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Page 16 of The List

DAY THREE

A SHLEY R EED CLIMBED INTO THE MAIL VAN AND DROVE OUT OF THE parking lot, heading for her daily route.

She’d been a letter carrier for fifteen years, starting back when she was called a mailman, to her indignation.

The job paid great and came with the advantage of getting her home before four o’clock so she could be there when Lori Anne climbed down off the school bus.

The benefits helped too. Medical insurance relieved the worry of doctor bills, and the retirement plan was first-rate.

The only thing about the job she didn’t particularly care for was the uniform.

A dull blue and tight fitting, but at least it forced her to keep to a diet, along with regular exercise.

Overall, her life was good. No appreciable debt.

Excellent job. A wonderful daughter. Lots of friends. A perfect life.

Except for Brent Walker.

He’d first been a problem in high school, becoming more of one years later, the memories of him constantly interfering with her three marriages.

If she hadn’t changed her name after each divorce, she would now be Kristen Ashley Reed Mathis Simmons Evans.

But thanks to an express provision in the third divorce decree, she again became simply Ashley Reed.

Never had she used Kristen. Too formal. She preferred her middle name.

Lori Anne carried a different last name.

Manley Simmons, Husband Number 2, was a good man from a local family, but the marriage failed after only three years.

He paid a modest amount of child support, all his idea since she’d asked for none, and he stayed perpetually behind—but she never pressed the point legally.

Husband Number 3 hadn’t fared much better, only two years from courthouse ceremony to divorce.

Another good man from a good family. And her first marriage, to Kyle Mathis, was so short and unmemorable that she still generally regarded herself as having only been married twice.

Even though each marriage was unproductive emotionally, the second had produced Lori Anne and the third a three-bedroom split-level house she occupied and Chevy pickup she still drove, the debts on both in her name only.

She remained friends with all three ex-husbands.

No need to part enemies, as the relationships never stood a chance.

She loved Brent Walker.

And realized now she always would.

He’d changed little since they were teenagers.

A pleasant face centered by an engaging smile that always made her feel better.

She went to great lengths, though, to avoid his hazel eyes, their stare able to penetrate straight to her heart.

His eyebrows, like his hair, were a chestnut brown, but the brows flared at the end, making him appear perpetually curious.

He stayed muscular, and she could still see him scooping up ground balls at the Woods County High School baseball games.

They’d barely stayed in touch while he was in Atlanta.

A handful of calls, a letter or two, an occasional face-to-face when he was in town.

Neither one of them was much on social media.

Two months ago he’d called and told her about his decision to return home.

Trying not to repeat mistakes from the past, she hadn’t encouraged him one way or the other.

But she was thrilled he was finally coming back.

They’d come close to being together several times, the last attempt happening eleven years ago, but his guilt and her immaturity nixed both that and every other opportunity.

The past few years had been the toughest of her life.

At least before he’d been nearby. But for so long now he’d been nearly nonexistent.

Live Oak Lane was not on her usual route, but yesterday she’d detoured and driven past. Just seeing his car parked out front in the Walker driveway was comforting. She’d almost stopped but decided against it. What was the rush? They had all the time in the world.

Or did they?

Patience had been one of her former mistakes, as had an indifference that came with consequences only the years since had taught her to appreciate.

She did not intend on repeating either error.

So she started toward the first house on her route and resolutely decided that if she hadn’t heard anything by 5:00 P.M. she’d find Brent before nightfall.

8:18 A.M.

H ANK PARKED IN THE DRIVEWAY AT 328 L IVE O AK L ANE, CLIMBED out of his pickup, and studied the Walker homeplace.

Forty years the rambling Victorian two-story had sat among tall pines and moss-draped oaks.

The clapboards were an unadorned gray topped by a gabled tin roof.

On one side rose a brick chimney veined thick with orange-flowered trumpet vines.

All across the front alternating round and square bundles of sculpted shrubs backdropped beds of blossoming begonias, impatiens, and hydrangeas.

The front yard was a dense carpet of Bermuda grass.

The whole place looked like something out of Better Homes & Gardens .

