If I'd Known Page 2

  He starts to walk my way, and my innocent eyes descend to the small amount of hair on his chest, his happy trail, and on down to the black denim jeans that cover his legs. Jesus. My eyes shoot back up as Travis reaches his hand out and smiles the boyishness, boyish grin I’ve ever seen. Holy dimples.

  “Nice to meet you,” he says. His brown eyes dart down to my body, and the left side of his lip quirks. I wonder why, until I remember I’m in baby doll pajamas. I feel heat crawl up my neck, and I struggle to not clamp my eyes shut.

  “You, too.” I hardly breathe as I put my hand in his, and static electricity causes both of us to snatch our hands back. He chuckles.

  “Sorry,” I say with a bashful smile, staring at his beautiful lips as they stay in a perfect crooked position, still grinning at me. Where did this boy come from?

  I look back up at his eyes as the sunlight reflects in them, and I see small gold flakes and tiny, tiny wrinkles around the edges from his smile. He looks bemused by me, and I feel like I’m caught in a trance until Mama shouts, “Charlotte, ask Jesse if he wants something to eat!”

  “I’m guessing you’re Charlotte,” Travis says as his eyebrows raise and he tilts his head slightly, giving me a look of curiosity.

  I smile. You can call me whatever you want. “Y’all hungry?” I ask. Please be hungry, I want more time with you.

  “I could eat.” Travis shrugs. “What about you?” He turns to my cousin who shuts the hood of his car.

  “You gonna go put some clothes on first?” Jesse asks me.

  I roll my eyes. “Duh.” I look down at Travis again and bite my bottom lip before walking back to the door. I feel his eyes on me and I get chills as the door slams behind me after I enter. I head through the living room to the hall.

  “They’re eating,” I call out before I shut the door to my bedroom and press my back against it. I look to the ceiling and smile. Heat covers my body, and when I turn my sight to my mirror, I see that I’m blushing. I should be embarrassed by my appearance, but that’s not what’s got me hot and red, and I have a feeling it won’t be the last time Travis Cole does that. I put my face in my hands and shake my head. God, I haven’t even brushed my teeth. I throw off my pajamas and head to the closet.

  I take a little too long getting dressed, desperately trying to erase Travis’ first impression of me in nightclothes and bed hair. I try on four different outfits and go over my hair with the iron at least five times, making sure there are no waves and almost burning myself in the process. My room is a mess, and I’m afraid they’re probably done eating by the time I come out, but oddly as I walk into the kitchen, they walk through the door and my eyes go to Travis, seeing he has on a white shirt now. He runs both hands through his hair as his eyes land on me, and this time there’s no crooked smile, but something else, and I can feel it everywhere.

  “Y’all grab you a plate,” Mama says. Jesse walks over to the sink and washes his hands while Travis and I make our way to the stove. I stand beside him, watching as he loads up his plate. I breathe in, noticing he smells like summertime air and grease. He hands the spoon to me, and I brush my hand against his, just to feel it one more time. I look up as his eyes dart down to me, and I can’t help the smirk that spreads across my lips.

  We all sit down, and Jesse eats like he hasn’t in years. My attention turns to Mama as she says, “So, tell us about yourself, Travis.”

  ––––

  “She asked him every question possible, and I soaked it up like a sponge. I found out he was from Virginia, but his mom remarried when he was thirteen and they moved to Florida. He had two older brothers, one half-sister, and two full sisters. I also learned we were the same age; he was just one month older,” I tell Cynthia. “I remember looking over at Mama as she kept asking Travis everything. The wrinkles around her eyes grew more noticeable every day. She was well into her forties when I was born, but I don’t think age was the main thing making those wrinkles deepen. I believe it was from the stress of raising a bunch of kids. Thirteen to be exact.”

  “Thirteen kids?” Cynthia asks with wide eyes.

  I chuckle. “Yes, thirteen.”

  “So, she was in her forties when she had you?” Cynthia looks skeptical.

  “My family’s history is very complicated,” I reply. “The woman I called Mama was actually my grandmother.”

