Once You Go Back. 27

Previously. Buckey’s quiet days gardening on the isolated farm were interrupted when his absent boss’s assistant called from California to send him on a mission. With a co-gardener, Diego, they embarked on a surreal trip to dig and retrieve a massive Palm of the Virgin from an estate in Miami. Read Previous Chapters.

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Diego’s excited chatter made the drive across Florida a little much for me, so I was happy when he told me he’d planned to get out in Ocala and then take the Tornado bus home later. The back road through the rolling hills, live oaks, Spanish moss, and endless meadows of Florida cattle country inspired ideas for our garden back home. I didn’t feel alone. My stunning, rare refugee Palm of the Virgin lay in the back. Sometimes, I pointed things out to her.

After 75 North into Georgia, I cut across through Irwinville, past the tiny Statue of Liberty. I pulled over to read the historical marker where Jefferson Davis was captured. This could have been another place the Confederacy ended. But it didn’t. A century later, I knew plenty of people believed his Lost Cause lies.  There was a poor boy back home who went by J.D., but his name was Jefferson Davis Trapper.  How could one man charm so many people into believing such a cruel falsity twice?

From there, cypress trees, deep ditches with water lilies, and deep thoughts. Finally, I made a comforting left into my little sandy road. Through the pines, I saw it—a waxed blue beacon from my past, a Bronco, parked in front of my little cabin.

Kenny, boots off and pants rolled up, laid back in a rocker on my porch. He didn’t bother to move his feet from the porch rail; he just grinned his Prince Charming face at me and raised his beer. My dog Bella slept beside him. My heart sank. He watched while I unloaded the truck cab, evaluating me. I kind of liked it. As I approached, he yelled, “Glenda told me you’d be home sometimes tonight. There was a guy here, picking bait off your catalpa tree. Said he fed the dog, too. He let me in. Who’s he? I brought barbecue.”

“That’s Randy. We sort of work together. He does construction stuff around town.” I didn’t want to talk about work. Seeing him sitting there made me feel like I was home. “I guess your sister told you about my crazy trip, too. I gotta open up this truck and squirt my plant down.” 

He went into the house to get me a beer, I figured. My dog Bella followed him. Just like always, he charmed every teacher, every girl, and every guy on the soccer team, and every dog he ever met followed him like he had bacon in his pocket. I had, too, from 5th grade and all through high school.

When I finally climbed up on the porch and squeezed past him, he slapped me on the butt. Kenny’s version of a hug. Those black eyes grinned at me, in his exaggerated look to indicate wonder or interest at whatever someone was telling him. What he said was, “This place here, it’s like a little version of Daddy’s house. Just like it. It’s the Pottery Barn inside, for sure. But outchere? Wow, buddy, did you pick it out to feel like you were running away to home? Funny to think about him living back there alone and you living out here alone. In virtually the same house.”