by Molly Harper
“Margot Cary,” she told him, glancing to his name tag. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Archer.”
Kyle raised a sandy eyebrow. “Oh, I think we’re on a first-name basis by now. But I don’t have any students named Cary.”
“Oh, well, it’s not my local family’s name.”
“Margot!”
They turned to find Marianne showing considerable upper body strength for a petite woman, tucking her struggling seven-year-old child under her arm like a football. “You okay, hon? You’re a little . . . what’s a name for a color between pink and red?”
“Blush,” Kyle said, the smirk still in place. “So you’re related to Nate and Aiden?”
“Margot is my cousin, through Stan,” Marianne supplied. “Sweetie, are you sure you’re okay? Maybe the heat is getting to you.”
“I’m fine. Everything is fine, absolutely and totally normal,” she said, looping her arm through Marianne’s. An older boy—possibly nine? Margot was not a good judge of these things—with Marianne’s big blue eyes and dark hair, followed them out the door, his nose stuck in a Goosebumps book.
“Okay, we’ll pretend I buy that,” Marianne said. “Mr. Archer, thank you for your time earlier. Carl and I appreciate your patience with Nate.”
“Hey, we want progress, not perfect, right, Nate?” Kyle held his fist out for a bump, which Nate stopped squirming long enough to return.
“Yep!”
“Bye, Aiden, try not to run into anything,” Kyle said, snickering as even an admonishment from his principal didn’t raise Aiden’s head from his book. He leveled Margot with those bitter-chocolate eyes. “It was interesting to see you again, Margot.”
“I’m sure we’ll run into each other again very soon, Kyle,” she said, her lips twitching into a smile.
Kyle’s brow creased, but he nodded slowly. “Looking forward to it.”
Margot followed Marianne’s hustling form out the school door.
“That was weird. Mr. Archer never talks to the moms in that tone of voice,” Aiden said, still not looking up from his book.
“What tone of voice?”
“Like the way my dad talks to my mom when it’s almost bedtime.”
Margot’s jaw dropped open.
“Come on, Aiden, keep up, hon,” Marianne said, bouncing Nate on her hip. “Margot, Frankie texted and said you didn’t have lunch. Let’s go get the boys something to eat while we wait for Carl to fix the car. Nate gets a little out of sorts when his blood sugar gets low.”
“Really?” Margot asked. She looked to Aiden, who shrugged. “What’s that like?”
Aiden sighed. “You don’t want to know.”
THE RISE AND Shine was a cozy traditional diner with worn red vinyl booths and a shiny black-and-white tile floor. Hank Williams Sr. blasted through the jukebox in the corner. The race car–themed pinball machines looked like they might have been original to the building construction in the 1960s. And when Marianne and Margot herded the boys through the door, Margot couldn’t help but notice that people stopped talking.
A lot of people.
They weren’t even subtle about staring at her. Margot was being weighed and measured, and based on some of the sneers she saw on the other customers’ faces, she was not making a great impression—which was weird, considering she hadn’t spoken or even moved yet.
“Sorry,” Marianne murmured. “You were a little less visible at the Dirty Deer.”
“Let’s just get a table,” Margot whispered as Nate tugged her toward a booth in the back. “Tell me honestly, is it the way I dress? Is that why people stare?”
“Nah, people around here don’t take much notice of tourist types. But, uh, your mama didn’t leave a great impression when she took off. I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but my mama says that Linda never let someone’s feelings get in the way of her sharin’ an opinion. And she had a lot of opinions. She gets a lot of ‘bless her hearts.’ ”
“That I believe,” Margot muttered.
The diner served breakfast food, and only breakfast food, all day long because as the mustachioed owner, Ike Grandy, said right on the front of the menu, “This is America and I’ll serve any damn food I want.” There was a whole panel of the menu devoted to grits. But Margot was determined to order the Rabbit Food Special—a fruit plate and a veggie egg-white omelet—to try to counteract some of the fried food she’d eaten over the last few days.