  “Your grandmother?” she asks curiously.

  “Yes. My real mom had an affair while her husband was away in Germany, and that’s where I came about.”

  “You were the result of an affair? How old was your birth mom?” she asks as she looks up from her notepad.

  “I was and Beverly, my real mom, was twenty-two.”

  “Well, that’s not too young to have a child. Why did your grandmother raise you?”

  I shrug. “These were different times. That’s something I need you to keep in mind while I tell you this story. My story. Because there are going to be occasions when you aren’t going to be happy with my mama,” I say regretfully.

  “When Beverly found out she was pregnant, she planned to put me up for adoption because back then it was disgraceful what she had done. Cheating on her husband was bad enough, but getting pregnant—that was downright shameful. But Mama told Beverly that she would raise me as her own, so the woman I called Mama and the man I called Daddy adopted me.”

  “Wow,” Cynthia says.

  “Yeah, like I said, it’s very complicated.”

  Cynthia puts the end of her pen to her cheek and bites her lip.

  “Do you know why Beverly cheated on her husband? I mean, wasn’t he off at war or something? That’s kinda dirty.”

  I scoff. “This is where it gets interesting, so pay attention,” I tell her. “Beverly’s husband, Robert, was off at war, but he was also doing other things. Turns out, he had himself a lover, and it was his best friend’s wife,” I say, shaking my head.

  “You see, apparently, Robert wasn’t the smartest crayon in the box. He would write Beverly letters from wherever he was stationed, like most husbands did. Well, Beverly wasn’t the only one he was writing letters to. His lover, I think her name was Nancy or something, also received letters.

  “Poor Robert got things mixed up and he put Beverly’s letter in the envelope addressed to his mistress, and guess where he put his mistress’?” I ask, lifting my brow.

  “In the envelope addressed to Beverly?” she asks with a gaping mouth.

  “Yep, and that, my child, is how Beverly found out her husband was cheating. So, she got a wild hair and went out and did the same. But hers resulted in me.”

  “God,” Cynthia says. “So, you wouldn’t even be here if Robert hadn’t mixed the letters up?”

  “Probably not,” I reply.

  “Do you know who your birth father is?”

  “I heard rumors growing up, but it wasn’t until I got much older that I decided to look more into it. A few years back, I went and saw the man people said was my father.”

  “And?” she asks eagerly.

  “And he claims Beverly slept with more than just him. You see, she was sort of a wild child. She did a lot of things that people back then looked down on.”

  “So, it was just you, your parents, and Beverly?” she asks.

  “Well, Beverly stayed for a while, working and going out partying. Apparently, Mama and Daddy couldn’t keep her straight. Eventually, she moved to Indiana, got remarried, and had another child. And my daddy had a heart attack and passed away when I was young, so it ended up being just Mama and me and whichever kid or kids she was keeping at the time.”

  I look down. “Cynthia, as I tell you the rest of this story, you’ll have to understand, the older I got, the more I realized if it wasn’t for Mama, there’s no telling where I would be. It was just us two for so long and I was grateful for her.”

  Cynthia gives a small smile. “Tell me about her.”

  I take a deep breath. “Carolyn Bailey had silver gray hair that was always pul
led back. She’d ask if you wanted something to eat every time you stepped into her house. ‘It’s called good manners,’ she’d say, and I guess it was. You never left hungry from a visit with her, and I’ve lived by the same rule. She was an early riser, way earlier than me.

  “One of her famous quotes was ‘God didn’t give us another day to waste it.’ She made each day matter, and to her that was by getting up early, cooking breakfast, and watching all her daughter’s kids while they worked. That meant I had my little nephews and nieces constantly driving me crazy. I remember wishing Mama wasn’t so helpful,” I say. “And back then I really hated it, but if I’ve learned anything about time, it’s that the more of it that passes, the more you learn to appreciate the small things as they are happening.”

  Cynthia looks up at me and something flashes in her eyes, but before I can place it, she looks back down.

