My Heart's in Alabama

Prologue - 2

The other half of the story starts quite a few years earlier. The same sleepy town, where everything was calm and warm and inviting.

It was summer and a 12-year-old Rebecca Brimmley sat outside in the hot Alabama sun wearing a pair of pink sunglasses. In front of her was a rusty patio table covered in empty plastic cups, a pitcher of freshly squeezed lemonade- something she had labored over all morning- and a small wooden box decorated with flowers filled with a few dollar bills and lots and lots of quarters.

Even though it was hot, Rebecca had few takers. She had been out there every day for almost two weeks now. She had lots of buyers in the first few days, but her customers had all but dried up. That didn't matter to Rebecca. She didn't care about the money. What was there to buy?

So what was she doing on her front lawn selling lemonade if it wasn't for the money? The answer to that question was walking down the street, the way he always did, on his way back from his job as a lifeguard down at Lake Hutton.

"Well, well, well," he said, stepping up to Becca's humble lemonade stand. He leaned towards Becca, swinging his t-shirt over his shoulders in the process. She beamed like the sun hanging in the sky. "If it isn't little miss Rebecca Brimmley selling lemonade."

"How much?" Darren Shultz, asked digging through his pockets. 

It was a game they played. Darren stopped by Becca's stand every day after work, and she waited there patiently for him.

"75 cents," Becca said proudly.

"75?" Darren asked as he shifted through the change in his hands. "It was 50 yesterday."

Becca laughed, glad she could keep his attention.

"Times are tough."

"You're killin' me, Becca." 

Darren chuckled and slapped his three quarters on the table. Becca eagerly collected her earnings and stored them in a special place in her change box. Gingerly, she poured him a glass of lemonade. As slowly as she could so he wouldn't have to leave so fast.

"Thanks," Darren gobbled up the lemonade and winked. Becca smiled and watched him as he walked down the street to his house.

Once Becca was absolutely, positively sure that Darren was safe and sound in his house, she sighed blissfully and packed up her station. She had all she needed for the day. She dragged her table back to her garage and dropped it at the feet of her older brother, John.

"You're so stupid," he teased. Becca rolled her eyes and ignored him. It didn't bother him. It only made him press the issue more. "You know he doesn't like you, don't you?"

Becca rolled her eyes once more and tucked her box safely under her arm.

"What do you know?"

Becca's brother, John, was 13 almost 14 and like everyone else in the family, he adored their neighbor Darren. He taught him how to throw a football, swing a bat, and everything else a boy needed to know. Darren was the big brother John never had but always wanted. It bothered him that Becca was trying to take that away from him. Even more, that it seemed to be working.

"I know that Darren's 15 and the last thing he cares about is some stupid little girl and her lemonade stand."

"Oh yeah?" Becca retorted the way only little sisters can. "Then how come he always stops for a glass on his way home from work?"

"It's called being polite."

Once again Becca retreated to her old move and rolled her eyes and pushed past her brother. Even though she acted like her brother's comments didn't bother her, she couldn't help but wonder if her brother had been right. Maybe Darren didn't care about a 12-year-old girl. But then again, Becca knew that she wouldn't be a 12-year-old forever. One day she'd be 18 and he'd be 21, and then she'd be 21 and he would only be 24, the years between them would disappear until finally she was 90 and he was 93 and their ages would mean nothing.