Page 7

CHAPTER

THREE

CLARA JUNE

I push the scrambled eggs around in the pan again, catching a stray yawn with my hand. Archie stumbles in from out back, two suspicious juicy handprints smeared down his t-shirt.

I lower my spatula to the trivet, and put my hands on my hips. My sigh is great.

My back hurts. I stayed up until one in the morning cleaning the boys bathroom last night, and that was after patching a hole in the roof of my bedroom and fixing the leaky sink in the kitchen.

I just want one morning of peace.

But I have three sons.

“Arch, what’s on your shirt?”

His tongue slides over his top lip, collecting traces of what I believe to be fresh peach.

“Nothin’,” he grunts, kicking off his boots, tossing his hat onto the breakfast table.

I tap my foot on the floor, and fold my arms over my chest just as Tanner comes in, sitting at the table.

“Palms, Archer,” I say, the singular word being an order.

Tanner pulls in a narrow breath between his teeth. “Better do it, buddy. She used your full name. You know the rule on that.”

When mom full names you, she’s pissed.

It’s not even that I’m pissed, I just want Archie to please stop eating Mrs. Salinger’s peaches so I can stop getting yelled at. Seriously, the woman doesn’t prune her tree, collect the fruit, or even take care of it. But somehow, my son eating a peach a day enrages her beyond reason.

Bluebell is incredible. I think I live next door to the only asshole here.

And yes, old ladies can absolutely be assholes.

Archie reluctantly shows me his palms, and they’re coated in sticky peach juice and fuzz.

“Archie,” I sigh, bringing a hand to my face to pinch the bridge of my nose, hoping to alleviate the quickly forming headache. “I told you very clearly you are not allowed to pick Mrs. Salinger’s peaches and eat them. She gets angry. They are hers. ”

Archie brings the hem of his now-filthy t-shirt to his mouth and wipes before I can tell him to stop. “I think they’re God’s peaches, since it’s God’s Earth she’s borrowing to grow that tree in. And it’s God’s sun that is making it grow, too.”

“He’s got a point, mom,” Tanner offers with a smile. I love the way my boys are fiercely aligned, and I know despite my situation, I got real lucky there. Still, now is not the time.

“Well God didn’t plant that tree, Mrs. Salinger did, so unless you want to take her to court and argue with her on if it’s her tree or God’s, please, Arch, please stop eating those peaches, okay?

I’ll get us a fruiting peach tree next paycheck, how’s that?

We’ll plant it together?” I offer, already running numbers in my head if I can even afford that.

Fully grown fruit trees plus the soil I’d need to keep it going in my wasteland of a backyard?

Upwards of fifty dollars, and after I pay Rawley’s SAT tutor…

I smile, shielding them from the concerns in my head.

“How’s that sound?” I offer again as Archie balances himself on his elbows on the counter to wash his hands.

“Okay,” he says, “sorry, Mama. They’re just so sweet and them birds are eatin’ them up if I don’t!”

“I know, honey. It doesn’t make sense to us but it is Mrs. Salinger’s tree so we have to show her respect.

We wouldn’t want her using your bike without asking, or drinking the milk off the porch after Mr. Gray delivers it, right?

” I turn the stove off and make three plates of eggs and toast, sliding them onto the table as Rawley joins us.

“I’d love to see Mrs. S on Archie’s bike,” Rawley laughs as he slides into the seat between Tanner and Archie.

Another thing that kept me up last night aside from home repairs, house cleaning, and my late return time from the diner?

Rawley .

Because yesterday at work, his tutor called me and informed me that Rawley hasn’t been showing up for tutoring.

The tutoring that is costing me one hundred twenty dollars a week.

Pre-paid. The kid didn’t call me to rat Rawley out, but he called to quit if it happens one more time.

Apparently, he enjoys tutoring and felt bad taking my money for nothing.

He’s got a new student he’s working with starting next week, and is dropping Rawley from his roster unless Rawley starts showing up.

“Good morning, son,” I say to Tanner, smiling pleasantly.

Tanner smiles, but not comfortably. “Uh oh.”

My eyes slide to Rawley, who is already watching me. He’s feeling me out. I’ve been a mom long enough to know the does she know what I know look. I fold my arms over my chest as he brings his first bite of egg to his mouth.

