A whole day with no drama.
No Becca tantrums—she got up and fixed herself some Pop-Tarts and headed off to school. No Johnny Mack canings. And no Noah sightings. It felt almost normal. And had me feeling just skippy enough to hit Ruthie up on her night out offer. Why not, I thought. It had been forever since I’d been out to eat with anyone except Becca—well, unless you counted the pizza and beer with Patrick. I didn’t count that, since it was really all just foreplay.
I even left work an hour and a half early so I could run some errands before I went home. And smiled at Georgette Pruitt when she flashed her new delivery of white carnations for her carnival parade float.
I got in my car without a second look at the diner, this made easier by the fact that I started parking on the other side of my building. Deciding to top off my gas tank, I slow-rolled into the station, turned down the song I’d just cranked up, and got out.
And enjoyed my peaceful feeling for about fifteen seconds into my fill-up.
The midnight blue Ford truck that pulled up behind me at the next pump had a chrome grille so shiny I could have fixed my makeup in it. I actually chuckled at that thought until the driver’s door opened and Noah Ryan stepped out.
It was everything I could do not to groan out loud. I was so damn close.
He closed his door and glanced back inside to Shayna sitting in the passenger seat. “Hey, Jules.”
I smiled politely, remembering the sort-of precedent we’d set at the bank the day before. “Hey.”
Shayna opened her door then and stepped out, still looking adorable even without her chic red dress. She looked girl-next-door sweet in faded jeans and a hoodie pullover. I turned my focus back on the pump handle in my hand and thought of happy thoughts. I thought of Ruthie’s cupcakes. Of Harley and her sweet face. And how—
“Babe, I’m gonna grab a drink, want something?” Shayna asked.
“Yeah, a Coke, thanks,” Noah said offhandedly as he pulled a card from his wallet and fed the pump its magical numbers.
His words triggered a memory. Coca-Cola used to be the only soft drink he’d touch. “Coke’s the real deal, Miss Ju-li-an-na,” his young smart aleck-voice reverberated in my head as I flashed on a second-grade elementary school moment. I’d bought a Dr. Pepper from the “Coke machine,” as they are all called in the South. And a young, cocky Noah, sweaty and dirty from playing touch football at recess, stood there with his seven-year-old swagger and dissed my choice.
“So,” I said. “I like Dr. Pepper.”
“That’s because you’re a stupid girl,” he said. “With a stupid name.”
“Well, who asked you?” I said, scrunching up my nose. “You stink.”
“Why’s your name so long, Ju-li-an-na?” he said, his voice mocking.
I made a face and walked around him. “Why do you have dog poop on your jeans?”
He whirled around like a dog chasing his tail. “I do not.”
I laughed, sitting cross-legged on the grass. “Made you look.”
The glare I got was short-lived. He dropped to the ground in a lunge, as if he were practicing reaching first base. “You need a nickname.”
I shrugged. “I have one. My dad calls me Jules.”
Noah nodded and sat up, as if he had to give that some deep thought. “That’s better. At least for someone who drinks Dr. Pepper.”
Wow, I thought with a start, there was something I hadn’t pulled up in decades. I studied his profile as he leaned against his truck. Worn jeans that fit him like heaven. A blue sweatshirt with the sleeves shoved up on his forearms.
“Here you go, honey,” Shayna said, walking between our vehicles to hand him the icy can. She glanced my way and did a double-take, smiling curiously.
I saw Noah take the cue and his manners kick into gear. “Shit,” I whispered, staring down at the pump handle. Don’t do it, Noah. Don’t do it, Noah.
“Jules,” he began, and I raised my head with a smile as if I knew nothing. “I don’t think I’ve gotten to introduce you to—Shayna.”
I met his eyes and caught the pause, no matter how slight. He was going to say my fiancée, but his tongue flipped it just in time. In any case, I was glad. I’m not sure I could have masked my reaction that well.
Shayna turned to me with an outstretched hand and a soft smile. “Hi. Shayna Baird.”
