“So, they might be feuding, but Hattie doesn’t miss any tricks and saw you and Emma Kate outside Bitsy’s house, and saw you go on in. How’s that kitchen coming? I haven’t gotten over there in more than a week.”
“They were putting cabinets in. Pretty ones.”
“Emma Kate’s young man—Matt—and Griffin. Cutie-pies, the pair of them—and they do fine work. I’m having them do me a master bath, an en suite, out of your old room.”
“Now, Ada Mae.” Clayton surfaced from the game long enough to hear about the bathroom.
“I’m doing it, Clayton, so you’d best climb on board. Griff said how they could take out that wall, and I could have me a spa-like en suite bathroom. I’ve been looking at magazines, getting ideas. And Griff, he’s got whole books just on plumbing fixtures—I’ve never seen the like of some of them. He’s done himself an en suite already. I went over to the old Tripplehorn place to see it, and it’s like a magazine, even if he is still sleeping on an air mattress on the bedroom floor. He’s finished the kitchen over there now, and it just makes me green with envy.”
“Don’t even start, Ada Mae.”
“I like my kitchen just fine,” she said to Clayton, then grinned at Shelby, mouthed, For now. “I bet you and Emma Kate picked up right where you left off.”
Miles from that, Shelby thought. “That’s the favor. She said she’d like to meet me tomorrow, at Bootlegger’s, about seven-thirty, if I could. But—”
“You go right on and do that. Old friends are the bricks and mortar of your life. I don’t know what I’d do without Suzannah. Your daddy and I will watch Callie, get her to bed. We’d love to.”
“Finally something I can agree to.” Clayton looked over at his daughter. “You take some time catching up with Emma Kate. We’ll spoil Callie.”
“Thank you.” She leaned over, kissed her mother, got up, kissed her father. “I’m going on up because a day of pampering’s made me sleepy. Thanks for that, too, Mama. And we’ll need to eat at six tomorrow night. I’m cooking dinner.”
“Oh, but—”
“I’m doing it, Ada Mae,” she said in the same tone her mother had used to her father, and had Clayton snickering.
“I’ve gotten to be a pretty good cook, and you’ll judge for yourself. I’m going to pull my weight while Callie and I are here, because I was raised right. ’Night.”
“She was raised right,” Clayton said when Shelby started upstairs. “So let’s pat ourselves on the back there, and we’ll see what’s for dinner tomorrow.”
“She wasn’t so pale and tired-looking tonight.”
“No, she wasn’t. Let’s see how it goes for the next few days, and be glad we’ve got them home.”
“I am, and I’ll be gladder when she makes things up with Emma Kate.”
• • •
IT WASN’T HARD to keep busy. By mid-morning, she hauled out the stroller. Taking Callie on a stroll around town, picking up what she wanted for the chicken dinner she intended to make for her parents was an easy—casual—way to wander around the Ridge and see if anyone was hiring.
The clouds had lifted, and the air had the bright-edged sparkle of spring after a shower. She put Callie in her pink denim jacket with a light cap—and since she might find herself applying for a job, did her makeup before setting out.
“Are we going to see Chelsea, Mama?”
“We’re walking to town, baby. To the grocery store, and I have to open up a bank account. Maybe we’ll stop in and see Granny.”
“See Granny! Chelsea, too.”
“I’ll call Chelsea’s mama later, and we’ll see.”
She passed Emma Kate’s house, noted the workman truck in the drive—and had to resist the urge to lift a hand in a wave across the street where she imagined Hattie Munson’s eagle eye was trained on her.
People like Ms. Munson did plenty of talking, she knew. There was welcome in the Ridge, but there were those—and more than a few—who’d enjoy gossiping over the back fence and in the grocery store aisle, over lunch at Sid and Sadie, about the poor Pomeroy girl who’d come home a widow with a child. But what did you expect when she’d run off that way with a man nobody knew a thing about?
They’d talk about how she’d moved north, rarely came home, dropped out of college after her parents had worked hard to send her.
There’d be plenty to gossip about. And they didn’t know the half of it.
The smart thing to do would be to keep her head down, be friendly and get steady work. Steady work would mean some sort of day care for Callie, so that had to be balanced.
Day care would be good for Callie. Just look how she’d latched onto this Chelsea. She needed to interact with other kids, even if it meant most of any paycheck coming in went out again.
While Callie talked to Fifi, Shelby took the fork into town. She kept her eyes peeled for houses for sale. When she moved out on her own, she wanted something close by. Close enough maybe Callie could walk to her grandmother’s, or to Granny’s. To friends, to town, just as she had.
A little house, two bedrooms, maybe with enough land for a small garden. She’d missed gardening in the condo, and hadn’t had a chance in Philadelphia.
She let her mind drift, imagined the house in her head. Like a cottage, that’s all they needed, and she’d plant flowers and have a vegetable patch, some herbs. She’d teach Callie how to plant and tend and harvest.
