“Mm.” He picked up his coffee again. “Fern would’ve gone. Thought I might go in her place.”
“Arlo.”
“Hm?”
“Thank you. It’ll mean the world to Makayla . . . and to me. I think of you as family, you know.”
“Don’t go gettin’ all mushy on me. It’s too early for that.” He waved her off. “Go put on real clothes. You look like a ghost lady hauntin’ my yard.”
She laughed and walked back across the wet grass toward her own porch, where her rocking chair waited for her in the peachy glow of sunrise.
Makayla came downstairs at six-thirty wearing her white blouse with the Peter Pan collar and the white, pink, and baby blue plaid wool skirt Tessa had given her for her birthday. But instead of the patent leather Mary Janes that went with the outfit, Makayla wore her pink cowboy boots.
Tessa stopped pouring coffee.
Makayla saw her notice the boots. “I want to wear them,” she said. Not defiant. Not pleading. Just stating a fact, the way she stated facts to Dillon about chickens. “My recital skirt goes to the floor anyway.”
Tessa thought about the girl who, two months ago, folded her hands in her lap at the dinner table and said please and thank you and ma’am or sir to everyone. She looked at the girl her daughter was now and smiled. “They look great with that outfit.”
Makayla’s whole face lit up. “Really?”
“Really. Fashion should be an expression of who you are, and that outfit is you, through and through.”
Makayla threw he arms around her and gave her a big hug, burying her face against Tessa’s neck. “Love you, Mom.”
“Love you back.” She was writing this moment down in her journal tonight to remember for all time.
The school auditorium had cinder-block walls, a stage with red velvet curtains faded mauve at the hems from age, and a lingering smell of gym mats and tempera paint. Tessa walked Makayla to the backstage hallway, kissed the top of her head, and told her to break a leg. The music teacher shooed the parents out so the kids could focus.
Tessa walked into the auditorium which was filling with parents milling around and stared, startled.
Charlotte was here.
Her kids were both in kindergarten and too young to perform in today’s talent show . . . which meant she was here for Makayla. For her.
Charlotte kissed Tessa’s cheek, murmuring, “A little birdie told me you could use your family around you today,”
“Is Ruth Sanger telling tales about me again?”
“Not Ruth.”
Tessa frowned. “Did Reno call you?”
“Nope. Dillon. He said you could use a reminder of who your real family is. And he’s right. To heck with those awful snobs who call themselves your parents!”
“Charlotte. You didn’t have to do this?—”
“It’s already done. And I brought reinforcements.”
Tessa looked where Charlotte pointed and saw the WoWs walking in together. All of them. Jenna and Natalie, Rose and Bonnie, Molly and Grace.
Tessa was abruptly afraid she was going to cry in the middle of the auditorium in front of half the town. “Thank you,” she managed.
“You’re welcome.” Charlotte tucked Tessa’s arm through her own. “Now let’s go find seats before all the good ones are taken.”
The WoWS filled an entire row.
Tessa took the center aisle seat beside her friends, her heart full to overflowing. These women truly were a family. They’d supported one another through thick and thin and been there for one another through the worst loss any of them would ever go through. They loved one another like sisters—maybe more than most sisters—and they always had one another’s backs.