She was also determined to avoid sweet tea, asking for a Coke instead. Their waitress, Marla, smiled warmly, her teeth showing stark and bright against smooth teak-colored skin, and asked, “What kind of Coke would you like? We’ve got regular, diet, Sprite, root beer, and Fanta.”
“Just a diet Coke, please,” Margot said. Marla nodded and made for the kitchen. Margot turned to Marianne. “You know, I’ve been ordering half-caf nonfat lattes from Starbucks for years and never had the complications I’ve had here.”
“You’re in Georgia, sweetie, home of ‘Co-Cola.’ Folks call all sodas Coke, no matter what brand they are. And then it’s up to you to get specific.” Marianne leveled Margot with her blue eyes and asked, “So, what was that with Kyle Archer earlier?”
“Nothing,” Margot lied smoothly as her cousin lifted an imperious dark brow.
“Principal Archer is nice most of the time, unless you take things off his desk and build towers with them,” Nate told her as he constructed a tower from tiny square butter containers. “And then he makes you write ‘I’m sorry’ sentences.”
“Have you done this more than once?” Margot asked.
Nate’s bright blue eyes darted toward his mother, as if he was mentally reviewing his Fifth Amendment rights.
“He’s okay,” Aiden said, his little face serious as he set his book aside. “He doesn’t take any bullcrap—” He paused to sneak a look at his mother, who frowned. “Any trouble from anybody, but he’s fair about it. And when he says he’s gonna do something, he does it, which is more than I can say for some of the grown-ups at the school.”
“Aiden, honey, why don’t you and Nate go play some pinball?” Marianne said, giving them each an equal stack of quarters. “No rockin’ the machine!”
The boys promised solemnly as they swept their change off the table and ran to the bank of video games across the diner.
“Okay, seriously, what’s going on?” Marianne asked.
Margot shrugged and restacked the sweetener packets in the table caddy. “I may have met up with your kids’ principal at the Dirty Deer last night and made out with him a little,” she said quietly, well aware that people at the surrounding tables could be listening. “There was some grinding and groping involved. In the front seat of his truck.”
“That’s where you disappeared to last night?” she cried. “I didn’t even see you! Or hear about it. Do you know how hard that is to pull off in this town?”
“Well, clearly, I didn’t pull it off, because now you know about me and my throbbing id.”
“Still, you had twenty-four hours,” Marianne told her. “That’s an accomplishment. You should be proud. Around here, everybody sees everything. And just in case you forget something stupid that you did, there will always be someone who’s known you since birth to remind you.”
Margot’s face went hot. As much as she wanted the information, she couldn’t bring herself to ask about Kyle’s background, not just because she was embarrassed but because she didn’t want to give the impression that she was attaching herself to someone local. She didn’t know if she would ever feel the kind of instant connection with anyone, certainly not in the way Marianne and Carl shared. And she didn’t want to give Marianne the wrong impression about her commitment to Lake Sackett.
“That sounds claustrophobic.”
“It can be. So, throbbin’ id, huh?”
Margot nodded.
“Do you think that you and Kyle might be a thing?”
“I don’t think so. I didn’t even know his name was Kyle until I saw his n
ame tag at the school. That’s probably not a foundation for a lasting relationship.”
“Well, just so you know, he’s a really nice guy. And not one of those ‘nice guys’ you read about on the Internet, but a truly sweet person. Really good with the kids at school, very understanding of Nate and his special brand of ‘creative chaos.’ Just one thing—”
Ike, the owner, interrupted, delivering the food himself, carefully spinning the plates heaped with waffles and bacon and eggs into their correct spots without being told who had ordered what. As the boys gave warrior whoops and stampeded back to the table, Ike leveled Margot with a long, speculative stare.
“I want you to know I am serving this plate under protest,” he said as the Rabbit Food Special came to a stop in front of her. “No one ever orders the Rabbit. It’s there for profiling purposes. But you’re Stan’s girl, so I’m gonna let it slide, just this once.”
Margot managed to refrain from the “you have disappointed me” stare she normally gave mouthy servers. She did not appreciate the reminder of her absentee father at the moment.
