“I’ve been told they serve an amazing breakfast here on Sunday mornings. I thought you might like to eat something substantial before you drive back.”
Stella pulled an antibacterial wipe from the pack in her purse and ran it over the table. “Here, do your side, too.”
“That’s not necessary. I happen to know the owner, and he runs a pretty tight ship.” The decor might look like it was from the past, but I’d seen Jojo go through her cleaning routine on more than one occasion and even if the tabletops were avocado green, I had no doubt they were sparkling clean.
Jojo stopped by with two empty mugs and a carafe of coffee. She jotted down our orders and headed back to the kitchen, leaving me to face my mother.
“Can I see your yearbook?” I held out my hand, expecting Stella to slide it across the table.
Instead, my mother held it close to her heart. “There are some things I haven’t told you about my past.”
Duh. Stella couldn’t be so obtuse that she didn’t realize I knew there was something missing. “Now would be a fine time to share them.”
Stella’s jaw set and she passed the book over. “I just want you to know that everything I’ve ever done was for your own protection.”
I frowned as I opened the front cover and began to flip through the pages. “Is this your senior year?”
Stella dumped three creamers into her coffee and slowly stirred. “Yes.”
I scanned the pictures, locating my mother on the page that showed the homecoming court taking the field during halftime at the football game. My heart squeezed as I read the caption. “You didn’t tell me you were on the homecoming court.”
Stella swallowed and focused on a spot just over my right shoulder. “It was a beautiful dress.”
The next page showed pictures from the dance. Stella stood onstage, a crown sitting lopsided on her head, her arm wrapped around the handsome man next to her. Both of them beamed into the camera.
“Who’s this?” I asked. The man had his arm wrapped possessively around Stella’s side. His eyes looked familiar. Such an odd shade of green. I shifted my gaze from the picture to Stella and back again. “‘Homecoming queen Estelle Gardner and her king Helmut Schmidt’? You went to homecoming with Helmut?”
Stella’s face paled.
“Mom? Did you used to date him?” I glanced over my shoulder where Helmut had just come out of the kitchen.
Clasping her hand to her mouth, Stella slid from the booth, colliding with Jojo, who’d stopped by to deliver the veggie egg-substitute omelet I had ordered along with Stella’s platter of biscuits, gravy, and grits. Dishes crashed to the floor, gravy splattered Stella’s blouse, and a glass of orange juice dumped directly into my lap.
Silence descended on the restaurant. Helmut turned his gaze our way. “What the hell was that?”
“Just a spill. Don’t have a coronary.” Jojo set the tray down on the table and began to collect pieces of broken plates and glasses.
Helmut peered over at us from behind the counter. He squinted, making his eyes crinkle. “Estelle?”
Stella didn’t respond, just stood there with her eyes almost closed, her body frozen.
I slid out of the booth, my brain working double time to try to sort through the information overload in my head.
“Helmut?” I zeroed in on the man standing behind the counter. He bore little resemblance to the slim eighteen-year-old in the photographs. His head was shaved, he’d put on at least fifty pounds of muscle, and his arms were now covered in tattoos. I hadn’t paid much attention to them before, but now my gaze skimmed over the eagle on his forearm, the American flag peeking out from the V-neck T-shirt he seemed to favor when he worked behind the grill, and the curly script covering his arm. I could make out a swirlyEfollowed by ansand atbefore it disappeared into the sleeve of his shirt.
“Oh my God.” I turned back to Stella. “Oh my God. What’s going on here? Did you two date? Is he the reason Daddy left?”
Stella finally moved. She gathered her purse and tossed a twenty onto the table. “Delilah, I’m not feeling well, please take me back to the motel.”
“No.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
Stella glanced around and I tried to see the world through my mother’s cool blue eyes—the diners staring at us, Jojo continuing to pick up shards of glass from the floor, and Helmut, who stayed behind the counter, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open. Just like he’d seen a ghost.
“This is neither the time nor the place.” Stella slid her strap over her shoulder and made a beeline for the door.
“Don’t walk away from me, Mom.” But my cries fell on deaf ears. Stella’s ears. With my mother nearing the door, I lost it. I needed to know the truth. I deserved it, and it was time my mother finally confronted whatever had driven her away from Bellsview. “Stella Stone, did you have an affair with Helmut Schmidt?”
Stella held her head high and turned around. Her eyes were so cold I shivered as my mother’s gaze swept over me. “Don’t talk about that man like that. He’s your father.”
