“That one.” Debbie pointed to the upper left corner. “No, the other one, actually.”
Was she kidding?
“If you can’t likely tell which side needs lifting,” Marci huffed, “it’s safe to say neither of them do.”
At least one of them was seeing reason. Justine let Marci’s comment reign; it looked straight to her too. She eyed the array of pottery stacked in Marci’s totes. Newspaper lined each handmade mug, colorful dinner plate, and large salad bowl.
“Are you sure you don’t want any help setting these in place?” Justine asked.
“Oh, no. You know me, dear. I like to get things just so. Dealing with Debbie’s big ideas is hard enough to reckon with.”
The two burst into laughter. “Oh, you hush,” Debbie snapped. “You bring me along because you like how I do things. Admit it.”
The two were like sisters, in truth, their friendship dating back through their school years.
“Well,” Justine said, stepping away from the booth. “I’m going to head out. Turn the lights off when you leave. And lock up behind you.”
“Thanks again for helping, dear,” Marci said.
“Anytime. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Justine spun on one heel, ready to head back to her truck when a question rang out.
“About tomorrow,” Marci trilled. “Will your fiancé be there?”
Justine froze in place. “Huh?”
“It’s just that, I ran into Brittany this morning. She said you were talking all about this mystery man in your life, saying that he’d be here for all of the events.”
That comment made her spin back around. “I never said that.”
A blush spread across Marci’s cheeks as she waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Doesn’t really matter.” She pursed her lips, which wouldn’t have drawn attention if the action wasn’t meant to hide what looked like a grin. A snide one.
Irritation burned in Justine’s chest. She’d caught the duo backbiting and spreading rumors over the years, but she never imagined becoming the center of that gossip herself. “Whatdoesn’t really matter?”
“Well, it’s not nice of me to gossip, but you might as well know that the Clementines think you’re making him up. Brittany told her mom that you don’t actually have a secret fiancé stashed away someplace. And that you’re just telling people you do to…to…well, I don’t know what. Make yourself look better, I guess.”
Justine’s face felt hotter than a bonfire. She wanted nothing more than to come clean and put the lie—which seemed much larger than a mere bug now—beneath the sole of her boot. “Well, she’s wrong.”
Debbie dropped her chin and narrowed a look at her through a pair of dark-rimmed glasses. “So heisgoing to be here for the events?”
Say it, Justine. Just say he never existed.A gulp worked past her tightened throat. “No, but he met my grandfather tonight over dinner. You can ask him.”
The woman’s brow furrowed. “He’s here tonight, but he can’t come tomorrow? Or the next day? Probably won’t be around for Sunday service either.”
“He doesn’t live here,” she said through gritted teeth.
Marci reached out and rested a hand on Debbie’s arm. She turned a look on Justine. “It’s okay, dear,” she said, a sadness in her eyes. There was something else too, but she wasn’t sure what. Perhaps a wave of relief that her son Lenny never ended up with her despite his many attempts?
Justine dropped her gaze to the wood floor beneath her shoes. Physically, she was in the town’s great lodge, a place filled with fond memories, family fun, and reminders of the satisfying hours she’d put into the festival over the years. But mentally, Justine was cornered on the playground of her elementary school with a dozen accusing eyes aimed right at her.
”She doesn’t evenhavea mom.”
“Yeah, she does. She’s just a drunk.”
“Come on, guys. Just leave her alone.”
Comments like that last one usually came from Monica, a new girl who’d taken up with the wrong crowd. She hadn’t stayed in Piney Falls long, but for the few years shewasthere, the timid girl made efforts to put an end to Brittany’s interrogations. Seemed it was Marci’s place to do that with Debbie Barns.
“Excuse me,” Justine said without looking back up. She spun back toward the exit, head down, heart pounding, and eyes set on the interior hardwood. The exterior wood of the porch came next, the steps, and at last, solid dirt. Pine needles littered the ground in the fray of the light as she hurried toward the truck.
