THE CAMELLIA TAVERN

CHAPTER 12: MATTERS OF THE HEART

Wednesday, June 15

It's been five days since "the incident".

I worked Saturday, Sunday and Tuesday nights after "the incident" and almost successfully avoided interacting even once with Warrick.

He tried to get my attention when I was going to the supply closet, but I acted like I didn't hear him. He asked if I would speak with him in his office after work on Saturday night, but I said I needed to head home.

Maybe avoiding him is childish, but what else can I do? I most definitely do not want to rehash what happened last Saturday night. To hear him tell me that it would be inappropriate or whatever word he would use. And really, what was I thinking? I'm never that bold and I've never even made out with a co-worker before let alone my boss!

At least, today I don't have to go into work. I figured the best thing I can do to get it off my mind is to spend the day with Gramps. He's got plans to plant some new vegetables and two more kinds of flowers and said he could use some help.

Per usual, he makes a big breakfast for the two of us and I skipped dinner last night so I'm absolutely famished. I eat more than my fair share of cheese grits and I tell him everything I know about the summer program. I don't tell him that I agreed to stay at Warrick's place in Birmingham and, of course, now there's no way I can, given what happened between us, or maybe I should say what didn't happen between us.

"Proud of you Milly," he says with a smile and I know he means it. He's been there for every accomplishment I've ever had--big or small for as long as I can remember.

Around 10 am, his phone rings, but he clearly doesn't realize it's his ringtone.

"Gramps, that's your phone," I remind him.

"Oh, yes! Yes, it is!" he says getting out of his seat and looking around the kitchen for it only to find it in the living room.

"Well, I didn't get to it in time," he reports as he makes his way back to the kitchen table. "But there's a voicemail."

He dials into his voicemail and, because he keeps the volume up so high on his phone, I can hear the muffled sound of a female's voice.

"Hey, Dad. It's uh, me, Corrine. I thought you might pick up. I'll try again tomorrow."

I stop chewing my food but it feels hard to swallow. The sound of my mother's voice will always have some effect on me. Right now, it's interfering with my desire to eat. Good thing I'm almost full anyway.

Gramps looks at me knowing I've heard the voicemail and that I know who it was. He looks sympathetic, so I try to avert my gaze so he can't see the disappointment on my face.

"You think she'll come this year for the holidays," I say, looking down at my plate, hoping he can't hear the disappointment in my voice either.

He sighs, "Well, I don't know, Milly Sue. There's no tellin' with her, you know? But you and I will celebrate just like we always do." He reaches over and puts his hand over mine, and I am reminded of just how many times we have had a similar conversation over the years.

And don't get me wrong. She usually only stays a night or two if she comes at all, and it's not like we have a great time whenever she comes to town. Gramps doesn't drink so there's never any alcohol here. She usually spends most of her time here at one of the local bars or seeing old friends that she can drink with. I think he's a saint to let her stay with him at all.

I usually come over for dinner one night when she's here, but it's always awkward. You can tell she's jonesing for a drink so she's impatient and distracted through the whole meal.

"Catch me up with you, Milly," she'll say as if it's so easy to summarize an entire year or two of your life to someone who is only in it for twenty-four hours.

I try to change the subject and decide to tell Gramps about being chosen to go to Birmingham to one of Warrick's other restaurants. I pay no mind to the fact that I would rather be anywhere than around him right now.

I finally broke down and confessed to Jacinda and Merritt about "the incident" and they both had their own take. Jacinda said I should just ignore his existence. Merritt scrunched up her face in confusion and said, "I don't get it. Winter was right. I see the way he looks at you. He's into you, Mil."

Obviously, I've chosen to follow Jacinda's take on the matter and I've been relatively successful, but I know I can't avoid him forever. He is, after all, my boss and this weekend, I will be in another city with him and, thankfully, Anjali, Winter and Lil Al, as well.

Gramps and I spend some time in the garden after breakfast before the sun gets unbearable in the afternoon. For my birthday, several years ago, he got me my own gardening hat and gloves along with a book about Perennial Plants. It might seem like an odd gift to give a then eighteen year old me, but I loved it. The time I spend in the garden with him is so therapeutic.

We skip lunch and I spend a few hours on the couch studying for my upcoming exam in Dr. Colquitt's class. It'll be over next Monday when I have my last exam and I'll have the rest of June and most of July to work as many shifts as I can and not have to worry about studying for exams or writing papers. Fall semester, however, I'll be taking four classes and working full-time, so I don't anticipate having much free time at all.

"Psychology in the workplace, huh," Gramps says as he passes by the couch where I'm studying.

"It's the only class I'm taking this summer," I tell him, but I've told him this before.

Too bad I'm not learning anything from this class that I might be able to apply in my actual workplace. For instance, there isn't a chapter called "What To Do If You Accidentally Try To Kiss Your Boss" or "Mastering Invisibility", so I could at least disappear when Warrick is around.

"You learnin' much?" he says and takes a seat in his old recliner to read The Sturvis Gazette, our local, weekly newspaper. He'll spend an hour or so on the infamously difficult crossword puzzle and then fall asleep in his recliner.

"Not enough, apparently," I mumble and then tell myself not to think about "the incident" anymore and just to concentrate on my school work.

"Well, I'll be!" Gramps says, unfolding the newspaper and examining the front page. "Look, Milly Sue. Front page." He turns the paper around so I can see what he's talking about and, there, staring back at me are those same eyes I've looked into more times than I care to admit---more times than I should have.

Warrick. On the front page of The Sturvis Gazette.

I take the paper from Gramps to get a closer look at the article.

"New Owner Acquires The Camellia Tavern"

"Warrick Travers IV has recently purchased one of Sturvis's favorite hot spots. Travers is not entirely new to Sturvis, having played baseball for East Alabama State University during his college years. He went on to play for The Royals for two years before an injury forced his early retirement. Since then, the young entrepreneur has been busy opening successful restaurants in various locations around the State of Alabama. The Camellia Tavern is his latest venture along with the development of some second-story commercial space in the downtown Sturvis area."

I sigh and decide not to read the entire article.

Really? Because apparently I haven't given enough thought to Warrick Travers. News of him follows me even into my Gramps's house, apparently.

"Don't think I didn't notice you two eyein' each other the other night at dinner," Gramps says, taking the newspaper back from me and leaning back in his recliner.

"What?!"

"I might be old but I still know what it looks like. Two folks who look at each other like you two do? Well, that's somethin'."

I don't know what Gramps thinks he saw, or what Winter thinks she sees for that matter, but Warrick Travers is most definitely not interested in me.

"Think you need your eyes checked, Gramps."

"Oh, I can see just fine when it counts," he says with a smile, but I just shake my head.