Her long dark hair was shiny and perfect, even pulled back into a carefree ponytail with shorter pieces falling around her face. She didn’t look thirty. Fresh-faced and dressed like she was, she looked like she could model for an outdoor magazine or a college catalog. When I pulled my hair up like that, I looked like I was scrubbing my toilet.
“Julianna White,” I said, noting her firm handshake in lieu of the limp girly one I expected. Noah had said she was a military brat, so she’d probably been taught right.
“Nice to meet you, Julianna,” she said, her eyes showing the slightest hint of wariness. She knew who I was. It was there.
“You too. Oh and—call me Jules,” I said, darting a look to Noah. “My full name usually means I’m in trouble—or my grandmother is hunting me down.”
Shayna laughed. I laughed. Noah just looked as if he were stuck in a bad dream. My pump mercifully clicked off and I had something else to do besides stand there. She started making her way back around the truck and the words came out of my mouth before I even knew they were there.
“Congratulations, by the way,” I said, feeling all the awkward atoms of the universe descend upon our little fifteen-foot area. “On the baby—and the engagement.” Noah’s eyes fixed on me with a clear What the hell are you doing? look, and if I’d had one for I have no fucking clue, I would have used it.
Shayna’s steps faltered, and I watched as she looked at him with questions before turning slowly back to face me. “Um—thank you,” she said with a more pallid complexion than was just there seconds before. She covered with a smile as she looked at Noah again. “I didn’t know it was public knowledge yet. I thought just family—”
Oh, son of a bitch, I wasn’t supposed to know. I wanted to jump in my gas tank. Noah wanted to run over me with that truck—I could see it in his twitching jaw muscles.
“I told Jules yesterday,” he said, meeting her eyes with that dead-on look I was learning to recognize. I didn’t apologize, knowing instinctively that would sound coy and even more like Noah and I were in cahoots.
After a few beats of silent stare-down between them, Shayna looked away, fidgeted with her hoodie, and brought her gaze back to me.
“Thank you,” she said with a smile carved from practice. Possibly from years of growing up as an officer’s daughter and knowing when to be politically correct. “We appreciate it.”
Oh, we. That was good. Very smart of her, staking her claim and making them a unit. I nodded and smiled at both of them as I closed my gas tank and “see you later’d” them. I got in my car and released a long breath with my eyes closed.
“Why, you idiot?” I breathed. “Why can’t you just say hello like everyone else? Holy shit.”
I started the car and pulled out, not wanting to look back, but I did. I couldn’t help myself. And there they were, still standing in front of the truck, facing each other in what looked like an intense conversation. I’ll bet it was.
• • •
Becca was out the door within thirty minutes of walking in it, including a full wardrobe change, makeup refresher, and half a care what I thought about it.
“What do you think?” she’d asked when she came downstairs, spinning so that the mock chain-link belt she wore loosely around her hips spun at the ends.
“I think I got whiplash,” Nana Mae said. “If I got ready that fast, I’d need to skip the going out and take a nap.”
Nana Mae had walked over to surprise me with my favorite all-time dessert. The one thing I could not say no to. Mississippi Mud. So of course showering and getting ready for the evening had been temporarily delayed. Mud requires sitting and savoring, and Nana Mae and I were doing just that.
I laughed. “You look beautiful. Just try not to spin like that too much or you might take someone down.”
She gave me a mischievous grin with narrowed sexy eyes. “Maybe that’s my evil plan.”
“Well, then stay under the radar.”
She laughed, and I had the urge to snapshot the moment. For one precious second we were clicking.
Nana Mae gestured to the big red plate with the yum on it. “Get you some Mud, Becca.”
Becca eyed the plate as she plopped down next to me, and then snatched the remnants of my piece instead.
“Hey!” I said. “Get your own!”
“Just wanted a bite,” she said around the mouthful. “Oh, dear God. Talk about evil plans.”
