Chapter Five #2
“Come in,” a soft voice called from inside. Weak. But alive.
Could Bailey Rae have lived with herself if the woman weren’t? Thankfully she didn’t have to go through that emotional minefield.
Bag in hand, she drew in a bracing breath of antiseptic air and pushed through the door.
After a single look at Gia Abernathy’s battered face, Bailey Rae knew. The woman needed a lot more than a bag of granola bars or hand-me-downs, and her mission for her final weeks in Bent Oak had just expanded.
1971
Libby and I began walking home together after that fight in the paper mill lot. Last week’s altercation had spooked us both. Even though we hadn’t shared about our pasts, an unspoken bond existed between us, an understanding that we’d both faced something dangerous and survived.
We were warier now. There was comfort in numbers. So we walked down the narrow sidewalk along Main Street toward the towering brick elementary school. Today was their last day of the school year, and I wondered if our work schedules would stay the same.
Libby swiped her forehead. “Slow down, please.”
I hadn’t realized I was double-timing along the sidewalk. Most likely stomping out my frustration. I punished the pavement because I couldn’t punish Phillip.
It was my wedding anniversary today.
I hated the memories that one word—anniversary—evoked. Hated the state of being married but not. Most of all, hated that Phillip still crept into my thoughts.
Did he miss me even a little? Did he have any regrets about how low he’d sunk to cut me out of his life? And on this awful day, I had to admit that I missed the man he’d pretended to be.
However, I didn’t miss the woman I’d been—the one who embraced that shell of a life we’d shared. I would hold on to that knowledge as I scraped out a new, braver life for myself.
Libby plucked an azalea bloom off a bush as we passed the gas station. “Did you know that one of the men who broke up that fight is Annette’s grandson?”
I chewed my lip, because yes, I had asked around about Russell Davis after meeting him, discovering that he’d just returned from Vietnam, where he’d driven a supply truck.
Now, he drove a truck for the paper mill.
His connection to Annette made any draw to him all the more complicated. “I think I may have heard something.”
“I wonder why Annette didn’t mention having a grandson who worked with the mill.”
“Why would she?”
“She told us about the gas station she and her husband own.” Libby tucked the flower behind one ear, her brown hair still up in a bun for work.
“That wasn’t personal. She just let us know so we could get discounts. Which would be nice if either of us owned a car.”
“Thank heavens we don’t live in Maine or somewhere else snowy.” Libby strolled a few more steps, but I could tell she wasn’t done talking. She rarely said anything impulsive, instead waiting and choosing her words for fear of saying the wrong thing. “I just wondered if Annette told him about us.”
“Does it matter?” I asked, sidestepping a buckled patch in the concrete. “I can’t imagine Annette would do anything to risk our safety.”
“Russell gave Keith an old Matchbox truck last time we stopped by the gas station for a Tootsie Roll.” Libby pressed a chapped hand to her chest. “Wasn’t that the sweetest thing?”
She couldn’t possibly mean . . .
“Are you interested in Russell Davis?” Now wouldn’t be the right time to admit I’d begun scanning magazines at the library for articles about The Mod Squad . “This seems rather fast, considering you, uh, just arrived in Bent Oak.”
“I’m not interested romantically in him or any man in this town.” Libby shook her head vehemently. “I’m only getting my bearings by learning as much as I can about everyone.”
Her pitiful expression made me feel like I’d kicked a puppy. There was no sense inflicting my bad mood on her.
“How about after we pick up Keith, we come back here to the park and feed the fish?” I motioned toward the little oasis smack dab in the middle of Main Street, complete with brick fish pond, benches, and lush landscaping, compliments of the garden club currently gathered at the large gazebo.
All those pastel pantsuits and dresses made them look like a big polyester bouquet, which brought on another of those anniversary memories.
One of me at my mother’s garden club, where they’d hosted my bridal shower.
My wedding had been a bona fide circus. Ten bridesmaids, with groomsmen plus ushers.
Plus two flower girls and ring bearers. A string quartet played in the cathedral.
The reception, held at our country club, featured a full sit-down dinner with prime rib and shrimp.
It probably cost more than I made in a year now.
Libby pressed her hand to her chest again, breathless. “Do you think we could stop and sit for a moment? We’re running ahead of schedule to get Keith.”
I didn’t want to hang out near the memory generators, but Libby did look pale. The shifts at the mill seemed to hit her harder than they did me. I assumed it was because she had a child to look after as well.
How tragically ironic all those miscarriages had turned out to be a blessing in disguise. It would have been so much tougher to leave with a baby. “Sure. Are you all right?”
“I was just up late mending one of Keith’s shirts he ripped in a playground tussle.” Libby sagged down onto a wooden bench, dedication plate in memory of some Watson relative.
Lord, I hoped there weren’t a bunch of honorarium benches back in Mobile with my name on them, since I was very much alive. Not that my husband would have bothered. But maybe the old garden club would have purchased one.
Or perhaps I’d left no imprint at all on my previous life.
I stretched my legs out in front of me toward the low brick wall encircling the little pond, only to realize it was empty. “What happened to the fish?”
