Page 7 of One Boiling Summer (Texas Summer #15)

GOSSIP AND GUMPTION

LACEY

By the time I hit my third stop in town, I wanted to pack my car and forget I’d ever come back to Poppy Valley.

The clerk at the hardware store gave me a once-over, like chic designer clothes meant I didn’t know what a paintbrush was. At the grocery store, two women I vaguely remembered from school whispered loudly as I felt the options for a ripened avocado.

“Lacey must think she’s better than us, waltzing in from New York like a shiny penny.”

“I heard she forced Carson into promising to marry her by thirty if neither were attached.”

“Well, clearly he thought little of it and proposed to Emme. If I were Lacey, I’d never be able to show my face in town again.”

“She always did have a thing for drama.” That one looked me dead in the eye as she said it when I rounded the produce aisle.

I didn’t flinch. My spine stiffened and I stood taller, as if my silk scarf was armor instead of a flighty accessory from the clearance bin at H & M on Fifth Avenue.

By the time I returned to my car, nerves had me shaking. That familiar weight of being misunderstood, and not good enough, hit me like an old friend. Well, I’d escaped this small-minded town once before. I could do it again.

I floored it home, and after I carried in the paint cans and groceries, I could no longer hold my chin up.

I sagged against the cabinet like the weight of the world had followed me home and where it still smelled like Mom.

Even now I could discern her floral scent from the dust like she was just here yesterday, as if snapdragons or lilies grew wild in here.

“I miss you so damn much it hurts.”

The pain ripped through my heart. There was no way I could face this town, the house—visit the cemetery. I flew down to my room and pulled out my suitcases. I stuffed my clothes in, not bothered to fold them nicely.

The cases bulged and wheels squealed along the floor of the hall. I left them there and sat down on the old, creaky stool by the island and opened my phone. My thumb hovered over a message to Archer, the most sensible person—friend?—I had in New York.

Lacey: Maybe I should come back. I’m not sure there’s anything left for me here. Job offer still stands?

I hadn’t hit send yet when a knock on the screen door startled me.

I turned and blinked. “Mama Goodson?”

She smiled, soft and warm, holding a basket of baked goods in her arms like she’d stepped out of a Southern welcoming committee.

“Hi baby girl. You gonna just stand there and let my knees give out on your porch?” Her thick twang as soulful as Mom’s, and the size of her about the same as well, my eyes betrayed me at first. My heart lurched wishing for a hug, for strong arms and a warm bosom to lay my head on, belonging to a woman who had lived through it all and had the stories to tell about it.

I batted away a few stray tears and moved quickly, opening the door. “Sorry. Come in, please.”

She breezed in and hugged me tight. Yep. Her soft chest smelled like cinnamon and the same perfume she wore the day of my mother’s funeral. Mama Goodson had been Mom’s best friend, and like a second mother to me.

“You look thin and pale,” she said, pinching my cheeks for color. “You eating enough? Don’t tell me you’re one of them fancy girls up north who starves themselves to fit into the latest fashion.”

“I just get busy. A lot on my mind.”

“Well, sit and get busy eating this muffin. Still warm.” She tempted me, placing the basket on the table.

As I sat, she shoved a napkin before me and produced the most plump blueberry muffin I ever saw.

My mouth salivated. Never in my years of New York had anyplace produced a muffin of this monumental size, or as tasty.

I swallowed the first bite along with a lump in my throat. “Thank you. Really.”

She settled into one of the kitchen chairs like she’d always do when visiting Mom. She looked around the place, and poked a finger at the suitcases nearby.

“You still haven’t unpacked yet? My word, your clothes will be all wrinkled. Need my help? I think I recall where your mama kept the iron?—”

I caught her hand with mine. “No, please. I was just about to do that when you knocked. Just sit and visit. It’s so good to see you.” Giving her plump hand one more pat I let it go.

“You holding up okay?” She asked, paired with bright blue eyes that could probably see right through me.

“I’m trying.” I sank more into the seat. “It’s been a lot.”

She nodded knowingly. “Coming home often is. Especially when folks are too small-minded to welcome someone back with grace.”

I froze. “So you’ve heard all the rumors,” I whispered, keeping an eye on the muffin as I picked at the edges with my nails.

“Honey, this town’s had a gossip problem since before I was born. It’s not you—it’s them. Always something. Last month, they were busy ripping up poor Jasmine over her salacious divorce from the mayor. Now they’ve moved on to you. Next week will be somebody new.”

My chest clenched. “Please believe me. I didn’t come here to mess with Carson or Emme. I would never do that.”

She waved it away. “I know that. So does Carson, I’m sure. That boy has a good head on his shoulders, and Emme’s there for him. Even if right now she’s a little high-strung, bless her heart. It’s her wedding nerves talkin’, and helping Carson keep that business running ain’t no easy task.”

“I just hate feeling like I’m the town villain.”

“You’re not. Far from it. People just love to chit chat over drama, blowing things way outta proportion.

” She pushed the muffin on the napkin closer to me.