“No kidding,” I said, plucking another smallish piece of the gooey chocolaty marshmallowy nutty goodness from the plate. “There’s nothing even remotely right about this.”
“Yeah, well, I say live a little,” Nana Mae said, holding her piece on a napkin away from Harley, who was eye level with it all and was nearly trembling with hope.
“Are you driving?” I asked.
“Nah, Lizzy is,” she said, reaching over me to attack Harley’s head with love scratches. To her credit, Harley tried to enjoy it, but the smell of melted chocolate trumped love. “It’s four or five of us going to the mall and a movie and whatever.”
Ah, that whatever is what made my heart pitter patter with joy. On the upside, Lizzy was a better driver than Becca was and a straight A student. I always wished she’d sprinkle some of her glitter on Becca.
“Home by midnight,” I said as she rose, which got me more of the face I was used to.
“Oh, come on, Mom,” she said, one hand on her hip. “I’m almost an adult.”
“Almost being the key word.”
“Everyone else gets to stay out till one,” she said, a frown scrunching the top of her nose.
“Well, if Lizzy is driving all those everyones home at one, then how does she get home on time? Think of how considerate you’re being,” I said, reaching over to pick up that morning’s newspaper from the end table.
Nana Mae snorted, and Becca just looked at me like I’d gone off the deep end. “Thanks.”
“Bec, it’s four o’clock,” I said on a chuckle. “You’ve got eight hours. What on earth are you complaining about?”
She shrugged as she appeared to contemplate that, and then snatched up her bag at the sound of a car horn outside. “Bye, y’all,” she said, giving us both quick head hugs.
“Check in, Becca,” I reminded. “Is your phone charged?”
“Yes,” she called over her shoulder as Harley bounded after her, thinking it was time to go play. “I know, I know, text you so you know I’m not dead—got it. Bye, Mom. Bye, Nana Mae.”
And she was gone.
“It was better in my day,” Nana Mae said, settling back into the couch pillows a little. Her brand-new sneakers glowed as white as her hair against her dark green sweats. “When we’d leave the house, we left the grid. No cell phones to track you down.”
“Same here,” I said. “Although I had neighbors that were more efficient than any electronic device. Still do,” I added, pointing. “Mrs. Mercer next door nearly called the cops the first time Patrick came over on his bike.”
“That’s because Kathleen Mercer sits in her living room bay window with binoculars every day,” Nana Mae said. “I’m always tempted to turn around and moon her when I leave here, just to hear the scream.”
I snickered. “Well, she used to wear out the phone, too. Mom knew every place I stepped a foot in before I ever got home.”
“And you still managed to get yourself in a pickle,” she said. Meeting her look, I felt the pull at my gut. “Knowing my daughter, I’m surprised she ever allowed you to have that boy in your room.”
“Oh, he wasn’t,” I said as Harley came back to stare at the Mud, her big head resting on my knee. I chuckled—maybe a little too bitterly than intended. “Nothing ever happened in this house, I promise you.”
Nana Mae patted my hand. “As I suspect you’ll make sure is the case for Becca as well.”
I paused, caught somewhere between then and now. “Well, yeah. Obviously I hope she isn’t doing anything.”
“And your mother hoped the same thing,” she said. “Just as I did for her.”
I scoffed. “I sincerely doubt my mother ever did anything that scandalous.”
Nana Mae wiped her fingers clean of the sticky chocolate. “Well, no, she didn’t get herself pregnant, if that’s what you mean, but she certainly pushed her boundaries at times.”
Curious. My mother pushing boundaries. “Like?”
“Like sneaking out at night, stealing her daddy’s cigarettes, reading books she wasn’t supposed to read and stashing them under her mattress.” Nana Mae chuckled. “Or carving out old books to hide things like letters from boys—and her daddy’s cigarettes.”
I stared at her in amazement. Those things did not mesh with the woman I knew as my mother. “How have I never heard this before?”
She shrugged. “Never came up before, I guess.”
