing it to me. “I’m supposed to be more eloquent than that, I suppose. But when I think about my mom, it’s the everyday things I remember the most. How she’d ask me about my day at school. How she’d pack my favorite things for lunch. What she was like the first time they told me I was a gifted student.” Alison smiles at me wryly. “And that will be the only time I’ll ever talk about that.”
