“Seems a little corny,” Sasha said, chuckling. But she couldn’t deny Kate’s positive reaction had gone a long way to dispelling the last of the day’s irritation. “What about something funny, like ‘Maeve’s Medicinals’?”
“Or how about ‘Sweet Maeve’s Distillery’?” a female voice called from behind them.
Sasha and Kate whipped around to find Maggie standing there with a wide smile.
“That’s what Ollie called her in one of the letters we read the other day. Sweet Maeve.”
“When did you get here?” Sasha asked, wondering how much she’d heard.
“A minute or two ago. You don’t have to worry, I’m in. We just have to convince Lena.”
“I love the name,” Kate said. “Sweet Maeve’s…What do you think, Sash?”
Sasha grinned, her eyes starting to sting a little. Dang allergies acting up again.
“It’s perfect. It’s decided. If we can get this thing off the ground, we’ll call it Sweet Maeve’s. Nothing would’ve made Mama happier.”
“No reason to get any further into the details until we know that Lena will even get on board. Let’s head back and see if we can ask her before the date,” Kate said.
Sasha tried not to let the sour feeling in her gut show on her face when she thought of the Sheriff turning down her advances like she was some kind of child, only to go chasing after Lena. After all, it hardly mattered. But if Lena looked at her with that same expression? Like a grownup who was tired of humoring her?
She was liable to spontaneously combust.
“Actually, I’d rather not talk to her about it just yet. Let’s wait till we have a bit more time to discuss it seriously.”
“Sure, but don’t wait too long. Once we sign with the realtor and start investing in major repairs, it’s going to be a lot harder to untangle. Seriously, though, Sash. I’m in awe of you. Taking a risk like that and daring to dream big. Mama would’ve loved that more than anything,” Kate said.
Sasha nodded and began moving back towards the house, Kate and Maggie following. “You know, Kate, you should really take the same kind of advice you give me and put it into action for yourself. Just saying,” Sasha said, looking over her shoulder but continuing to walk. “You can take a risk and have some dreams of your own, you know…”
Kate looked up from her phone, no doubt reading a text from Frank, asking her for instructions on how to wipe his butt, and shot her a bittersweet smile that was equal parts longing and resignation. “If only it was that easy.”
When they stepped back into the house a minute later, they found Lena putting on a pair of heels, ready to head out the door. Sasha hated the jealousy bubbling up inside her, but the dislike of it didn’t make it just go away. She stalked back to her room as Kate and Maggie wished Lena good luck on what would almost certainly be her first date in a long time.
She pulled the jar of Maeve’s Peach Moonshine out of the cabinet under her desk and poured herself a shot, reminiscing about helping her aging mother make new batches of moonshine as she downed it. Fire burned a path to her belly as the taste of peach exploded on her tongue. Sweet, and intoxicating, but with a bite, just like Maeve. And just like with Maeve, if you weren’t careful, you just might be kicking yourself in the morning when the spell wore off…
Sasha smiled as she admired the homey little jar. She’d probably had a hand in creating this very bottle, though there was no way to tell for sure. There were so many good memories for her in this house. How could she have forgotten that for so many years? She cursed herself for not moving back earlier, when Mama was still alive. Granted, she’d practically lived here once she’d gotten real sick, but had Sasha been here all the time before that, maybe she would’ve noticed something was wrong a little sooner.
A knot formed in her throat as she pushed those thoughts away. It was enough to put one foot in front of the other and get through the rest of these three months. When that was done, she’d give herself time to process. To remember. To regret.
For now, she had a job to do.
She downed another shot, turning her memory back to the house itself. It was like a literal representation of their lives. She remembered her mama coming home and announcing they’d be having an ice cream social that evening, so go on, run upstairs and put on your Sunday best. Or how she’d made even the most mundane task fun, dancing with a broom as she cleaned, and twirling them around the kitchen. Even when Maeve was gone, the sisters had each other. She thought of all the times she’d played tag in the backyard with Maggie and Kate, who always moved just slow enough to let her catch up. She smiled, thinking of Lena brushing their hair and braiding it when Mama was at work. And then there were the much darker times…all the men that Mama would bring around, Clyde being just one of several over the years. Maeve’s swings from being high on life to short-term, but crippling, depression and back again. She had been a woman of extremes, both good and bad. The one thing nobody could dispute, though, was that she wasn’t just alive. She was living life. And Sasha had spent her life trying to be just like her.
But that seemed like a wasted effort now that she was gone. Nobody could ever be like Maeve. She was an original, and it seemed silly to even try. Maybe now it was time to use the map and the lessons her mama had given her to forge her own path.
Sasha rose from the desk in the corner of her room, tossing back a third and final shot before heading downstairs toward Maeve's private study. Lena wanted it all to herself, but who was she to tell the rest of them what to do all the time? Lena had simply decided—as if she considered herself the matriarch of the family now…the new Maeve—that she got to keep the rest of them off the computer and out of the room. Being the only computer in the house, that hardly seemed fair. She booted it up and went on Facebook for the first time since she had gotten here.
The liquor had mellowed her some and she scrolled through her timeline, catching up with some of her friends on instant messenger. She’d been on for an hour or so when her stomach rumbled.
