Skipping Stones Read online

  This book is written in memory of my late grandfather David Homer Lee McGee, my Papa.

  Today I went by your grave. It still doesn’t seem right that you’ve been gone for almost 10 years. It still causes physical pain to not be able to hear you talk or laugh. To think about your body being in a grave. I can see your smile in my mind like it was yesterday. There aren’t many days when my heart doesn’t hurt because you’re not here. I miss our talks. I miss you.

  Thank you for never letting me outgrow your lap, for letting me do horrible things to your hair in the name of love, for tickling my back until I fell asleep, for taking care of me when I was sick, for walks to the creek in the summer, for telling me carrots were good for me...that they’d make me pretty, for telling me I could do anything I wanted to do if I tried hard enough, for making me feel like the most special girl in the whole world.

  I wish you were here for this.

  This book is also dedicated to all of the men and women who selflessly serve our nation in the United States Military.

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Growing up, for every year I can remember, I spent my summers in the small town of Graniteville, South Carolina. Population 2615 as of the 2010 Census. Home of the now non-existent, Graniteville Company. There’s no mistaking the industrialism of this town. The only difference between now and fifteen years ago as I walk down the street to the creek is that when I was younger you could smell the pollution coming from the mills a mile away.

  Now it’s more like a scene from the pages of The Lorax. There were never any truffala trees in Graniteville that I know of, but if there had been, it sure looks like they were all used up long ago. It’s become a ghost town. The mills have all closed. The parking lots that were once alive with life and purpose are overgrown and cracking. The small shopping center next to the railroad tracks that run through the town center has nearly all but been abandoned. I glance around realizing that even the majority of the houses in our neighborhood, once considered the nicer mill homes, have become run down.

  The biggest news coming from Graniteville is no longer about how it’s the industry leader in textiles. It’s about the train wreck that happened in January, 2005. I had just turned twenty-three two months prior, and I was in my second year of medical school. A month after my birthday, my papa was sick and nearly passed away due to complications associated with his diabetes.

  After everything we’d just been through, it wasn’t bad enough that my family watched the town we loved become even more dilapidated. We lost several friends, and others have suffered irreversible illnesses because of the chlorine leak triggered from the derailment. It happened right in the middle of the town, and in front of our church, St. Paul’s Episcopal. It nearly fell apart from the chemical damage. I swear, I thought this ordeal would destroy my grandparents, who had to watch every material thing they loved literally become tarnished.

  Even though the house seemed far away, if it hadn’t been for the creek separating the land, we could have easily walked to the crash site from our house. We were the lucky ones, though. The house wasn’t damaged. We didn’t get sick. We survived.

  I didn’t feel like I could leave to go to a war-torn country without coming back here first. I need to be in this place in case I never get the chance to come back again. I need to sit on Papa’s lap one more time. I need to strum my fingers across that tattered wallpaper, have one more home-cooked meal from my Memaw, and run down that big hill. I need to feel that rush of adrenaline. I need to skip stones in this creek.

  I find the large rock that has always doubled as a bench and sit down. Visions of him come flooding into my mind. I wonder what he’d look like now? I wonder if he’d still love me? I reach down and pick up a stone, rubbing it like it’s a magic bottle and a genie is suddenly going to grant me three wishes. Oh, what I’d give to just have three wishes. But there are no genies, and there’s no way, it seems, to regain what I’ve lost.

  This town, this creek might not be much to many people, but it built me. This little body of water was my solace, my comfort when I thought I couldn’t go on another day. Well, the creek and him. He was my saving grace, and even though I lost him, when I’m here, I feel our intense connection. I clench my eyes closed as I recall our first kiss here. The images of falling in love for the first time play like a movie in my mind. I gave him all of my heart. At least, what was left of it. Despite everything around me being tarnished, this creek, my memories, are the only things that seemed to have made it out unscathed. This place is where I became the confident woman I am today. This is home.

  “Alex! Hurry up. We’ve got to get on the road.”

  “Coming,” I answer even though it wasn’t a question. My mom hates being late. I do, too, but packing for this summer for my grandparents has been more difficult than usual. Maybe it’s because I know that I won’t get the chance to come back home if I forget something. I toss the last few things I know I just can’t live without into my duffle bag, throw the strap of it across my chest, and then put my backpack on. “I’m ready,” I announce as I walk back into the living room.

  My dad is packing the car. There are several suitcases lined up in the mud room that leads to our garage. I place my heavy bag down beside the rest. Mom laughs. “Did you forget the bathroom sink?”

  I glance up at her with a smile. “Yeah, I did. Thanks for reminding me,” I giggle.

  She shakes her head and holds her arms out to embrace me. I nuzzle my head into her chest as she rubs my hair. “I’m gonna miss you, Boo.”

  I look up to her under my lashes. My momma is so pretty. She has big brown eyes and black hair. She wears it straight, no bangs. It goes halfway down her back. It’s not scraggly, but more like silk. She doesn’t need make-up. She’s got an olive, dewy complexion. People say I’m a good mix of my parents with my father’s brown eyes and my mother’s features. “I’ll miss you guys, too.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t want to come with us,” she says as she releases me. My parents are dropping me off at my grandparents on their way to the airport. They are finally taking that European vacation they had always wanted. They will be gone for three months. Mom and Dad asked if I wanted to go, but I didn’t. There’s nothing that I’d rather be doing this summer than hanging out with my grandparents. No, really. I’m not kidding.

