by L. M. Pruitt
“I was going to start pulling stuff out of the fridge before I had to break up World War Three.”
“Hold off on that. I’m thinking we go get something that didn’t come out of a copy of Ladies Home Journal in the sixties.” I paused, struck with an unsettling thought. “Tell me they’ve added another restaurant to Cotton Creek in the last fifteen years because if it’s a poor version of a Mexican lasagna or the Chuckhouse, I think we’re better off with the Mexican lasagna.”
“Oh, no, the Chuckhouse closed down five or six years ago, right around the time Conway was born.”
“Small miracles.”
“We’ve got three or four restaurants but the only one open for dinner is the steakhouse.” She paused. “Well, and the Watering Hole but we can’t go there.”
“Then I guess we’re going to the steakhouse.” I’d ask her about the bar—because what other kind of establishment could it be with a name like the Watering Hole—later. If I was relocating to a redneck version of Peyton Place, I was going to need ready access to alcohol. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Try to keep World War Three from breaking out until I get there.”
THE STEAKHOUSE LOOKED exactly as I expected—overblown, wavy tan glass everywhere, dark red booths which were barely a step up from vinyl, fake wood everything, and seemingly every velvet painting in the tri-county area. The servers, bless their hearts, were decked out in white long-sleeved button downs, black pants and aprons, and ties which somehow managed to match the color of the booths. The menu, which didn’t feature the official name of the restaurant, were leather bound but the leather was cracking and there were more than a few questionable stains on the cardstock interior pages.
If I’d been here on assignment, I would have murdered them with my review.
As it was, I’d already resigned myself to poor service and mediocre food. If nothing else, the kids were in seventh heaven, the two younger ones oohing and aahing over every little thing. Tammy was a little more contained but I caught her doing an excited wiggle in her seat when she thought I wasn’t looking. Even if the food was bad, it was worth the indigestion to see the three of them doing something other than yelling and crying and moping.
“Jeannie? Jeannie Jackson?” The voice was familiar but not to the point where I could place it. “Why, it is you—I’d recognize that hair of yours anywhere.”
I glanced up, the smile I reserved for strangers firmly in place, only to drop my jaw in shock. “I’ll be damned.”
“Aunt Jeannie.” Tammy hissed out my name, looking over at the younger kids before glaring at me. “No cursing in front of Dolly and Conway.”
“Tammy, if you think I’m going to follow that particular rule, you’re in for a world of disappointment.” Shifting my attention back to the server, I said, “I’d say something about small worlds but Cotton Creek never was too big. How’ve you been, Lynn?”
Lynn Smith, former Miss Teen Georgia runner up, Homecoming Queen, Prom Queen, captain of the cheerleading squad, and one of the people who had made my life nothing short of a living hell in high school was my server.
If I was a shitty person, I’d use this as an opportunity for good old fashioned revenge.
Then again, it would only give her a chance to tell people she’d always known I was trashy and it didn’t matter how much money I threw around I was still that girl from the trailer park.
Decisions, decisions, decisions.
“Oh, I’m fine, just fine.” Her lips thinned out some, as if she was struggling to hold the smile in place, which only made me smile that much brighter. “They’re a little short-staffed here so I told Bill and Diane I’d help them out in the evenings.”
“You always were praised for your charity work.” A lie, since the only cause Lynn Smith had ever embraced was her own advancement, but unlike in the real world, you couldn’t call someone out on their lies in Cotton Creek. No, you had to smile and bless their heart and deliver some cutting remark addressing the fact you knew they were lying but were far too polite to say so. “Anyway, I’d love a sweet tea. Kids—either tea or one soda and then water.”
As soon as Lynn sauntered off to fill our drink order, Tammy leaned over and whispered, “They’re not short-staffed. I tried to get a job here during the summer and Ms. Diane said they had more than enough servers.”
“Oh, I know.”
“How?”