Time for some grub.
She logged into her much-neglected email before going to make herself a late dinner, and found a few dozen new messages waiting. Most of them were from one company trying to sell her something or another, but there was one from an email address she didn’t recognize that had been sent the day before. The subject line had the hair on the back of her neck standing up.
Sometimes the past comes back to haunt us…
She clicked, but the email was blank, except for an attached image. With mounting apprehension, she opened the attachment and a large image appeared on the screen.
A picture of her mother stared back at her, only with red eyes and devil horns that looked like they had been put on in MS Paint. But it was the words beneath it that had her blood running cold…
Lena
“This is not a date,” Lena muttered as she leaned forward to get a better look in the rearview mirror, pausing to tuck a stray tendril of hair back into place. “Not. A. Real. Date.” Getting out of the car, she smoothed the silky fabric of her skirt. More than anything, she had to remember that she was here to make sure Joe—Sheriff Joe—would just let everything lie, at least as far as Serina McFadden was concerned.
Sure, her nephew admitted he’d thrown that dang rock, but that didn’t necessarily implicate Serina. So long as Joe left it at that, Tim would get a slap on the wrist, and all this could all blow over. If he didn’t and decided to push, or Serina stepped up this little game, at least Lena would have a direct line to what was happening behind the scenes. She’d squash it with Serina, and then everyone could simply move on with their lives. In a few months, Lena herself would be free and back in Seattle, where she belonged.
Alone.
With my studies, she tacked on mentally, countering the sudden, niggling doubts. Happily alone with her indigenous women’s studies.
Not dressing up in silly skirts and wondering if some man she hadn’t seen in years would notice she was wea
ring lip gloss.
She shook her head. No. She was not here for Joe’s infectious smile, quick wit, or slow hands. She had a mission and she’d do well to remember it.
With one last deep breath, Lena headed inside the restaurant. She’d selected it specifically because the food was supposed to be excellent, but it was also located fifteen miles outside of town. She wasn’t about to be seen out on a date at her age. Especially not by people in La Pierre. Maeve had handled their judgments with a wink and a smile and was as comfortable with the derision of her community as she was with the love they gave her.
But Lena wasn’t Maeve.
The cool air washed over her as she stepped inside. A moment later, she spotted Joe already at a table in the corner of the tiny bistro. She slowed to a stop, instantly struck by his profile.
He had swapped his uniform for plainclothes. He’d looked great in his Sheriff’s garb, but to see him in a button down shirt in a shade of blue that highlighted the extraordinary slate gray of his eyes. His collar, not quite buttoned all the way, revealed the column of his muscular neck and his dark hair, freed from its hat, gleamed with a hint of hair gel, neatly swept back from his rugged features.
Lena swallowed hard.
He certainly was a fine-looking man.
Just then, Joe turned and spotted her. His mouth tipped into a slow grin and he stood as she approached the table. When his gaze dropped to her mouth, she was transported back in time, a thousand years ago, when he’d pressed his lips to hers. She could still remember his sure grip on her waist as he’d pulled her to him. What she remembered most was how, when their lips broke apart, they’d laughed…nose to nose, breath mingling. It had been a long time coming, and the relief of all the anticipation had left them both giddy. But it only took a moment for the laughter to fade. Joe had let out a groan and pulled her close again, sending a pulse straight to her belly.
It was back, that thrum deep inside her, and it took everything she had to push it away.
“Joe,” she murmured as she crossed the distance between them.
Focus.
“Lena.” Joe’s husky greeting set her heart pounding again. He pulled out a chair for her. “You look beautiful.”
Lena flashed him a nervous smile and sat as he smoothly slid her chair into place.
Sitting across from her, he smiled again. “I’m glad you came.”
Lena opened her mouth, but before she had a chance to say anything, their waiter arrived with a bottle of wine.
“I hope you don’t mind?” Joe said as the waiter poured.
“Not at all.” Lena took an exploratory sip of the crimson beverage. Crushed plums and black cherries rolled over her tongue with hints of black currant and spice. “Mmm,” she said. “Delicious. I haven’t had red wine since the last time I was back here.”
“Why not?” asked Joe. He raised his glass and sipped, never taking his eyes off her.
She shrugged. “Seattle’s more into beer than wine.”
“If you’d rather have a beer, I’m sure--”
“No,” she said quickly. “This is nice.”
He grinned. “It is nice,” he agreed. “I’m glad you suggested this place. I don’t get out of La Pierre much.”
Lena glanced around at the place and nodded. “I like the décor.” Deep red, velvet drapes swathed the walls, strands of silvery beads hung from the ceiling, and jazz piano played softly in the background.
Lena blinked. “I think I’ve been here before, actually,” she said before she realized it.
Joe grinned, nodded slowly. “Yup.”
“Wasn’t this… a Denny’s when we were kids?” she asked.
“It was,” he laughed, leaning in closer. “When kids would skip school, they’d come here to eat so no one in town would see them.”
Lena couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes crinkled at the edges.
“Well, I certainly never skipped school,” Lena replied primly.