Catherine Walker was busy working the front flower beds. She wore a pair of faded jeans and a button-down cotton shirt. A floppy straw hat protected her pixie-cut silver hair and pale facial skin from the June sun. Cloth gloves covered both hands.

“You’re looking lovely,” he said, walking over. “As always.”

She stopped weeding and slapped the dirt from her gloves. “Still the charmer, Hank.”

“Your impatiens are beautiful.”

“I was afraid the lack of rain might keep them from budding.”

“It has been dry lately.”

“That storm Tuesday night helped. But I’m sure you didn’t come by on a workday to admire my flowers and talk about the weather.”

“I don’t know. Seems like a good reason for a visit to me.”

Catherine grinned. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the mill?”

“One of the perks of being a union president is the ability to leave when I need to.”

“Where are you supposed to be?”

“Not here.”

“This must be important.”

He sighed. “I’m afraid it is.”

He followed her up the front stairs to a pair of white rockers. She offered him something to drink but he declined.

“I’ve thought about this for a while,” he said, “and I finally came to the conclusion you and I need to talk. Parent-to-parent. I’m violating a confidence doing this, but I think it has to be done.”

A crease laced her brow. “What’s this about, Hank?”

“Ashley and Brent. They’re in love.”

He watched her reaction. But she said nothing. “You know?”

“Paula was not the love of his life. I could see that. There were a lot of problems in their relationship.”

He nodded. “I was aware. Brent would talk to me about it.”

“That’s more than he did with me or his father.”

“I hear you. I get the same cold shoulder from my daughter. She tells me precious little. What do they say about the preacher trying to save the souls in his own town?”

She smiled. “Children can be so difficult, can’t they.”

“When Brent lived here,” he said, “I was more aware of the situation. But since he’s been gone I’ve gotten next to nothing in the way of information.

He used to tell me about the problems with Paula, as I said.

He shouldered a lot of the blame for that himself.

I was never a fan of hers. There were a lot of problems with her family.

And I didn’t realize how Ashley felt about Brent until about eight years ago.

I’m ashamed to say I was too busy being mayor and running the union and didn’t keep up with everything she did.

Apparently both she and Loretta needed me, but I wasn’t there. ”

“No need to be that rough on yourself, Hank. Ashley turned out fine. She’s an excellent mother and well thought of around town. And Loretta. She was a grown woman and made her choices.”

“I missed a lot of Ashley’s growing up. That was back in my wild days. I wasn’t a good father… or husband.”

“I’ve never heard you speak like this before.”

“We’re gettin’ old. Time to face the music.”

He remembered the day Loretta left after thirty-one years of marriage.

His extramarital affairs started when he was mayor.

A clerk at city hall. Payroll clerk at the mill.

Local insurance agent. Indiscriminate strangers that meant little to him beyond casual sex.

All strokes to the ego that slashed, one by one, at his wife’s heart.

Characteristically, Loretta never said a word, keeping the pain to herself, only silently questioning why her husband needed the affections of another woman.

Even on the day she left she’d said nothing.

No point, really. The stupidity of his ways seemed apparent.

And he couldn’t blame it on alcohol, he never drank.

Or drugs, he hardly downed an aspirin. All he could do was beg forgiveness.

Which was never granted.

Brent handled the divorce. Uncontested. Quick and quiet. Loretta moved to north Georgia and married a dentist. She’d always wanted to live in the mountains, but he’d refused. Concord’s my life , he told her.

So she left him to it.

“You miss her, don’t you?” she said.

Catherine and Loretta had been friends.

“It was all my fault. I ruined that marriage.”

“Sometimes people just grow apart,” she said. “You and Loretta were together a long time.”

He shook his head. “I drove us apart. I was a fool. Now I live alone, which is the price for my idiocy.”

“You’ve dated since the divorce. I know that for a fact.”

“I wouldn’t say women are beating my door down.”

“You had no trouble before the divorce.”

Only a friend of many years could be so blunt without offense. “Maybe that was the attraction for them? I was somebody else’s.”

“It takes two, Hank.”

“I look back and wonder what I was thinking.”

“Loretta could have forgiven you. She could have chosen to work it out. Instead, she decided to leave and marry another man.”

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