Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Mary London
Funny thing about tennis shoes is they don’t make a sound.
Not even on the pavement outside the back door of my boutique as I sneak in midmorning.
I bought this pair with the intention of taking up running.
Silas talked so highly of the activity, I bought the tennis shoes and hit the trail.
Only to quit a half mile in and decide I’d rather cut calories than break a sweat.
They’ve sat at the back of my closet, reminding me that while they offer comfort, it’s actually a trick.
Every activity you’d do in those comfortable shoes is quite uncomfortable.
My heels are hell on my feet, but I love every activity I do in them.
It’s one of those paradoxical situations of life.
And since everything is quite horrible in my life right now, I figured I’d at least give my feet some comfort.
“Psst,” I hiss, my head barely poking out from the door that leads from the storage room to the main sales floor of Golden Halo. “Maggie!”
She turns from where she’s folding a table of layered basics, eyes going wide when she sees it’s me in the storage room. She rushes over and closes the door behind her. Next thing I know, her arms are flung around my neck, squeezin’ the devil out of me.
“Oh my heavens, Mary London! I barely knew it was you!”
She pulls back and stares at me like she’s never seen a Southern belle take a day off from all the glamour.
My hair’s back in a ponytail, the end of which is sticking out the back of a baseball cap promoting our Archangels.
I didn’t bother with makeup, just in case I started crying again.
Not even my fancy mascara could keep up with the waterworks I’m subjecting it to today.
I put drops in my eyes so I know they aren’t red any longer, but no amount of ice rolling could get the swelling to go down.
“You sure you’re okay handling things for a bit? I’ll pay you double time, of course.” I woke up determined to get my feet back under me and that’s going to take time. There’s a way back from this public humiliation, I just know it.
And it sure as heck ain’t marrying the man who put me in this situation!
“Of course, honey! I’ll cover as much as you need me to.” Maggie’s gaze drags downward. “I didn’t even know you owned jeans.”
I clap my hands and her gaze snaps back to my face. “Focus, Mags. I’m giving myself the day to wallow. Tomorrow I’ll have a plan. I’ll be back to work by Monday. Okay?”
Maggie blinks repeatedly like an owl. “A day to wallow? Honey, give yourself all the time you need to feel your feelings.”
I’m already shaking my head. “Absolutely not. A whole day to wallow is more than enough. Has anyone said anything to you today?”
Maggie’s face goes carefully blank, but I can see her ears turning red. “I’ve heard a few comments on the pictures, but I shut it down every time. I can tell this is gonna blow over quick.”
She’s a terrible liar.
I squeeze her arm, grateful beyond words I have such a capable employee to watch the store and defend my honor in my absence. This girl’s getting a raise.
“Thank you. I’ll see you Monday.”
And with that, I slip out the back door of my own store, too ashamed to show my face yet.
I keep my head down as I head for my car, taking back alleys as best I can, both to avoid people and their curiosity, but also to avoid the damn Christmas decorations that are on literally every surface. I’m not feeling very festive right now.
The drive out to the cemetery by Jasper Lake is a quiet one.
Most people are at work or school, so the roads are clear.
It gives me plenty of time to ruminate on everything that happened between Rhett and me.
God as my witness, I can’t see where things went wrong.
The guy I fell in love with wouldn’t have done that.
Is there a way this is all just an accident?
I look down at my cell phone on the passenger seat.
I silenced it late last night, but I keep checking it, expecting to see Rhett’s name.
The fact that I haven’t tells me this is no accident.
He purposely tried to ruin my reputation.
It’s the why I can’t figure out. What’s the goal here? A Price bringing down a Winthrop?
I thought Rhett and I were past all that old family drama.
The parking lot is mostly empty which suits me just fine.
I park and get out, pulling my sweater tighter around my body as I walk out to the familiar path that leads into the cemetery.
I used to come out here a lot right after Mama died.
As time marched on, I felt her here less.
Or maybe it was my grief-stricken brain catching up to the fact that while her physical body was here, her soul was up above in the clouds.
I no longer needed to visit the cemetery to feel her presence.
But today I need the quiet this place promises.
I sit on the stone bench Silas and I paid for so we’d have a place to sit when we came to visit. It’s right next to a magnolia tree which provides a sliver of shade in the summer months. The stone is freezing cold, sending a shiver right through me.
“Hey, Mama.” Her gravestone lists her full name, date of birth, date of death, and her favorite scripture.
I sigh and settle in, letting the chirping birds in the tree calm my racing brain.
