The Sweetgum Knit Lit Society (10 page)

Camille flipped open her cell phone when it rang, not bothering to say hello. “You’ll never guess who was just in the store.”

“Hello to you too.” Alex’s soft chuckle felt like one of the new cashmere pashminas against her skin. “And here I thought you were mooning around Sweetgum missing me.”

Camille leaned one hip against the counter as she watched Esther walk toward her car, a low-slung forest green Jaguar. The cardigan looked pretty good with the Diane von Furstenberg dress if she did say so herself. For a brief moment, she imagined herself in that kind of dress, walking down a New York street with Alex. Someday.

“I do have a job, you know,” she reminded him in a teasing tone. “As do you. What are you doing calling me during the day?” For once she was going to play it cool. Or at least a little more subtly. Last night she’d watched the season finale
of a dating show where a man got to take his pick from a group of more than twenty beautiful women. As always, the bachelor in question had picked not only the prettiest girl, but also the one who had made him chase her instead of chasing him. When she had turned off the television, Camille vowed to learn from the mistakes of all those overeager, pushy young women who hadn’t landed the man of their dreams.

“It’s hard to do my job when all I can think about is you,” he said.

Camille forced her knees not to buckle. Sure, it was a cliché. Corny even. But when Alex said something like that, she forgot to be on her guard. Forgot to play it cool.

“You still haven’t guessed who was in the shop.”

“I don’t want to guess. I want to know if you’ll come to Memphis this weekend.”

Camille’s throat went dry. “Really? You want me to come there?” She could picture him in his law office in an old building downtown that overlooked the Mississippi. Of course, she’d never actually been there, so her image was a jumble of what she’d seen in John Grisham movies and memories from her senior class trip, when they stayed at the Peabody Hotel.

“I have the whole weekend free. What do you say?”

Tears stung her eyes. At last. She’d been waiting for this invitation for such a long time. “Does this mean what I think it means?” She would have to find someone to stay with her mother. And find the money to pay that someone. But there
was no way she was going to turn down this invitation now that he’d extended it.

“I’m finalizing the lease on an apartment. I’ll call you back later in the week to figure out the details,” he said.

“But you still didn’t guess who was just in the store.” She wasn’t ready to say good-bye to him.

“Camille, I give up. I grew up in Sweetgum, and I know everybody. And I’m sure they all come into your store at some point.”

“Yes, but this was a special somebody.”

“Special? As in male special or female special?”

The note of jealousy in his voice sent a thrill through her body. “Female special.” She almost laughed. “As in your mother.”

She thought he would laugh too. Instead there was dead silence.

“Camille …” His voice held that familiar warning note.

“Don’t worry. I didn’t say anything.”

“I’ll tell her in my own time.”

“I know.”

He paused. “So what did she want?”

Camille didn’t tell him the truth. Secrecy was part of what Esther was paying her for. “A cardigan. She left hers at home, and I guess she decided she’d rather buy a new one than run home to get the one she forgot.”

He sighed. “Sounds like Mom all right.”

“She was really nice to me.”

“Camille …” The warning note again.

“Honestly, Alex, I’m hardly likely to rock her world when she comes into the store to buy a sweater.” That sounded good. Especially that little note of sophistication she’d managed to inject into her voice.

“Oops. Gotta go. My next client’s here.” His voice was brusque again. “Call you later. Ciao.”

“Ciao,” Camille said brightly, but his scolding had made a little of the glow fade from the day. Still, he’d invited her for the weekend. He was getting an apartment. That had to mean something.

She clicked the button on her phone to end the call and tapped the pink Razr against her chin. Well, at least she had a whole store full of clothes to choose from. And if she was very careful and didn’t stain or tear anything, they could go right back on the rack on Monday morning. Customers weren’t the only ones adept at the old trick of wearing something and then returning it.

In the days since the new pastor had arrived in town, Eugenie had avoided the Sweetgum Christian Church like the plague. Of course, since she only went to the church on the one night a month that the Knit Lit Society met, the task wasn’t that difficult. The problem, of course, was that the new pastor was bound to venture out of the church sooner or later, and Eugenie could hardly stay holed up in her office in the library simply to avoid an encounter with her past.

So other than avoiding the church, she was determined to stick to her normal routine. After all, no one in Sweetgum knew that there was any connection at all between her and the Reverend Paul Carson. And there was no reason anyone should ever know. As long as matters stayed that way, everything would be just fine.

Except that he’d said she looked familiar. Right before she’d fled as if he were an ax murderer.

So a little before eleven o’clock in the morning, Eugenie walked down the library steps with firmness of purpose, determined not to show any fear or hesitation. This library, this town—they were hers. She would not let his presence take that away from her, not when she’d sacrificed so much to have them in the first place. Not after all these years.

The bright October day was the best kind of Indian summer, warm but not hot and with no humidity to cling to skin or scalp. Eugenie quickly walked the two blocks to Tallulah’s Café on the town square. Her only concession to the tension vibrating through her body was the white-knuckled fingers clutching her pocketbook. She had dressed as she did every day—dark skirt, crisp blouse, cardigan. When she crossed Spring Street, she saw Esther driving past, on her way to her bridge club no doubt. She returned Esther’s cheerful wave. Once, long ago, the ladies had asked if Eugenie would care to join their group. It hadn’t occurred to any of them that she could hardly skip out of the library for three hours every Tuesday. And of course they would never dream of meeting in the evenings when they were home with their husbands and, once upon a time, their children. Bridge club types like Esther had no understanding, really, of what Eugenie’s life was like.

