Cancel the Wedding (3 page)

“You don't understand, Livie. I don't want you to have to do that by yourself and I don't have time to go on a vision quest with you right now.”

Logan stood up. “I do.”

A mere twenty-four hours after jumping up at dinner and surprising myself by announcing this little road trip, Logan and I were taking the exit to Tillman, Georgia.

Tillman was the largest town in Huntley County, Georgia. Technically it was the only town in Huntley County, Georgia. Our mother had told us she grew up in Huntley. That was really all we knew. I had every intention of finding out more. Huntley County was tucked up in the northern corner of Georgia and it was a nearly eleven-hour drive from DC.

When Logan volunteered to come with me, I wasn't so sure I wanted a drama-filled fourteen-year-old girl riding shotgun for my sabbatical. But having her along for the ride felt right, she was a good traveling partner. Mostly she just texted on her phone and stayed plugged in to her earbuds. It was like having a younger, quieter, tech-savvy, and non-hypercritical version of my sister with me.

I had hastily printed out what I could find about Lake Huntley since that was one of the “burial” locations, but I hadn't done more than browse the headlines: where to rent canoes, where to have lunch on the water, and where to buy a fishing license. There was an inordinate amount of information about obtaining a fishing license. If they were that weird about fishing I wondered how they would feel about the scattering of human remains in the lake.

I also printed out a map showing the outline of Lake Huntley. It wasn't a smooth, round body of water. It had a long, jagged main body that seemed to snake through the mountain range. And from there, countless ragged fingers forked off on all sides and at strange angles. It was an odd little lake.

We passed a highway sign that read:
TILLMAN—
6
MILES
. Thank God. I had to get out of this car. It was almost eight o'clock and I was starving, my knee was killing me, and I had a headache from trying to follow these dark country roads.

The road widened as we got closer to town. At the first big intersection there was a Walmart Supercenter on one side of the road and a Super Target on the other. The road leading toward town was lined with strip malls of fast-food joints, dollar stores, nail/tan salons, and Mexican restaurants. It was Anywhereville, America.

Logan pulled the information and directions to the inn where we were staying out of the seat pocket. “This says the town of Tillman is ‘a lovely and charming town on the banks of Lake Huntley.' This does not look lovely and charming.”

“Well, we're not quite there yet.” I tried to sound optimistic but I wasn't staying long if this was all Tillman had to offer.

We came to another intersection and turned left following the signs to the historic district. The street changed slowly from commercial to residential. As we approached the center of the historic district the streets began to be arranged in a grid.

The streets farthest from the center of town were filled with newer midcentury ranch-style houses. They had long green lawns and straight driveways that led into carports. Then there were the bungalows from the twenties and thirties fronted with buckled sidewalks and picket fences dripping with jasmine vines. Driving down the street took us back in time until we arrived at enormous Victorian homes with wrought-iron fences and gravel paths that led to detached garages. These were clearly built before cars were a consideration. And then finally, nearest the town square, there were a few remaining stately antebellum homes with intricate columns, porches, and railings. This was more like it.

I was pointing out things to Logan as I crept down the street. The elaborate fences, the enormous porte cocheres with deep first steps nearly three feet off the ground built in a way that allowed a lady to get out of her carriage without having to step in the mud. The triple-hung windows, which would create cross ventilation throughout the houses in the time before air conditioning.

Logan was completely ignoring me. Our last turn brought us into the town square. It was lively for a Sunday night. There were several restaurants with tables spilling out onto the sidewalks and diners sitting at Parisian-style tables under red umbrellas. There was a small trio playing jazz in the square with a little cluster of people milling around them.

The town square had a lush green lawn with meandering gravel paths snaking through it. In the center of the square, surrounded by blooming crape myrtles and azaleas, was some sort of nondescript war monument honoring a soldier riding a bucking horse atop an enormous stone plinth. I rolled the windows down as we made our way through town, breathing in the damp summer air. I was waiting for Logan to complain about the humidity, and the potential for cataclysmic hair frizzing, but she surprised me by rolling her window down too and letting her arm dangle in the night air.

