Page 150 of Drive
“You go right ahead, Mrs. Clar—” His words choked off when she squeezed his hand in a deathgrip.
“Dr. Hawthorne, you aren’t even gloved and gowned yet,” Bev scolded. “Out of the way, and getready!”
Bev pushed him aside and took his place. “He’s nice to look at, honey, but he’s just like every other man,” Bev told Mrs. Clark. “You have to tell him what to do every damnday.”
* * *
Mrs. Clark’s second child,a healthy son she was naming Antoine, was born at 5:04 p.m., which gave Lee just enough time to finish his charts before his shift ended. As always, natural births invigorated him, and he found himself looking forward to eating dinner and talking to Marcelle for a few minutes before he showered and crawled intobed.
As he turned onto St. Mary on his drive home, Lee gave thanks for about the millionth time that he’d won out on the Great House Battle of 2014. Marcelle and his stepmother had rallied hard for the cottage in River Ranch, but Lee liked the area around the SaintStreets.
It wasn’t only that it was closer to UMC. The neighborhood just felt real. Live oaks shaded the houses. Vegetable gardens grew in front yards. People of every age and color walked and rode bikes on its streets in theevenings.
And it was a hell of a lot more affordable than RiverRanch.
The house he’d bought on Dunreath had been built in 1938. The walls were center-match, the roof was slate, and the Spanish arches on both sides of his living room — cracks in the plaster on each — reminded him of New Orleans. The best part was the screened front porch with the cypressswing.
One day, I’ll even get to enjoy it,Lee thought as he pulled his white Cherokee into the drive behind the house, parking next to Marcelle’s black Miata. She had her own townhouse in Greenbriar, but on nights when he was home, she slept over. If she didn’t, they’d never see eachother.
He crossed the back yard along the path of paving stones and ducked under the covered deck, throwing a longing glance to the two kayaks that hung from theceiling.
Soon.
Lee trudged up the back steps, hoping to find some brisket still in the fridge from his dad’s Sunday barbecue two days before. He’d missed the event, but his stepmother, Barbara, had sent home leftovers withMarcelle.
From the kitchen he heard the hair dryer across the house. Marcelle wouldn’t hear him, so he didn’t bother shouting. Instead, he pulled open the refrigerator door, found the plastic container of shredded brisket, and grabbed afork.
Even cold, the barbecued brisket set him moaning. He knew it would be better on bread — bread, with a little mayonnaise and sliced tomato. Maybe he’d even make two sandwiches, but he needed to work his way up tothat.
Then again, if he emptied the container straight into his mouth, that was okay,too.
Footsteps clicked down the hall, but Lee couldn’t bring himself to pull his face away from thedish.
“Leland, what are you doing? We have the health clinic auction tonight.” Marcelle stood over him wearing a frantic look and a black cocktail dress. “We need to leave in thirtyminutes!”
Epilogue
One yearlater
Rainey:I’ve officially become a baglady.
Rainey textedthis confession to Jacques when she realized she’d filled up the second spare room closet in her house with plastic grocerybags.
Jacques:For someone who attended the Grammys with me just a few months ago, that’s ratheralarming.
His responseand the memory of that magical night made Rainey smile. She and Pal had flown to L.A. to join Heroine, who had been nominated for two awards: Best New Artist and Best Pop Duo/Group Performance for “Rain in Her Name,” while Jacques and Kate had been nominated for Best Song as composers of “Rain in Her Name.” They’d walked away with Best Pop Duo/Group Performance, and Rainey had never been more grateful for waterproofmascara.
Rainey:I really missyou.
Rainey tuckedher phone in her back pocket and felt the buzz of his reply. She told herself to wait at least until she filled up her wicker basket with plastic bags — from Wal-Mart, Albertsons, Rouse’s, and virtually every takeout place in town — and carried them downstairs to the kitchen counter. There, she would cut two bags at a time into strips, open the strips into loops, and knot the loops together to makeplarn.
Also known as plasticyarn.
And after Rainey did this with about five hundred plastic grocery bags, which usually took no less than three hours, she had enough plarn to crochet one six-by-three-foot sleeping mat. That sleeping mat would go to one of Lafayette’s four homeless shelters, and if a cot wasn’t available for someone, at least he or she would be given a mat that kept moisture from the ground from seeping into blankets andclothes.
When the first two bags had become plarn, she allowed herself to read Jacques’stext.
Jacques:I miss you, too. Soon,baby.
