Chapter 48 Coco
Coco
The next morning, I feel a thousand times better than I have in days. Maybe what happened at the bar last night has gotten out, but if it hasn’t, that’s okay.
Eventually, it will.
There are bills to pay, and since the utility buildings are just down the street, I decide to take a walk. It’s cloudy outside, heavy with humidity. Rain is coming.
The streets are bustling with early-morning joggers and a few tourists looking for breakfast. I spot Mrs. Malfree walking her pug and expect the woman to turn up her nose like she did last time we crossed paths, but as she approaches, she reaches for me.
“Good morning, Coco.”
My brows lift in surprise. “Good morning.”
“I’m so glad I ran into you.”
Mrs. Malfree is the quintessential Southern woman, with big blond hair, large hoop earrings, and just about everything she wears is monogrammed. Right now, she’s sporting a light rain jacket with her initials emblazoned on the left breast.
“Oh?” I ask. “Did you need me to tell Mom something?”
“No. I found this in my cupboard today and thought you could use it.” She pulls out a small mason jar. “It’s the strawberry jam I made last year. I don’t think you got any. Is that right?”
“Um, yeah. That’s right.”
She pushes it into my open hand. “Take it, and let me know how it is. Tell your mama I said hey.”
“Will do,” I reply as she walks off.
My gaze drops to the glass jar. Jam? Mrs. Malfree gave me jam? Isn’t she supposed to tell my mom when I’ve done something wrong? Spy on me? But here she is, giving me jam?
“Oh—and, Coco?”
I turn around and she gives me a thumbs-up.
“Good job.”
Good job? Is she talking about last night? But before there’s a chance to ask, Mrs. Malfree has rounded a corner and disappeared out of sight.
Huh. That was weird.
As I continue down the street, a few folks I recognize but don’t really know wave. I wave back.
Is this all because of the flowers?
The more I walk, the more people grin, wave. Until one girl, who’s maybe eight or so and walking with her parents, runs up and hands me an iris.
“Can you make more?”
A slow smile spreads across my face. “Yeah,” I tell her. “I can make more. I can make a whole field of them.”
Which gives me an idea. A great big glorious idea.
One that I hope my parents will go for.
When I get home, there’s a note inside my mailbox. Worry knots my stomach for a moment. Is it a challenge from Luke Preston? Does he want to duel?
But when I unfold it, the handwriting is in cursive. It’s feminine, unsigned.
You made things bloom. That’s not what evil does, and this town will remember it.
Warmth spreads through my body, the feeling lingering like a heated cloth on my skin. So I won’t be kicked out or shunned.
I’ll be accepted by the folks of Mystic Meadows, which is all I’ve ever wanted my whole life anyway.