“There's the inn.” Logan pointed to one of the larger buildings facing the main square. The James Oglethorpe Inn was a redbrick, three-story building on the western edge of the square. It featured a two-story, white-columned porch on the front façade with hanging baskets overflowing with geraniums.

I pulled up and a man, well actually a teenager, in an oversized valet jacket ran out to meet me as I opened the door.

“Good evening, ma'am. Are you checking in?”

“Yes, we are. May I leave the car here while I register?” The boy didn't answer me, as he was very busy checking out Logan. With his mouth hanging open ever so slightly. Logan was returning the favor.

I plopped the keys in his open hand. “Come on, Logan. Let's grab some dinner before they stop serving.” I meant before they stop serving alcohol, but I didn't elaborate. I could really use a vodka tonic, or three.

I woke up the next morning with a raging headache and a desperate need for coffee. Maybe an intravenous drip that I could wheel around with me on an IV stand. And aspirin. I needed coffee and aspirin, stat. If there were one thing I had become an expert at recently it was the quick eradication of a hangover. I was reminded again of my sister's comment that I was drinking too much lately and decided that she would probably view this latest skill as a bad sign. I knew I was overdrinking because I was stressed and confused and maybe a little bit depressed. I just didn't need her to know it too.

I knocked on the bathroom door again. “Logan? You are
literally
killing me. I have to get coffee. Now. Please stop with the hair. You don't even know anyone around here.” I leaned my head against the hard, cold wooden door as I spoke to her. That felt good.

Logan threw the door open and I nearly fell over. “You shouldn't have had all that vodka last night, Livie. It's not my fault you feel sick today.”

Logan was all scrubbed and straightened and polished and smelled like some kind of tropical fruit blend. “You're right, Lo. I'm sorry.” She smiled a little and I tucked her hair behind her ear. “You look very pretty. It was worth the wait.”

I think she was planning on continuing the after school special. I could see she had all sorts of things spooled up in her head, but mercifully she stopped herself.

Logan grabbed her purse. “Let's go get you some coffee.”

We walked down the street to an indie coffee shop tucked into a row of brick buildings facing the town square. As we stepped inside we were immediately swimming in the lifesaving aroma of deep, rich coffee. The ancient heart-of-pine floors were newly scrubbed, making the morning sun explode off the shiny surface. I put my sunglasses back on.

The shop had the skeletal layout of the pharmacy it had once been with the long counter still running the length of the sidewall. The mirrored surface behind the counter was pockmarked with age and the silvery glass took on the quality of mercury.

The far end of the rectangular coffee shop had floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with an odd assortment of candy and fishing gear, art supplies and artisanal teas. The highest shelves were accessed by a wooden library ladder, which rolled back and forth on casters. It had long ago carved its own track on the floor. I did not immediately spot any aspirin.

A few mismatched tables with accompanying mismatched chairs dotted the open space at the front of the shop near the door where several people were eating breakfast. There was a long, low-slung blue velvet couch by the storefront window overlooking the sidewalk. The coffee table facing it was smothered with piles of magazines and well-used boxes of board games.

The long wall opposite the counter was covered from floor to ceiling with original artwork. Black-and-white nature photographs, abstract oil paintings, funky found-art folk collages, and more than a few watercolors of different species of dogs. Under each piece of art was a small tag bearing the artist's name and a price pinned to the wall with a thumbtack.

We sat down at one of the tables and I looked around for a waiter so I could order my coffee. I put my hand over the screen of Logan's phone to get her attention. “What do you want to eat?”

Logan rolled her eyes at me for rudely interrupting her trolling of status updates and then scanned the menu written on a chalkboard at the front of the shop. “Um, you know I'm not eating meat, right?”

