The Marshall Boy

Three

Three.
Lucy.

It took me all night to pack up everything I owned, and load it into my Jeep Compass, and leave silently right before the sun rose over New York City. I drove without stopping, and finally arrived home in North Carolina: once I crossed the town line, I rolled my windows down, taking in the scent of home. I was exhausted, considering I'd been driving for close to nine hours, but I needed my Mom. As I drove down main street, I realized, not surprisingly, that everything was exactly the same. The grocery store, the antique store, Bob's restaurant, the beauty salon, the gas station with the elderly men sitting in rocking chairs. I crank up my country music, as people I've known all my life wave at me as I drive down the street, toward home. My childhood home is a modest two story house, with a very large backyard, and a small shed turned into an office for me where I could go write my books while the other kids played. They played in the sun, which was why they were all tanner than me: but I have a smaller chance of getting skin cancer, so I think I win. My Dad fixed up the shed for me when I was ten, because he felt guilty about always working. My Dad's a lawyer, and my Mom is a beautician, who works from home now: any women who doesn't trust the salon women come to Mom, and she does their hair in the basement turned aesthetically pleasing beauty shop. Dad always gave us whatever we wanted: he was successful, working big time cases that kept him away from us, and with other people. Specifically other women- lots of other women. My parents divorced when I was sixteen, and Dad moved to New York City, but still takes care of Mom because he does love her, in his own screwed up way.

I grin as I pull into our driveway, and see the huge WELCOME HOME LUCY BELLE banner hanging from the wrap around porch. I make it out of my car just as my Mom crashes into me, and engulfs me in her bear hug. She smells like honey, it's the same perfume she's always worn, and I inhale it because it means home more than the house in front of me does.

"Oh baby, I missed you." She says, and I nod.

"I missed you too,"

She pulls away, and looks me over. I'm clad in an oversized tee and leggings but she stares at me as if I'm Aphrodite herself. I get my light brown hair, facial features, and my short height from my Mom: but my hazel eyes are Dad's: while Mom's are a deep green, the color of summer leaves on the Oak trees when they're in their prime.

"Let's get you inside! Mimi is dying to see you!" She informs me, smiling as she grabs my duffel bag from the passenger seat, then leads me up the steps.

"LuLu!" Mimi calls from the kitchen table where she's reading the paper.

"Hey," I breathe, happy to see the two people who mean the most to me. My Mimi is seventy: but she hugs me tightly, and I welcome the warmth of a Grandmother's hug. She pats the seat next to her as she smiles up at me. "Sit and rest, you look exhausted." She comments, staring at the bags under my eyes with concern.

"I'm okay, I'd like to get all my stuff in-" I start but Mom interjects. 

"No, a friend is coming over to help with those." She says, as Mimi chuckles, making Mom blush.

"A friend?" I inquire, grinning at my Mimi.

"Yes, a friend, Mom." She says to Mimi, who only shrugs but I don't miss her sly grin.

"A friend, she says, just a friend." Mimi comments, as she pretends to read her paper.

"Mom," I laugh, looking over at her as she pretends to dust off the kitchen counter. "Who's your friend?"

"The Minister." Mimi informs me, never looking up from her paper.

"And how long have you been friends?" I ask Mom, and she looks at me exasperated.

"The past six months," Mom says, focusing on anything but me. Mimi raises a brow, but Mom throws her a look that makes her mouth stay shut.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I ask her, grinning.

"Because we're friends." She insists, making Mimi tsk.

"You don't ogle friends the way you ogle David, Kathryn."

"Mom! You can't talk about the Minister that way!"

I'm laughing so hard my stomach is hurting, and I realize coming home was smart. It was the right move, and if I can make one maybe I can make some more and get my horrible life back on track.