“And she wasn’t about to tell me,” I said, brushing crumbs into my napkin. I got up to find a ziplock to store the rest of the Mud.
Nana Mae laughed softly as she worked to her feet as well. She scooped up the plate and followed me to the kitchen. “Of course not,” she said. “Would you? Have you?”
I turned from my open cabinet and gave her a look. “No.”
“Okay then, Julianna. Then don’t be so hard on your mother.” She laid her hands flat on the cold granite of the island and clicked her ring against it. “We don’t tell our kids about our questionables, past or present.”
“But you want me to,” I said, setting the ziplock bag down.
Nana Mae picked it up and began moving the pieces of Mud cake inside it. “Only because your past has joined the present, my girl. And Becca deserves not to hear it on the gossip mill.”
I watched her with her old, wrinkled, heavily veined hands placing each piece in carefully. Her nails were still painted perfectly every time I saw her, hair always smooth and tidy. Even in the days surrounding my mother’s passing, she always looked her best, sitting at her daughter’s bedside day and night in full dress and makeup until the advanced cancer took her from us. So much like my mother in those little ways, and a complete opposite in others.
“What do you think Mom would say if she were still here?” I asked.
She didn’t look up, just finished her task. “She’d probably disagree with me,” she said softly. “But she always did have her own mind. Would swear the sky was green just to argue with me.”
“You miss those arguments, don’t you?”
Nana Mae met my eyes with a little wink before she looked away, but I saw the glimmer of emotion first. “Every day.”
• • •
“Stop looking at me like that.”
Harley lay curled in a half circle next to my chair as I got ready, her head resting on the bath towel I’d discarded. Her little eyebrows kept alternating up and down as she looked imploringly at me, devastated that I was leaving her alone on a Friday night. After all, I was always the steady one, the home body. It was usually she and I watching Lifetime movies on the couch on Friday nights, while Becca either went out with friends or had them over.
Now, as I sat putting on my makeup with a sulky dog at my feet, I recalled my nights out at her age and took a fearful breath. Not the time to think of those things. I knew what I was doing at seventeen, and it frequently involved steaming up the windows of Noah’s car. But I couldn’t put my indiscretions on Becca. My questionables.
She’d had boyfriends, but nothing that lasted long enough to get gropy to my knowledge. And most of her outings were with groups, so I always felt a little safer with that.
How could I tell her what I’d done at her age and ever expect any semblance of respect on that subject.
My cell buzzed on the dresser and I snatched it up to see Becca’s name.
Checking in, Sarge.
Cute.
Ha ha, I texted back.
Then a picture text came in showing her in a royal blue strapless body-snug dress that fit her like a dream—if she were twenty-two and lived in New York City.
At the mall. Wnt this dress 4 prom. It’s on sale rt now.
I decided to put the phone down. Prom was still four months away, and I wasn’t about to get in an argument of wills over a hoochie dress I’d never buy at any price.
I finished up the last attempts at making my wavy mess look cool, pulling back the heavy sides so that soft pieces fell around my face. I sighed, remembering Shayna’s careless perfection, and wished I could be that fortunate.
Disgusted, I went to stare at my clothes. A dress? Jeans? I knew Ruthie would have some version of black going on. I could do the same and we’d blend together like Twinkies or I could be bold and go for color. I remembered the hot red dress Shayna had on the day they arrived, but I didn’t have anything that good.
And then I slammed my closet door, making Harley jump to her feet and look at me for her next move.
Damn it, I needed to stop! Here I was trying to live up to a woman more than ten years younger than me who I didn’t even know, just because she was with a man I no longer had.
“This is crazy,” I said to Harley, who wagged her tail uncertainly, not sure if we were going to war or if Mom just had a loony moment. “This is going out to eat with Aunt Ruthie, it doesn’t matter.” She took a step toward me and I scratched her soft head.