“Knowledge is power, Tammy, especially in a place like this.” When she started to open her mouth, no doubt to ask what I mean by that statement, I shook my head. “I’ll explain later. Right now, watch and learn.” I smiled at Lynn, both of us pretending not to notice her nearly bobble the tray or the fact she touched the rim of each and every single glass. After she set the last one down, I said, “Why don’t you start with the kids and I’ll make up my mind before you get around to me?”
“Sure thing.” If the way she ground her back teeth together was any indication, she was about as pleased with the suggestion as she’d been the day our senior English teacher made her switch seats because she couldn’t make it through a class without talking. Turning to Dolly, she said, “What are you having, little girl?”
The next few minutes were interesting to say the least. Not because the kids couldn’t order for themselves, because they could. It was the fact Lynn was apparently so unfamiliar with the menu she had no idea what sides came with certain entrees or that you didn’t really need to ask someone how they wanted their chicken cooked. By the time she made her way back around to me, she was flushed and sweaty and all of the kids were irritable from the multiple rounds of twenty questions.
“And what are you having, Jeannie?” Lynn’s smile was more of a grimace, her grip on the pen so tight I wouldn’t have been surprised if it suddenly snapped in half. “Steak? Pot roast?”
“Actually, I’ll just do a bacon cheeseburger, medium, pepper jack, fully dressed, with the steak fries.”
“I’m not sure if we have that kind of cheese and we can only do burgers medium well.”
“If you don’t have pepper jack I’ll take Swiss and yes, you can.” When she only glared at me, her lips pursed so tight they were almost a seamless line, her nostrils flaring slightly, I sighed. “Go get the cook, please.”
The second she stalked off, Tammy hissed, “What are you doing?”
“Starting out as I mean to continue. Don’t worry, I’m not going to embarrass you.” I ran my fingernail down the glass, frowning at the obvious evidence of hard water residue. “They need to get a softener.”
It took a few minutes, probably because Lynn was back in the kitchen talking about the bitchy, picky customer, but she finally stormed out through the swinging door, a big hulking beast of a man in her wake. Flouncing over to the table, she lifted her chin and said, “Here’s the cook. Joel—.”
“McNabb.” I stood and held out a hand, my smile genuine for probably the first time in a week. “I’ll be damned. What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” Ignoring my hand, he scooped me up in a bone-crushing hug, my toes barely touching the ground. Setting me back on my feet, he said, “Heard you’d come home. Sorry about your sister. She was always nice to me.”
“Thanks.” Joel was one of the few people in town who hadn’t considered me or my sister trash, probably because he’d lived in the trailer six slots down and he’d dealt with the same bullshit I had. Stepping back, I said, “So you’re a cook now, huh?”
“Pays the bills, which is more than can be said for working out at the plant.” He shrugged, somehow managing to not look ridiculous despite the small, almost dainty apron struggling to cover his mountainous frame. “Besides, I always liked working with food.”
“That you did.” He’d been the only boy in our grade to take home economics and had aced the class with almost no effort. The only reason there’d never been even a rumor about his sexuality was his position on the football team and the fact he’d been known to lay out a grown man with a
single punch. “So tell me something—why is it I can’t get a burger done medium?”
“Who said you can’t?” His easy smile died and he turned to Lynn with a scowl. “Come on now, Lynn. Not again.”
“Consuming undercooked meat isn’t recommended.” If her spine got any straighter it’d probably interfere with the stick in her ass. “Doctors say—.”
“Lynn.” Joel dropped his voice to a low murmur, probably to keep from drawing any more attention our way, although most of the people in the restaurant were already watching not only openly but avidly. “Unless a damn doctor is a customer, it doesn’t matter. And if Jeannie Jackson wants a medium burger, she can have one.”
“With pepper jack cheese.” I waited a beat. “If you have it, I mean.”
“Of course we....” Joel trailed off, shaking his head even as Lynn clenched one fist at her side. “No problems, Jeannie. I’ll make sure everything comes out right.”
