tower of profiteroles she’d made, with their topping of melted chocolate.
“That’s as pretty as anything you’d see in a restaurant,” her father told her. “Is it as good as it looks?”
“You’re going to find out. I need to go, so Mama, would you serve this up? I don’t want to be late.”
“You don’t go till you’ve put on some lipstick.” This was her grandmother’s decree. “Something with a little pink it in. It’s spring.”
“All right. Make Forrest help with the dishes.”
“I was going to,” he said immediately. He grabbed her hand when she bent over to kiss Callie. “It was a real good meal, Shelby. Don’t drink and drive.”
“You’re the one with a beer on the table. Callie, you be a good girl.”
“Gamma said I get a bath with bubbles.”
“Won’t that be fun? I won’t be late.”
“Oh, be late.” Ada Mae served up generous portions of pastry. “Go have some fun.”
“I will. Don’t—”
“Scat!”
“All right.”
It felt odd going out at night, on her own. And then add in the nerves, the worry that Emma Kate wouldn’t forgive her.
But she put on lipstick, added a little more blush for good measure. And drove to town hoping she’d find the right words, make the right penance to get her best friend back in her life.
The streetlights gleamed, and she caught a few lights glimmering in the mountains. Shops shut down by six, but she noted Pizzateria was doing good business, and a few people strolled along the sidewalk.
She found the stingy parking lot beside the bar and grill already jammed, started hunting up a place on the street. Maybe she had to give herself a mental push to get out of the car, but she did it, and walked the half block down, opened the door, stepped into the noise.
She didn’t recall the place doing this level of business on weeknights. But then she hadn’t reached legal drinking age when she left so had spent more time with pizza or at the ice cream parlor.
Still, most of the tables and booths were full, and the air smelled of beer and barbecue.
“How’re you doing?” A waitress—hostess?—approached with an easy smile, and dark eyes that scanned the crowded room, probably looking for a free table. “I can seat you at the bar if you’re . . . Shelby? Shelby Anne Pomeroy!”
Shelby found herself enveloped in a hug that smelled of peach blossoms.
She drew Shelby back, a good-looking woman with skin like polished walnut and thickly lashed dark eyes. “You don’t remember me.”
“I’m sorry, I—” It clicked, stunning her. “Tansy?”
“You do remember. Can’t blame you for taking a few minutes. I’ve changed some.”
“Some?” The Tansy Johnson she’d known had been gawky, gap-toothed, acne-prone and bespectacled. This one was admirably curvy with a gorgeous smile, clear skin and luminous eyes.
“My skin cleared up, I filled out, got my teeth fixed and wear contacts.”
“You look just fantastic.”
“It’s nice to hear it. But then, you and Emma Kate never made fun of me like some of the girls did. I’m sorry about your husband, Shelby, but I’m glad you’re home.”
“Thanks. You work here now. It’s busier than I remember, and nicer.”
“That’s good to hear, too, because I don’t just work here, I’m the manager. And I happen to be married to the owner.”
“Wow. Things have changed. When did you get married?”
“A year ago in June. I’m going to tell you all about my Derrick first chance, but Emma Kate’s waiting for you.”
“She’s already here?”
“I’ll take you over. I got you a corner booth—prime real estate, especially on Wing Night.” She hooked her arm through Shelby’s. “You’ve got a little girl, don’t you?”
“Callie. She’s three.”
“I’m going to have one.”
“Oh, that’s great, Tansy.” It called for another hug. “Congratulations.”
“Just hit four weeks, and I know they always say wait until after the first trimester, but I can’t wait. So I’m telling everybody, even complete strangers. Look who I found!”
Emma Kate looked up from her phone. “You made it.”
“I did. I’m sorry if I’m late.”
“You’re not. I forgot it was Wing Night, so I had Tansy save us a table and got here a little early.”
“Sit down.” Tansy waved toward the booth. “And you two do your catching up. What’ll you have, Shelby? First one’s on the house.”
“I’m driving, so . . . Well, I ought to be able to handle one glass of wine.”
“We’ve got a nice selection by the glass.” Tansy rattled off several choices.
“The pinot noir sounds perfect.”
“I’ll get that right out to you. You okay there, Emma Kate?”
Emma Kate lifted her beer. “I’m good, Tansy.”
“So good seeing you.” Tansy gave Shelby’s shoulder a squeeze before she walked away.
“I didn’t recognize her for a minute.”
“She grew up. She’s about the happiest person I know, but then she always had a sunny nature.”
“Despite being bullied and picked on half the time. I remember in high school especially how Melody Bunker and Jolene Newton made deviling her a mission.”
