The Lost Daughter Of Pigeon Hollow. Inglath Cooper
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ear. She wore a white T-shirt whose bottom just covered her breasts and a pair of boot-cut blue jeans the top of which rode a good two inches below her navel.
She met Willa’s stern expression head on. “What?” With extra attitude.
“Where have you been?”
Katie slouched to the refrigerator, opened the door and ducked her head inside. “There’s nothing to eat in here.”
“You were supposed to be home by ten, Katie.”
“So I’m late.”
“What were you doing?”
“Studying.” The insolence in her voice instantly negated the truth of the answer.
Willa opened the dishwasher, pulled out a clean cup and carefully placed it in the cabinet above. “That’s the second night this week, Katie. You’re grounded.”
Katie dropped a container of yogurt on the kitchen counter and slammed the refrigerator door, rounding on one heel. “God, Willa, will you get over yourself? You’re not my mother!”
Hearing that from Shelby Franklin was one thing. Hearing it from Katie was another. Willa suppressed a quick flare of hurt and held out her hand. “Keys to the car.”
Katie folded her arms across her chest and glared. “They’re in the ignition.” She grabbed the yogurt, yanked open a drawer and pulled out a spoon, then stomped upstairs.
The doggy door flapped open from the hallway just off the kitchen. Sam trotted in on his stubby legs, ears lifted in question.
“Heard us from the backyard, huh?”
Sam dropped down on the rug in front of the sink, head on his paws, back legs stretched out behind him. If a dog could wear concern as an expression, Sam wore it clear as day.
His ancestry was questionable. Almost for certain there was Lab in his lineage, accountable for his good nature, Willa suspected. Some beagle as well, judging from his short legs and fondness for rabbit chasing.
He’d shown up at the back door of the diner one winter morning, looking as if he hadn’t had a meal in two weeks. It had been Willa’s intent to find a home for him, but his affable disposition had mysteriously turned to snarling intimidation whenever she’d shown him to anyone who happened to respond to the posters she’d hung around town.
She’d finally decided to keep him, and he’d been nothing but affable since.
He followed her outside now to her seen-better-days Wagoneer. McDonald’s burger wrappers and empty Coke cans littered the floorboard. Cigarette butts stuck out of the open ashtray.
The distinctly sweet odor of something other than tobacco hung in the air. Willa’s shoulders slumped beneath a sudden wearing sense of defeat. She pulled the keys from the ignition, picked up the trash, and shut the door.
She tilted her head back, drew in a deep breath. Late May in Kentucky. A neighbor’s freshly cut lawn scented the night breeze. A row of sweet-shrub divided Willa’s driveway from the house next door, adding its fragrance to the mix, the trees lining her street newly green and thriving.
Willa loved spring. Loved its freshness, its promise and the sense she always had of starting over, wiping clean winter’s gray slate.
Sam followed her to the front porch where she dropped onto the second step. He lay down at her feet.
Willa rubbed his head, scratching the spot behind his left ear that caused a hind leg to thump automatically.
“Really, Sam,” she said, defeat at the edges of her voice. “What am I going to do about her?”
Sam raised his head, whined once. “She’s going to end up pregnant or…” She didn’t let herself finish the thought.
Sam put his head on her leg and closed his eyes.
“Yeah, I know. That’s what I’d like to do. Pretend I don’t see it.” She massaged the dull ache in her left temple. “But that’s not going to work, is it? When I finally do open my eyes, things will just be that much worse.”
She glanced up at the dark night sky, chin propped on her hand, elbow on her knee, and stared at the blink of a faraway airplane. She smoothed her other hand across Sam’s soft coat, her gaze following the plane’s trek below the stars. “Wonder where those people are going.”
Sam didn’t bother to look up.
“That’d be kind of nice, wouldn’t it? Just taking off. Not really even caring where you ended up as long as it was somewhere different. Live another life for a while.”
As appealing as it sounded, running away from trouble never worked. During Willa’s teenage years, her own mama had tried it a number of times, leaving Katie and Willa alone to fend for themselves. And inevitably, proving that the problems didn’t go anywhere. Somebody had to deal with them.
For Willa, the problem was how to steer Katie into adulthood without letting her disappear beneath the too-numerous-to-count sinkholes along the way.
She glanced up at the sky, the airplane now a distant speck. Thought for a moment of her own aspirations, plans she’d put aside to come back to Pigeon Hollow and raise Katie after their mother had died. Those dreams now seemed as far away as the destination of that plane.
She got up from the step, too tired to think about it anymore tonight.
The problems would still be here tomorrow. That, she could count on.
THE TOP SHELF DINER was something of a landmark in Pigeon Hollow. It sat midway down Main Street, in between Citizens’ Bank and Crawley’s Hardware.
At eleven in the morning, a sprinkling of customers sat at the square, wooden tables. But within the next forty-five minutes, the place would fill up with the lunch crowd, workers from the sawmill at the other end of town filing in for the daily special: meat loaf and mashed potatoes or corn bread and pinto beans.
Willa stood behind the front counter, filling a pitcher with iced tea. She wiped a hand on her just-above-the-knee black skirt, then glanced up at the TV hanging from the ceiling. It had also snagged the attention of Harold Pinckard and Stanley Arrington where they sat drinking a late morning cup of coffee.
“A Bland County woman, twenty-three-year-old single mother, Teresa Potter, was the winner of last night’s five million dollar lottery—”
“Can you believe that?” Judy Parker set a coffeepot back on its burner and scowled at the TV. She pushed her glasses back on her nose, only to have them slide right back to their previous position. Mid-forties, Judy barely broke the five-feet mark, weighed less than a hundred pounds and still managed to be known as a small tornado of energy. “I mean she just buys a ticket in the Mini-Mart, and presto, her life is changed overnight.”
Willa began filling a row of glasses with tea. “Only happens in fairy tales.”
Judy reached for a towel and began wiping down the Formica counter. “Does that mean something good can’t happen to a person once in a while?”
“No. But I’m not going to stand around waiting for it.”
Judy made a sound of disapproval, then moved to the sink, rinsed her towel and wrung it out. “So what would you do with it, if you believed in the lottery and if you won?”
“I don’t, and I wouldn’t,” she said, lifting a shoulder.
“Indulge me. And let’s just go ahead and assume you’d give a good portion to your favorite charity. Save the beagles or whatever it is. I want to hear about the you stuff.”
Willa smiled. “The me stuff. Okay. I’d buy a black Lamborghini.”
“You would not.”
“Hey, I thought this was my fantasy.”
“Fair enough,” Judy said, one hand in the air. “So