Left to her own devices, Hazel would’ve ducked away under the pretense of revisiting familiar sights, but she had an escort and their mother wouldn’t take kindly to being given the slip.
Deep breath.
Hazel spurred her feet into motion and crossed the street.
Mrs. Whitley had barely aged a day. She was still the blonde, reedy
mater familias
that had once run the town council. Her Grace Kelly good looks had sharpened with age, so that the point of her chin and the depth of her wide-set eyes gave her a vaguely birdlike appearance now.
Hazel smothered the urge to finger-comb her hair into place under her scrutiny.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hazel.” Mrs. Whitley held out her arms. “Come here, darling. It’s been so long.”
Do you count the days?
Hazel obediently folded herself into her mother’s embrace. She wondered if the neighbors were watching. Were the Rileys still next door? Hazel couldn’t remember if their daughter was Maya or Maria. She had vague memories of an inflatable pool in their backyard, a birthday party in another lifetime, but it might have been her imagination.
She’d always been a creative child.
“You look—”
Mrs. Whitley held her at arm’s length for a moment and Hazel braced herself for the pronouncement.
“Healthy. All that sun must do you good.” She looped an arm around Hazel’s elbow, pulling her indoors. “How do you like it there? Do you exercise? You’re a little tanned. I do hope you’re careful about exposure. You know how you used to burn in the sun…”
And so it began—the questions about her diet, the thinly veiled reminders that she was nearly thirty and still couldn’t be trusted to take care of herself. More importantly, that she was single. Over the phone or in person, the message was always the same.
You’re not good enough
. Her mother had been trying to fix her in one way or another for the better part of twenty-eight years. She was indomitable. She’d never give up.
“How’s Rhonda?” Hazel deflected, twisting around to keep Buddy in her sights. “She still at the hospital?”
“Brought her home today,” her brother announced proudly. “She’s at home, resting. With Bea… You want to see them?”
“Later,” Mrs. Whitley answered for her. “You’re probably tired from your flight. You should have a shower first. Eat something. Your father will be here any minute.”
“Where is he, anyway?”
“Oh, out with the developers at Wardel.”
“Developers?” Hazel looked from her mother to Buddy. “We’re selling the land? But I thought—”
Buddy opened his mouth to reply, but Mrs. Whitley anticipated him. “The boys can tell you all about it over dinner.” No one could argue with that note of finality. It would’ve been considered a flagrant faux-pas.
Nearly thirty and as free of Dunby as she’d ever been, it took only a few minutes for Hazel to revert to toeing the line.
* * * *
Rhonda came straight over, baby in tow.
Figures,
Hazel thought uncharitably.
Show-off
. She cooed and awwed over her niece as she was supposed to, hyperaware of all the people who suddenly seemed to revolve around her. It was nothing like the diner, where even the regulars were more interested in pie and talking about themselves than asking invasive questions.
“Here, do you want to hold her?” Rhonda asked, already, settling Bea into the crook of one arm to hand her over.
“Um, I’m not sure I know how to… Oh, okay.” The objection fell on deaf ears. Hazel held out her hands, twenty-eight years of using her upper limbs suddenly flying out the window as she struggled with how to handle a bundle of flesh that grimaced and made little keening noises if uncomfortable.
“Support the head,” Mrs. Whitley put in for good measure.
As if Hazel needed the extra pressure.
Rhonda tittered, arranging Hazel’s arms around the baby. “You’re doing great. See? She likes you.”
“Pretty sure she doesn’t know who I am…”
Two big blue eyes peered at Hazel through plump lids. Baby Bea was rosy and round all over, her small face set in a considering pout. She didn’t seem to have made up her mind yet.
“Nah,” Rhonda scoffed, “she’s very perceptive. Couldn’t stand the nurses taking her out of her crib and handing her to me. She’s just starting to warm to Buddy, too. Got his eyes, though.”
Hazel looked up at the wistful tone. Rhonda was widely regarded as something of a local beauty. If she’d been the type to join pageants, she would’ve had a truckload of trophies. Hazel couldn’t picture her uneasy about any part of her body, including her brown eyes. “’Least she didn’t inherit the juggernaut jaw.”
Bea made a soft sound, as though in agreement, and yawned.
