Thursday, July 18; 11:59 a.m.
Emily waited before going in.
She’d had to do some major maneuvering last night to convince all involved that she was on the road to finally getting her life together. Her only recourse had been to call her old friends with her mother supervising. Today, at noon—barely a minute from now—Emily was to have lunch with Megan Lassiter, Cathy Caruthers, and Violet Manning-Turner at the Half Moon Café.
Just like old times. Except without Heather.
Emily had watched each of the others arrive. First Megan and Cathy, then, at exactly two minutes before noon, Violet had made her appearance. She had probably parked down the street well ahead of time, but her intention was to make an entranceaftereveryone else had arrived. She liked being the center of attention.
Emily had stolen her thunder.
At 12:02, Emily stepped inside the door of one of Pine Bluff’s historic landmarks. The cool air made her skin pebble after sitting so long in the heat outside. Not much had changed about the cafe. Same old dark paneled walls, tiled floor, and Coca-Cola light fixtures hanging over each booth. As unoriginal as apple pie and yet every bit as familiar and appealing.
The day’s menu was written on a chalkboard hanging on the wall. Waitresses wearing starched pink uniforms scurried about delivering laden stoneware plates and refilling glasses with sweet iced tea. The smell of fresh baked corn bread made her stomach rumble, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten today. She’d stayed in the room that wasn’t really hers. She’d called her office. Checked her voicemail. Checked her email via her cell phone. Anything but think about Clint Austin or her father’s connection to Sidney Fairgate.
She felt confused. Totally uncertain of what she could possibly do about anything, past or present. She hadn’t slept well last night, kept dreaming she was back at Austin’s house rummaging through all those torn photographs and trying her best to piece them together again.
She refused to feel sorry for him. And yet she did. It had to be all the silly comments about his innocence combined with the idea that someone had vandalized his house. Torn photos and broken trinkets didn’t make him innocent and damn sure shouldn’t garner her sympathy.
The anguish she’d seen on his face managed that all by itself.
What would Dr. Brown say? That she suffered from some bizarre form of Stockholm syndrome? Probably. Speaking of which, it was an outright miracle she hadn’t found Dr. Brown sitting in her parents’ living room last night.
Everyone was worried about poor Emily.
Her gaze landed on the booth where the others sat, heads together, no doubt talking about her and whether or not she would actually show and if she’d ever really recovered from the breakdown no one was supposed to know about.
The door behind Emily opened with that same jingle as when she’d arrived, signaling the entrance of another patron.
She didn’t glance back, nor did her friends bother to look up from their conversation to see if it was her.
Ray Hale stopped next to her, his hat in his hand, his smile careful. “Emily.”
“Ray.” A new kind of tension joined the mix already churning inside her.
“You doing all right today?”
“Sure. You?”
“Can’t complain.” He surveyed the restaurant. “I’m here to meet my wife for lunch. Sarah Motley, you remember her, don’t you? Her folks started this place, gosh, forty or so years ago.”
Sarah was a year younger than her, sang in the school choir. “I remember her.” Emily arranged her lips into a brittle smile. “Well, my friends are waiting.”
“Just so you know,” Ray said before she could get away, “a guy over in Huntsville is going to try and piece some of those photographs back together well enough to make new ones for Clint.” He shrugged. “I don’t know how much luck he’ll have, but I’m hoping he can salvage something.”
What did Ray expect her to say? That she’d dreamed of doing that herself? “I’m running late, so ...” She gestured to where the others waited halfway across the restaurant. They had noticed her arrival anyway. Time to do something to make her parents happy. “Thanks for the update.”
Another plastic smile slid into place as she made her way to the booth. All she had to do was get through the next hour. “Hey, girls.”
Megan was the first to slide out and give Emily a hug. Cathy followed with somewhat less enthusiasm, then Violet of course. She had to be more dramatic about it. She hugged Emily longer and actually cried what looked like real tears. Nothing had changed.
Once their orders had been taken, the catching up began. Emily let them talk. She didn’t have much to tell anyway. Megan was still the bubbly blonde bombshell she’d been back in high school. She had married Grady Lassiter; he’d graduated a year ahead of them and after college had bought into the local newspaper. Megan and Grady had a daughter who was four, and Megan worked part-time in her father’s CPA office.
Cathy was a court reporter in Huntsville. She had married Mike Caruthers. Mike had graduated with Ray Hale three years ahead of the girls. Cathy and Mike had no children. She wore her red hair, which was a near-perfect match to her husband’s, in one of those short, curly dos that complemented her creamy complexion. She looked great in a jade outfit that fit like a second skin and showed enough cleavage to make all other women envious.
“We have to do something special for the reunion. Ten years is a long time,” Cathy urged as she relaxed against her seat. “You’ll come, won’t you, Emily?”
Megan seconded, “You have to come, Em.”
