CHAPTER 6: BUSINESS

Griff considered himself a patient man. He didn’t fly off the handle

as a rule. And when he did, all bets were off, but it took a lot of

pushing to get him off the ground.

But right at the moment he was seriously considering duct-taping Emma

Kate’s pretty adorable mother’s mouth closed.

He’d worked on getting the base cabinets in all morning, and she’d been

peppering him with questions all morning.

Breathing down his neck, hanging over his back, all but crawling up his

ass.

He knew damn well Matt had taken off to Miz Vi’s place to spare

himself the headache of his girlfriend’s sweet, chatty—and let’s face it—

ditzy mother.

Worse, she was still dithering—“dithering” would be the word of the day

—about the cabinets even as he installed them. And if he had to take them

out because she changed her mind again, he might do worse than duct tape.

He had bungee cords, and he knew how to use them.

“Oh now, Griff honey, maybe I shouldn’t have gone with the white.

They’re so plain, aren’t they? And white’s cold, it’s just a cold color, isn’t

it? Kitchens ought to be a warm place. Maybe I should’ve gone with the

cherrywood after all. It’s so hard to know before you see them right there

where they’re going, isn’t it? How do you know what it’s going to look like

until you see what it looks like?”

“Clean and fresh,” he said, trying to sound cheerful when he wanted to

grind his teeth. “Kitchens should be clean and fresh, and that’s what you’re

going to have.”

“Do you think so?” She stood, nearly at his elbow, twisted her linked

fingers together. “Oh, I don’t know. Henry finally just threw up his hands

and said he didn’t care either way. But he’ll care if it isn’t right.”

“It’s going to look great, Miz Bitsy.” He felt like someone, possibly

himself, was shooting a nail gun dead center of his forehead.

He and Matt had dealt with fussy clients back in Baltimore. The control

freaks, the whiners, the demanders and the ditherers, but Louisa “Bitsy”

Addison was the undisputed queen of the ditherers.

She made the previously reigning champs—John and Rhonda Turner,

who’d had them tear out a wall in their row house in Baltimore, build it

back in, then tear it out a second time—seem resolute, steady as a brick

wall—in comparison.

What they’d estimated as a three-week job—with a three-day

contingency built in—was currently in week five. And God knew when it

would end.

“I don’t know,” she said for the millionth time, patting her hands

together under her chin. “White’s kind of stark, isn’t it?”

He set the cabinet, pulled out his level, shoved one hand through his mop

of dark blond hair. “Wedding gowns are white.”

“Now, that’s true, and . . .” Her already big brown eyes got bigger, and a

giddy thrill shone out of them. “Wedding gowns? Oh now, Griffin Lott, do

you know something I don’t? Has Matt popped the question?”

He ought to throw his partner under the bus. He ought to throw him

under, then back up and drive over him again. But . . . “I was just using an

example, like . . .” He did a frantic mental search. “Magnolias, for instance.

Or—” Sweet Jesus, give me one more. “Ah, baseballs.”

Crap.

“The hardware’s going to punch it all up,” he continued, just a little

desperately. “And the countertop. That warm gray’s going to give you

friendly and sophisticated at the same time.”

“Maybe it’s the wall color that’s wrong. Maybe I should—”

“Mama, you’re not having those walls repainted.” Emma Kate marched

in.

Griff could’ve kissed her, could have dropped down and kissed her feet.

Then he lost track of her completely when the redhead stepped in behind

her.

He actually thought, Holy shit—and hoped he hadn’t said it out loud.

She was beautiful. A man didn’t get to be just shy of his thirtieth

birthday without seeing some beautiful women, even if it was just on a

movie screen. But this one, in the flesh, was one quick wow.

Masses of curling hair the color of a sunrise all tumbling around a face

that looked like it had been carved out of porcelain—if they carved from

porcelain, how would he know? Soft, full lips with a perfect dip at the top,

and big, deep, sad blue eyes.

His heart actually skipped a couple of beats, and his ears buzzed for a

minute so he missed most of the argument between Emma Kate and her

mother.

“The kitchen’s the heart of a home, Emma Kate.”

“The way you keep turning and twisting it, you’re lucky to have a heart

left. Let Griff work, Mama, and say hello to Shelby.”

“Shelby? Shelby! Oh my God!”

She raced across the room, grabbed the redhead in a wide, swaying hug.

