Even though each marriage was unproductive emotionally, the second had produced Lori Anne and the third a three-bedroom split-level house she occupied and Chevy pickup she still drove, the debts on both in her name only. She remained friends with all three ex-husbands. No need to part enemies, as the relationships never stood a chance.
She loved Brent Walker.
And realized now she always would.
He’d changed little since they were teenagers. A pleasant face centered by an engaging smile that always made her feel better. She went to great lengths, though, to avoid his hazel eyes, their stare able to penetrate straight to her heart. His eyebrows, like his hair, were a chestnut brown, but the brows flared at the end, making him appear perpetually curious. He stayed muscular, and she could still see him scooping up ground balls at the Woods County High School baseball games.
They’d barely stayed in touch while he was in Atlanta. A handful of calls, a letter or two, an occasional face-to-face when he was in town. Neither one of them was much on social media. Two months ago he’d called and told her about his decision to return home. Trying not to repeat mistakes from the past, she hadn’t encouraged him one way or the other. But she was thrilled he was finally coming back. They’d come close to being together several times, the last attempt happening eleven years ago, but his guilt and her immaturity nixed both that and every other opportunity. The past few years had been the toughest of her life. At least before he’d been nearby. But for so long now he’d been nearly nonexistent.
Live Oak Lane was not on her usual route, but yesterday she’d detoured and driven past. Just seeing his car parked out front in the Walker driveway was comforting. She’d almost stopped but decided against it. What was the rush? They had all the time in the world.
Or did they?
Patience had been one of her former mistakes, as had an indifference that came with consequences only the years since had taught her to appreciate. She did not intend on repeating either error. So she started toward the first house on her route and resolutely decided that if she hadn’t heard anything by 5:00P.M.she’d find Brent before nightfall.
8:18A.M.
HANK PARKED IN THE DRIVEWAY AT 328LIVEOAKLANE, CLIMBEDout of his pickup, and studied the Walker homeplace. Forty years the rambling Victorian two-story had sat among tall pines and moss-draped oaks. The clapboards were an unadorned gray topped by a gabled tin roof. On one side rose a brick chimney veined thick with orange-flowered trumpet vines. All across the front alternating round and square bundles of sculpted shrubs backdropped beds of blossoming begonias, impatiens, and hydrangeas. The front yard was a dense carpet of Bermuda grass. The whole place looked like something out ofBetter Homes & Gardens.
Catherine Walker was busy working the front flower beds. She wore a pair of faded jeans and a button-down cotton shirt. A floppy straw hat protected her pixie-cut silver hair and pale facial skin from the June sun. Cloth gloves covered both hands.
“You’re looking lovely,” he said, walking over. “As always.”
She stopped weeding and slapped the dirt from her gloves. “Still the charmer, Hank.”
“Your impatiens are beautiful.”
“I was afraid the lack of rain might keep them from budding.”
“It has been dry lately.”
“That storm Tuesday night helped. But I’m sure you didn’t come by on a workday to admire my flowers and talk about the weather.”
“I don’t know. Seems like a good reason for a visit to me.”
Catherine grinned. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the mill?”
“One of the perks of being a union president is the ability to leave when I need to.”
“Where are you supposed to be?”
“Not here.”
“This must be important.”
He sighed. “I’m afraid it is.”
He followed her up the front stairs to a pair of white rockers. She offered him something to drink but he declined.
“I’ve thought about this for a while,” he said, “and I finally came to the conclusion you and I need to talk. Parent-to-parent. I’m violating a confidence doing this, but I think it has to be done.”
A crease laced her brow. “What’s this about, Hank?”
“Ashley and Brent. They’re in love.”
He watched her reaction. But she said nothing. “You know?”
“Paula was not the love of his life. I could see that. There were a lot of problems in their relationship.”
