She sniffed and fed a sample to Polly. “I’d think you’d have better things to do on a pretty Saturday morning.”
Aunt Phee wanted her grandnieces in Junior League, not toiling on the farm. “I’m helping out while Momma’s in rehab,” I said. “It might be another month, the doctor said.”
“Bless her heart,” Miss Wanda said.
“Your poor father,” Aunt Phee said.
I raised my eyebrows. “Don’t you mean,poor mother?”
Aunt Phee’s mouth puckered like the end of a coral balloon. “Abby has plenty of people making sure she rests. Bringing her little meals on trays. Who’s looking after Ashton?”
I could have argued that my father was a grown man, perfectly capable of looking after himself.
But of course he never had. A son of privilege, he’d grown up cared for by devoted domestics at Oak Hill, the big white house that belonged now to Aunt Phee. Yes, he had turned his back on his family’s wealth to go into the ministry. He’d given up a comfortable living to serve in Iraq. But his basic needs had always been provided for by his congregation. By the army. By his wife.
By me.
“I’m doing my best,” I said.
“And how isyourdear husband?” Miss Wanda asked.
“He’s home today. Taking care of the twins.”
“They grow up so fast,” Miss Wanda said. “When are you having more?”
I felt a twitch of sympathy for Jo.“That’s all anybody ever asks,”my sister had complained on one of her visits home.“‘When are you getting married? When are you having kids?’ Like my only purpose in life is to procreate.”
I summoned a smile. “We’re not in any rush. When it happens, it happens.”
The Yorkie whined, eyes fixed on the plate of cheese. “You don’t want to wait too long,” Aunt Phee said, feeding another sample to her dog. “You’re not getting any younger.”
“No kidding. I feel like I’m dying standing here.”
Aunt Phee emitted a snort of laughter, surprising us both.
“Did you want to buy any cheese today?” I asked, changing the subject.
“If the good Lord wanted us to eat cheese from goats, He would never have created cows.”
“Polly seems to like it,” I said.
Aunt Phee humphed. “I guess we could take some of that chèvre. You tell your father to come for dinner,” she said as I wrapped it up.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Need another baguette?” Carl asked.
I looked over my dwindling pile of samples. “I can’t leave my stall.”
“I’ll get it for you.”
While I was counting money, Belle, Sallie’s sister, surfaced from the crowd, her young children in tow. “Meg! I didn’t realize you worked here.”
“Just helping out Momma. Is this Logan? And Harper!” I smiled warmly at the kids. The little girl scuffed the toe of her pink UGGs onthe ground. “You guys have gotten so big! Would you like to taste the cheese?”
Brightening, the child reached for a sample.
“No, no, Harper. She’s not allowed to have cheese. Too much F-A-T,” Belle explained, spelling the word out like something obscene. “Logan can have a piece, though.”