Something about being in nature does it to me every time.
The outside world seems so far away, at least a safe enough distance it can no longer hurt me.
I fill Mama in on everything going on, which is just plain dumb.
I know she’s watching over me, which means she already knows everything.
But it helps me to verbalize it. Process it.
Saying it out loud takes it out of my brain where it’s been giving me a headache.
“So, yeah. My desire for a husband and family led me to trust a man who never respected me.” I snort in the quiet morning air. “Sound familiar?”
That could have described Mama’s life with Daddy.
“I swore I would never let that happen to me. I just don’t understand how to be the lady I was raised to be while also not letting a man get away with such unacceptable behavior.”
“You should talk it out with ’im,” comes a thin voice behind me.
I whip around, nearly falling off the bench. Gunnar Price, Rhett’s papaw, tiptoes from around the other side of the magnolia tree. Irritation has me getting to my feet. I don’t like being interrupted here. I also don’t want to listen to any of the excuses this man might give me about his grandson.
“Excuse me,” I snap, already dragging my keys out of my pocket.
“Wait!” Papaw holds his hand out like he wants to grab me and hold me there, but knows I wouldn’t take kindly to that. He’s absolutely right. Not today, Satan. “Listen, I know you’re angry and you have every right to be, but you need to know the facts.”
“And you’ve got the facts?” I cross my arms over my chest, wondering if I’m dealing with sober Gunnar or not.
He dips his head, then shoves his hands in the pockets of his dirty coveralls. “I do. See, Rhett didn’t leak those photos. I did.”
My mouth drops open. Everything swirling in my brain shifts and forms a new picture.
“I know it’s a shock, but I’d been drinkin’…
” His gaze is focused on a rock he’s working loose from the dirt with the toe of his boot.
“Not that that’s an excuse, but maybe a reason for my thinkin’.
I thought about the way your father’s always looked down on our family and I figured he needed to be taken down a peg or two.
So I took those pictures off Rhett’s phone and sent them to a drinkin’ buddy of mine.
The gossip train of Heaven took care of the rest.”
For some reason, his confession does nothing to tamp down my anger, but it does add a layer of profound sadness. “You must be exhausted carrying all that judgement around for decades. I hope you feel vindicated at my expense,” I whisper softly.
Papaw shakes his head, thin shoulders folding in on themselves. “Tha’s the thing. I don’t. As Rhett just shared with me when he looked like he wanted to slit my throat, I just proved I’m the asshole your father accused me of being.”
He lifts his head, and I’m surprised to see tears in his eyes.
“I’ve made a terrible mess of things. I’m sorry, Mary London. I wasn’t thinkin’ about how this would affect a nice girl like you. I just couldn’t see past my own hatred.”
My head starts to nod, all the pieces finally coming together. “You and my father are pretty similar.”
Papaw snorts, but he nods back. “Rhett thinks I hate him. That I’m trying to ruin his life, but tha’s the exact opposite of what I feel. I’m just an idiot drunk who had to raise a boy and didn’t know what he was doing. Seemed easier to point the finger at Clayton than at my own chest.”
“Always is,” I say softly.
“For what it’s worth, I’m going to make things right.” Papaw’s eyes are burning with conviction.
I believe he wants to make things right, but I don’t have much faith that he can. Eighty-five is a lot of years to live with a notion and an addiction. Old dogs don’t like to learn new tricks.
“Please don’t. You’ve done enough already.”
His face sags with regret, pulling at my heartstrings despite the anger I’m still holding on to.
“I appreciate you comin’ clean.”
He nods and steps back, no longer meeting my gaze. He’s like a shell of his normal spritely self. “He’s out-of-his-mind upset, mind you. He loves you, Mary London. Don’t let a stupid old man mess that up for you.”
And with that, he leaves, back bent and a slight limp. I watch until he climbs into his ancient truck and leaves the parking lot. Then I sit back down on the bench facing Mama’s grave.
“Lawdamercy, what do we think of that?”
If I close my eyes and stay real still, I can feel the ghost of Mama’s hand rubbing my back, her sweet voice giving me advice from down a long tunnel.
Maybe it’s just my memories of her and I’m being fanciful, thinking she’s still around to help me out, but when I finally leave the cemetery, I’m officially done wallowing.
I climb into my SUV, crank the heat and the country music station, and whip the baseball hat off my head. I’m not sure what to do about Rhett and this situation with the whole town seeing me half naked, but I do know two things.
I need a shower.
And some sky-high heels.