  In fact, the most exciting part of the school year is knowing that my wait is almost over to go be with them. I’m not like most kids. They call me an old soul. People joke and say fifteen going on thirty. The real deal is that I couldn’t care less about getting to sleep in, partying with friends, or going on fancy vacations.

  Those things are fun, but they can be done anytime. They can be done all school year long. Well, maybe not the fancy vacation part. I may be young, but I’m not too young to understand that my time is limited with my grandparents. A lot of my friends don’t even have any living grandparents. I want to make sure that the
time I have left with them is filled with memories to last me the rest of my lifetime. If that makes me an old soul, then so be it.

  My mom interrupts my thoughts. “Sweetie? You okay? You’re awfully quiet.”

  I smile and nod. “I’m gonna go ahead to the car.”

  “Okay. We’re right behind you.”

  Luckily, I’ve never had much trouble sleeping in the car. I stretch my arms to the ceiling as a yawn escapes my mouth. “Where are we?” I ask as I look around. We moved to Ballentine, North Carolina, a few years ago. The road trip to Memaws and Papa’s house isn’t too bad. It’s around three hours. We’re still on the interstate, but the scenery is different. I know it sounds crazy because trees are trees, but I can always tell when we get close. There’s something about the landscaping that’s different in each state.

  My mom doesn’t turn around; she just calls over her shoulder, “About twenty minutes away.”

  Well, that’s a relief. I slept most of the way. An overwhelming urge to go to the bathroom comes over me. I start to squirm in my seat. “Oh. I’ve really gotta go.”

  “No time to stop,” Dad mutters, “We’re on a tight schedule to catch our flight.”

  I inhale sharply. “I really have to go. Like I’m about to pee in my pants.”

  My mom looks back over her shoulder and gives me a stern look. “You heard your father. You’re going to have to hold it.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, look around, Alexandria. It's not like there's anywhere to stop.”

  I turn my head to look out of the window to hide my eye rolling. It’s times like these when I wish I was a guy and could just go on the side of the road. Then again, it’s not like Dad would stop anyway.

  “Can’t we just stop at that gas station right off the interstate?” I plead. “I don’t think I’ll make it. Please, Dad?”

  “Fine. But you better hurry up, Alex.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  I cross my legs and put my hands in between them, as if putting my hands between my legs is going to actually keep me from wetting my pants. I can tell by the mile markers that we’re only a couple of miles away from the exit, but I swear it seems like it takes us an hour to get to that gas station. We’ve all been silent since I convinced him to stop. I know that I’ve got my Dad wrapped right around my pinky finger. He acts tough like he’s being stern with me, but as an only child, I know better. I sit here and pray that I don't wet myself. I’m about 12 years past the age of peeing in my pants.

  Silence. I hate silence.

  Not much longer of sitting in silence. When we get to Memaw’s and Papa’s, there will be none. It’s loud there. People from church and family are always visiting. Everyone is always cheerful. Sometimes my grandmother’s cousin will come by and bring things he got for little or nothing. He’s very much the bargain shopper. It’s always funny to hear them talk about their weekly deals. My papa always chuckles and reminds me of what it’s like to be old and on a fixed income.

  Dad starts in on me as soon as we pull off of the interstate. “Alex, you need to hurry. I mean it. In and out in a flash.”

  “I know. I will.” I smile. “Thanks, Daddy.”

  He shakes his head, but I can tell he’s trying to hide his smile. “You’re welcome, baby girl.”

  The car has barely stopped when I hop out of the backseat and run into the bathroom. In middle school, my best friend and I used to have races to see who could go to the bathroom the fastest. Our friends would time us every day after lunch. I always won. I’ve got this down to a near science.

  One minute and twenty seconds later I’m flopping back into the car, panting. “Was that fast enough for ya?” I wink at my dad.

  “That was pretty darn fast. I’m not gonna lie.”

  I look at my mom and she looks back to me. I can tell she’s trying just as hard as I am to contain her amusement. Finally, we both just burst out laughing. Good times.

  Another ten minutes, and I start to gather my bags as their house comes into sight at the bottom of the hill. “Don’t act so excited to get rid of us, Alexandria,” Mom says sarcastically.

  I can’t help but giggle. “Not excited to get rid of you.”

  “I know, Boo.”

  “I mean.” I shrug. “You know. I’m gonna miss y’all. I just can’t wait to see them. To get my great big hug from Pop.” Sometimes I call Papa that. I’m not sure why. I just seemed to shorten it over the years. “And let’s not forget I’m sure Memaw prepared a meal large enough to feed an army.”

  As soon as the car is in park, I crawl out of the back seat and immediately head to the door. No knocking necessary. The only thing keeping me from the inside of my heaven on earth is an unlocked storm door. It creaks as I swing it open. “Knock knock. Who’s there?” I tease.