“Yes, you make that abundantly clear every time I bite into a hamburger.” Logan had an alarming recall of appetite-curbing facts related to the methods of commercial cattle farming. It was all really gross and I didn't want to hear it at the moment, especially when the delicious smell of frying bacon was coming from somewhere in the back.

Logan said, “I'll just have a biscuit and hash browns.” She went back to her phone.

I rubbed my head. “You are the worst vegetarian ever.”

“You sound like my mom, Livie.”

I read over the menu. “Try the tofu thing.” She opened her mouth to protest. I stopped her. “If you don't like it you don't have to eat it.”

“Fine.”

I rested my chin on my hands. “Where. Is. The waiter?”

Logan looked around and then motioned with her thumb over her shoulder toward a man who had just appeared from the back of the shop. He had stopped to chat with the man behind the counter. The newcomer had a dish towel slung over his shoulder. His hair was a bit wavy and he kept raking his hand through it, trying to make it behave and stay out of his eyes.

He was wiping the towel over the counter as the two men laughed about some shared story, then his eyes swept the room. When they landed on me, they stopped. Because I had been caught in the act of staring at him, rather blatantly. I did a tiny wave and smiled, implying that we were ready to order.

He seemed a little confused. He glanced behind him to see if there was someone else there that I could have been waving to. When he didn't see anyone he looked back at me and smiled as he approached the table. “Can I help you with something?”

“We were just, um, ready to order. I mean if you're ready.” I glanced at Logan, hoping she'd jump in quickly.

Logan smiled up at the waiter. “Sorry, my aunt needs coffee, like now. She's hung way over.”

“Logan!”

She shrugged.

I pretended to laugh. “Ha, kids. So funny.” The waiter still seemed a bit confused as I told him what we wanted. At one point he grabbed a pen from another table and wrote our order down on the palm of his hand. I guess we were all having a rough morning.

The waiter looked at me and said, “It's weird. I almost always have a notepad on me.”

Well sure
, I thought.
You're a waiter
.

He held his hand up, confirming our order that was written on it. “I'm Elliott by the way.”

“Okay. Thanks, Elliott.”

In no time he was back with our food and a whole carafe of coffee. I couldn't quite soak my entire body in it fast enough.

He said, “You can pay Jimmy at the counter when you're finished.”

Elliott waved to Jimmy behind the counter, who was laughing at our exchange for some reason. I watched as Elliott walked out the front door and made his way across the square.

While my head was turned Logan stole the bacon off my plate. As she stuffed it in her mouth I said, “Really?”

“What?”

“I thought you weren't eating meat.”

She looked at me like I was a crazy person. “Well, yeah, but I didn't mean bacon.”

The food was helping to wake me up and so was the coffee. When I went to pay the check I asked if I should leave the tip on the table for the waiter or leave it with Jimmy-behind-the-counter. Jimmy seemed like the kind of guy who would never snake your tips.

He shook his head. “No, we don't have a waiter. You're supposed to just order at the counter.”

I was confused. I looked back at our table as if it would explain the phantom waiter to Jimmy.

“But I thought—” I held my hands up in obvious confusion.

“Nah, Eli was just here for breakfast. He was probably trying to be helpful since you didn't seem to know any better.” Jimmy shrugged. “Didn't want to embarrass you.”

Oh great, so I had accosted some poor customer and demanded that he take our order and wait on us. Mission not accomplished. I was embarrassed.

Logan and I made it safely outside before she started laughing at me. “You're such a dork, Livie.”

“You're the one who made me think he was the waiter.” I made a conscious decision to change the subject. “What should we do today?” The slightly cooler temperatures of the morning were long gone and the day was heating up. I asked, “Research? Go by the cemetery? Visit the lake?”

Logan looked around. “I don't get it. How come Grandma never talked about her childhood? This town is totally cute.” We were walking along the sidewalk looking out over the green lawn of the town square. There were booths for a farmers' market set up on one side and some kids playing soccer on the other. It was, in fact, very cute.