  “You and Travis met because he was friends with your cousin?” she asks, getting back to him.

  “Yes, he was,” I answer.

  “So he came from Florida, and you lived in Georgia at the time?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Georgia, where the weather is fickle and the mosquitos will terrorize you.”

  I laugh. “You’ve been?” I ask as I take up our dishes and place them into the sink. I put the stopper in and turn the water on.

  “No,” she replies. “Someone I used to know told me about it.”

  “Used to know?” I question as I grab the dish detergent and pour a little into the sink.

  “Just an old friend.”

  “You’re too young for old friends.” I turn to look at her as I shake my hand under the water, making bubbles appear.

  She shrugs her shoulders. “Would you say it was love at first sight?” Cynthia asks, once again taking the conversation off her and back on me.

  “Travis and me?” I ask.

  She nods.

  “Of course, I wasn’t madly in love the moment he looked at me,” I say. “Even though it did happen pretty fast, but at first I was more intrigued I guess. He was the best-looking boy I’d ever laid eyes on. I knew I wanted to know everything about him. I wanted to know his thoughts, his personality. His heart.” I turn the water off and let the dishes soak. Walking to the bar, I grab the remote and flip the TV off.

  “Falling in love is one of the best feelings in the world,” I tell her. “It’s something you can’t buy, yet sometimes it does come with a price.”

  “Did falling in love with Travis come with a price?” she asks.

  I look off again and slowly exhale before I say, “Yes, it did. One that I’m still paying, I’m sad to say.” I feel her looking at me, but when I turn, she looks down at her notebook and puts the end of her pen to her lips.

  I clear my throat. “After the day we met, I couldn’t stop thinking about the boy with dark brown hair and chestnut eyes. Those dimples could get him any girl he wanted, but for some reason, that boy only had eyes for me. And let me tell you. We had some pretty cute Georgia boys in my school, but none of them could hold a candle to Travis Cole. I’d already wanted to move to Florida because of my cousins and the ocean, but now, I was determined to convince Mama it was the best idea ever.”

  “And why is that?” she asks knowingly.

  “We had a family-owned house up on a hill, a little walk from the beach, and the best part…well, Travis Cole,” I say with a girlish smile. Realizing I haven’t smiled like that in a long time, I take in that feel-good feeling. The lightness in my chest and the stretch of my lips. I move and take a seat back at the table.

  “It was late summer, and family was visiting from Florida before my senior year started. I remember kids running around everywhere, and Mama had supper on the stove. The smell of cabbage boiling in a stockpot smelled the house up terribly, and the sound of hot grease sizzling from her cast iron skillet still rings in my ears. It was a chaotic day, but looking back, I’d give almost anything to relive it again.”

  ––––

  August 1972

  “Get outside and play,” Mama says to my younger cousins. The screen door slams shut, and I know what’s coming next. “And stop slamming that door!” she yells after them. Jennie, Jesse’s sister and my closest friend, is up from Florida and we sit on the edge of our bathtub with the water running as we shave our legs.

  “Have you seen Travis around?” I ask her casually, like I haven’t been dying to know ever since he left in Jesse’s souped-up car.

  “Like almost every day,” my cousin says, taking the razor and running it up her leg. “He asked about you, you know?” She gives me a sideways glance.

  “He did?” I say, trying to rein in my excitement, but failing miserably because Jennie sees it and she grins.

  “Yeah, he did.”

  “And?” I respond with wide eyes and a squeakier than normal voice. All cares of showing excitement have exited the bathroom.

  “And what?” she asks.

  “And what did he say?” I turn to give her my full attention.

  “He just wanted to know if you were dating anyone.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told him no.”

  “Is he?” I ask, hopeful.

  “Nope,” she says, all matter-of-fact.

  I bite my smile as I stare down at the water.

  “I’ve got to tell you, though, Charlotte. He isn’t the best guy.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, a little alarmed.

  “I mean, he gets into trouble. He smokes grass and drinks.”

  “So does Jesse.”

  “I know, but Jesse hasn’t been arrested.”

  “Arrested?”