“You did once,” he corrected. “A bunch of us did, and all went to the lake after…”
The memory came rushing back all at once. Splashing around in the water in the sunshine, feeling naughty as they sipped on strawberry wine, and then the bonfire that evening…
Her cheeks flamed and she cleared her throat. “I actually didn’t remember this was the same place,” she mumbled, resisting the urge to grab an ice cube and use it to cool her face.
“One of the best days ever,” he murmured softly.
And now that she remembered it with technicolor clarity, she realized it had been. The perfect escape from real life. The one day she hadn’t had to work five times harder than anyone in her class to get good grades because she missed so much school parenting her sisters. The one day she’d let herself be young and wild and free.
With Joe.
He lifted his wine glass and she followed suit.
“To Denny’s.” Lena clinked her glass on his and they drank their toast.
The next hour went by in a flash as they talked and reminisced. Lena had conveniently forgotten how much fun Joe could be—how he could make her laugh. Sort of how she’d conveniently forgotten all the good parts of the La Pierre she’d left behind. They sat talking about a thousand ridiculous things until well after their food came and they finally started nibbling at it, cold.
She enjoyed herself so much she didn’t even pivot when the conversation turned to Maeve.
“I truly was shaken up when your mama passed,” Joe was saying, his expression solemn. “I know you didn’t always see eye to eye, but she was one of a kind. The town seems just a little less colorful without her in it.”
She leaned forward on her elbows, meeting his gaze. “Maeve Blanchard was a wildcat. Did you know that she got into a fistfight the first time she came to a PTA meeting?”
“I…” He covered his mouth, trying not to laugh as he shook his head. “I did not know that. But I’m not surprised.”
“And did you know she used to run illegal poker games in the back room of the old ice cream parlor, over on Seventh.” Lena let out a chuckle. “She’d have me sitting in front, eating ice cream while keeping watch as she ran games.”
“Okay. That’s something I never heard, either.” He paused to take a bite of his steak.
“I loved my mother, but I left home for a reason, you know.” Suddenly, it felt important for him to know that.
“I never doubted that. I may not have heard all the stories you’re telling me, but I heard plenty of others. Seems to me, though, that you don’t know what she’d been up to lately.” There was no censure in his voice, but his words had Lena lifting her chin.
“We weren’t exactly estranged. I spoke with her on occasion, and got updates through my sisters the rest of the time. Granted, we didn’t discuss all her underground activities, but I imagine she was running some sort of fight club out of the women’s rotary club,” Lena said, trying to lighten the mood again.
Joe shook his head. “Hardly. Unless her fight club involves feeding and visiting with lonely senior citizens.”
“What?” Lena had started to take a bite of her salad but froze at that, fork in midair.
“She started a Meals on Wheels type program, but local, up on the north side of town. Lena, the program she started feeds over two hundred people a year. She only stepped back when she got sick. Even then, she managed to write grant letters to every politician in Louisiana and secured funding to run it for the next five years.” He took a bite of his surely ice-cold baked potato and then set his fork down. “She also started free daycare mornings over in the Palmetto Library,” he went on. “And she ran a program over at the Farmer’s Market every September where kids in need would get backpacks filled with school supplies.”
Lena’s chest felt tight and she pushed her plate away. “Maeve was a complicated woman, but you need to understand…she was no Mother Teresa. You didn’t know her,” Lena said.
“This isn’t a judgment, Lena, but you haven’t b
een around in a lot of years,” Joe said, his eyes kind. “Have you ever considered that maybe you’re the one who didn’t know her anymore?”
Despite the careful delivery, his words stung and she drew back. Part of her wanted to lash out. Slap back, and tell him he was dead wrong.
But what if he wasn’t.
“Dessert?” their waiter asked, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over them like a thick, oily smog.
Joe took the dessert menu their server extended and laid it down between them. “What do you say, Lena?”
Their waiter might think that question was about dessert, but Lena knew exactly what Joe was asking. Did she plan to stick in for a while, or was she going to run off now that things had gotten a little more complicated, and he’d called her on her BS.
“Maybe,” she said finally as the waiter cleared their dinner plates. “Just one to split, though. I’d never be able to finish one on my own after that meal. Something sweet and salty,” she said, leaving the decision in his hands.
“A salted caramel creole delight,” Joe said to the waiter. “Two spoons.”
To Lena’s relief, their conversation seemed to flow easily again once the waiter left. When he returned not ten minutes later, the pressure in her chest had eased. He set a plate between them and Lena groaned. A cloud-like layer of whipped cream sat atop a thick, gooey layer of salted caramel, oozing down the sides of a fudgy, nut-studded brownie.
“What makes this heart attack in a dish creole?” she asked.
“The spice,” Joe answered. “According to the menu, it’s a cinnamon whipped cream and the brownie has a kick to it.”
Lena picked up a spoon and said a prayer that her skirt buttons would hold as she dug in. As the airy puff dissolved on her tongue, creamy cold contrasted with still-warm chocolate, fudgy and yet still cakelike, to be followed with silky sweet sugar and salt.
Lena closed her eyes and all but shuddered.
“Well, that’s a ringing endorsement if I ever saw one,” Joe murmured, voice low and gritty.
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