“How’s the tutoring going?” I ask, my smile unwavering, unlike the flash of anger inside me.

Rawley of all the boys knows how tight it is for us.

He knows the struggle I often face keeping all the bills paid, and all of them in their respective sports and interests.

I always do, even if it means no days off for an entire month.

A few times I’ve even delivered for the florist and bakery to pick up extra scratch.

I have to remind myself that while I’d love for him to be thoughtful and considerate of my time, hard work and finances, he’s a junior in high school.

He points to his mouth with his fork, indicating that he can’t possibly speak with his mouth full.

I roll my eyes. “Rawley! Damn it! I prepaid that kid. And it took me weeks to find him! Weeks! That’s like every lunch hour I had for the last month making phone calls and searching through the paper.

And guess what? He told me this morning that if you don’t show up to tutoring today, he’s gonna quit!

” I throw my hands in the air. “What then? I don’t have time to find a new tutor, not one I can actually afford.

We need the tutor, Rawley. We need to work on those scores. ”

He swallows his bite and sips the orange juice I set out for him. “Look,” he starts, holding his palms out horizontally, steady, trying to will me to calm down. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I feel shitty about that,” he starts, and then Tanner pipes up.

“He does, he did. He told me he hated lying to you,” he says on his brother’s behalf.

“I gotta pee,” Archie declares, sliding out of his seat with a clump of scrambled eggs in his fist.

“Leave the eggs,” I order before turning my focus back to the other boys. “Tanner, mind your business.” I send him a pointed warning look before refocusing on Rawley.

My first baby.

My sweet, talented boy. He’s always loved the arts, writing poems and song lyrics, sketching flowers and boots.

I knew from a young age that he was sharp, but didn’t give a lick about pursuing education.

I knew my job as his mama would be keeping him on track until he was old enough to pursue whatever lies in his heart, and I always knew that he would likely divert from higher education.

Still, it’s important he doesn’t close that door.

You never know what lies ahead, and having that SAT score under his belt is an opportunity for more should he ever want it.

“I’m sorry, mom,” he starts, his blue eyes mirroring mine.

All of the boys have my wide, blue eyes, set a little farther apart.

He shoves his hand through his hair, and I spot “I LOVE YOU” scrawled across his palm, likely from Jo Jo.

He’s growing up—and all the evidence is right in front of me.

The hair sprouting up on his chin and above his lip, how much care he takes in doing things for Jo Jo and the maturity that love has helped him find, the extra inch he shot up after I was sure he was done growing, the depth his voice has found.

He’s growing up. And I’m not trying to hold onto him being young through controlling his choices. That’s not it at all.

I let out a sigh, one that could move mountains. But right now, Rawley is my only mountain to move, and he sits unwavering in my 70s rattan kitchen chair.

“Rawl, I’m not pushing the SAT because I’m forcing you to go to college against your will. I’m not trying to control your future, or even the course of your adulthood. I promise, I’m not that mom.” I look between him and Tanner. “Have I ever been that mom?”

Their heads shake in unison, lifting some heaviness from my heart.

“Right. I’m only pushing that you take this test for your own good, Rawley.

What if three years after you graduate from high school you decide you don’t like trade school, or apprenticeship, or the instability of being a working musician, and you want to try college.

At that point, without an SAT score or junior college transcripts, getting in will be that much more difficult.

And at that age, grants and scholarships are out the window.

” I let out a sigh, one this time I hope steadies my racing heart.

“I just want you to take the SAT so the door is open if you ever do want to try college.”

Tanner’s brows pull together. “Rawl’s band is just for fun. He doesn’t want to be a musician.”

I narrow my eyes. “I know that, Tanner. It was an example.” I look at Rawley, who nods his head in consolation, his eyes lined with guilt.

“Mom, I’m never going to want to go to college. I know that with 100% certainty.”

“Honey, there is nothing you can know with 100% certainty, not in life.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “You’ll always love your kids, no matter what, that’s what you always say. You know that with certainty don’t you?”

I have the strongest urge to roll my eyes, but this time, I don’t.

“Of course, but loving your children isn’t a choice.

I love you three boys no matter what. This isn’t the same, so please, don’t try to split hairs.

” The new coffee pot beeps, indicating it’s completed brewing.

My veins hum in anticipation. I sneak a deep breath through my nose and exhale through barely cracked lips.