“Thanks, Joel.” I turned to Lynn and smiled. “You, too, Lynn. Great service so far.”
I sat down as they both headed toward the kitchen, the restaurant erupting in whispers. Tammy leaned over and said, “How’d you do that?”
“Told you, Tammy—knowledge is power. Not just what you know but who you know and what you know about them.” I took a sip of my tea and sighed. “And I know an awful lot about an awful lot of people.”
CHAPTER SIX
The next day, I stood on the front porch of my new home and watched Beth Barnes Bailey pick her way up the cracked and crooked pathway leading from the gate to the house. If the massive diamond and equally ostentatious wedding band on her left hand was any indication, she was doing a good deal better than the other two members of the so-called Golden Trio from my high school days. If the oversized hat and sunglasses shielding her face from the sun were any indication, she’d either learned you didn’t need to go through life striving to fry yourself to a crisp in a tanning bed or she’d had a facelift recently.
If the rumors I’d heard in the last week were true, I was betting on the latter.
“Jeannie Jackson!” Her drawl was thicker now than it’d been in high school, the thick, cloying sound reminiscent of the fake accents Yankees and television people thought everybody south of the Mason-Dixon Line had. Pressing one hand to her hat to keep it from blowing away in the non-existent wind, she held out her other, even though she was a good five feet and ten steps from where I stood. “Imagine my surprise when I found out you’d gone and bought this place.”
“I imagine you weren’t the only one surprised.” I could have walked down the steps and taken her hand but much like I’d done with Lynn last night, I held my ground. I might look the same as I did in high school but I was far from being the girl everybody in Cotton Creek could stomp all over. “Careful with those steps, Beth. Contractor has them on his list but they’re not a priority.”
“Of course.” Shocking me by actually taking my warning to heart, she transferred the hand on her hat to the railing, climbing the stairs with her other hand still outstretched. “Contractor, hmm? I know it’s none of my business but can I ask what you’re doing inside?”
“The basics—kitchen, bathrooms, update the floors and paint.” I couldn’t say I’d spent years picturing this conversation in my mind because until a week ago I’d firmly believed I’d never set foot in Cotton Creek until I was being laid in my coffin to go meet Jesus but if I had pictured my first meeting with one of the girls who’d made my last four years in this town a living hell I definitely wouldn’t have imagined it playing out like this. “And now that I’ve satisfied your curiosity, maybe you’ll satisfy mine by telling me what brings you to my door.”
“Well, I know you used Darlene Tibbets to help you with the purchase and all and while I don’t like to speak ill of other people, Darlene has been known to leave out important information about properties from time to time.”
I stared at her, stuck back on her comment about not liking to speak ill of people, for a beat too long before taking her still outstretched hand and saying, “And what sort of important information did Darlene neglect to inform me of?”
“Oh, nothing bad, I swear.” She gave my hand an enthusiastic pump, beaming like a kid on Christmas morning. “We don’t have a homeowner’s association, like they do out in the subdivision, but we do have a garden club. Technically you have to apply and be admitted but nobody has ever been turned down before so no need to worry about that.”
“There’s always a first time for everything.” I eased my hand out of her grip, resisting the urge to wipe my palm on my jeans. She might have looked as cool as a tall glass of lemonade but the sweat on her hand told a different story. “No offense, Beth, but gardens and tea parties are at the bottom of my list of things to worry about. I want to get the kids moved in and settled before school starts in a few weeks so all my focus is on the actual house. Besides, the trust has agreed to deal with the outside since it should have been maintained anyway.”
“Oh, I understand, absolutely. My two are driving me up the wall begging to go shopping for new clothes and haircuts and how we have to drive to Atlanta and—.” She broke off, patting her chest with one hand, laughing and shaking her head. “And I’m going to start rambling here in a moment if I’m not careful. No, Jeannie, there’s no rush or anything and obviously you need to focus on your family right now. This was just me doing my part to welcome you to the neighborhood.”