  My grandmother turns slightly from the stove in the kitchen that is open to the living room and looks over her shoulder. “Come give your Memaw a hug!”

  Papa’s sitting in his recliner in the living room, which I have to pass to get to the kitchen in order to hug Memaw. Papa interjects, holding his arm out to catch me. His face is beaming. “Oh no. Not before she sits right here,” he pats his right thigh, “on her Papa’s lap and gives me a hug first.”

  I can’t help but toss my stuff to the side and plop down onto his lap. I wrap my arms around his neck and give him a peck on the cheek. “You know. One day I’m going to break your legs sitting on your lap.”

  He chuckles. “Oh no. I don’t think so.” He shakes his head. “You’ll never be too big or too old for your Papa’s lap.”

  I smile as I give him another hug. “I sure have missed you both.” I nod towards the kitchen, then wink. “I better give her some love or she might think I have a favorite between the two of you.”

  He releases me and I bounce the few steps to Memaw’s side. The smell in this house is divine. Fried cornbread is in the cast iron skillet. Salmon patties are on a plate in the center of the stove. There’s a large pot of corn, which I’m sure has at least one stick of butter in it. The table, which is more of a bar separating the kitchen from the living room, is already set for us. There is a plate full of fresh cut tomatoes, a bottle of hot peppers, and a bottle of mustard. “Hey,” I say as I wait for her to put the spatula down.

  She wipes her hands on her apron and pulls me into a warm embrace, then looks into my eyes. “Ya know you’re growing like a weed.” She strums her hands up and down my arms. “I do believe you might be taller than your Daddy!”

  The door creaks and my parents emerge with the rest of my stuff. Dad calls, “No way has she passed her Daddy, but she’s pretty darn close.” He puts my bags down by the couch, and walks towards Papa, who stands up and extends his arm. “Dad.” He pulls him into what I call a guy hug. “Lookin’ good,” he says as he lets go of him and walks towards us.

  “Good to see ya, son.” Papa rubs his belly as he hugs my mom. “Lookin’ round is more like it.” Papa smirks back to Memaw and that look in his eyes is so obviously love. I see it when my father looks at my mother, too. “She feeds me too well.”

  Dad walks up to Memaw and gives her a hug, then reaches around for a salmon patty. “Mmm. So good. Wish we had time to stay for supper, but we have a flight to catch.”

  “Sug, you want me to fix you a plate for the road?” I roll my eyes playfully. What is it with people saying ‘sug’ instead of ‘sugar’ in the South. My grandparents love to use those pet names.

  Dad glances back to mom. “Babe, you want a plate to take with us?”

  “Oh, that’d be fantastic.” She looks to me. “Especially since Miss Alex had to stop to go to the bathroom. I doubt we’ll have time to stop for food.”

  I give mom a playful glare. “Hey! I can’t help when I gotta go.”

  She winks as she laughs, “I know. I’m just picking. Well, partially picking.” She grabs a couple of plates from the bottom cabinet. “I really wish we had more time to visit. I hope y’all have a great summer.” After she gives t
he plates to Memaw, she pulls me into a hug. “I’m gonna miss you, Boo. I hope you have a nice summer. We’ll call you every day.”

  “I know, Mom.” I pat her back. “It’s not like spending summers apart is anything new. It’s just that you’re not going to be three hours away this year.”

  “Right,” she says in a determined voice. “You’re right. Just seems different since I’ll be so far away.”

  I shrug. “Okay.”

  She pushes me back so she can look into my eyes. “We’ll bring you some Twining’s English Tea.”

  I cock my head to the side and playfully say in my best Eliza Doolittle accent, “That would be lovely.”

  “Memaw, can you pass me those ‘maters?” I ask.

  Papa smiles. “Good girl. You know those make ya pretty.”

  I can’t contain my laughter, “I thought that was carrots that made you pretty.”

  He smirks and nods his head. “Yes’um. Those, too. You must be eating lots of carrots.”

  I smirk as I put my head down. I can feel the blush coming over me. “Maybe.”

  Memaw chimes in, “It’s true, Alex. You’re blossoming into a beautiful young lady.”

  “Young lady sounds so old.”

  “That’s what you are,” she chimes.

  I shrug, “Yeah. I guess so.” I take a bite of my salmon patty and close my eyes as I savor the taste. “Mmm. This is so yummy.”

  “Tell me it’s still your favorite?” Memaw asks.

  I continue to chew, but cover my mouth with my napkin. “Definitely still my favorite. Only yours, though. No one can make them like you.” She beams. It’s no secret she loves to hear her cooking is the best. I look over to Papa, and his eyes are alight with humor. “So Pop, are we going to the creek tomorrow to go fishing?”

  “Already got the bait today.” I get up from the table to get the mayonnaise. Pop continues, “Ah, I should have gotten that out for you. I forgot you’re like your mother and like mayonnaise on your tomatoes.”

  I look back over my shoulder and wink. They just put salt and pepper on theirs. I put mayo. I can’t help it. “It sure beats putting mayo on your pears. Talk about gross.”