Shelby, grabbed Shelby, Griff thought. Nice name, Shelby. Currently his

favorite name ever.

Then it clicked. Shelby—or Shelby Anne Pomeroy, as Bitsy squealed as

she gave the redhead another squeeze. His friend Forrest’s sister.

Miz Vi—on whom he had a mad crush—Miz Viola’s granddaughter.

You could see if you stopped being dazzled for two seconds, just how

Miz Vi had looked as a young woman. How Ada Mae might have looked

twenty-some years back.

Miz Vi’s granddaughter, he thought again. The widow.

No wonder she had sad eyes.

He immediately felt guilty for wanting to wrap her up the way Bitsy was

—then reminded himself it wasn’t his fault her husband was dead.

“Oh, I’m just sick about missing your welcome home yesterday, but

Henry and I had to go to his cousin’s daughter’s wedding, clear to

Memphis. And I don’t even like his cousin. Just a snooty woman, puts on

airs because she married a Memphis lawyer. But it was a beautiful wedding,

with the reception at the Peabody Hotel.”

“Mama, give Shelby a chance to breathe.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I’m just going on and on. I’m so excited to see you.

Griff, Emma Kate and Shelby here were joined at the hip, I swear, before

they were so much as a year old right up to . . .”

It seemed to occur to her just why Shelby was home.

“Oh, honey. Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. You’re so young to have such a

tragedy in your life. How are you holding up?”

“It’s good to be home.”

“Nothing like home. And here mine’s all torn up, so I can’t even fix you

something nice. And you so thin, too. Honey, you’re skinnier than a New

York model. You always were tall enough to be one. Emma Kate, do we

have any Coke? You always were fond of Coke, weren’t you, Shelby?”

“Yes, ma’am, but don’t trouble about it. I love your new cabinets, Miz

Bitsy. They’re so clean and fresh, and just so pretty against that blue-gray

on the walls.”

Widow or not, at that moment Griff wanted to kiss her. Everywhere.

“Why, that’s just what Griff said. He said they were clean and fresh. Do

you really think—”

“Mama, we haven’t even introduced Shelby. Shelby, this is my

boyfriend’s partner, Griffin Lott. Griff, Shelby—it’s Foxworth, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” She turned those amazing eyes on him, and yeah, hearts could

skip a beat. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hi. I’m a friend of your brother’s.”

“Which one?”

“I guess both, but mostly Forrest. And I might as well tell you right off,

I’m in love with your grandmother. I’m working on a way to get her away

from Jackson so we can run off to Tahiti.”

That wonderfully shaped mouth curved, those sad eyes lightened, just a

little. “It’s hard to blame you.”

“Griff’s living out at the old Tripplehorn place,” Emma Kate added.

“He’s rehabbing it.”

“So you work miracles?”

“As long as I can use tools. You should come by and see it sometime. It’s

coming along.”

She smiled at him, but it didn’t reach those big sad eyes this time.

“You’ve got your work cut out for you. I need to get on. I’m due at my

grandmother’s place.”

“Now, Shelby, you come back when this is all finished and we’ll have a

nice long talk.” Bitsy fluttered around her. “I expect to see you in and out of

here just like you used to be. You know you’re same as family here.”

“Thank you, Miz Bitsy. It was nice meeting you,” she said to Griff again,

turned to go.

“I’ll walk you out.” Emma Kate shoved the market bags at her mother.

“There’s cold cuts and made-up salads and plenty of ready-to-eat food. You

don’t have to worry about cooking until your new stove’s in. I’ll be right

back.”

Emma Kate said nothing on the way to the door. “Say hey to Granny,”

she said as she opened it.

“I will.” Shelby stepped out, turned. Bitsy’s open welcome made Emma

Kate’s reserve all the more painful. “I need you to forgive me.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re the best friend I’ve had in my life.”

“That was then. People change.” After shaking back her shaggy hair,

Emma Kate stuck her hands in the pockets of her hoodie. “Look, Shelby,

you’ve had a hard knock, and I’m sincerely sorry about it, but—”

“You have to forgive me.” Pride demanded she walk away; love

wouldn’t allow it. “I didn’t do right by our friendship. I didn’t do right by

you, and I’m sorry. I’ll always be sorry. I need you to forgive me. I’m

asking you to remember that friendship before I ruined it, and forgive me.

At least enough to talk to me, to tell me what you’ve been doing and how

you are. Just enough for that.”

