“Pearlie,” Whit said by way of greeting. “Good to see you.” He nodded toward Pearlie’s husband. “Junior.” He then turned to June and Earl, who were not as thrilled to see him as Chase and the Johnsons. “June. Earl. I’m glad to see you’ve met Zellie.”
June forced a smile and busied herself with the pizza boxes. Making more of an effort, Earl and Junior greeted Whit warmly, slapping him on the back as men do, their voices outwardly friendly, but I still sensed something just beneath the surface, a tension that had been pulled taut to the point of snapping just a moment before and hadn’t quite faded.
Chase strolled over and thrust a double scotch into Whit’s hand. “Thought you might could use a sip.”
Whit took the glass, but his gaze searched for and held mine. Then he broke away to answer a question Junior had asked about some sport score that I can’t now be bothered to remember.
But I do remember Whit’s glance flicking my way again. It was fleeting, just a glance, but it was enough to make the room feel too warm, too crowded. Pearlie was saying something about Sunday, but I just nodded, not really hearing.
Breathe, Zellie. Breathe.
Afraid I was about to pass out, I excused myself from Pearlie and stepped onto the patio where Henry and Adelaide were giggling together over some secret joke.
When he saw me, Henry hopped up and scurried over, jumped up and down a couple of times, squeezing my hand.
“I want to dig things up with Addie!” he announced. “Can I, Mama?”
I shook my head, puzzled. “What kinds of things?”
“In the flowers,” he said, irritated with having to explain. “Addie said she foundbones.”
“Bones!”What the hell?“What kind of bones?”
“Pirate bones!” Addie exclaimed, hopping off her chair and joining Henry to grab my hand, both of them bouncing with excitement.
I hesitated, taking in the walled garden—beds teeming with flowers, trellises braided with vines and climbing flora, the air thick with their perfume. An artificial stream flowed over rocks, under an arched white footbridge, and pooled in a small pond. I hadn’t seen anything so beautiful since a field trip to the botanical gardens in middle school.
“I dunno,” I said. “You probably need to ask if it’s okay to dig in the flowers. Someone’s done a lot of work out here.”
“Oh, it’s okay,” Addie said with a shrug, shoving her unruly curls off her face only for them to fall back into her eyes. “My Mamaw June lets me dig all the time. I have my own shovel and everything. I can share with Henry.”
I had the distinct impression I’d been out-maneuvered by—what?—a six-year-old?
“Please, please, pleeeease,” they pleaded, drawing out the lastpleaselike waiting for my answer was torture.
I laughed, happy to see Henry had already made friends with Addie. Unable to resist their eager faces, I nodded. “Okay, okay. But you’d better change your dress, Addie.”
Permission granted, Addie pivoted and dashed toward the house. Henry turned to follow, but stopped short, his shoulders drooping a little. He didn’t have the same energy as his new friend. Instead, he hurried back to the table, snatched up the rest of his pizza, and finished it off, ready for when Addie returned.
A few minutes later, Addie burst from the house in shorts and T-shirt, shovel and plastic pail in hand. They hurried to a mostly barren flowerbed that must’ve been the area reserved for Addie’s projects.
Grinning and not ready to go inside to whatever tension was brewing among the residents, I sat down on a wrought-iron bench and closed my eyes, listening to the children play. The scape of a small shovel against dirt. The fainttinkof metal against stone. Water burbling under the little bridge.
“Mind if I join you?”
Whit’s voice startled me. I hadn’t even heard him come out.
I sent a glance his way—which apparently was invitation enough because he sat down beside me. I could only stare, baffled. He must’ve noticed my confusion because he grinned, a crack appearing in his stony façade.
“Did no one tell you staring was impolite, Ms. Dupont?” he teased.
I shook my head and chuckled, embarrassed. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting company. Especially not—”
“Especially not me?” he finished for me with a sly smile.
I looked to where Henry and Addie played and leaned forward, gripping the edge of the bench. “We don’t exactly travel in the same circles, Mr. Proffitt.”
He scoffed, a short, dismissive sound. “Be grateful for that.”