“Melody’s as sour and snotty as she ever was. She was second runner-up in the Miss Tennessee pageant—something she tosses around like candy wrappers. You know she’s never forgiven you for beating her out for Homecoming Queen.”
“God, I haven’t thought about that in years.”
“Melody’s existence is based on being the prettiest and most popular. She fell short. And Jolene hasn’t evolved much, either.” Emma Kate leaned back, settled into the corner of the booth, diagonal from Shelby. “She’s engaged to the son of the hotel’s owners, and likes to drive around town in the fancy car her daddy bought her.”
A waitress brought over Shelby’s wine. “Tansy says enjoy, and just let me know if you want anything else.”
“Thank you. I don’t care about Melody or Jolene,” Shelby continued while she turned the wineglass around and around in small circles with her fingers. “I want to hear about you. You got your nursing degree just like you said you would. Did you like Baltimore?”
“I liked it well enough. I made some friends, had good work. Met Matt.”
“It’s serious, you and Matt?”
“Serious enough I dealt with my mama’s shock and horror when I told her we were moving in together. She still gives me pushes toward marriage and babies.”
“Don’t you want that?”
“I’m not in a rush about it, like you were.”
Shelby accepted the hit, took a sip of wine. “You like working at the clinic?”
“I’d have to be stupid not to like working for Doc Pomeroy. Your daddy’s a good man, a fine doctor.” After another sip of her beer, Emma Kate straightened a couple of inches. “What did you mean, you didn’t have the money to come back? The word I got was you were rolling in it.”
“Richard handled the money. As I wasn’t working—”
“Didn’t you want to work?”
“I had Callie to tend to, and the house. And I’m not qualified for any serious work. I didn’t finish college or—”
“What about singing?”
It flustered her not to finish a sentence. There’d been a time when she and Emma Kate could finish each other’s—but this was different.
“That was just a childish fantasy. It wasn’t like I had any real skills or experience, and I had a child, and he married me, provided for me and Callie, gave us a good home.”
Emma Kate sat back again. “And that’s all you wanted? To be provided for?”
“With Callie, and having no skills or the education—”
“Did he tell you that you were stupid? You want my forgiveness, Shelb
y?” Emma Kate said when Shelby went silent. “You tell me the truth. You look me in the eye and you tell me the truth.”
“All the time, one way or the other. How was he wrong? I didn’t know how to do anything.”
“That’s a big bucket of bullshit.” With her eyes fired up, Emma Kate set the beer down, shoved it aside and leaned across the table. “You didn’t just sing in that band, you did most of the managing and marketing. You figured out how to do that. They made you assistant manager at the college bookstore after a month so you knew how to do that. You started writing songs, and they were good, Shelby, damn it, so you knew how to do that. You redecorated my bedroom when we were sixteen—and not only did it look beautiful, but you figured out how to get around Mama on it. Don’t sit there and say you didn’t know how to do anything. That’s him talking. Speak for yourself.”
The words, fast as machine-gun fire, left Shelby breathless.
“None of those things were practical or realistic. Emma Kate, things change when you have a child depending on you. I was a housewife and a stay-at-home mother. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“There’s not a thing wrong with that if it makes you happy, if it’s appreciated. It doesn’t sound like it was appreciated, and when you talk about it you don’t look happy.”
She shook her head in denial. “Being Callie’s mama is the best thing in my life—it’s the light in it. Richard worked so I could stay home with her. A lot of mothers who want to can’t, so I should be grateful he provided for us.”
“There’s that word again.”
She felt sick inside, with a thin layer of shame coating it. “Do we have to talk about this?”
“You want me to forgive you for running off—and that I could—but to forgive you for cutting me off, for staying away, for not being there for me when I most needed you. But you’re skirting around the truth of it.”
She was because the center was so dark and sticky. The noise of voices and dishes that had seemed festive and fun when she’d come in now pounded against her head.
Her throat felt so painfully dry she wished she’d asked for water. But she pushed the words out.
“I didn’t have the money because if I managed to tuck a thousand dollars away, he’d find it, and he’d take it. To invest, he’d say, because I didn’t have a head for money. I had charge accounts, didn’t I, if I wanted to buy clothes or some other toy or outfit to spoil Callie with so I didn’t need cash money. And what was I complaining about, I had someone to clean the place, someone to help with Callie, someone to cook because I didn’t know anything but country cooking. I should be grateful. And I couldn’t take off to Tennessee every time somebody died or got married or had a birthday. He needed his wife home.”