Emma Kate studied her face, her dark eyes thoughtful. “Tell me one

thing. Why didn’t you come back when my granddaddy died? He loved

you. I needed you.”

“I wanted to. I couldn’t.”

With a slow shake of her head, Emma Kate stepped back. “No, that’s not

enough for forgiveness. You tell me why you couldn’t do something you

had to know was important, just sent flowers and a card like that was

enough. Tell me the straight truth on that one thing.”

“He said no.” The shame of it washed over Shelby’s face, burned in her

heart. “He said no, and I didn’t have the money or the nerve to go against

him on it.”

“You always had nerve.”

Shelby remembered the girl who’d always had nerve like she

remembered her cousin Vonnie. Vaguely.

“I guess I used it up. It’s taking all I’ve got left to stand here and ask you

to forgive me.”

Emma Kate took a long breath. “You remember Bootlegger’s Bar and

Grill?”

“Sure I do.”

“You meet me there tomorrow. Seven-thirty should work for me. We’ll

talk some of this out.”

“I need to ask Mama if she can watch Callie.”

“Oh yeah.” The chill came back, cooler and damper than the drizzling

rain. “That would be your daughter, the one I’ve never laid eyes on.”

That twisted—both shame and guilt. “I can keep saying I’m sorry, as

many times as you need to hear it.”

“I’ll be there at seven-thirty. Come if you can make it.”

Emma Kate went back inside, then leaned back against the door and let

herself cry just a little.

• • •

GRIFF SET THE LAST base cabinet in blessed peace since Emma Kate fell on

her sword and took her mother shopping. He gave himself a break,

swigging Gatorade straight from the bottle and eyeing the progress.

He didn’t doubt the champion waffler would love every square inch of

the remodeled kitchen once it was done. And it would look clean and fresh

—just like the redhead.

Something going on there, he mused, with Bitsy going on about how

Emma Kate and Shelby had been friends practically in the womb, and

Emma Kate standing there as stiff and cool as he’d ever seen her. And the

redhead sad and awkward.

Girl fight, he supposed. He had a sister, so he knew girl fights could be

long and bitter. He’d have to poke at Emma Kate. It was just a matter of

finding the right spot, getting her to open up and spill.

He wanted to know.

And he wondered how long was a reasonable length of time before a guy

asked a widow out.

He should probably be ashamed of himself for wondering, but he just

couldn’t drum it up. He hadn’t had such a quick and strong reaction to a

woman in . . . ever, he decided. And he liked women a lot.

He set the Gatorade down and decided since Matt was taking all damn

day to fix a sink, he’d start on the upper cabinets. Plus it wouldn’t be just

the sink, he thought, as he hauled his stepladder over. There’d be

conversation. Nothing got done in Rendezvous Ridge without considerable

conversation.

And iced tea. And questions, and long, lazy pauses.

He was getting used to it, found he enjoyed the slower pace, and

definitely appreciated the small-town vibe.

He’d had a choice to make when Matt decided to move to Tennessee

with Emma Kate. Stay or go. Find a new partner, run the business himself.

Or take the leap and start over, more or less, in a new place with new

people.

He didn’t regret taking the leap.

He heard the front door open. That took getting used to, the way people

in the Ridge rarely locked a door.

“Did you have to make her a new sink?” Griff called out, then set the

drill on the last screw of the first upper.

“Miss Vi found a few other things for me to do. Hey, you’re moving

along. This looks great.”

Griff grunted, stepped down to eye the cabinet. “Word of the day is

‘dithering,’ which has a picture of Bitsy Addison beside it in every

dictionary across the land.”

“She has a little trouble sticking to decisions.”

And there was Matt’s gift for understatement.

“I don’t know how she decides to get out of bed in the morning. I’d be

further along if your woman had gotten here sooner and taken Bitsy away.

She’s thinking the white’s too white, and maybe she picked the wrong

countertop. Or the wrong paint color. Don’t ask about the backsplash.”

“Too late now to change her mind on any of it.”

“You try telling her.”

“You gotta love her.”

“Yeah, you do. But Christ, Matt, can’t we put her in a box for the next

three days?”

Grinning, Matt took off his light jacket, tossed it aside.

Where Griff was long and lanky, Matt was tough and ripped. He wore his

black hair neat and trim where Griff’s strayed past his collar with a hint of

curl. Matt kept his square-jawed face clean-shaven while Griff’s narrow,

hollow-cheeked one tended toward scruff.

