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A Southern Season - Four Stories From a Front Porch Swing

By Ane Mulligan, Linda Yezak, Claire Fullerton, Eva Marie Everson

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This is the first chapter from Ane Mulligan's story, A Magnolia Blooms in Winter:


“Morgan? Is that you?”
“Who else would be answering my phone, Mama?”
A siren—police or ambulance?—filtered through my window, an ever present part of New York City. Trapping my cell phone between my shoulder and ear, I entered ninety seconds on the microwave’s digital pad. After sniffing the leftover Chinese takeout for edibility, I slid in my supper. Mama’s laughter wrapped around me like a warm hug from home as the plate spun around.
“You’ve lost most of your drawl, sugar. I hardly recognize your voice anymore. For a second, I thought it was Lisa or Michelle.”
I’d heard that lament several times. My roommates were from California and I’d worked long and hard to adopt their accent. I’d never play a convincing Silicon Valley housewife with a Southern drawl.
“How are you, Mama? Is Daddy still treating you like a queen?” I leaned against the two-foot long kitchen counter. Affordable Manhattan apartments were miniscule compared to ... anywhere, but especially to home.
“He’s a keeper, that’s for sure.”
I heard a “but” in her voice.
“Sweetie, I called for a reason.”
Yep, there it was.
“Are you between roles now? Can you come home?”
Between roles? Uh, yeah. Way between. I hadn’t played so much as a walk-on since September and it was now November. I actually had to take a second job to pay my rent, which was due in—I flipped a calendar page on my tiny fridge—two days. I stifled a groan so Mama wouldn’t hear.
“I might be able to, but I just had two different auditions. Rehearsals start in a few weeks for one and six weeks for the other.” I didn’t really feel I was right for the part that started soon. But the other? Oh, I was born to play the lead in Bloom! “Why? Is something wrong?”
“Sugar Hill Community Church needs you, darlin’. I don’t know if I told you, but we hired Andy Wayfield as our worship pastor six months ago.”
“Andy?” My heart did a little flutter. How long had it been? Over four years, and his name could still send my pulse to racing. “No, you didn’t tell me. I wouldn’t have forgotten something like that. Wait a minute ... did he leave the band?” Another thought hit me like a wrecking ball. “Did he get married?” I swallowed my heart as I waited for her answer.
“Yes and no. Left the band, not married.”
That last bit of news zipped a delicious shiver down my spine. Andy. My college leading man. He always encouraged me to reach for the stars, telling me God had gifted me and I should use that gift for His glory. At the time, I sort of hoped he’d ask me to stay—and I would have.
Three years to make it to the top. That’s what I thought. How could I tell him that even stretching on my tippy toes, my touch never reached a single star?
I opened the microwave, checked the temperature of my supper, then added another minute to the timer. “I’m sure he’s had plenty of girlfriends by now. The last time I saw him was when his band, Night Star, played a New Year’s Eve gig at Brooklyn Tabernacle.” They had topped the Christian charts, while I had yet to land a decent role. I remained on needles and pins until he went home, certain he’d discover my failure. “So, how’s he doing as the worship pastor? I’ll bet he really brought the music up to date.”
“Oh, he’s raised a few eyebrows, not to mention some blood pressures, but he’s a good boy and everyone loves him.”
“He’s hardly a boy, Mama.”
“Well, that’s beside the point, sugar, because right now he needs you.”
I bounced on my toes and held the phone close. “Me? I don’t understand.”
The microwave beeped. I pulled out my plate, sniffed the whatever-it-was and took a tentative nibble. The noodles were slightly rubbery, but it tasted okay. I doused it with lite soy sauce.
“Remember that wonderful Christmas play you wrote, Three Men and the Baby? Andy resurrected it and is—or was—producing it.”
“Was?” I took my supper to the living room, which was only two steps from the kitchen, dropped onto the sofa—the end where the springs weren’t broken—and set my plate on my lap.
“Oh, Morgan, it was awful.”
“My play? Why was it awful?”
“No, your play is wonderful. Everyone is excited to do it again. The accident was awful.”
“What accident? Mama, start at the beginning.”
“I ... well, that’s why Andy needs you. I ...”
I could have screamed in frustration. “Mama, what did you do?”
“I sort of ... squashed him.”
I bolted up from the sofa, flipping my plate off my lap and to the floor. A glob of noodles landed on my pants leg. “Sort of what? Is he ... is he ... alive?”
“Well, of course, silly. It wouldn’t make a lick of sense for him to need you if he wasn’t.”
I beat my fist against my thigh, smashing a hot noodle in the process. “Mama. What. Happened. To. Andy?” I shook off the mess stuck to my fingers.
“I broke his foot.”