“Next time, you’re getting the Smokehouse Breakfast with a side of hash browns, and you’re gonna eat the whole thing,” Ike told her sternly. “I won’t be responsible for you blowin’ away in a stiff wind.”
“I appreciate your concern.”
Ike nodded and grumbled. “Boys, remember, no throwing the jellies. Marianne, my mama would like to pass along to Miss Tootie that she’s bringing seven-layer salad to the card game this week.”
“I’ll let her know,” Marianne promised as the boys dug into their pecan waffles.
Adult conversation was impossible while Marianne tried to get her children through a meal without a maple syrup explosion. Nate needed help cutting his waffles. Aiden had trouble opening up the ketchup bottle for his hash browns and then elbowed his water over onto the table while handing it to Margot. As soon as Marianne got them settled and raised a fork to her lips, Nate had to go to the restroom, and due to an incident involving the hand dryer, he wasn’t allowed to go alone.
“Is it always like this?” Margot asked Aiden as Marianne led his brother to the bathrooms. “Does your mom ever get a hot meal?”
“Nah, sometimes we spill more,” Aiden mumbled around a mouthful of waffle.
Margot shuddered.
The door to the diner opened with a peal of bells. Margot glanced up and her fork stopped midway to her mouth.
A scruffy-looking man with dishwater-brown hair hanging over his eyes stalked through the door. While handsome in a lean, unrefined sort of way, he also had the hardened look of someone who’d never quite had a break in life. He wore a Dawson Towing T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off and jeans streaked with grease. The muscles of his arms were sharply defined in a way that spoke of capability, not gym hours. He glanced around the diner, scanning, frowning. Margot put her arm around Aiden in a protective sweep.
Oh, no. Margot had not spent nearly thirty years successfully avoiding victimhood in Chicago to be killed in a diner robbery in Georgia. She slipped her hand into her purse and dialed 9 and 1 before Marianne and Nate emerged from the restrooms.
The scruffy man spotted Marianne and the natural scowl seemed to slide right off his face. Margot had never seen someone light up before, but this man’s sharp features softened to anime levels of adorableness. His eyes brightened to an emerald green. His smile was wide and dazzling.
“Hey, baby!” he exclaimed.
Margot frowned and glanced around. Was he calling for one of the other customers?
Marianne turned and melted at the sight of the man while Margot was trying to remember wanted posters from her last trip to the post office. She pointed to their table. “Hey, sweetie, we’re over here.”
Margot lifted a brow. “Sweetie?”
Marianne giggled like a tiny, tiny schoolgirl as the man wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her soundly. “Got your van all fixed up with a new battery. Jeeter dropped me off so I could drive you home.”
“Aw, thanks, baby. Cousin Margot, this is my husband, Carl Dawson. Carl, this is my cousin Margot.” The boys started talking a mile a minute and leaped up to climb all over him, which he greeted with hugs and unabashed kisses to both.
And then he turned that devastating smile on Margot and suddenly she understood why her cousin had given up a comfortable life in Atlanta to come home to her high school sweetheart. To have someone look at her the way Carl was looking at Marianne, like she’d personally hung the moon and stars and then threw the sun up in the air just for bragging rights, Margot could see how Marianne would sacrifice quite a bit. She didn’t know if she could ever do the same, but she saw the benefits.
“Well, it’s nice to meet ya, Margot. My Marianne has told me all about you,” Carl rasped in a bourbon-soaked drawl that should not have been sexy.
“Nice to meet you, too,” Margot said. The sorry I thought you were going to rob us because I’m a classist, judgmental cliché was silent.
Ike delivered a plate of ham, bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, and biscuits to the table. “Hey, there, Carl, I brought your usual.”
“I ’ppreciate it, Ike,” Carl said, shaking Ike’s hand.
Ike leveled a stern look at Margot while he pointed to Carl’s gravy-laden plate. “The Smokehouse Breakfast. This is a proper meal.”
“Noted,” Margot said.
