Page 3 of Friends are Forever (Teton Mountain #6)
Reva stepped through the front doors with a familiar blend of purpose and calm, still carrying the quiet warmth of her morning coffee with the girls.
The laughter, the teasing and talking over one another, the knowing looks—they grounded her.
No matter what chaos awaited her inside these walls, time with her friends always reminded her who she was.
That peace lasted all of ten seconds.
She rounded the corner toward her office, noticing Verna’s usually bustling desk was conspicuously empty. Odd.
Her assistant’s workspace was a flurry of sticky notes, labeled folders, and whatever seasonal flair Verna had taped to the edges of her monitor—currently a bouquet of sunflowers and a bouncing scarecrow that wiggled every time someone walked by. But no Verna.
A soft thud and a mild grunt sounded from the open door to the adjacent file room.
Reva narrowed her eyes, stepping cautiously toward the sound. Peeking inside, her jaw dropped.
She gasped as her hand flew to her chest. “Verna Billingsley! What are you doing?”
Verna stood precariously on the third rung of a rickety old ladder, a heavy box of files balanced on one hip like she was hauling laundry. Her feet were bare, toes gripping the splintered wooden step, while her orthopedic shoes sat in a sad little heap on the floor below.
“Get down! You’ll fall,” Reva snapped, heart lurching as she stepped fully into the room. “And goodness knows, we don’t need another claim on the city’s insurance policy. Fleet’s fender bender last week was enough.”
Verna startled at Reva’s voice and she nearly lost her grip on the box.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Reva, you scared the spit right outta me,” she huffed, adjusting her stance like she’d done this a hundred times—which, knowing Verna, she probably had.
“Don’t change the subject,” Reva said, marching toward the ladder with her hands on her hips. “Why are you barefoot, balancing on a ladder with a box bigger than your torso? Are you trying to make my life harder today?”
“I was trying to find the missing zoning files for that trout farm application, but apparently, gravity and footwear are working against me,” Verna shot back, her voice as dry as Wyoming dust. “I thought I could manage it—graceful as an elk crossing a river.”
“Graceful?” Reva raised a brow. “Verna, you are many things. Graceful is not one of them. You’re more like a bison in a gift shop.”
Verna sniffed. “I was doing just fine until your hollerin’ nearly sent me to Jesus.”
Reva grabbed the box from her. “You’re not going to Jesus. You’re going to the break room for a cup of chamomile and a granola bar before you file a worker’s comp claim and I have to explain to the city council why my assistant has a broken femur and no shoes.”
Verna clambered down, muttering, “It’s always a granola bar with you. One day I’m going to demand a jelly-filled donut. Covered in chocolate and sprinkles.”
“You can demand all you want, but you’re getting oats and sunshine,” Reva said, already heading for her office with the box. “Now go put your shoes back on before someone calls the health department.”
Reva stepped into her office and placed the cardboard box on one of the leather chairs by the window, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she crossed the room to her desk.
Sliding into her chair, she exhaled slowly, letting the weight of the day settle around her.
The glow of her computer screen flickered to life as she powered it on, and soon the soft hum filled the quiet space.
She clicked into her inbox and began scrolling through the pile-up of emails—updates from city contractors, a note from Verna marked “Urgent” in all caps, and several notes from long-time residents uneasy with the projected town growth estimates she’d expressed at the community meeting last week.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard before she began typing a response, her brow furrowed in thought. Thunder Mountain might’ve been small compared to Jackson and Cheyenne, but there was never a dull moment in the mayor’s seat.
She was halfway through drafting a memo to the city council when her phone buzzed with a Georgia area code she hadn’t seen in a while.
Her breath caught.
She reached for her phone and picked up.
“Hey, sugar,” came the familiar voice on the other end. Mama’s voice was strained, husky, like she’d been crying.
Reva’s heart immediately jumped into her throat. “Mama? What’s going on?”
“It’s Grand Memaw. She’s not well, Reva. It came on fast, and it’s…serious.”
Reva’s heart thumped hard. “Serious how?”
“She had some kind of spell—doctor’s still trying to figure it out. But she’s weak. Confused. She’s been asking for you. Over and over.” A pause. “You need to come home. Today, if you can.”
Reva leaned back in her chair, staring at the framed photo of her son. Her voice barely came out as she squeezed her eyes shut. “She’s really that bad?”
“I wish I were being dramatic.” Mama’s voice broke. “I don’t know how much time we’ve got.”
Silence stretched between them.
“I’ll get the first flight I can,” Reva quickly promised, her eyes filling with tears. “Tell her I’m coming.”