“But now they’re done with you, and where are all those patrons? Do you think there will be a rally to save your job?”
She would not cry. No matter what he said. If she did, she would only prove his point.
“I wasn’t the only one who thought an institution was more important than people. You left me for the church.”
“I left you to go to school. And I told you I was coming back. But you didn’t trust me.”
“You didn’t give me a reason to.”
He sighed, rubbed his eyes. “The thing about people, Eugenie, is that they’re not books. They’re living, breathing beings who make mistakes.”
The first tears threatened to overwhelm her control. “I have to go.” She searched blindly for her purse at her feet.
“Eugenie.” He reached for her arm, laid his hand there, curled his fingers around her wrist. “Don’t run away. Please. Not this time.”
“I was never the one who ran away.” She had to harden her heart—right here, right now—if she was going to survive this. If there was a God, He had a very cruel sense of humor. To taunt her like this with Paul, after all these years, after all the work she’d done to forget him. Her mother hadn’t helped—she’d been under strict orders not to reveal Eugenie’s whereabouts, but she continued to send clippings from the Columbia paper about his ordination and eventual marriage. Eugenie had known exactly what she was missing but had convinced herself it was never what she wanted. Eugenie Pierce as a pastor’s wife—it never would have worked.
She rose from her chair and he did the same, but he kept his grip on her arm. Why did he have to look at her like that, with warmth and sadness and something else she couldn’t name in his eyes? It was that indefinable something that scared her the most.
“I know about the string of strays you’ve rescued at the library,” he said. “And I’m not talking about the black cat you feed every day.”
“I just don’t want that creature to eat my robins.”
“So think of me as one of your strays.”
“What?”
“The lonely widower who’s new to town. Forget the past. Forget that we knew each other a long time ago. Let’s start over.” He released her arm and then offered his hand, as if meeting her for the first time. “Hello, Miz Pierce. I’m Paul Carson, the new pastor at Sweetgum Christian Church.”
“Paul …”
“Meet me halfway, Eugenie. That’s all I’m asking.”
She ought to be long past any hint or hope of romantic entanglements. For heaven’s sake, within two weeks she’d be retired. She should be ready for a rocking chair, not—
“I can’t. I’m sorry.” Panic seized her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tallulah emerging from the kitchen. “I have to go.”
Eugenie turned and fled. For the first fifty yards beyond the door of the café, she expected to feel his hand on her arm again, stopping her, trying to persuade her to stay. But the only thing that grabbed at her limbs was the icy February wind that swirled around her in the darkness.
Camille was certain that winter had never lasted so long. Her trip to Memphis seemed a lifetime ago, and nothing had changed in the intervening weeks. Alex never called unless he was desperate to see her. And once he’d seen her, it was a good long time before he got desperate again.
She couldn’t let things continue like this. Each day another scale fell from her eyes. And each day she watched her mother’s condition worsen. Camille had awoken that morning, Valentine’s Day, to two realizations. One was that Alex was never going to deliver her from her life in Sweetgum. And two was that in all likelihood, it was the last Valentine’s Day she would spend with her mother.
So when her cell phone rang just as she was closing up the store and she heard his voice, she was at last prepared to be firm in refusing to see him. Prepared but not determined enough, as it happened.
She’d driven to their meeting spot, let him greet her with a peck on the cheek, and settled nervously into a chair.
“I’m really not comfortable here, Alex.” The last place she’d expected to find herself on Valentine’s Day was Esther Jackson’s veranda. Even though the weather was warm for February, a chill tinged the evening air.
“My parents are still at their condo at the lake.” Alex’s expression bordered on a sneer, which made her almost as uncomfortable as sitting on his mother’s veranda while he drank his father’s scotch. “It’s Valentine’s Day. I thought you’d want to see me.”
“Someone might see us,” she pointed out.
“See what? Two grownups having a conversation?”
“It’s not quite that simple, Alex.”
“Only because you’re complicating it.”
When had the difficulties in their relationship become all her fault? When had the tide shifted, bringing in blame instead of romance?
“You can’t have it both ways, Alex. Either you’re married or you’re not.”
He tossed back the rest of the scotch. “Easy to say when you’re twenty-three.”
“I’m twenty-four.”
On the street a car passed by. Camille thought it was driving awfully slowly. Was someone looking at them on the veranda? Was it anyone who might recognize her?
“I can’t stay here.” She rose from the wicker rocking chair, unable to figure out where it had all gone wrong. She thought he loved her. She’d been so sure of it. But—
“If you leave, don’t bother coming back.”
“Alex—”
“I mean it. We can’t all live in your perfect little world, Camille.”
Perfect little world? Had he even been listening during all the conversations they’d had over the last few months? “My world is hardly perfect.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. My mother is dying, so you have to do what I say,” he mimicked in a cruel tone.
Hot sobs choked her throat. How dare he? But he’d been drinking. He didn’t mean it.
Oh yes, he does mean it. Unbidden, Hannah’s voice spoke in her head. Just because they’re drunk doesn’t mean they’re not saying what they think.