Had been like
, she corrected herself. Because if Homer and the rest of his cronies had their way and she was forced to retire, everything would change. And she doubted very much it would be for the better for anyone, least of all for her.

Tallulah’s Café occupied a corner storefront on the west side of the town square. The square itself, a hodgepodge of buildings of every shape and size, was dominated by the imposing Victorian courthouse in its center, which had been built well before the ravages of the Civil War wracked the town. The café had been serving up fried chicken livers and icebox pie since Eugenie arrived in Sweetgum forty years before. Over the last few years, it had become her regular Tuesday lunch place.

“Morning, Eugenie,” Tallulah greeted her when she entered the café. Tallulah Browning was older even than Eugenie, her tanned face lined with wrinkles but wreathed in a smile. No one was forcing Tallulah to retire or telling her that her time had passed. No, those same men who were putting so much pressure on Eugenie, saying she was too old for her job, well, they would squawk like the dickens if anyone suggested Tallulah should hang up her apron.

“Good morning, Tallulah. How are things today?”

“Busy enough to run me ragged but not busy enough to make me rich,” she said with a chuckle. “Your table’s waiting for you.”

“Thank you.” Eugenie nodded her gratitude and slid into her usual two-top by the café’s large plate glass window. A glass of unsweetened iced tea sat waiting. Tallulah followed her to the table and hovered while Eugenie settled into her chair and carefully unrolled her silverware from its paper napkin.

“The usual, Eugenie? Or do you want to live a little? The special’s chicken-fried steak.” Tallulah’s teasing grin held no malice, and so Eugenie accepted her good-natured ribbing with a smile of her own.

“Just the fruit plate, please.”

“All right. If you’re sure.”

Suddenly Eugenie didn’t know if she was sure. For years now she’d been coming to the café every Tuesday and ordering the same lunch—two peach halves and a large scoop of cottage cheese accompanied by a packet of saltine crackers. The fruit plate was by far the healthiest thing on Tallulah’s menu, and Eugenie had always prided herself on how well she’d maintained her figure. What’s more, since she never gained weight, she never had to worry about buying new clothes every season. Her serviceable skirts and blouses could last for years, a fact that suited her natural frugality.

But now, sitting in the window of Tallulah’s with one nervous eye on the square searching for any sign of Paul Carson, Eugenie needed more sustenance—and comfort—than canned fruit and cheese curds could provide.

“Wait.” The word fell from her lips before she could talk herself out of it. She looked into Tallulah’s kind eyes, blue as robin’s eggs. “Maybe I will have the special.”

Tallulah was nice enough not to look surprised. “Sure thing, honey. You want your mashed potatoes with or without gravy?”

Why not go whole hog? “Gravy. And some fried okra if you have it.” Eugenie couldn’t believe what she was saying.

“Coming right up.” Tallulah’s smile was even wider than usual. Eugenie forced herself to turn her attention back to arranging her silverware on the Formica tabletop. And that was when she heard the familiar baritone voice at the entrance to the café calling out a greeting to the owner.

“Good morning to you too, preacher,” she heard Tallulah answer. Eugenie willed herself not to look over her shoulder. Instead she fixed her gaze on the marquee of the art deco movie theater kitty-cornered from the café. She could hardly make sense of what the marquee advertised—something about a new animated children’s movie. But as hard as she stared, she couldn’t distract herself enough to keep from overhearing the conversation at the door.

“Sit anywhere you like,” Tallulah said. Eugenie felt the moment Paul’s eyes landed on her.

“Anywhere?” Since the café was empty at this early hour except for Eugenie, he had his choice of tables, booths, or counter seats. She wasn’t surprised, though, when she heard his footsteps walking toward her. Didn’t all preachers instinctively know how to work a room?

“Morning, ma’am.” He appeared at her side and extended his right hand. “We never finished our introductions that night at the church. I’m Paul Carson, in case you don’t remember.”

Her eyes rose the long, long way up his neatly pressed button-down shirt to rest on his never-forgotten face. She put her own hand out and felt his palm press against hers, his fingers curled around the side of her hand.

“Hello, Paul.” She didn’t say her name. She couldn’t. Her tongue was as thick as a compendium of Shakespeare’s plays. The warmth of his hand holding hers sapped the remaining good sense out of her brain.

“Eugenie.” His eyes lit with recognition. He didn’t so much say her name as breathe it. His face widened in a look of wonder and then one of understanding. “Of course.”

“Of course?” she asked, forcing a small smile to her lips. “You were expecting to find me at Tallulah’s?” Her wry tone covered the panic that flooded her chest. Every instinct told her to do exactly what she’d done the last time she saw him—flee for her life. Or her sanity. Or both. Anxiety had been banished from her existence for more than forty years. Eugenie refused to entertain, much less tolerate, such a useless state of emotion. But now it was as if every fear she’d ever denied or banished had come flooding back and threatened to swamp her.

“May I?” Paul nodded toward the chair opposite hers. He was still holding her hand, and out of the corner of her eye Eugenie could see Tallulah watching them in fascination.