I pulled a pair of dark jeans from a drawer, a black tank top, and a red—yes, red—gauzy see-through long-sleeved blouse. Kinda sexy without being overtly so. I wasn’t looking to pick up anybody or find myself another Patrick. One was quite enough.
I grabbed my body spray and spritzed myself once and Harley twice. She didn’t see the humor in it and promptly ran downstairs. I zipped up my black low-heeled boots and took one last look in the mirror.
When you are really young, you think of the mid-forties as so ancient, and that of course all of life’s plans for you have long fallen into place. I twisted to see my backside and then back around to pose and pretend walking.
Okay, maybe I didn’t look ancient, thanks to good genes and hair color, but where were those life plans? Was I somewhere else when they were falling?
“Okay, Harley-bear,” I said when I made it downstairs to the door. “Stand guard.”
Which clearly meant something different in her language, because she jumped on the couch and wrapped her body around two pillows.
I was kind of envious of her evening.
• • •
The Grille parking lot was pretty packed when we got to the other side of Katyville. We were either at the happening place or all the other restaurants were closed. Circling around to the back, we managed to snag a parking spot. Music emanated from the walls as we approached the screened-in patio, a section clearly being avoided due to the cold.
“I can’t wait to get some jalapeño poppers,” Ruthie said as she swung one of the front doors open and the full volume of the music thumped into us.
“I just want a margarita,” I said.
“We can do that, too.”
The tables were mostly full, both high-stooled and regular, but the hostess wound us through them, past a large table of laughing women, to a small high table on the other side of the dance floor.
“This’ll work,” Ruthie said, settling herself on her stool. “Good view. Now, let’s get something greasy and some alcohol to wash it down with.”
She looked adorable, as usual. Her straight dark hair was pulled to one side and fastened so that it rested prettily over her shoulder. She wore black opaque tights with a fitted black tunic dress over them, and knee-high boots similar to mine. I knew it would be black. I hadn’t seen her in color in probably fifteen years.
“What’s Frank doing tonight?” I asked when our drinks came.
“Watching zombie movies,” she said, licking the salt from the rim of her glass. “He saves those up for when I’m gone because I won’t watch them with him.”
We ordered food and I watched the dance floor, trying to remember the last time I’d been dancing. When Hayden and I were married? Possibly. I know we used to tear up a two-step when we were dating, and probably did later too, but it was too far back to remember. I knew for a fact that I hadn’t danced with anyone I’d dated since.
“Good God,” I said. “I just realized I’m old.”
“Just now?” Ruthie said, snickering over her drink. “I realize that every morning as I groan my way out of bed. Now, if I were independently wealthy or owned my own business so I could maybe or maybe not go into work—maybe I wouldn’t have to groan so much.”
“Is that a dig?”
“No!” she said with a wink. “I’m just saying. I dream big.”
“What kind of business do you want to start?” I asked.
She waved a hand. “Oh, I have no idea, it’s just something Frank and I have always talked about. We have the money, but the right opportunity just hasn’t come bouncing along.”
“Well, you’d be excellent at whatever you bounce into,” I said.
“Why, thank you,” she said with a little mock bow. “So have you sent in your sale ad for the carnival flyer?”
I narrowed my eyes at her, wishing I had lasers to go with them. “Seriously? That’s what we’re starting with?”
She set her drink down and held out her hands. “What, it’s a valid question! One I get asked at least twice a day. I’m only asking you once.”
“You know what?” I said. “You take it on this year.”
“It was due today.”
“And if I know you, you already have something cooked up and designed on the computer,” I said.
She shrugged. “Just in my head.”
“Well, knock yourself out,” I said, sipping my margarita. “I pass the sales genius to you.”
She laughed. “You’re such a procrastinator.”
“I’m totally not,” I said, frowning. “I just—”
“Hate this festival,” she finished.
“No,” I said defensively. “I don’t hate it. It’s perfectly fine—and yeah, I’m lying, I hate it.” I laughed, holding up my glass.