Matt played chess and enjoyed wine tastings.

Griff liked poker and beer.

They’d been as close as brothers for nearly a decade.

“Got you a sub,” Matt told him.

“Yeah, what kind of sub?”

“That fire-breather one you like. The one that burns off the stomach

lining.”

“Cool.”

“How about we get a couple more up, take a break? A quick one? Who

knows how long Emma Kate can keep Bitsy out of our hair.”

“Deal.”

As they got to work, Griff decided to start poking.

“Miz Vi’s granddaughter stopped by. The one who just moved back. The

widow.”

“Yeah? Heard some buzz about that while I was in town. What’s she

like?”

“A heart-stopper. Seriously,” he said, when Matt spared him a look.

“She’s got hair the color of her mom’s and Miz Vi’s. Like that painter

used.”

“Titian.”

“Right. It’s long and curly. And she got their eyes, too. That dark blue

that’s nearly purple. She looks like something poets write about, right down

to the sad eyes.”

“Well, her husband died, what, like right after Christmas. Happy freaking

holidays.”

About three months, Griff calculated, and that was probably too soon to

ask her out on a date.

“So what’s up with her and Emma Kate? Check the level.”

“What do you mean, what’s up? Take your end up a couple hairs. Stop

there. Perfect.”

“Bitsy went on about what good friends they were—are—whatever, and

the body language said the opposite. I don’t remember Emma Kate ever

talking about her.”

“Don’t know,” Matt said as Griff set the screws. “Something about how

she left with the guy she married.”

“It has to be more than that.” Griff prodded again, wondered if he’d need

his drill. Matt never hung onto the more subtle details when it came to

people. “A lot of people move somewhere else when they get married.”

“They lost touch or something.” Matt just shrugged. “Emma Kate

mentioned her a couple times, but didn’t have much to say about her.”

Griff could only shake his head. “Matt, what you know about women

could fit in a thimble. When a woman brings something up, then doesn’t

have much to say about it, she’s got a lot to say about it.”

“Then why doesn’t she say it?”

“Because she needs the right opening, the right angle. Forrest hasn’t said

much, either, but he knows how to keep things tucked away. I didn’t think

about giving him an opening on it before.”

“Before you knew she was a heart-stopper.”

“There’s that.”

Matt checked the level again, all sides, before they moved on to the next.

“You don’t want to start sniffing around a widow with a kid who’s a

friend’s baby sister.”

Griff only smiled as they lined up the second cabinet. “You don’t want to

start sniffing around some sassy southern girl who keeps telling you she’s

too busy to start anything up.”

“I wore her down, didn’t I?”

“Best thing you ever did. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Griff let go of the cabinet to attach it to the first. “You should ask Emma

Kate what the deal is.”

“Why?”

“Because after she walked the redhead out, she had sad eyes. Before she

walked her out, she was a little bit pissed, and after, she looked sad.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. So you should ask her.”

“Why would I ask her about something like that? Why stir it up?”

“Matt, jeez. Something’s in there. It’ll just stay in there being pissed or

sad until it’s stirred up and let out.”

“Like a wasps’ nest,” was Matt’s opinion. “You want to know so much,

you ask her.”

“Wuss.”

“About this kind of stuff? Oh yeah, and not ashamed.” He checked the

level. “Right on the mark. We do good work.”

“We fix it.”

“That we do. Let’s get the rest of this line up, then have a sub.”

“I’m with you, brother.”

• • •

VIOLA STARTED OUT doing hair for fun, doing up her sisters’ or her friends’

hair in fancy dos like they saw in magazines. She told the story of how the

first time she took the scissors—and her granddaddy’s straight razor—to

her sister Evalynn’s hair, she escaped a hiding because it looked as fine as

what Miz Brenda down at Brenda’s Beauty Salon charged good money for.

She’d been twelve, and from that point on, in charge of cutting

everybody’s hair in the family, and styling the girls—her mama included—

for special occasions.

When she’d been carrying her first, she’d worked for Miz Brenda, and

had done some side business out of the tiny kitchen in the double-wide

where she and Jackson had started out. When Grady had been born—with

her still four months shy of her seventeenth birthday, she added on

manicures, and worked exclusively out of the two-bedroom house they

rented from Jack’s uncle Bobby.

