His two friends shouted a hearty “here, here” and then dug into their food.
Trey devoured the pizza with such gusto that I couldn’t help but wonder if my son was getting enough to eat living in the self-sustained community he’d joined in June. Although I’d had my reservations at the time, I had to admit that the Red Fox Co-op had done Trey a great deal of good. He was stronger, more independent, and treated his elders with respect. He’d gained a quiet confidence and was willing to throw himself into hours of demanding physical labor. Yet at the same time, he was missing out on a college education.
In early August, he’d received a letter from UNC-Wilmington containing a welcome packet and the name and contact information of Trey’s future roommate. Several weeks later, when my son should have been attending his first class as a college freshman, he was grooming the co-op’s herd of goats and preparing for a trip to Dunston to sell goat products to a selection of natural food stores and chic boutiques.
I had called the school and managed to defer Trey’s admission until January, but I feared he’d refuse to attend then as well. From the beginning, I’d assumed his interest in the rustic, rather primeval way of life on Red Fox Mountain was a passing phase, but it seemed that his enthusiasm had been compounded upon meeting the lovely and ethereal Iris Gyles, the co-op leader’s younger sister.
Autumn in North Carolina is a gentle season, but I was worried about Trey spending a cold winter up on the mountain. The members of the co-op stayed warm with the help of woolen clothing and pot-bellied stoves, but if our area received more than a dusting of snow or a freezing rain, the dirt road leading to the mountaintop community would be impassable. I hated the idea of my son being cut off from electricity, medical care, and me. I was ready for him to resume the life of an average American teenager but was terrified that he would never do so.
Pushing these irksome concerns aside, I focused on one last task before a dessert of raspberry sorbet. I had picked up a fabulous mirror at Dunston’s largest consignment shop and was given an enormous discount by the owner. When I was still an intern, I’d passed along her query letter on decorating with vintage objects to Franklin Stafford, the agent representing nonfiction books. He had found her idea compelling and later signed her as a client. As a result, the oval mirror, set in a wood frame embellished with carved flowers and small birds, didn’t cost me much more than tonight’s pizza order.
Trey had drilled a hole and secured a wall anchor just inside the cottage’s front door and I was just about to lift the mirror onto the hook when my mother entered the hallway.
“Everything’s comin’ together,” she said with a smile.
I balanced the heavy mirror on the top of my foot and nodded. “Yes, it is. And not just the house. Everything. I love my job, I’m dating a great guy, and Trey and I haven’t gotten along this well since he was a little boy.”
My mother raised her brows. “So you and the good-lookin’ man in blue are finally knockin’ boots?”
Blushing, I turned away from her bemused gaze. “If you must know, we haven’t progressed beyond the kiss goodnight stage.”
“Why the hell not? You’re a grown woman. More than grown.” She grunted. “Shoot, Lila. Don’t you know that havin’ gray hair means that you get to sleep with a man without anybody’s permission?”
I frowned at her. I spent a pretty penny keeping my shoulder-length hair a gray-free, roasted chestnut hue. “I’m not looking for permission. Work just keeps getting in the way. Sean’s been assigned a string of night shifts, and with the festival coming up at the end of the month I—”
“How about a little afternoon delight?” my mother suggested with perfect aplomb. “When your daddy was alive—”
Thankfully, Trey called out for Althea before she could elucidate the ecstasies of her marital bed. I’d heard them before, usually after she’d consumed a few fingers too many of her lifelong beau, Mr. Jim Beam, but I really didn’t want to hear her conjugal anecdotes before dessert.
Returning my attention to the mirror, I hefted it against the wall and slowly eased it onto the brass hook. The moment I drew back, the wire attached to the frame snapped. My fingers shot out to catch hold of the mirror, but I couldn’t move quickly enough. The vintage work of art tilted sideways and hit the hardwood floor. The sound of glass shattering echoed down the narrow corridor.
I screamed in dismay and both Trey and Althea came running.
“Did you cut yourself?” Trey asked, worry clouding his handsome face.