“Right.” I shoved my hands in my pockets, leaning back against the column and studying her. I liked to think I’d gotten better at reading people since I went out in to the real world but I was also willing to admit my past associations with the good citizens of Cotton Creek might color my perceptions some. “Ran in to Lynn last night.”
“Oh, did you?” Beth continued to smile, something which was starting to creep me out a little. “How is she?”
“Same as always, or so it seemed.” I ran my tongue over my teeth, picking and choosing my next words with as much care as I would have shown the layout for next month’s print issue. “Saw Dana, too, at the station.”
“She’s been there about a year or so, ever since she left the drugstore.”
“Really.” Either Beth really had meant what she said about not wanting to speak ill of people or I wasn’t saying the right things to get the right bits of gossip out of her. “What’s Allen think about that?”
“Allen?” She frowned, wrinkle showing in her forehead which put the rumor about a facelift to rest. Nobody who’d gone under the knife had that much range of movement in their face. After a moment, her eyes widened to nearly dinner plates and she said, “Allen Woodard? From high school?” When I nodded, she clucked her tongue and shook her head. “Of course you don’t know although I’m surprised your sister didn’t tell you. About a year or so after we graduated, the week before they were supposed to get married, Allen ran off.” She paused and I knew whatever she said next was sure to be scandalous. “With another man.”
“I’ll be damned.” I didn’t have to feign my shock. Saying Cotton Creek was conservative was like saying Hell was hot—it was something of an understatement. If Allen had decided to embrace his sexuality, it was no wonder he’d left town in a hurry. I chewed on the inside of my cheek for a moment before saying, “Sure that had to be rough on her.”
“Well, honey, it’d be rough on anyone but it doesn’t give her an excuse to be—.” She broke off again, pressing her lips in to a thin line and shaking her head. “Look at me, about to slide back in to bad habits. Some people make the fall more tempting than others.”
“That they do.” I pushed off the column, offering Beth my hand. “Well, thanks for stopping by. I suppose once we get settled in I’ll hunt you up about that application.”
“Of course, of course.” Her hand was drier than before and I wondered idly what I could have possibly done to make her so nervous about talking with me. Flashing me another smile, she said, “I’ll see you around, Jeannie.
”
“Yeah.” I stood on the porch and watched her make her way back to the street, the memory of the girl I’d known in high school warring with the reality of the woman making friendly overtures. “Guess you will.”
THE REST OF the week was fairly uneventful, considering what had happened the previous week. The paperwork for the sale went through without a hitch, the renovations on the interior were not only underway but ahead of schedule, and the work on the outside of the house would be finished before the end of next week. My furniture and clothes and odds and ends arrived from Savannah and the movers loaded them in to one of the downstairs rooms which was already finished. I’d have to hire someone to move them again when we actually took up residence but I’d worry about that later. I dealt with the hoops associated with the guardianship papers, squaring that away with little effort. All in all, it was a good week.
Still, by the time Saturday night rolled around, I was itching for a drink and some alone time.
I slammed shut the book I’d been trying to convince myself to read for the better part of an hour and tossed it on the coffee table. “Tammy, who can I call to babysit for a few hours?”
She looked up from the dress she was basting together—apparently she’d picked up Loretta’s talent for seamstress work—and blinked, her eyes owlishly huge. “Uh, why do we need a babysitter?”
“I need to go out and while I may be new to raising kids I know I can’t leave Dolly and Conway here by themselves.”
“Why would they be by themselves?” She frowned. “Where do you think I’m going?”
“It’s Saturday night.” I stared at her. “You’re not going to hang out with your friends?”
“Well, Sandy is grounded because she failed English last year, which means she failed the eighth grade and has to retake it so her parents have said she can’t go anywhere except school and church.” Tammy shrugged, turning her attention back to the sewing machine. “And Kitty is like eight months pregnant so all she wants to do is eat and sleep and complain about her swollen ankles.”