  “Yeah, Travis got arrested a few weeks ago for fighting outside a bar downtown.”

  I bite my lip and look down.

  “Cut that water off when you’re not using it,” Mama yells from the hallway. I turn the knob off and lower my voice.

  “Does Aunt Evelyn know about it?”

  “Yeah, you know Mama and those women she has over like to gossip.”

  I sigh. “I’m sure Mama knows by now then.”

  “I’m sure Mama B does, too,” Jennie says, like that’s too bad.

  I turn my attention back to shaving. Cutting the water back on, I rinse my legs off before I turn around to get out. My little cousin Mikey stands in the doorway watching us.

  “What are you doing?” I ask him.

  With dirt on his cheeks and no shoes on his feet, he shrugs and grins.

  “Were you listening to us?”

  “Travis and Charlotte kissing in a tree!” he yells to the top of his lungs and I jump up to grab him, but he takes off running through the house, still screaming. I follow, sliding with my wet feet but managing to stop as he runs smack into Mama.

  “What is that you’re yelling about?” she asks him as she grabs his shoulders.

  “Charlotte loves Travis,” he says, looking up at her.

  “Shut up,” I say to him.

  “Charlotte, don’t tell your little cousin to shut up,” Mama scowls. “What is this mess about Travis?” she asks me with a lifted brow. I peer down at Mikey, wishing I could make him disappear.

  “Nothing. He’s just being annoying.”

  Mama narrows her eyes at me. “I don’t want you to have anything to do with him, Charlotte. He’s troubled.”

  My stomach sinks. “Why is he troubled?”

  “I’ve heard it from Evelyn. She says the boy can’t stay out of trouble.”

  I look over at Jennie, who’s standing in the hallway, both of us realizing her mama told mine.

  “I mean it. You are to stay away from him,” Mama says, grabbing my attention.

  “Mama, how can I have anything to do with him when he doesn’t even live here?”

  “Never you mind. Just listen to what I say. Now, go dry your legs off. You’re getting the floor wet. Mikey, go wash your hands and face. It’s time to get ready for supper.”

 
; Mikey runs back down the hall, passing Jennie as she comes up beside me with a towel. I take it and lean down to dry my legs.

  “Mama, why don’t we move to Florida?” I ask her again. I’ve asked her several times since Travis left a few weeks ago, and she keeps brushing me off.

  “Florida?” she asks, looking back over her shoulder at me, like she hasn’t heard me say this the last ten times I’ve said it.

  “Yeah, I’ll be closer to Jennie,” I say, smiling over at my cousin. “Plus, we won’t have to pay rent.”

  Mama stops once she is in the kitchen and crosses her arms.

  “I mean, we’ve got that house just sitting there.” I shrug. “It’s hot as heck here in Georgia.” I put the towel on top of the washer.

  “It’s hot in Florida, too,” she says, turning around at the stove.

  “I know, but at least we’ll have the beach.”

  She sighs, which means she’s thinking about it. I smile and look over at Jennie again.

  “This doesn’t have anything to do with that boy, does it?” She flips the chicken onto its other side and grease pops, causing her to stand back a little.

  “What boy?” I ask, feigning innocence. She eyeballs me, and I try to keep a clueless face.

  “Don’t you want to live at the beach?” I ask, changing the subject as I jump up onto the counter and look over at Jennie, who gives me a hopeful smile. I dip my finger into the pot of potato salad beside me.

  “Moving is a big job,” Mama says, walking over and swatting my hand before taking the bowl away.

  “But we have family to help. I mean, look at all these kids,” I say, signaling outside. “Might as well get some use out of ’em.”

  Mama turns her head and gives me a look.

  I grin and shrug. “What? They drive me crazy.”

  “One day you’re going to miss having them around.”

  “I doubt that,” I say under my breath.

  She moves from the stove and grabs the sweet tea pitcher from the counter. Opening the refrigerator door, she puts the full pitcher onto a rack and shuts it behind her. “Get off the counter and set the table, please,” she says, lifting her brow.