“He cut you off from your family, your friends. He whittled your world right down, didn’t he, and hammered at you to be grateful for it.”
He had, of course he had. She hadn’t seen it happening because it was so gradual—until it was just her life.
“Sometimes I thought he hated me, but he didn’t. He didn’t feel that much for me. The first few months, even the first year, it was exciting and full, and he made me feel so special. I let him run everything. I was along for the ride, and I was carrying Callie and so happy about it. After she came, he . . . it was different.”
She took a breath, let herself settle into it.
“I thought it was different,” she said slowly, “because a baby changes things. He never paid much attention to her, and if I said anything about that, he’d get angry or act insulted. He was making sure she had a good life, wasn’t he? I didn’t want to travel so much with the baby, and he didn’t push. So he was gone a lot. Sometimes he’d come back and things would be good for a while, sometimes not so good. I never knew which it was going to be. I couldn’t anticipate how it was going to be, so I tried to make sure everything was the way he liked it. I wanted my girl to have a peaceful, happy home. That was the most important thing.”
“But you weren’t happy.”
“It was the life I’d made, Emma Kate. The choices I’d made.”
“You chose to be abused.”
Her spine went stiff and hard. “He never laid a hand on me or Callie in anger.”
“You’re smart enough to know that’s not the only kind of abuse.”
Though her tone was brisk, no-nonsense, she kept it low, under the other chatter. Even in a noisy restaurant people often heard what you’d rather they didn’t.
“He made you feel less, feel small and stupid and obliged. And he cut you off as much as he could from people who’d make you feel whole and special and really happy. And from what I’m hearing, he used Callie to keep you in line.”
“Maybe he did. He’s dead now, so it’s over with.”
“Would you have stayed with him, just stayed living like that?”
Frowning, Shelby ran a finger around the rim of her glass. “I thought about divorce—I’d be the first in our family, and that was a weight. But I thought about it, especially when he went on this last trip. It was supposed to be the three of us, a family vacation. A few days in the warm, but when Callie got sick and we couldn’t go, he went anyway. He left us in the awful house the day after Christmas, where I didn’t know a soul, and our girl was running a fever.”
Now she looked up, and some of the bottled rage gleamed out. “He didn’t even say goodbye to her, in case she was contagious, he said. I thought, He doesn’t love her. It’s okay if he doesn’t love me, but he doesn’t love our daughter, and she deserves better. She damn well deserves better. I thought about a divorce, but I didn’t have money for a lawyer, and I thought he had so much money he might go ahead and get the divorce, and what if he took Callie to spite me? I was thinking what to do, how I could do it, when they came to the house, the police. They said there’d been an accident down in South Carolina, the boat, and Richard was missing.”
She picked up the wine now. “He’d called in an SOS, said he was taking on water, and the engine had gone out. They were talking to him, getting the—what do you call it?—bearings or headings or whatever it is, sending out a rescue boat, but they had lost contact.
“They found the boat, all wrecked, and they searched for him, for almost a week. They found some of his things. His windbreaker, all torn up, and one of his shoes. Just one. They found one of the life preservers. They said the boat capsized, and he got washed away and likely drowned. So I didn’t have to think about getting a divorce.”
“If you feel guilty about that, you are stupid.”
“I stopped being guilty about it.”
“There’s a lot more, isn’t there?”
“There’s more, but can this be enough for now? Just enough for right now?” Needing the contact, she reached over to grip Emma Kate’s hand. “I’m sorry for hurting you, and I’m sorry for not being strong enough to stand up for what I knew was right and best. I just . . . God, I need some water.” She glanced around for the waitress, then pushed out of the booth. “Wait!”
When she rushed off, skirting around tables, trying to get through the crowd at the bar, Emma Kate got up to follow.
“Are you sick? The bathrooms are the other way.”
“No. I thought I saw somebody.”
“A lot of somebodies in here on Wing Night.”
“No, somebody from Philadelphia. This private detective who came looking for Richard.”
“Private detective? That is more.”
“Couldn’t have been him. No reason for it. It’s just talking so much about Richard, and thinking about all of it. I don’t want to think about it anymore right now. I want it off my mind for right now.”
“All right.”
“Can we just talk about something else? Even Melody and Jolene, I don’t care. Anything else.”
“Bonnie Jo Farnsworth’s getting a divorce. She married Les Wickett in a big, fancy wedding not two years ago.”
“I heard about that. She’s taken up with Boyd Katte
ry again, and they’re in Florida maybe cooking meth with his cousins.”
“So you’re getting back in the loop. Let’s go sit back down. I