The next day, I stood on the front porch of my new home and watched Beth Barnes Bailey pick her way up the cracked and crooked pathway leading from the gate to the house. If the massive diamond and equally ostentatious wedding band on her left hand was any indication, she was doing a good deal better than the other two members of the so-called Golden Trio from my high school days. If the oversized hat and sunglasses shielding her face from the sun were any indication, she’d either learned you didn’t need to go through life striving to fry yourself to a crisp in a tanning bed or she’d had a facelift recently.

If the rumors I’d heard in the last week were true, I was betting on the latter.

“Jeannie Jackson!” Her drawl was thicker now than it’d been in high school, the thick, cloying sound reminiscent of the fake accents Yankees and television people thought everybody south of the Mason-Dixon Line had. Pressing one hand to her hat to keep it from blowing away in the non-existent wind, she held out her other, even though she was a good five feet and ten steps from where I stood. “Imagine my surprise when I found out you’d gone and bought this place.”

“I imagine you weren’t the only one surprised.” I could have walked down the steps and taken her hand but much like I’d done with Lynn last night, I held my ground. I might look the same as I did in high school but I was far from being the girl everybody in Cotton Creek could stomp all over. “Careful with those steps, Beth. Contractor has them on his list but they’re not a priority.”

“Of course.” Shocking me by actually taking my warning to heart, she transferred the hand on her hat to the railing, climbing the stairs with her other hand still outstretched. “Contractor, hmm? I know it’s none of my business but can I ask what you’re doing inside?”

“The basics—kitchen, bathrooms, update the floors and paint.” I couldn’t say I’d spent years picturing this conversation in my mind because until a week ago I’d firmly believed I’d never set foot in Cotton Creek until I was being laid in my coffin to go meet Jesus but if I had pictured my first meeting with one of the girls who’d made my last four years in this town a living hell I definitely wouldn’t have imagined it playing out like this. “And now that I’ve satisfied your curiosity, maybe you’ll satisfy mine by telling me what brings you to my door.”

“Well, I know you used Darlene Tibbets to help you with the purchase and all and while I don’t like to speak ill of other people, Darlene has been known to leave out important information about properties from time to time.”

I stared at her, stuck back on her comment about not liking to speak ill of people, for a beat too long before taking her still outstretched hand and saying, “And what sort of important information did Darlene neglect to inform me of?”

“Oh, nothing bad, I swear.” She gave my hand an enthusiastic pump, beaming like a kid on Christmas morning. “We don’t have a homeowner’s association, like they do out in the subdivision, but we do have a garden club. Technically you have to apply and be admitted but nobody has ever been turned down before so no need to worry about that.”

“There’s always a first time for everything.” I eased my hand out of her grip, resisting the urge to wipe my palm on my jeans. She might have looked as cool as a tall glass of lemonade but the sweat on her hand told a different story. “No offense, Beth, but gardens and tea parties are at the bottom of my list of things to worry about. I want to get the kids moved in and settled before school starts in a few weeks so all my focus is on the actual house. Besides, the trust has agreed to deal with the outside since it should have been maintained anyway.”

“Oh, I understand, absolutely. My two are driving me up the wall begging to go shopping for new clothes and haircuts and how we have to drive to Atlanta and—.” She broke off, patting her chest with one hand, laughing and shaking her head. “And I’m going to start rambling here in a moment if I’m not careful. No, Jeannie, there’s no rush or anything and obviously you need to focus on your family right now. This was just me doing my part to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

“Right.” I shoved my hands in my pockets, leaning back against the column and studying her. I liked to think I’d gotten better at reading people since I went out in to the real world but I was also willing to admit my past associations with the good citizens of Cotton Creek might color my perceptions some. “Ran in to Lynn last night.”

“Oh, did you?” Beth continued to smile, something which was starting to creep me out a little. “How is she?”

“Same as always, or so it seemed.” I ran my tongue over my teeth, picking and choosing my next words with as much care as I would have shown the layout for next month’s print issue. “Saw Dana, too, at the station.”

“She’s been there about a year or so, ever since she left the drugstore.”

“Really.” Either Beth really had meant what she said about not wanting to speak ill of people or I wasn’t saying the right things to get the right bits of gossip out of her. “What’s Allen think about that?”

“Allen?” She frowned, wrinkle showing in her forehead which put the rumor about a facelift to rest. Nobody who’d gone under the knife had that much range of movement in their face. After a moment, her eyes widened to nearly dinner plates and she said, “Allen Woodard? From high school?” When I nodded, she clucked her tongue and shook her head. “Of course you don’t know although I’m surprised your sister didn’t tell you. About a year or so after we graduated, the week before they were supposed to get married, Allen ran off.” She paused and I knew whatever she said next was sure to be scandalous. “With another man.”

