Page 74 of Lightning in a Mason Jar
2025
Goodbyes were hard. But they were all the tougher when saying farewell to nothing but a tombstone.
Bailey Rae sat cross-legged in the graveyard beside Russell’s headstone, tugging weeds and tossing them aside. When he’d died, Winnie had bought a double plot with her marker in place as well, already prepping for the day she would be reunited with the love of her life. No question, some of her spark had dimmed after Russell passed away.
Live oaks shaded the slabs, the twisted branches tangling together into a canopy over the familiar family names. Tyler. Watson. Davis. Underwood. And so on for generations. Winnie had brought her here periodically to leave flowers on Annette’s grave for holidays and her birthday. Family connections weren’t always made by blood, but however those bonds were formed, Winnie had taught her to cherish them.
Hugging her knees to her chest, she rested her head against the polished stone, warmed from the summer. “I wish I could talk to you and get your advice. I’m trying so hard to honor your memory, both of you.”
Winnie had always told her to fight for her dreams and never give up. Wasn’t she doing so by preparing to move to the coast? Now she wasn’t so sure, and she was getting weary of fighting. At the moment, she wished the wind could carry Russell’s quiet wisdom that brought order and peace to her life ...
Mother’s Day had been weird enough when Yvonne was around, but Bailey Rae had done her best to give a gift. From coloring a picture of a pretend house to stealing a candy bar from a vending machine. She hadn’t realized, though, that the celebration would be even weirder after Yvonne bailed. Everyone in school had made a Popsicle-stick frame with a Polaroid picture inside. Bailey Rae had gone along with it, then pitched hers in the trash on her way to the school bus. Even if her mom showed up—which she wouldn’t—Bailey Rae was still mad at Yvonne for forgetting her seventh birthday.
Now the bus chugged away from her in a stinky cloud of fumes, and she walked down the dirt driveway to the cabin. Her book bag bumped the backs of her legs as she dragged her feet. The straps were too long, and it held monster-big books she couldn’t understand. She tried to remember that this place was better, with good food, a bed that wasn’t on wheels, and people who didn’t shout.
Uncle Russell waited for her on the front porch in a rocking chair, thumbing through one of those racing magazines he liked. The biggest fan she’d ever seen swooshed away beside him. Bailey Rae kicked a rock so it thudded off the bottom step.
“Where’s Aunt Winnie?” They’d told her to call them “Aunt” and “Uncle” rather than Mr. and Mrs. She slipped her backpack off her shoulders, and it landed on the porch with a thump. Her shoulders hurt, and she fought back tears at the spelling test inside with a bright-red F on top.
“Winnie had some errands to run, so I came home from the gas station to make sure you got off the bus okay.” He set a juice box and a cookie on the other rocking chair. He didn’t ask her if she wanted it. Just left the snack there for her to decide. “Do you have any homework?”
Shaking her head in a big fat lie, she scooped up the snack, ate the snickerdoodle cookie in two bites, and sucked on the straw until the box made that empty sound. “Can I go watch TV with Skeeter Number Three now?”
She’d never had a dog before. She liked his floppy ears and wavy fur. Most of all, she liked the way he slept curled up on the end of her bed at night. As if keeping watch over her.
Uncle Russell pushed up to his feet. “In a little bit. Skeeter needs to run around the yard for a while.” He started down the steps, gesturing for her to follow. “I know you had a mama, but I thought it would be nice for us to do something for Winnie on Mother’s Day.”
“Like what?” Her throat got tight as she thought about the gift she’d thrown away. “I ain’t ... I don’t have any money.”
“Winnie doesn’t care about money,” he said with that special smile he got when he talked about her. “She appreciates thoughtful deeds.”
“Like if I wash her car?” she asked, trailing him across the yard. “Skeeter likes the hose too.”
He motioned toward a patch of dirt all churned up over by the barn. A wagon full of plants waited in the middle. “I thought we could plant a vegetable garden for her.”
She didn’t know how to do that, and she didn’t want to look stupid. “That doesn’t sound very fun.”
Russell raised an eyebrow. “Do you think Winnie had fun taking an afternoon off work last month to sit in the principal’s office listening to how you headbutted Sissy Watson and chipped her front tooth?”
“She had it coming.” The brat shouldn’t have made fun of Aunt Winnie.
He lifted plants out of the wagon and set them one by one on the ground. “Do you want to tell me why?”
“Not really.” It would make his heart hurt to hear.
“Kids can be mean.”
His words gave her a sick feeling in her stomach, like when she ate too many cookies. Bailey Rae picked up a container from the wagon. The label had a photo along with the word tomato. “I know it wasn’t nice, okay?”
He stood up straight, his brown eyes surprised. “I was talking about Sissy Watson. First time I saw that girl steal a candy bar in the gas station and try to blame it on her twin, I knew she was no good, and she hasn’t gone out of her way to prove me wrong.” He sniffed like he’d stepped in a Skeeter pile. “I’m not saying what you did was right. I’m just saying I understand there may have been a reason.”
She wanted to pour her heart out and tell him so bad, but he’d just said how she should think about Winnie. And the way Bailey Rae saw it, she should think about Russell too. Besides, she’d also stolen candy bars out of vending machines, even if she’d never tried to blame anyone else. “What are we going to plant in this garden besides tomatoes?”
He lifted another plant, one with green spikes and tiny purple flowers on top. “These are chives, for cooking. I thought the little blooms were mighty pretty ...”
The memory of that day was still so fresh in her mind the taste of that cookie and juice lingered. Bailey Rae traced the year etched in stone that she’d said goodbye to him—2019. How could it have been six years since she’d gotten her last hug from Uncle Russell? One of his gentle hugs that had taught her not to fear men. She could still hear the peaceful timbre of his voice, raspier near the end as he wheezed for air through the cannula easing oxygen into his nose.
She tipped her head back, blinking away the tears that blurred the oak branches and Spanish moss overhead. Once her vision cleared, she opened her backpack and pulled out a paper sack. She eased it open and withdrew the small plant.