“It’s okay,” she said, some of the snark leaving her expression. She looked at me lovingly. “I understand why you hate it. But you could just have fun with it like everyone else,” she said.
“It’s a fake snow parade in Texas, Ruthie. When’s the last time you saw snow?” I leaned my elbows on the table. “I can tell you all three times for me. Kindergarten, senior year, and five years ago when Becca was twelve and the school let them out to play behind the gym.”
“Exactly,” Ruthie said. “It’s rare, and therefore fun to be corny with it.” She leaned forward. “Be corny with it.”
I rubbed my temples. “I can’t.”
“That’s because the senior year instance was—”
“Ladies,” said a male voice from behind me, cutting Ruthie off and making me jump in my seat. I swiveled to see Patrick smiling down at me and Ruthie smiling up at him.
“Hello,” she said, tilting her head in amusement and darting a glance my way.
“Oh, crap, Ruthie—you haven’t met Patrick, have you?” I said, startled as I realized that. She wasn’t at the store the one time he’d come by.
“No, ma’am, I haven’t,” she said, widening her eyes with a holy-shit look. “I’ve heard the name, heard the stories—”
“Ooh, I have stories?” Patrick asked, managing to look completely wicked.
“Oh, most definitely,” Ruthie said, absently stirring her drink with her straw. “The—motorcycle trip alone was worth the time.”
Patrick laughed, a deep sound that had my senses stirring. A nice feeling, but I wasn’t there for that. I was out with Ruthie, for a girls’ night, not trolling for sex.
“So, you,” I said, attempting sultry. Sort of. By the look I saw pass over Ruthie’s face, I assumed I failed. “What are you doing out here tonight?”
He nodded toward the bar. “Just picking up some quick dinner, and then driving to Austin tonight.”
“Austin?” Ruthie said.
“My next job starts there on Monday,” Patrick said, his hand resting on the back of my chair. “Have to go get set up this weekend and get my guys ready. Make sure everything works and everyone is there.”
“You’re gonna be a while, huh?” I said, meeting his eyes.
“Yeah,” he said, a soft look playing there that had me thinking naughty things. “Probably till mid-February. I’ll call you.”
“Well, yeah, you can have phone sex,” Ruthie said, her tone casual.
Patrick laughed and I stared at her. “Ruth Ann.”
“What did I tell you about that name, Ju-li-an-na?” she said on a laugh. It was meant as an inside joke, a nod to our childhood, but it brought Noah back to the forefront, and I felt my stomach tighten up.
“Maybe we will,” Patrick said, his tone half flirting with her, half promising me something hair-raising as he circled the subject back. He chuckled as he slid past my chair. “Be back in a little bit, beautiful,” he said in my ear, sending goose bumps down my back as he headed for the bar.
We watched him together for a second. “God, I’m such a damn easy lay when it comes to him,” I said.
“I can see why,” she said, and then she thumped me on the arm. “You didn’t tell me he looked like that.”
“Like what? Hot?” I asked. “Yes, I did.”
“No, I mean—” She circled her hands, looking for the right gesture. “Bad. Dangerous. Like he could—gnaw on raw meat or something.”
A laugh tickled me at the visual. “I’m pretty sure he likes his meat cooked,” I said. “Then again, it’s never come up. We had pizza once.”
“What kind?”
“Meat lovers.”
Ruthie’s look had me giggling like a schoolgirl. If a schoolgirl would be drinking a top-shelf margarita.
“So are you drunk yet?” Ruthie asked when we recovered.
“On half a margarita? God, I hope not,” I said on a laugh. “Why?”
She licked her lips and peered down into her glass before looking back up at me with a very contemplative expression.
“I have something I need to tell you,” she said, attempting a smile that I knew her well enough to recognize as placating.
“Is anyone dying?” I asked, remembering Becca’s question from the other night.
“No.”
“Okay then,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Anything else is minor. What’s going on?”
She took another swallow, and my skin tingled with anxiety I couldn’t even name.
“Becca asked me how to get on birth control.”