A Cold Tea on a Hot Night

It was a hot, muggy night in July when they met. Claire had just settled herself in her porch swing with a cold, sweet tea, as was her nightly routine. As she sat and quietly sipped her tea, Claire gazed at the stars and wondered when her life in this little hick town was going to get more exciting.

Gravel crunched under tires as Lane drove up. The tree frogs and crickets seemed to announce his arrival. He pulled into Claire’s driveway and snapped off the headlights of his beat-up Cadillac. Claire remained on her swing, sipping her tea, as is having an absolute stranger stop by was an everyday occurrence.

"Hi!" Lane called as he climbed out of his car and closed the door.

"Hi!" Claire nonchalantly called back. She eyed the stranger as he walked towards her, gravel crunching beneath his Birkenstocks. Lane stopped at the bottom of the porch steps, his hands shoved into the front pockets of his faded Levi shorts which, Claire noticed, matched the color of his eyes.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Claire asked after briefly studying the young man before her.

"Well," Lane slowly began, "are you ready for our date?"

"Our date?" Claire repeated before sipping her tea.

"Um, yeah," Lane shyly replied as he looked down and kicked a pebble. "I’m kind of new in town, and your sister told me that you’d, ah, show me around."

"My sister?" Claire blankly stared at Lane’s red face.

"Yeah," Lane answered as he nervously ran a hand through his white-blonde hair. "She didn’t tell you?"

"I don’t have a sister," Claire replied and sipped her tea.

"Really?"

"Yup."

"Oh, hey, I’m sorry." Lane licked his lips and stared at Claire. "I guess I must be at the wrong house."

"Don’t worry about it." Claire offered a smile to Lane. "Who are you looking for?"

"A girl named Abby Rice," he answered, almost relieve that someone in this town was trying to help him out. "I thought you were her by the way you were sitting out here. Sorry to have disturbed you." Lane turned to retreat to his car.

"You’re not disturbing me," Claire called. "You can stay if you want to." Lane stopped and turned to face Claire.

"Are you sure you don’t mind?" Once again, Lane ran his hand through his hair.

"I wouldn’t have asked you if I minded." Claire made room for Lane on the porch swing.

"All right, then." Lane walked back up the gravel driveway while Claire watched and sipped her tea.

"You want something to drink, or something?" Claire asked as she tucked a stray lock of auburn hair behind her ear.

"No, thanks," Lane replied. He nervously stole a glance of Claire. Lane hadn’t felt this skittish around a girl since his first date with Sarah Myers in seventh grade.

"—If you want."

"Huh?" Lane blushed. "Sorry, I didn’t hear what you said."

"I said," Claire paused to pat the empty space next to her, "you can sit down if you want to."

"Oh! Okay! I don’t mind if I do." Lane positioned himself on the swing as far away from Claire as possible. After all, he didn’t want her to think that he was coming on to her. He didn’t even know her name.

"Do you have a name?" Claire asked him, as if reading his thoughts.

"Lane," he replied with a smile. "And, you?"

"Claire," she answered.

They sat for about ten minutes in complete silence, listening to the songs of the crickets and tree frogs. They rocked in that swing, gazing at the stars while Claire nursed her tea.

"It sure is pretty out," Claire commented, breaking the silence. Lane admired her profile.

"It sure is," he softly agreed. She looked at him and their eyes locked. Embarrassed, she looked away. Lane quickly changed the subject. "I just moved here from San Diego."

"I guess that doesn’t make you a Yankee, does it?" She smiled and sipped her tea.

"Moving from San Diego doesn’t," Lane said, "but I was born in Howell, New Jersey. I guess I’m a Yankee by birth." Claire laughed out loud. "How about you? You don’t have an accent or anything."

"I’m from Maine," she replied as she set her near-empty glass on the floorboards. "I moved here about six years ago."

"From one exciting place to the next, eh?" They laughed together.

"You know," Claire started thoughtfully, "you got here about six years too late."

"What do you mean?" Lane rested his feet on the railing in front of him.

"Well, I was always the new kid in school. I never really made any friends down here."

"Why not?"

"These here locals don’t take nice to us Yankees," Claire drawled in her best redneck voice, causing Lane to laugh.

"You’re joking, right?" The way Claire was describing this place made him feel he had just stepped into Deliverance.

"I wish I was," Claire sighed. "If you moved here sooner, we could have teamed up and started the Civil War all over again." Claire smiled at Lane.

"Don’t you think we would have been a bit outnumbered?" He asked with an amused look on his face.

"Nah," she smugly replied. "In man-power, sure, but you and I have more brains than everyone in this county combined!" The two laughed together, their voices echoing in the night.

"More teeth, too," Lane added, inspiring a fresh batch of laughter. They settled down and once again listened to the sounds of the silence. Claire stole a few glimpses of Lane’s strong profile. Lane did the same, hoping she was attracted to him as he was to her. Both pretended not to notice.

Finally, Lane stood and brushed his hair back for the third time. "Well," he began as nonchalantly as possible, "it was very nice meeting you, Claire, but I think I’d better get home. Abby must have tried to get a hold of me, considering I never showed up. My mom is probably worried out of her mind."

"It was nice meeting you too, Lane." She extended her hand to him as she rose from the swing. Lane took it and impulsively kissed it. She blushed and pulled her hand away. "Feel free to stop by anytime."

"Better watch out, or I might take you up on that." They smiled at each other for a brief moment before he descended the steps and made his way to his Caddy.

"Hey, Lane?" Claire called to him when he was halfway down the driveway. Lane turned to her and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I think I’m your Abby Rice. You know, North meets North."

"I don’t get it," Lane called back, thoroughly puzzled.

"Like I said, locals down here don’t particularly like Yankees." Lane smiled and walked towards his car. Claire smiled as well, picked up her empty glass, and disappeared into her house.

Lane started his car and pulled away, knowing he would see Claire again soon. Maybe tomorrow night, he thought to himself, I’ll take her up on that cold tea.