Sarah Allen - The Girl Who Chased the Moon

“Hello, Miss Jones.” He nodded to Inez. “Miss Jones.” He nodded to Harriet.

“We saw you staring at that pretty thing there,” Inez said, though Win wished she hadn’t. Emily could hear every word.

Harriet sucked in her breath suddenly as she clutched her sister’s arm. “Sister, do you know who that is?”

“Could it be?” Inez said, clutching her back.

“Yes, it is!” Harriet answered.

“What brings you two out so early this morning?” Win asked, trying to change the subject.

Inez tsked. “Oh, she does look like her mother, doesn’t she?”

“She certainly does.”

“Can I escort you home?” Win interrupted. “I’m headed that way.” He held out his arm, trying to herd them away.

“Her mother had a lot of nerve, sending her here,” Inez said. “What a thing to do to a child.”

Harriet shook her head. They were both staring at Emily unabashedly. “She’s never going to fit in.”

“And how is her grandfather going to take care of her? He can barely take care of himself.”

“I don’t know, Sister,” Harriet said. “I don’t know.”

Win gestured again. “Ladies, shall we?”

Inez wagged her knobby finger at him. “Don’t turn into your uncle, Win. Don’t get fooled by a pretty face like he did. What a tragedy.” The sisters looked at him pityingly. “Stare at her all you want, but stay away. That’s what we’re going to do. To show support for your family. Right, Sister?”

“It’s for the best.”

That’s when they turned and left him, walking toward home, one arm each looped into the handles of a single handbag, like a yoke between them.

Win closed his eyes for a moment before turning to Emily.

She looked unsettled and he didn’t blame her.

He put his hands in his trouser pockets and walked toward her, trying to seem casual and unaffected. “Hello again.”

She didn’t answer. Her eyes went to the Jones sisters, who were weaving down the sidewalk.

Win hated that they had been so indelicate. “Where is your grandfather? I saw him earlier,” he said, to draw her attention away from them.

“Inside,” she said. “I’m waiting for him.”

“Instead of eating with him?”

“I don’t know if he actually wants… I just thought I’d wait.” She gave him a once-over that tried to be subtle, but wasn’t. “Are you always up and dressed like that this early?”

“It’s sort of a tradition.” He indicated the bench. “May I?”

She nodded. “Where do you come from?” she asked as he sat.

He crossed his legs, trying not to seem too eager, too suspicious. Getting into someone’s good graces was second nature to him, but he was nervous. There was so much riding on this. “Here. I’m from here.”

She hesitated, as if he’d answered an entirely different question. “No, I meant yesterday and today. Where did you just come from?”

He laughed. “Oh. Breakfast with my father. Every morning.”

“Does everyone here come to Main Street for breakfast?”

“Not everyone. How is your foot?” he asked, not actually looking at her foot. Instead, he stared into her true blue eyes. She wasn’t what he’d expected. Not at all.

“My foot?”

“It looks like you scratched your heel.”

She turned her right foot slightly to see the bandaged cut. “Oh. I cut it running barefoot through the woods.”

“You should put on shoes next time.” She looked back up to see that he was smiling.

She narrowed her eyes. “Thank you. I plan to. Who were those ladies you were talking to?” she asked.

He sighed regretfully. “Inez and Harriet Jones. They’re my next-door neighbors.”

“Were they talking about me?”

He considered several different answers, but decided to go with “Yes.”

“They knew who I was,” she said. “They knew my mother.”

“Yes.”

“Why would they say I wouldn’t fit in?”

He shook his head. “If you had cause to worry about them, I would tell you. I promise.”

“It sounded like they didn’t like my mother.”

He picked at imaginary dust on his sleeve. He knew he looked calm, but inside, his heart was knocking against his chest. “If you want me to tell you the story, I will.” God, what was he going to say? “I think it’s better if you know. I’m not sure I should be the one, though. Your mother should have told you. At the very least, your grandfather should have said something by now.”

“About what? They mentioned your uncle. Is this about him?”

“Yes. We have history, you and I.” He leaned in slightly, conspiratorially. “You just don’t know it yet.”

She tilted her head curiously. “That’s a strange thing to say.”

“Just wait. It gets stranger.” A flashy older woman in heels and shorts clicked by them. He and Emily both turned to watch her walk to the door of J’s Barbecue. That’s when Win saw that Vance Shelby was inside, watching them. Not that anyone who knew him could ever be afraid of him, but it was still disconcerting to have someone that large give him such a forceful look. Did Vance know what Win was doing? Emily hadn’t noticed, so she seemed surprised when he suddenly stood and said, “I think I should go.”

“What? No, wait, tell me about this history. Tell me about my mother and your uncle.”

“Next time I see you, I will. Goodbye, Emily,” he said as he walked away. It took such restraint to keep from looking back at her until the last possible moment. When he did, right before he entered the diner where he’d left his father, he saw her watching him.

No going back now.

The foundation was set.

She was officially curious.

J ulia had the day’s cakes baked and was writing on the chalkboard before there were even four customers in the restaurant. Vance Shelby had arrived and was sitting by himself, waiting for the rest of the old men in his breakfast group. He was drinking his coffee from his saucer instead of his cup, because the lip of the saucer was larger and his giant hand could more easily manage it. Julia was tempted to go talk to him about Emily. But then she thought better of it. It wasn’t any of her business. She was only going to be here for a few more months. There was no need to get all knotted up in things. She would be Emily’s friend while she was here, and try to help her get settled. That’s all she could do.

Vance was watching something outside, a frown on his face.

Julia had just finished writing the names of the day’s specials on the board-Milky Way cake, butter pecan cake, cigar-rolled lemon cookies, and vanilla chai macaroons-so she set the chalkboard down and turned to see what had captured Vance’s attention.

As soon as she did, the bell over the door rang, and Beverly Dale, Julia’s former stepmother, walked in.

At least it wasn’t Sawyer.

But it was almost as bad.

“Julia!” Beverly said as she teetered up to the counter in her white kitten heels. “I haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays. I always try to get here early enough, but I’m not a morning person, as I’m sure you remember. Last night I said to myself, ‘Beverly, you’re going to set your alarm and get to the restaurant early enough to see Julia.’ And here I am!”

“Congratulations,” Julia said, glad that the counter was between them and Beverly couldn’t hug her. Beverly could choke an elephant with the scent of her Jean Naté perfume.

“I see you’re still wearing those long sleeves,” Beverly said, shaking her head. “Bless your heart. I can’t imagine you’re comfortable, especially in this summertime heat.”