“I’m leaving.” She pulled her knockoff designer purse tighter against her body and walked toward the steps.
“Don’t make the mistake of thinking I’ll come after you,” he called.
She hunched her shoulders, hoping none of the neighbors were outside. Humiliation was not something folks in Sweetgum associated with Camille St. Clair, and she’d like to keep it that way.
She slid into her car and slammed the door loud enough so he couldn’t avoid hearing the sound of her anger and frustration. She’d known it was wrong. She’d prayed for forgiveness every night. She’d spent hours trying to determine when he would finally leave his marriage for good and their new life together could begin. She’d employed every kind of justification and rationalization she could think of. But there was one question she couldn’t answer, despite the hours she’d spent obsessing over her relationship with Alex.
At what point had she failed to notice that her Prince Charming had turned into a horrible, horrible toad?
By the following morning, Camille’s frame of mind hadn’t improved. Unfortunately for Camille, Hannah showed up to work her first after-school shift at the dress shop right as Alex pulled up in the alley behind the store. By now Camille could recognize the sound of his car’s engine. She motioned for Hannah to stay in the main part of the shop, but the girl ignored her command and followed her to the back, hot on Camille’s heels.
Alex’s black BMW was far too conspicuous for him to park it in the front of the shop on the town square. Camille met him at the back entrance but stood in the doorway, blocking his way into the shop.
“Come on, Camille. It’s cold out here.” He wore a navy blue blazer, no overcoat, and his hands were tucked into his armpits. The warm spell had given way during the night to much colder temperatures.
“There’s no reason for you to be here.” She could feel Hannah’s curious stare digging i
nto her back, right between her shoulder blades.
“We have to talk.”
“I don’t think there’s anything left to say, Alex.”
“It’s now or never, Camille. If you send me away—”
The threat was enough to push her over the edge. “I’m not sending you anywhere. I’m just shutting the door and going back into my store.” She started to push the door closed, but he stuck his foot in the opening.
“Camille! I’m warning you—”
“What are you going to do, Alex? Tell your mother on me? Or maybe I should tell her myself at the next meeting of the Knit Lit Society.”
“Don’t make empty threats, Camille.”
“Believe me, there’s nothing empty about it. Maybe next time we’re all gathered up in that Sunday school room at the church—”
“You wouldn’t.” His words were strong, but the worry in his eyes showed that he wasn’t as certain as he wanted to be.
“Try me,” she warned him. “We’ll see what happens.”
From behind her, she heard a muffled noise. She stifled a groan at the thought of Hannah witnessing their exchange. Well, the cat was out of the bag now. Those girls in the novels the Knit Lit Society had been reading made being a heroine look so easy. Sure, they had struggles, but the reader always knew that everything would turn out all right in the end. Camille had long ago given up on any assurances, or even any hopes, that her life would come close to resembling her dreams. Not since the day she’d written the letter relinquishing her scholarship to Vanderbilt. Or, more to the point, not since the day her father had left Sweetgum.
“If you tell my mother, you’ll be the one who suffers.”
Alex’s features twisted with rage.
“That may be true. I may suffer, but I won’t be the only one.” The tightness in her throat made it hard to say the words. It didn’t seem so long ago that it had been September and she’d been head over heels in love, convinced that he felt the same way about her. That once she was free to leave Sweetgum—But no doubt that had been a large part of her attraction for him. She couldn’t leave, even if he’d begged her to do so.
“Fine.” Alex’s full upper lip turned skyward, and he looked more like a petulant child than a successful attorney. “Don’t call me anymore.” He took his foot out of the door.
Camille bit her own lip to keep it from curling in the same way. “I was never the one who called you, Alex. I was always the one waiting for you to call.” Well, she was done with waiting. Waiting on a man, at least. She had enough waiting to do at home with her mother. The last thing she needed was more of it.
He opened his mouth as if to say something else but then closed it, spun on his heel, and strode back to his BMW. In a matter of moments, he roared off down the alley, gone for good.
Camille kept her face away from Hannah long enough to compose herself. She straightened her spine before turning around to face the girl. What a way to start her new job at the dress shop.
“Why would you waste yourself on him?” Hannah demanded before Camille could say anything. The girl’s crossed arms and cocked head showed her own distaste for Alex, although Camille couldn’t see any judgment in Hannah’s eyes—just simple curiosity mixed with revulsion.
“I thought he was worth it,” Camille replied. “I thought he loved me.” The words didn’t sound any more convincing than they felt.
“No man’s worth that.”
Camille looked at her, confused. “Worth what?”
“That piece of your soul that it costs you to have him. How do you think my mama ended up like she is?”
Camille had always thought of herself as mature for her age. She’d taken over the dress shop before she was twenty and had been the primary caretaker of her bedridden mother. But Hannah was the true old soul, Camille realized with a start.
Nobody should have to be that ancient at thirteen.
“Did you read the book for the meeting yet? I’ve always liked The Wonderful Wizard of Oz,” Camille said, desperate to change the subject.
“Nah. I’ve seen the movie on TBS.”
“You know they’re not exactly the same, right?”