Ike nodded and backed away from the table. Aiden took a seat at the end of the table to make room at the four-top. The boys began chattering about their school day and who had thrown what at lunch. Carl listened patiently, nodding and asking enough questions to show that he was paying attention. Margot just watched the volley of conversation bounce around the table, with her heart clenching inside her chest. She was glad her cousin was happy. She was glad the boys had a doting father. But it only served to remind her of what she didn’t have. Margot wondered if this was how Marianne’s family dinners usually went, or if the excitement of Back to School Night and dinner out was making them especially lively. She couldn’t remember a single meal in her home being so loud or relaxed.
Mother had insisted on playing classical music while the three of them ate at the dining table. Conversation was always polite but distant and cool, barely heard over the Chopin. And her mother had never craned over the table to give her full attention to Margot’s stories from school. Margot frowned, wondering again how different life would have been if she’d grown up in Lake Sackett. She couldn’t picture Mother and Stan having animated, cheerful meals together, but at least watching a happy family eating wouldn’t feel like something out of National Geographic.
“So how was the school meetin’?” Carl asked.
Marianne groaned and dropped her head nearly to her plate. Margot’s eyes cut toward their youngest. “Um, I can leave, if you don’t want me around for this. I mean, parent-teacher conferences are sort of like medical records, in terms of none of my business.”
“Oh, no!” Marianne assured her. “Both the parent-teacher conferences went really well. Aiden’s already ten points ahead of his Accelerated Reader goals. Nate’s math proficiency has shot up to the ninety-second percentile and his trips to the office are down by twenty percent.”
Carl offered both boys silent fist bumps.
“The meeting Carl’s talking about is the parent committee for the Founders’ Festival,” Marianne said, looking to her husband. “And it was exactly what I expected it to be.”
Carl grimaced and tucked into his bacon.
“I’m assuming the festival is a really big deal around here?” Margot asked.
Marianne sighed. “Yes, it’s coming up in early October. We’ve been planning for months, but nothing has actually been accomplished because every time the committee makes a decision and presents it to the PTA president, Sara Lee Bolton, she rejects it and does whatever she wants, while Mr. Archer tries to keep up. Meanwhile, the rest of us have already made plans and reservations and payments based on what
we thought were the plans, and everything gets undone and confused and I have to count to a hundred so I don’t end up shoutin’ profanities in a children’s school.”
Margot shuddered. “So why is the Founders’ Festival so important?”
“Well, after the water dump, we have less to draw tourists to the town,” Carl said. “For Founders’ Day, we do up a farmers’ market and a craft fair and games and rides. People come down and make a real family trip out of it. And with fewer people coming into town for fishing and boating and the like, we have to draw even more people in to make up for the loss. We’ve stretched it out to more of a Founders’ Week.”
“And why is Mr. Archer involved?” Margot asked, ignoring the smirk Marianne tried and failed to hide behind her hash browns.
“The elementary school kids do a play and a concert and presentations about the town’s history. Plus the rides are all set up on the school grounds. And the retired principal always made a big point of being part of the planning,” Marianne said.
Carl’s green eyes narrowed at Margot and she felt herself swallowing in a noisy gulp. “You know, you probably wouldn’t be half as crazy as Sara Lee when it comes to all this planning stuff.”
Margot bit her plump bottom lip. “Was that a compliment?”
“I’m just saying that if we have this all-powerful, fancy-pants event planner, who better to plan it than her?” Carl said, nodding to his wife’s cousin. “You could do some good for the town. And build a little goodwill for McCready’s as you go.”
Marianne stood up and lunged across the table to grab Carl’s work shirt, pulling him into a fierce kiss. Margot imagined it tasted like gravy. “You are freakin’ brilliant sometimes, you know that?”
Though his cheeks flushed pink, Carl jerked his shoulders and casually returned to his food. “Course I am.”
“What do you say, Margot?”
“What? A hostile takeover of planning for an event that I’m completely unfamiliar with that’s only about two months away, in a place where I have no connections or vendor pull? That’s insanity. Why don’t you do it?” Margot asked. “You’re the one with children at the school.”