She could haunt yard sales and flea markets for furniture, for bargains she could refinish or paint or reupholster. Warm colors and sink-into chairs.
They’d have a good life here, whatever it took to make it.
She took the main road, with shops and a few old houses on each side of the winding street.
She could work in a gift shop, or wait tables, ring up sales at the drugstore or food at the market. Granny had told her she could come work at the salon, but she didn’t have any real talent for hair—or a license. Whatever she did there would be make work, and her family was already making enough for her.
She could check at the hotel or the lodge just outside of town. Not today, not with Callie along, but they should go on her list.
She liked the way it all looked, freshening up for spring with storefronts shining in the sunlight, tubs and hanging baskets of flowers decking the buildings that climbed up or down the hilly road. She enjoyed seeing people stopping to talk, a few tourists wandering along the steep sidewalks, hikers with their big backpacks taking pictures of the town well, where legend had it star-crossed lovers, from feuding families, would meet at midnight.
Until the girl’s father shot the boy dead, and the girl died of a broken heart.
Their rendezvous, so it was said, gave the town its name, and the well—haunted, of course—ended up on a lot of cameras and canvases.
Maybe she could get an office job since she had decent computer skills. But the truth was she had no experience there. Her work experience spread to helping out at the salon—filling shampoo bottles, sweeping the floor, working the register—babysitting, working in the college bookstore a couple of semesters.
And singing with the band.
She wasn’t likely to form a band, and was beyond filling shampoo bottles. So retail maybe. Or maybe she could look into opening a day care. But the Ridge had one—and those who had family usually had a mother or cousin or sister who’d watch their kids when they worked.
Retail, she thought again. Retail or waitressing. There could be opportunities there, especially since summer was coming, and summer brought more tourists, more hikers, more families who rented cabins or stayed at the hotel.
The Artful Ridge—local artists mostly. Mountain Treasures, gifts and whatnots. The Hasty Market—selling staples and snacks for anyone who didn’t want to go the half mile to Haggerty Food Market. There was the pharmacy, the ice cream shop, the bar and grill, the Pizzateria, Al’s Liquors.
Farther down and around the corner sat Shady’s Bar, which was just that. And her mama would h
ave a heart attack if she took a job there.
Considering her options, she stopped in the salon first so her granny could show off Callie.
“I’m going to do your hair,” Viola told Callie. “Crystal, get me one of those booster seats, would you? You can sit right here at Granny’s station, Callie Rose. I used to do your Gamma’s hair, and your mama’s. Now I get to do yours.”
“Callie’s hair.” Callie lifted her arms to Viola, then brushed at Viola’s hair. “Granny’s hair.”
“About the same, isn’t it—though mine takes some doing these days.”
“Some doing,” Callie echoed, and made Viola laugh.
“Have a seat there, Shelby, Crystal doesn’t have another head for a half hour. Look at this beautiful hair.”
Callie, who could sometimes be fussy and impatient at hair-fixing time, sat happily staring at herself in the mirror.
“I wanna be a princess, Granny.”
“You are a princess, but we’ll give you hair worthy of your rank.” She brushed through the curls, grabbed one of the big silver clips to hold some back, and began to do a fancy French braid on the side.
“I heard Bonnie Jo Farnsworth—that’s a cousin of Gilly’s sister’s husband—is getting a divorce from her husband. That’s Les Wickett, Shelby, who ran with Forrest some when they were boys. They haven’t been married two years, and have a baby not six months old. Had a big wedding at the hotel cost her daddy two arms and his left leg.”
“I remember Les a little. I’m sorry to hear he’s having troubles.”
“I heard trouble’s been brewing since before they cut the wedding cake.” Crystal, who owned a tumbling mane of streaky blond hair, gave a knowing wiggle of her eyebrows. “But I probably shouldn’t say.”
“Of course you should say.” Viola tied off the first braid, started on the second. “And in considerable detail.”
“Well, maybe you didn’t know that Bonnie Jo used to go around with Boyd Kattery.”
“Loretta Kattery’s middle boy. Those Kattery boys are rough customers. Forrest had a set-to with Arlo—the youngest of them—not long ago when Arlo got skunk drunk down to Shady’s and started a fight over a pool game. Arlo took a swing at Forrest when Forrest went in to break it up. You know Arlo, Shelby. Bony boy with straw-colored hair and a bad attitude. Drove a motorcycle, and tried to catch your eye.”
“I remember Arlo. He got suspended and sent off awhile for beating up on a boy half his size outside of school.”
“Boyd’s considerably worse, let me tell you.” As she talked, Crystal readied her station for the next customer. “And he and Bonnie Jo were always sneaking off, then they broke up when he got arrested for . . .”
She glanced at Callie, who was too busy admiring herself in the mirror to pay attention.