“You’re just a girl who lost her mama. You came home to figure some things out, which was a good idea, by the way.

Let me get some butter for that muffin.”

She rose and didn’t let the suitcases stand in her path. With her strong arms she plucked them up and carried them to my room.

“Guess I’m staying,” I muttered under my breath, with a twitch of my lips.

Mama knew exactly what she was doing. A few minutes later, after rifling through my grocery bags and putting most of the items away, she returned with fresh butter and a knife.

She proceeded to cut the muffin into four bits and slathered them.

“Mom always said everything was better with butter.”

“And she was right.

My eyes stung again, but I managed not to cry.

“Now. Hudson tells me he’s coming by in the morning to help you fix the place up?” Again, she pushed the napkin closer to me. For her sake, I took a big bite, and offered a well-deserved moan at the goodness of it.

When I could speak again, my brows lifted. “He told you that?”

“He tells me plenty,” she said, with a knowing twinkle in her eye.

I literally just left him a couple of hours ago, and he already told his mother?

“That boy’s been carrying this family on his back since his daddy died.

Hudson took over as the head of our house.

Don’t know what I would have done without him. ”

Her smile turned misty. “You know he worked a second job just to send Anderson money when he was struggling through med school? Paid Branson’s Police Academy application fee without ever saying a word. Fixed up every one of their old beat-up trucks, even taught Dawson and Lawson how to weld.”

I blinked. “I had no idea.” I never thought about everything he must have been going through after his dad died when we were younger, considering anytime he was stuck having to watch Carson and I he did it with a scowling face.

“Hudson never wants credit. Refuses the spotlight. You’ll never know a more steady man. The kind who puts family first. He’d make someone a damn fine husband and father someday. But he’s not getting any younger.”

Suddenly, my stomach twisted. I knew her game. I couldn’t have Carson, so she was throwing me the next best thing.

She reached across the table and patted my hand. “You’ve been through a lot, Lacey. And I don’t pretend to know what your future looks like. But keep your eyes open, sweetheart. The right man might not be the one you thought you’d end up with.”

I got up from the table, holding my sides. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at this point. I stopped at the first photo in the hallway.

“The last few months of her life, your mama insisted on changing out those photographs. Poured through her albums, searching for the right ones.”

“Hm. Yes, so many of Carson and I through the years.”

“If you look closer I think you’ll see so much more.” She stood and pressed her cotton dress down the front of her, as I scrunched my face trying to figure out what she meant. “Well, I should go. I have a committee meeting up at the ladies auxiliary.”

After another big hug that I relished, she left a few minutes later, making me promise to eat, and to be there at the cemetery this weekend.

I waved from the porch until she was out of view, then plunked down on the first step.

In the afternoon heat, I watched the shadows grow long, unable to move for some time. Thinking. Overthinking. Crying.

Finally, I moved into the house and unpacked. And ate. Everything Mama Goodson told me do. I even looked at the photos of Carson and I and saw nothing more. Whatever.

Exhausted, I curled up on the couch in pajama pants and a tank top, half a pint of mint chocolate chip melting in my lap, watching an old movie I didn’t even like. Until a knock came at the door.

I wasn’t expecting anyone. My hair was a mess and there was melted ice cream on my top. Hopefully it wasn’t Carson finally coming to see me at my finest.

But when I opened the door, it was Jasmine.

My old best-friend-who-wasn’t-Carson.

She looked just the same, save for a few more laugh lines around her eyes, but still held that wild sparkle I remembered from our senior year. Her jeans were tight, shirt cropped showing an envious midriff, fancy cowboy boots, and her grin was pure mischief.

“I heard you were back.” We hugged hard, both shrieking, tilting each other side to side. “Don’t you look amazing, by the way.”

I pointed at my shirt. “Yep, that’s me. In the latest loser fashion.”

“And you’re giving the gossips exactly what they want.” She stepped inside, plopping onto the couch, and crossed one leg over the other. “Do you really want to do that?”

“No. This sucks.” I landed beside her.

“Don’t I know it? In a way I should thank you. My divorce from Mayor Dickhead-who-can’t-keep-it-in-his-pants has been fodder for far too long. Thanks to you and your fresh scandal, the gossip train has officially left my station. Now you carry the torch. So guess what?”

I blinked. “What?”

“We’re going out. You and me. Painting this town just like old times. I hear one too many drinks calling our name down at the old Whiskey Shack.”

“I don’t think I’m in the mood?—”

She held up a hand. “Shush. No excuses, now. I’ve been hiding long enough. This town needs a reminder that I’m still standing. And I’m bringing you down to hell with me, darling.”

I full-belly laughed, the first real one in some time. “Oh my God. I missed you.”

“Missed you too, sweetie, now come on, get fancy,” she said. “Let’s show them who they’re messing with.”

“Fine,” I said, standing up and tossing the ice cream pint in the trash. “Let’s give them something to talk about.”

And maybe I could start caring less about the whispers… and more about what—or who—I really wanted.