Hannah made a face. “Great.”
“If you need a copy of the book, I can lend you mine.”
She expected her offer to be refused—at least a dismissive shrug. Instead Hannah said, “Okay. Thanks.”
They moved back into the main part of the shop. “The first thing you can do is dust,” Camille said, retrieving a large feather duster from behind the counter where the cash register sat. “I have no idea how this place gets so coated, but I have to use this all the time.” She could tell Hannah wasn’t exactly thrilled with her first assignment, but the girl accepted the feather duster without comment. “Eugenie said you’d been dusting the shelves for her at the library.”
“Yeah.” Hannah’s soft answer made Camille look at the girl more closely.
“Not big on dusting?”
Hannah shrugged.
“I’ll let you pick out your clothes at the end of the week,” Camille said, changing the subject yet again.
“At least I’m getting something for this job,” Hannah muttered. Her sarcasm irritated Camille. Eugenie had done the girl a favor not turning her over to the authorities for vandalizing a library book. What did Hannah expect? Fabulous cash and prizes?
“You’re lucky Miss Pierce let you dust those shelves.
Things could have been a whole lot worse.”
“Yeah. Right.”
Camille knew she should just shrug off Hannah’s attitude, but she was too raw from the breakup with Alex. “Ungrateful much?” she snapped. “None of us have to be doing this, you know.”
“Doing what?” It was a good thing that the feather duster wasn’t a weapon the way Hannah was wielding it. Camille might have been concerned for her safety.
“Helping you.”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “A regular bunch of saints. Such good Christians.” She emphasized the last word with a sneer.
“What’s your problem?” Camille felt heat rising along the back of her neck. She did not need this kind of attitude right now, not from a girl who was so far from the wrong side of the tracks that she couldn’t even hear the train whistle when it blew.
“I don’t have a problem. None. Zero. So you do-gooders can leave me alone.”
“Lucky you, with no problems.” Camille picked up a pen from the counter and twisted it between her fingers. “You know, we could’ve just turned a blind eye.”
Hannah laughed, which irritated Camille even more than the eye rolling. “I’m so glad I could help you all feel good about yourselves.”
And that’s when Camille realized the problem. Hannah was angry that Eugenie had sent her to work at the dress shop. Camille recognized the symptoms of abandonment and betrayal. Goodness knew she ought to considering what had happened in her own life in the past twenty-four hours—never mind the past twenty-four years.
“Just because Eugenie asked me to take you on here doesn’t mean she’s not interested in you anymore,” Camille said.
Hannah blanched, and her entire body stiffened. “I don’t care what that old biddy thinks. As long as she doesn’t call the cops. I’ve got one more meeting of that stupid knitting group to go, and then she can’t boss me around anymore.”
“Hannah? What’s really going on?” Camille’s stomach knotted, thick and hard. She recognized so much of her own struggle in this girl. Fear for the future. A present full of pain. And not old enough to have a past to take comfort in.
“Nothing’s going on.”
Camille almost smiled because she remembered when she used to answer her mother with those same words and in that same tone. Nothing was never nothing. It was always something.
“Did something happen at home? With that guy?”
“No.” Hannah crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m sorry I ever said anything to you. I didn’t know you were gonna throw it in my
face all the time.”
Camille decided not to point out that asking her about her mother’s boyfriend one time was not exactly throwing anything in her face. But Hannah’s answer told her all she needed to know. She had started to change over the last few months, change for the better. What had happened to bring the old Hannah back to the forefront?
“If you need an adult to help, Hannah, all you have to do is ask. There are five of us who would be happy to do so.”
“Why do you think you can help me when you can’t even help yourselves?” Hannah’s eyes widened as she realized what she’d said, but she didn’t look away.
For a long moment Camille couldn’t respond to the stinging question. “I don’t need help,” she finally said, but even she knew how defensive she sounded.
“How long do you think those ladies would let you stay in their club if they knew you were sleeping with that old witch Esther’s son?” Hannah’s eyes were lit with triumph. “Want to place a bet on that? ’Cause anything over ten seconds would be money in my pocket.”
“Don’t turn on me just because your life stinks,” Camille shot back. She couldn’t believe she was arguing like this with a thirteen-year-old.
“Stinks?” Hannah’s laugh was as bitter as any medicine Camille had to give her mother. “You have no idea. You with your fancy dress shop and your mother who would do anything for you. Don’t tell me what I do or don’t need.”
“You’re a kid. There’s a lot you don’t know.”
“I haven’t been a kid in a long time, only no one else wants to admit it. Adults only tell me I’m a kid when they want something or when I tell the truth.”
Camille had the grace to blush. Hannah was right. It hadn’t been that long since people had done the same thing to her. Still did, to some extent, if she ever said more than the bare minimum about her mother’s health. People only wanted to hear what they wanted to hear. That fact probably didn’t change whether you were thirteen or a hundred and three.
“I’m sorry.” Camille doubted the words would make much difference, but they needed to be said. “I didn’t mean to sound so awful. It’s just been a really bad day.”
The Sweetgum Knit Lit Society Page 19