“For, ah, having certain illegal substances in his possession. Then Bonnie Jo took up with Les, and before you can click your heels they’re planning a wedding. You ask me, her daddy was so relieved she was marrying a nice boy and done with Boyd, he’d’ve paid double what that wedding cost. But Boyd got released right before the wedding, and there’s been some talk down in the holler he and Bonnie Jo have, well, taken up again, and now the two of them are off down to Florida, where he has cousins—she left that baby behind like it was leftover pizza or something. And it’s said the cousins make up some of the substances he was put away for.”
It was nearly as good as a massage and facial, just sitting there for twenty minutes, watching her granny create a princess do for her girl while Callie preened in the mirror. And listening to gossip that wasn’t about her.
Viola looped the braids into a crown, gathered the curls into a tail she fixed with a rose-trimmed band.
“Pretty. I’m pretty, Granny!”
“Yes, you are.” Viola bent down so their faces reflected together. “A girl should know when she’s pretty. But there’s a couple things I can think of right off more important.”
“What’s more?”
“Being smart. Are you smart, Callie Rose?”
“Mama says.”
“And she knows. Then there’s being kind. If you can be pretty and smart and kind, well, that’s what makes a real princess.”
She kissed Callie’s cheek, lifted her down. “If I didn’t have somebody coming in, I’d take you two girls out to lunch. Next time we’ll plan it.”
“Next time we’ll take you out to lunch.” Shelby settled Callie in her stroller. “Crystal, I’m thinking I should find some work. Do you know anybody who’s hiring?”
“Oh, let’s see now. Spring and summer they hire on extra a lot of places. I didn’t think you’d be after work, Shelby, not with the money you’d have from—”
She slapped a hand over her mouth, looked at Callie in distress. “I’m awful sorry. I don’t know why my mouth just runs out without being hitched up to my brain.”
“It’s all right. I just want to keep busy. You know how it is.”
“I know how it is to need to pay the bills, but if you want busy work, maybe over at The Artful Ridge. It’s got some class, and they do good business, especially once the tourists start coming in. Might be they could use another hostess at the big restaurant. They want good-lookers there. Oh, and Rendezvous Gardens—you know the landscape place? They always need help this time of year. That could be fun if you like plants and such.”
“Thanks. I’ll think about it. We’ve got to get to the food market. I’m making dinner for Mama and Daddy tonight. Granny, you and Grandpa should come. I’d love to make dinner for you.”
“I’d love to have you make dinner for me. I’ll tell Jackson.”
“It’s at six, but you could come a little early because I have to leave by about twenty after seven and meet Emma Kate.”
“Have you met Emma Kate’s boyfriend?” Crystal asked.
“Not yet.”
“She hooked a good one. Now the other—Griffin?” She patted a hand to her heart. “If I wasn’t engaged to be married for the second time in my life, I’d head straight in that direction. He’s got a swagger to him. I just love a man who’s got a swagger to him.”
“There’s your eleven-thirty just come in, Crystal.”
“I’ll bring her right back. It was nice talking to you, Shelby.” She gave Shelby a good, hard squeeze. “It’s really good to have you home.”
“It’s good to be home.”
“Her first husband had a swagger to him,” Viola said under her breath. “And he swaggered off with anything female he could talk into it.”
“I hope she does better this time.”
“I like this one. No swagger, but a steady way about him, which she needs to balance her out. I love that girl like I love raspberry sherbet, but she needs that balance. What’s for dinner?”
“I’m going to surprise you. And I’d better get to the market or we’ll be ordering from the Pizzateria.”
She ran into Chelsea and her mother in the food market, which added a half hour onto her time—and produced a deal to meet at the town park the next day so the girls could play together.
Now that she was cooking a meal for six she fiddled with the menu as she shopped. She made a good roast chicken with garlic and sage and rosemary, and she could make some red potatoes in that zingy dressing she cut out of a magazine, the carrots in butter and thyme Callie liked so much, and some peas. And she’d make biscuits.
Richard hadn’t cared for her biscuits, called them hick bread, she remembered.
Well, the hell with him.
Maybe she’d make some appetizers, really do it up. And profiteroles for dessert. The cook they’d had three times a week in Atlanta had shown her how to make them.
She loaded up ingredients, bribed Callie with animal crackers. And tried not to swallow out loud when she checked out.
For family, she reminded herself as she counted out the money. Family was putting a roof over her head, and her daughter’s. She could and would afford to pay for a good family d
inner.
It wasn’t until she wheeled the cart and stroller outside that she remembered she’d walked.
“Oh, for God’s sake, how stupid am I?”
Three bags of groceries, a stroller and a mile-and-a-half walk.
Muttering to herself, she crammed two bags in the back of the stroller, slung the big Callie bag over one shoulder and hefted the last grocery bag.
She switched arms at the half-mile mark, seriously considered calling her mother, or poking into the sheriff’s office to see if Forrest was there and could give her a ride.
“We’ll make it. We’ll make it fine.”
She thought back to when she’d run the mile into town, and back