“Yoo-hoo,” a voice called from the gazebo—a woman in lemon yellow.
“Someone put dish soap in the water fountain.” She glanced sharply over at another lady in lilac.
“It’s not funny. It killed off the koi. Thank heavens I was able to scoop them out before morning.
Can you imagine if a child came by to feed them and saw them all floating with bloated bellies? ”
An older woman with a silver-blond bouffant sniffed. “There’s no need to be so graphic.”
There was so much polyester and hair spray over there, a single spark would send them and the gazebo up in smoke.
Lilac Lady called out, “Would you two like to join us?”
“Shhhh,” Bouffant Woman said in a theatrical whisper that wasn’t fooling me for a minute. “They’re on their way home from work. They must be worn slap out.”
I glanced at Libby and rolled my eyes at the implication we were not garden club worthy.
Lilac Lady stood up anyway. “Come on over and introduce yourselves. I insist.”
Apparently, she carried some sway since the others backed down.
Libby leaned her head toward mine. “We shouldn’t be rude.”
Heaven forbid.
But since Libby never asked for anything, I followed along the walkway, bordered with monkey grass. I climbed the white steps into their world, my old one. Even the menu could have been transported straight from Mobile. Cucumber sandwiches. Ham salad. Tomato aspic. And slices of pound cake.
My mouth watered, and I missed my mother in that moment. I didn’t understand missing my mom and resenting her at the same time, wishing she’d prepared me better for the world. Wondering if her seeming happiness with my father had been real or if I’d imagined it.
Libby thrust out her chapped hand. “I’m Libby Farrell. I have a little boy named Keith.” She spun the thin gold band with her thumb. “His father passed away.”
“I’m Winnie Ballard and I’m divorced.” Divorced in my heart, which was what really mattered.
Sure, it wasn’t a part of my paperwork or backstory.
Worse yet, it was so far from the truth I shouldn’t have thought it, much less said it aloud.
But the anniversary was much on my mind today and the bad mood along with it.
So the words were already out there now.
One by one, they introduced themselves in a flurry of names I wouldn’t remember. My brain was packed fuller than Annette’s card catalog thanks to this new beginning.
Lilac Lady motioned to the picnic basket with a hand towel draped over the top. “Would you like to sit and have something to eat? We have plenty of sandwiches and pound cake.”
Charity? I think not. Poverty hadn’t fully stamped my pride out of me yet. “No, thank you. I’m still full as a tick from lunch.”
Libby rested a hand on the crook of my arm, stopping me before saying, “If you don’t mind, my boy Keith would enjoy a piece of that cake.”
“Of course, take two. It’s lemon and a secret family recipe.” Lilac sliced off three generous servings and wrapped each in a napkin before passing them all to Libby before I could insist again that my rumbling stomach wasn’t interested.
Even as I hungered for the familiar foods, I needed to escape. Fast. Before I let down my guard and unwittingly disclosed something that could reveal my past wasn’t too different from theirs except with one big asterisk. “Nice to meet y’all, but we need to hurry on our way to pick up little Keith.”
This time, I didn’t give Libby time to stop me. We made our way back out of the town square, past the drained site of the great koi bubble bath, and onto the sidewalk.
Libby passed over the extra slice. Turning it down would be childish, and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
I peeled back the napkin. “Doesn’t it bother you to accept their charity?”
Libby broke her slice in half before putting the rest in her purse. “Why should it when I’ve already had to take so much more from Annette and her friends?”
Now that caught me off guard. I looked down at the cake in my hand and thought of how Libby had tucked away extra for her son. Upon a closer look, she appeared to have lost weight since our arrival.
Pride had driven me to turn down those sandwiches.
What would push me to the point that pride no longer mattered?
I felt mighty close right this minute as I realized my quick refusal had cost my friend a much-needed meal.
That Lilac Lady—I couldn’t remember her name—who I’d made fun of in my head had shown more awareness and compassion for Libby today than I had.
“What was her name again? The one who offered us sandwiches. She was wearing a lilac dress.”
“Sylvie Tyler,” she said without hesitation. Libby remembered everything. “Her son was the one driving the forklift the other day when he and Russell broke up the fight.”
The forklift guy? As in “Pete” from The Mod Squad ? The son of the mill owner? Which meant Sylvie’s husband owned the factory.
Now that gave me food for thought. It had been easier when I could vilify everyone in my previous world.
And speaking of food, I took a bite of the lemon pound cake. It was good. Really good. Although mine was better.
I’d spent countless hours of my life perfecting the recipe and could show them up in an instant. If I had the extra money to buy the ingredients. But my time would be better spent learning from Libby how best not to kill myself in a tragic mop bucket accident.
My life wasn’t about garden clubs or competitive baking anymore. Phillip’s betrayal had ensured that.
I needed to forget about the past if I ever hoped to build a good future for myself. One that didn’t consume me with memories of all I’d lost. Maybe instead of thinking bitter thoughts, I should be keeping an open heart and mind when it came to helping people like Libby who deserved a break.
But first, I planned to ask Annette how long it would take for me to ditch this half-alive feeling and be declared legally dead.