Page 19 of Lightning in a Mason Jar
“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” fromThe 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.