“I’ll be damned.” I didn’t have to feign my shock. Saying Cotton Creek was conservative was like saying Hell was hot—it was something of an understatement. If Allen had decided to embrace his sexuality, it was no wonder he’d left town in a hurry. I chewed on the inside of my cheek for a moment before saying, “Sure that had to be rough on her.”

“Well, honey, it’d be rough on anyone but it doesn’t give her an excuse to be—.” She broke off again, pressing her lips in to a thin line and shaking her head. “Look at me, about to slide back in to bad habits. Some people make the fall more tempting than others.”

“That they do.” I pushed off the column, offering Beth my hand. “Well, thanks for stopping by. I suppose once we get settled in I’ll hunt you up about that application.”

“Of course, of course.” Her hand was drier than before and I wondered idly what I could have possibly done to make her so nervous about talking with me. Flashing me another smile, she said, “I’ll see you around, Jeannie.”

“Yeah.” I stood on the porch and watched her make her way back to the street, the memory of the girl I’d known in high school warring with the reality of the woman making friendly overtures. “Guess you will.”

––––––––

THE REST OF the week was fairly uneventful, considering what had happened the previous week. The paperwork for the sale went through without a hitch, the renovations on the interior were not only underway but ahead of schedule, and the work on the outside of the house would be finished before the end of next week. My furniture and clothes and odds and ends arrived from Savannah and the movers loaded them in to one of the downstairs rooms which was already finished. I’d have to hire someone to move them again when we actually took up residence but I’d worry about that later. I dealt with the hoops associated with the guardianship papers, squaring that away with little effort. All in all, it was a good week.

Still, by the time Saturday night rolled around, I was itching for a drink and some alone time.

I slammed shut the book I’d been trying to convince myself to read for the better part of an hour and tossed it on the coffee table. “Tammy, who can I call to babysit for a few hours?”

She looked up from the dress she was basting together—apparently she’d picked up Loretta’s talent for seamstress work—and blinked, her eyes owlishly huge. “Uh, why do we need a babysitter?”

“I need to go out and while I may be new to raising kids I know I can’t leave Dolly and Conway here by themselves.”

“Why would they be by themselves?” She frowned. “Where do you think I’m going?”

“It’s Saturday night.” I stared at her. “You’re not going to hang out with your friends?”

“Well, Sandy is grounded because she failed English last year, which means she failed the eighth grade and has to retake it so her parents have said she can’t go anywhere except school and church.” Tammy shrugged, turning her attention back to the sewing machine. “And Kitty is like eight months pregnant so all she wants to do is eat and sleep and complain about her swollen ankles.”

“Uh-huh.” I don’t know why I was surprised by the fate of either of her friends but I was. Although maybe not surprised so much as resigned. People like me and Joel, people who got out of the trailer park and stayed out, were few and far between. Most of the kids who grew up with me moved from their parents’ trailer to their own, taking jobs at the plant an hour away or doing custodial work or anything which would pay the bills and keep the lights on for another month. “Are you sure you want to stay home? I don’t have a problem getting a babysitter.”

“It’s okay.” She shrugged again, all her attention on whatever she was sewing. Loretta had been like that—the entire world went away when she was at her sewing machine. “I want to finish this tonight anyway so I can wear it to church tomorrow.”

“Church?”

Now she did glance at me, her frown the definition of pious. “Yes, Aunt Jeannie. Church. Dolly and Conway and I go every week.”

“Do I need to drop you off or something?” Because there was no way I was attending service with them. “Do you walk? Is there some sort of shuttle service?”

“Sandy’s parents pick us up and bring us back.” She lifted her chin and sniffed. “Or you could come with us.”

“Tammy, I’m more than happy to do any number of things for you kids but subjecting myself to organized religion isn’t one of them.” I stood, stretching my arms overhead and sighing. “I’m going to guess the only place open on a Saturday night is the place you were talking about—the Watering Hole?”

“Yes.” If she stuck her nose any higher in the air, she’d drown with the first hard rain. “It’s the only bar in Cotton Creek.”

“That’s depressing.” I sighed again and shrugged. “Still, one bar is better than no bar.” I detoured across the room to where she was sitting, leaning over and kissing the top of her head. “I should be back before morning but if I’m not don’t panic. I’m not leaving.”

She wrinkled her nose, her confusion evident. “What could you possibly do at a bar all night?”

I stared at her for a moment before shaking my head. “Oh, honey. I’ll explain when you’re older.”