“You broke his foot?” I paced my apartment. Ten paces north to the faux fireplace, eight along the west wall to my desk.
“I’m afraid so. In several places.”
I retraced my steps back to the dilapidated sofa. It didn’t help. I was still confused. “Is Daddy there? Put him on the phone.”
“Of course he is. Where else would he be?”
“With pastor, seeing Andy. He’s still on the visitation team, isn’t he?” I dropped back onto the couch. This conversation was exhausting.
“Well, yes, and he did go see him this morning when he got out of surgery.”
“Why was Daddy in surgery? Is he all right?” I had to slow my breathing before I hyperventilated. This was getting worse. “You didn’t squash him too, did you?”
“No, silly. Andy had the surgery to put pins in his foot. The thing is, he’ll be laid up and can’t direct the play, and since you wrote it, you’re the perfect person to do it. So, can you come? Please? I’d feel ever so much better if you did, sugar.”
My thoughts flashed to the latest flicker of hope in my vanishing career. I couldn’t think of any reason for me not to get the part. I was perfect for it. Please, God?
“Mama, I’ll come, but I auditioned for the lead in a new musical. If I get a call back I’ll have to run up here. But we can probably work out the schedule.”
“Of course we can, darlin’, and thank you. You’ve made your mama feel a lot better.”
“I’m glad. Now, how did you manage to squash Andy? What were you doing?”
“I was helping your daddy change the lights in the fellowship hall.”
“Changing lights squashed him?” Why was Daddy changing the lights when that was the job of the facilities manager?
“Not the lights, the cherry picker.”
“The cherry—Mama, you’re not hurt too, are you?”
“Just a fractured wrist. But I didn’t need surgery. The doctor said mine was a clean break.”
She sounded so proud of herself. “But how—? No, never mind. I’ll get Daddy to explain it when I get home. I’ll—oh.” My gaze drifted to the mini calendar.
“What’s wrong?”
“I, um, I don’t have enough money for a plane ticket right now, Mama.”
“No problem. Call me back with the flight information and I’ll book it for you. Just choose one that will get you here fast. And I hope you can stay through Christmas.”
“If I get the part in Bloom!, I’ll have to go back to New York before then. Maybe we can have an early Christmas while I’m home.”
“That could work. Oh, and the church is paying you.” A smacking sound filled my ear. ”Muwah!”
I returned Mama’s phone-kiss and said goodbye, then touched the “end” circle on my iPhone. I was happy about getting paid, but poor Andy. I picked off the noodles still clinging to my pants and used my napkin to dab at the soy sauce stain. Paper towels quickly took care of the mess my supper made on the floor. After I tossed the towels into the trash, the first order of business was something to replace my spilled supper.
A quick check of my bank account verified there was enough to pay my part of the light bill and buy a sandwich from the deli downstairs, but not much more. The cash in my tip jar from waiting tables at Barney’s would have to carry me until payday. Hopefully, my roommates would give me grace for a week. Mama didn’t mention how much the church would pay. I supposed if it wasn’t enough, I could tap Daddy, my biggest fan, for a short-term loan.
I trudged down the stairs to the deli. While I waited for Nate to make my sub, I pulled Andy from a hidden pocket in my memory. His dark blond hair, streaked by the Georgia summer sun, made an enticing frame for his golden brown eyes. And his smile. It always made my knees weak. What would it be like to see him again after all this time?
A young couple entered the deli, bringing a blast of frigid air in with them. The husband—I assumed they were married—held the door open with his back, never letting go of his very pregnant wife’s hand as he guided her inside. How lovely to be cared for like that. Like Daddy cared for Mama. I’d dated a lot of men, from actors to Wall Street wizards. Every single one was full of himself. Not a one cared about me, really—only what I could do for them.
Except for Andy. He’d be like that husband.
“Here you go, beautiful.” Nate handed me the Italian sub in a nest of butcher paper. My mouth watered from its aroma.
“Thanks, Nate. You sure I can’t get you to adopt me?”
His ample belly jiggled as he chuckled.
I sat at one of the plastic tables and took a large bite of my sandwich. Andy would love these. In college, we often visited a deli for Italian subs, but they weren’t as good. But he only came to New York that one time. Afterwards, all I ever got was a card at Christmas, one that always featured a bright star—what he thought I was. He’d moved on, and for some reason, that bothered me.
Wiping away a trail of oil running down my chin, I turned my thoughts to matters more pressing than romance. I needed to let Lisa and Michelle know I would be gone for a while, find a flight, and pack. I was going home, but not as the star Andy and everyone else believed me to be.
How had I let God down so badly?

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