“How’s everything in LA?” Rhonda wanted to know. “Sadie Lang said you two work together now?”
Hazel let her gaze rest briefly on her mother but Mrs. Whitley was flawlessly poker-faced. “Yeah, she’s been a huge help.”
“I don’t remember you guys being friends…”
“We weren’t. You know, needs must.” It was a cruel way of putting it. Sadie had been her only ally when everyone else who’d ever laid claim to the title had turned their backs on her—Rhonda included.
Painful memories abated when Bea whimpered in Hazel’s arms.
“I think I’d better take her,” Mrs. Whitley interceded. “Sweetheart must be so tired.”
“Yeah, think her daddy let her do some of the driving when I wasn’t lookin’.”
Rhonda surrendered her daughter easily enough, but Hazel didn’t miss the way she tracked her with her eyes, as though afraid her mother-in-law might abscond with the baby.
“She’s gorgeous.”
Rhonda’s cheeks dimpled as she smiled. “Thanks. I’d say something about how I couldn’t have done it without your brother, but honestly? He was kind of a mess.”
Despite herself, Hazel couldn’t disguise a grin. “You don’t say…”
Buddy had gone off to run some last minute errands. He would be back by six for supper with the family. The house was quiet in his absence, as though everyone left behind had taken to holding their breath. The muffled sound of the fridge door opening and shutting as Mrs. Whitley’s maid labored over their meal only occasionally trickled into the elegant living room. The Persian rugs absorbed a lot of the noise in the drafty old house and the heavy drapes on either side of the rear-facing French windows did the rest.
With an intensity that seemed to come out of nowhere, Rhonda said, “We’re really glad you could come, you know. Buddy’s thrilled. He couldn’t stop talking about it after you called. Like he was a little kid and someone told him Christmas had come early…”
Hazel didn’t have to dig too deep for a smile. “Me too.” As much as she’d fought against it, this
was
her home. Or it had been,
before
.
“And thank you for the giraffe,” Rhonda added, in that same, intense-nervous fashion. She plucked the stuffed toy off the couch between them and squeezed its little chest. The soft squeak it emitted had Rhonda biting her lip.
The gift seemed pathetic now that it had been delivered.
“I didn’t really know what to get. The airport selection was pretty limited,” Hazel confessed.
And I didn’t have enough cash to spend.
“No, it’s great. I mean it.” Rhonda beamed. Her hair was loose and unstyled, hanging around her shoulders in soft auburn waves. It was hard to tell from afar, but up close, Hazel could see she had put on lip gloss and blush, and curled her lashes. If
Parents Magazine
were to burst through the door looking for the poster-girl for blissful motherhood, Hazel would’ve had no qualms to point them to her sister-in-law.
Yet something hovered in Rhonda’s gaze as she propped the giraffe against the back of the couch. Unsurprisingly, the toy tipped over, beady black eyes peering up at them accusingly.
“Design flaw,” Hazel suggested.
“I don’t know. I think it’s more realistic this way.”
Who are you and what have you done with the leader of every Dunby pep rally ever?
“Do you need help with anything for the christening? I can—”
“No, we’re good,” Rhonda assured her, smiling politely.
“Okay.” Hazel looked down at her hands, wishing she’d had time to paint her nails before she flew down, wishing she’d thought to put a little more effort into making an impression. She couldn’t help feeling judged in this house and it was worse when the one doing the judging was her brother’s picture-perfect wife.
“You think it’s too soon,” Rhonda guessed.
“What? No, no… I mean, I really don’t have an opinion. Never had to organize a christening, so I don’t really know when it’s appropriate—”
“I had a couple of miscarriages.” The revelation was delivered almost apologetically as Rhonda picked up the giraffe. “It’s not a secret. The whole town knows.”
Hazel winced. “I’m sorry,” seemed like an empty platitude. She said it anyway. She couldn’t think past the sudden rush of disbelief to offer anything more substantial.
Perfect, luminous Rhonda had fallen short of the mark in bringing forth the next generation of Whitleys? The town gossips must’ve pored over that for
weeks
—all under the guise of empathizing.
“Bea’s our lucky third try,” she said, the corners of her lips twitching into what might have been a smile. “But we’re not takin’ any chances. We’re doin’ it right this time.”
