Rendezvous Ridge’s best salon.
And day spa now, Callie thought. There was just no stopping Granny.
She couldn’t wait to see her, to see everyone. To just be home, breathe the mountain air, see the greens, the blues, hear the voices that didn’t make hers sound somehow wrong.
She wrapped her hair in a towel, knowing it would take forever to dry, and did what her mother had taught her when she’d been hardly older than Callie.
She slicked on lotion everywhere. It felt good, that skin to skin, even if it was just her own hands. It had been so long since anyone had touched her.
She dressed, peeked out to check on Callie, and left the door open just a little wider as she started on her makeup. She wasn’t going home pale and heavy-eyed.
She couldn’t do anything about going home bony, but her appetite would come back once she got there, settled in, pushed some of the weights off the heavy end of the scale.
And the outfit was nice—black leggings, the grass-green shirt that made her think of spring. She added earrings, a spritz of perfume, because according to Ada Mae Pomeroy, a woman wasn’t fully dressed without them.
Deciding she’d done her best, she went back into the bedroom, packed up everything but Callie’s outfit for the homecoming. A pretty blue dress with white flowers and a white sweater. Then turning on one of the bedside lights, she climbed onto the bed to nuzzle her daughter awake.
“Callie Rose. Where is my Callie Rose? Is she still in Dreamland riding pink ponies?”
“I’m here, Mama!” Warm and soft as a baby rabbit, she turned into Shelby’s arms. “We’re on a ’venture.”
“You bet we are.” She cuddled for a moment because those moments were precious.
“I didn’t wet the bed.”
“I know. You’re such a big girl. Let’s go pee now, and get dressed.”
Even with fussing Callie’s hair into a braid tied with a blue bow to match the dress, cleaning her up again after a breakfast of waffles, gassing up the van, they were on the road by seven-thirty.
An early start, Shelby thought. She’d take it as a good sign of things to come.
She stopped at ten, another pee break, fueled her system with a Coke, filled Callie’s sippy cup and texted her mother.
Got going early. Traffic’s not bad. Should be there by twelve-thirty. Love you!
When she pulled back onto the highway, the gray compact slipped out three cars behind her. And kept pace.
So the young widow was heading home in her secondhand minivan. Every action she did reasonable, normal, ordinary.
But she knew something, Privet thought. And he’d find out just what that was.
• • •
W HEN SHE CAUGHT SIGHT of the mountains, the great green rise of them, Shelby’s heart jumped to her throat until her eyes stung. She’d thought she knew how much she wanted this, needed this, but it was more.
It was everything safe and real.
“Look, Callie. Look out there. There’s home out there. There’s the Smokies.”
“Gamma’s in the ’mokies.”
“Ssssssmokies,” Shelby said with a grinning glance in the rearview.
“Sssssssmokies. Gamma and Granny and Grandpa and Granddaddy, and Unca Clay and Aunt Gilly and Unca Forrest.”
She rattled off family names, and to Shelby’s surprise got most of them, down to the dogs and cats.
Maybe, Shelby thought, she wasn’t the only one who wanted and needed this.
By noon she was winding, winding up through the green with her window half down so she could smell the mountains. The pine, the rivers and streams. Here there was no snow. Instead wildflowers sprouted—little stars, drops of color—and the houses and cabins she passed had daffodils springing yellow as fresh butter. Here clothes flapped on lines so the sheets would carry that scent into bedrooms. Hawks circled above in the blue.
“I’m hungry. Mama, Fifi’s hungry. Are we there? Are we there, Mama?”
“Almost, baby.”
“Can we be there now?”
“Almost. You and Fifi can have something to
And day spa now, Callie thought. There was just no stopping Granny.
She couldn’t wait to see her, to see everyone. To just be home, breathe the mountain air, see the greens, the blues, hear the voices that didn’t make hers sound somehow wrong.
She wrapped her hair in a towel, knowing it would take forever to dry, and did what her mother had taught her when she’d been hardly older than Callie.
She slicked on lotion everywhere. It felt good, that skin to skin, even if it was just her own hands. It had been so long since anyone had touched her.
She dressed, peeked out to check on Callie, and left the door open just a little wider as she started on her makeup. She wasn’t going home pale and heavy-eyed.
She couldn’t do anything about going home bony, but her appetite would come back once she got there, settled in, pushed some of the weights off the heavy end of the scale.
And the outfit was nice—black leggings, the grass-green shirt that made her think of spring. She added earrings, a spritz of perfume, because according to Ada Mae Pomeroy, a woman wasn’t fully dressed without them.
Deciding she’d done her best, she went back into the bedroom, packed up everything but Callie’s outfit for the homecoming. A pretty blue dress with white flowers and a white sweater. Then turning on one of the bedside lights, she climbed onto the bed to nuzzle her daughter awake.
“Callie Rose. Where is my Callie Rose? Is she still in Dreamland riding pink ponies?”
“I’m here, Mama!” Warm and soft as a baby rabbit, she turned into Shelby’s arms. “We’re on a ’venture.”
“You bet we are.” She cuddled for a moment because those moments were precious.
“I didn’t wet the bed.”
“I know. You’re such a big girl. Let’s go pee now, and get dressed.”
Even with fussing Callie’s hair into a braid tied with a blue bow to match the dress, cleaning her up again after a breakfast of waffles, gassing up the van, they were on the road by seven-thirty.
An early start, Shelby thought. She’d take it as a good sign of things to come.
She stopped at ten, another pee break, fueled her system with a Coke, filled Callie’s sippy cup and texted her mother.
Got going early. Traffic’s not bad. Should be there by twelve-thirty. Love you!
When she pulled back onto the highway, the gray compact slipped out three cars behind her. And kept pace.
So the young widow was heading home in her secondhand minivan. Every action she did reasonable, normal, ordinary.
But she knew something, Privet thought. And he’d find out just what that was.
• • •
W HEN SHE CAUGHT SIGHT of the mountains, the great green rise of them, Shelby’s heart jumped to her throat until her eyes stung. She’d thought she knew how much she wanted this, needed this, but it was more.
It was everything safe and real.
“Look, Callie. Look out there. There’s home out there. There’s the Smokies.”
“Gamma’s in the ’mokies.”
“Ssssssmokies,” Shelby said with a grinning glance in the rearview.
“Sssssssmokies. Gamma and Granny and Grandpa and Granddaddy, and Unca Clay and Aunt Gilly and Unca Forrest.”
She rattled off family names, and to Shelby’s surprise got most of them, down to the dogs and cats.
Maybe, Shelby thought, she wasn’t the only one who wanted and needed this.
By noon she was winding, winding up through the green with her window half down so she could smell the mountains. The pine, the rivers and streams. Here there was no snow. Instead wildflowers sprouted—little stars, drops of color—and the houses and cabins she passed had daffodils springing yellow as fresh butter. Here clothes flapped on lines so the sheets would carry that scent into bedrooms. Hawks circled above in the blue.
“I’m hungry. Mama, Fifi’s hungry. Are we there? Are we there, Mama?”
“Almost, baby.”
“Can we be there now?”
“Almost. You and Fifi can have something to
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