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at the shop.” Mae Gardner sat in her chair at El Rosal, her full lunch plate lying untouched in front of her.
The first Saturday of the month used to be the widows meeting. They talked about gossip and meal planning and men.
Agnes had increased the frequency and changed the focus of their gatherings to opening a gift shop downtown. “How many pot holders can I put you down for, Mae?”
Mae squished a piece of cold enchilada with her fork. “None.”
The rest of the room gave a collective gasp. Mae always made quilted pot holders for town fund-raisers, had been for more than five decades. Her refusal was like saying there would be no Christmas this year.
Mae’s breath hitched. She turned to Rose Cascia. “Did Emma’s wedding dress come in yet?”
Rose shushed her.
“Okay, how about Lila?” Agnes shifted her attention elsewhere. “Can we rely on you for a baby quilt or two?”
Mae swung her gaze around the room. Nineteen other widows were in attendance, eating and head-nodding whenever Agnes reached a head-nod moment. Were they all really interested in opening a boutique?
A glass clinked in the corner. Rhonda Matson was on her third mimosa. That usually meant her son had cancelled plans to bring her grandkids to visit on Sunday.
Janine Lee kept tugging down the ends of her blond wig. Was her hair finally growing back?
Olly Bingmire’s attention kept drifting toward the front door. She gave a mouse-like squeak and stared at Agnes as Thomas Higby came through the door, nearly five-and-a-half feet of single senior man and a hard worker.
Mae would like to have a word with Thomas. Life was too short to live alone. She’d like to have a word with Janine, maybe congratulate her on beating the Big C. She’d like to tell the waiter to stop bringing Rhonda mimosas. But there was Agnes and this boutique business.
“The next item on the agenda is a name for our venture.” Agnes tapped her pencil against her palm. “Ladies, we need something unique and creative.”
“Pretty Things,” Clementine Quedoba said. “I enjoy pretty things.” She had, but the poor dear had hocked many of her pretty things over at Snarky Sam’s pawn shop.
“Harmony Valley Boutique?” Linda Sue suggested in her kitten-soft voice. She always came across like a fragile flower. You’d think she would have gotten over her husband’s passing five years ago. Instead, Linda Sue had cats. She could be dating a well-preserved retired fireman who rescued cats, but no. She and the cats lived alone.
“A Stitch in Time,” Meg Galinsky piped up. She still had both her God-given hips and mobility. Why wasn’t she dating someone in the town’s bowling league?
Mae mashed up her enchilada some more, waiting for the meeting to be over. Maybe then she’d be able to get to the really important things—the emotional status of her friends.
But Agnes clearly had other plans. She beelined to Mae as soon as she adjourned their meeting. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve lost weight again.”
“I’m fine.” Liar, liar, polyester pants on fire.
Shoot. Linda Sue was heading out with Meg and Olly. Janine and Rhonda were gathering their purses.
Agnes worked that politician smile of hers. She was the sweetest member of the town council. “You know we’d love to have some pot holders to sell in the store.”
Janine and Rhonda drifted outside with the crowd. Mae wasn’t moving fast enough to catch them. She had so little joy left. Why was this being taken from her, too?
“Agnes, do you really want to spend the last few years of your life selling pot holders in a store?” Mae didn’t wait for her friend’s answer.
* * *
WHAT HAPPENED TO believing Gage was dead to her?
Dead Gage shouldn’t make her want to smile just by seeing him sitting at her grandfather’s kitchen table.
Dead Gage shouldn’t tug at her heartstrings when he talked about leaving town.
Dead Gage shouldn’t open up long shelved feelings, ones that made her feel bad for thinking of him as Dead Gage.
“Grandpa, I’m going to my meeting.” Shelby kissed the crown of her grandfather’s head. She’d had a nap and a shower and almost felt human.
Her grandfather was working at the computer desk in his room. He acknowledged her announcement with a soft grunt.
It was just under a mile to the town square, so Shelby decided to walk. Someone on a motorcycle passed by her and waved as she tried calling her parents. There was no answer. The message she recorded was brief.
A flock of birds fled a nearby tree. On the property was a house that was boarded up. There were too many boarded up houses in town. People were returning to Harmony Valley, but slowly.
A block from the town square, Flynn and Slade were building a ramp over the front steps of Mr. Hammacker’s house. Truman, his dog, and the twins ran around the yard playing keep-the-ball-away-from-the-dog. Their laughter was infectious.
Shelby stopped on the sidewalk and waved at one of the girls. “I would have thought you guys would be catching up on your sleep.”
“Kind of hard to sleep when your to-do list is as long as your arm and you’ve been drinking coffee all night.” Flynn stood and shook out his shoulders, seemingly grateful for a break.
Drill in hand, Slade shaded his eyes as he turned toward her. “Off to that wine cellar meeting?”
“Yep.”
He gave her a half grin. “Make sure Christine doesn’t offer anyone any money before she talks to me.”
She laughed politely, but instantly sobered. Like she was going to get between the owner and her boss. The safest course of action was to smile and move on.
Life hadn’t just taught Shelby a harsh lesson. It had also taught one to Harmony Valley. People leave.
Her friends from high school had lives elsewhere. Nick was buried in his family plot in the town cemetery. Gage would be moving on, most likely sooner than later.
Funny how Gage’s announcement about Kentucky affected her. She’d had to fight the urge to ask him why he couldn’t find a job closer to town. She didn’t understand the urge. She understood how things worked. People leave. And yet, it was his leaving that jostled her emotions.
She felt restless, as if something needed to be done. Today. Something more than a search for a temporary wine cellar location.
Shelby crossed the town square.
Agnes opened the door to El Rosal, and waved her over. The only restaurant in town served breakfast, lunch and dinner, as well as sold grocery staples in what used to be the lobby. The bright primary colors of the restaurant’s interior—red tables, blue chairs, green walls—were almost too much for Shelby’s sleep-deprived eyes.
Agnes was having coffee with two other gray-haired women while the waitstaff cleaned up the tables around them. “I know you’re probably in a hurry, but neither Rose nor Mildred have had a chance to say hello since you returned.”
“Unfortunately, I only have a few minutes.” Shelby sat with her grandmother’s friends, just as she’d sat in their kitchens back in the day and mixed cookie dough or tried to learn how to make a decent casserole. Hands down she’d been the worst of their culinary students.
“I seem to remember you performing in a version of West Side Story I directed for the high school.” Rose Cascia smoothed her already smooth chignon as she studied Shelby. She had a regal, tightly wound posture. In her youth, she’d performed in ballets and on Broadway. “But I can’t recall what role you had.”
“I