The Red Strokes

Chapter 20 - Val

Avery makes pies while Val paces the length of the front porch still trying to process Heddie Mae's story. She grapples with the visual of her soft-spoken father as a bona fide, sheet-wearing member of the Ku Klux Klan. And although Heddie Mae's story depicted a man out-of-character from the Thomas Fahning the public knew, somehow Val is surprised but not shocked. Sure, her father was an upstanding citizen, a respected author, and for the most part a good father even if not what she considered hands-on. But there was always something about him, as if he breathed different air than the rest of the world. Nuances she could never quite put her finger on told her there was so much more lurking beneath the erudite exterior and sophistication, behind the hooded eyes that always made him appear to be lost within his own mind. Maybe if she hadn't been so busy trying to run from her own secrets, she may have been more inclined to see his.

She peeks through the screen door. Avery is still running circles around the kitchen as if she were putting on the Ritz. She feels like a coward hiding outside in order to avoid making conversation with her. She understands why Lilah didn't want Doriah returning home to find two strange women occupying the house in her absence. Had she been thinking clearly, she would have offered to make the grocery run herself and given Lilah a chance to remove a brick or two from the wall of silence surrounding Avery.

She's what her father would have called an odd duck, but if Val remembers correctly, Avery's mother gave her the same impression during their only meeting. It was following her own mother's funeral, she was twelve. Arnetta had flown up for the funeral, stayed a few days to pay her respects and to catch up with her mother, and then left without saying goodbye to anyone. A few months later, Heddie Mae left in much the same manner returning to Mississippi to be with her daughter. As much as Val had always liked Heddie Mae, without the aid of phone calls or letters, it didn't take long to push her to the back of her mind. Now the woman from her past is napping in a room just through the door, and her presence, along with her story, gives Val a feeling she was not expecting and can't quite label. Like the feeling of coming home.

"Would you like a slice a apple pie? Fresh out a the oven."

Val turns toward the voice certain Avery caught her startle. Apple has never been her favorite, but having had nothing to eat since breakfast; she follows the young girl into the house. "Where did you find apples? Michelle was hunting for one last night, but couldn't find any."

"Miss Lilah don't have no apples," Avery replies.

Val opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. She's almost afraid to ask how it's possible to make an apple pie without apples. Must be a southern concoction, she thinks, like possum stew or a mess-a-somethin'. She bristles at the thought and takes a seat at the table.

Avery sets a plate in front of her along with a glass of milk, something Val hasn't touched since she was a kid living at home. "Mama always served warm pie with ice cream, but Miss Lilah don't have no ice cream either."

"That's okay, milk is good." Val studies her pie. She can't think of anything worse than trying to choke down an apple-less apple pie except doing it in silence while Avery watches her force every bite. She lifts the crust with her fork and passes a look from the pie to the young girl. "It looks like apple pie."

"Course it does." A few faint lines that had yet to leave a permanent signature furrow across Avery's forehead.

All out of stalls, Val takes the point off the slice and forks it into her mouth. Expecting bland and god-knows-what, it takes her taste buds a second or two to recognize sweet and cinnamon. She casts her eyes up without raising her head, and offers a smile to match Avery's.