Hazel thought of giving her a hug, but that wasn’t really done in their family. Instead, as silence stretched between them and Mrs. Whitley didn’t return, Hazel did what her mother would’ve done and—albeit clumsily—changed the subject. “So…what else’s new in town? Other than the land development thing, I mean…” She had no right to be sore about that. The Whitleys’ holdings were in her father’s care and
de facto
guaranteed to pass into Buddy’s hands someday. Hazel herself had lost any claim to the family fortune when she’d face-planted off the proverbial wagon in grand, public fashion.
“You know about that?” Rhonda’s voice pitched on a note of surprise. “I would’ve thought…”
“Buddy mentioned it. I don’t think he was supposed to.” Hazel shrugged it off. “It’s okay. Not like I need to be consulted about these things.” The way her grandfather’s will was worded, it could be interpreted that
all
adult members of the family had a say in what happened to the land or that only the elders did. Hazel, as the youngest in the family—now barring baby Bea—had never clamored for a seat at the negotiating table.
“I see.”
“Besides,” Hazel went on, mostly to make up for Rhonda’s sudden left turn into taciturn territory, “my life is in California. I’ve got friends there. A decent job.” The lies piled high around her, the walls of a fortress she couldn’t hope to defend. “I mean, I’m not winning the lottery or anything, but it pays the bills. And you can’t beat weather like that.”
The efforts her sister-in-law put into brightening up neatly matched Hazel’s shiny packaging of a minimum-wage waitressing job in a town that reeked of exhaust fumes and dashed hopes. “That’s right. On Hollywood’s doorstep, you said?”
Had she? Hazel nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Seen any famous stars yet?”
No one in Dunby would ever know if she stretched the truth a little, so Hazel didn’t hold back. She painted a picture of Marco’s diner as
the
guilty pleasure of several big-name celebrities. She regaled Rhonda with stories of run-ins that had never happened and autographs she’d never acquired.
“Maybe you could send me one,” Rhonda gushed. “I’ll frame it and keep it by my bedside. Wedding photo, out.”
“I auctioned ’em off on eBay,” Hazel fibbed. “Between you and me, things haven’t always been so rosy. Financially, I mean.”
There was some truth to that—and if she’d had top-billing autographs on hand she certainly wouldn’t have hesitated to sell them for easy cash—but not in any way she wanted to lay out for Rhonda. Word spread fast in a small town like Dunby and the last thing Hazel needed was for everyone to know that she’d fled in disgrace only to sink into poverty on the west coast. People around here had been suspicious of liberal California commies—a local phrasing—for as long as she could remember. She could imagine how smug they’d be when they mentioned her name.
She left out the part where she’d met two men who, while not commies, were certainly as liberal-minded as anything California had to offer. A different sort of rumor could be born of that report and Hazel had been the source of enough salacious gossip to last her a lifetime.
Much in the way Hazel had done with her niece, so too did Rhonda make all the appropriate noises of support and astonishment as she listened politely to stories about Hazel’s life in LA. The half-truths were brought to a swift end by the rumbling of an engine in the driveway.
“That must be Buddy,” Rhonda said, darting to her feet. “I’ll get the door.”
“Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“Oh,” Rhonda cast over her shoulder, “they’ve had me put my feet up for nine months. I’m bursting with energy. Be right back.”
It seemed to Hazel that she was a tad cavalier about the whole just-released-from-hospital thing, but Rhonda had already escaped the living room couch and was stalking through the foyer, a woman on a mission. Hazel sank back into the chesterfield as she lost her from view. Beside her, the giraffe toppled onto its side.
I know the feeling, little guy.
Voices echoed through the open front door—male, boisterous and familiar.
Hazel rose slowly and braced herself for another round of keen-eyed scrutiny, this time from her father. She tried not to think about her parents comparing notes and coming up with a plan of action to fix whatever was wrong with her. It was far too easy to imagine them like two generals grappling with a logistical problem.
“I don’t think Inès made enough for seven,” Rhonda said, cautionary.
“Not so loud, dear,” Mrs. Whitley pleaded.
Hazel moved closer to the living room door. The way the room was shaped, she had a clear view of the grand stairwell and the statuesque picture her mother cut standing three steps from the ground floor in a black-and-mocha print sheath dress, her pale hand suddenly clenched white-knuckled around the banister.