By the time her second followed close on Grady’s heels, she squeezed in

cosmetology school with her mother minding the babies.

Viola MacNee Donahue had been born ambitious, and wasn’t afraid to

give her husband a few prods in the same direction.

By the time she was twenty, with three children and the loss of one that

had broken off a piece of her heart she would never get back, she had her

own salon—buying Brenda’s place when Brenda ran off on her own

husband with a guitar player from up in Maryville.

It put them in debt, but while Viola wasn’t one to agree with the preacher

saying how God would provide, she believed He’d look kindly on those

who worked themselves sweaty.

She did just that, spending often eighteen hours a day on her feet while

Jack worked just as hard and long at Fester’s Garage.

She had a fourth child, worked herself steadily out of debt, then dived

right back into it when Jack started his own car repair and towing service.

Jackson Donahue was the best mechanic in the county, and he’d been

carrying most of Fester’s business as Fester was stumbling drunk by noon

five days out of seven.

They made their own, raised four children, and bought a good house.

And with the nest egg Viola tucked away, she bought the old dry goods,

expanded, and had the town talking when she put in three fancy pedicure

chairs.

Business stayed steady enough, but if you wanted more, you figured out

how to get it. Tourists wandered through the Ridge here and there, looking

for quaint or cheap, or picturesque in a quieter setting than Gatlinburg or

Maryville.

They came to hike and fish and camp, and some to stay in the

Rendezvous Hotel and ride the white water. Those on vacation tended to be

looser with their money, and more apt to take a few indulgences.

So she took the leap, expanded yet again. And yet again.

The locals called her place Vi’s, but the tourists came into Viola’s

Harmony House Salon and Day Spa.

She liked the sound of it.

The latest—and, Viola claimed, the last—expansion added on what she

billed a Relaxation Room, which was a fancy name for waiting area, but

fancy it was. Though she enjoyed bold, rich colors, she’d kept the tones

soft, added a gas-burning fireplace, banned all electronic devices, and

offered specialty teas made local, spring water, deep-cushioned chairs and

plush robes with her logo embroidered on them.

Since the expansion, this latest and last, had been in the works while

Shelby had been moving from Atlanta to Philadelphia, Shelby hadn’t seen it

all done.

She couldn’t say it surprised her when her grandmother led her through a

locker room/changing area and into the room that smelled lightly of

lavender.

“Granny, this is amazing.”

She kept her voice down as two women she didn’t know sat in oatmealcolored chairs paging through glossy magazines.

“You try some jasmine tea. It’s made right here in the Ridge. And relax

some before Vonnie comes to get you.”

“This is as nice as any of the spas I’ve been to. Nicer.”

Amenities included shallow dishes of sunflower seeds, a wooden bowl of

sharp green apples, clear pitchers of water with inserts holding slices of

lemon or cucumber, and hot pots for tea clients could drink out of pretty

little cups.

“It’s you who’s amazing.”

“It’s not enough to have ideas if you just let them sit around. You come

see me when Vonnie’s done with you.”

“I will. Would you . . . could you just check with Mama? I just want to

be sure Callie’s behaving.”

“Don’t you worry about a thing.”

Easier said than done—or so Shelby thought, until Vonnie, who couldn’t

have been more than five-three, had her on a warm table in a dim room with

soft music playing.

“Girl, you’ve got enough rocks in these shoulders to build a three-story

house. Take a deep breath for me now. And another. That’s the way. Let it

go now.”

She tried, then she didn’t have to try. She drifted.

“How’re you feeling now?”

“What?”

“That’s a good answer. I want you to take your time getting up. I’m

going to turn the lights up a little, and I’ve got your robe lying over your

legs.”

“Thank you, Vonnie.”

“I’m going to tell Miz Vi you could use another next week. It’s going to

take a few times to get you smoothed out, Shelby.”

“I feel smooth.”

“That’s good. Now, don’t go getting up too fast, you hear? I’m going out

and get you some nice spring water. You want to drink a lot of water now.”

She drank the water, changed back into her street clothes and made her

way out to the salon area.

Four of the six hair stations were working, and two of the four pedicure

chairs were occupied. She saw two women getting manicures and glanced

at her own nails. She hadn’t had her nails done since right before Christmas.

While the Relaxation Room stood as a sanctuary of quiet, the salon rang

with voices, the bubble of footbaths, the whirl of dryers. Five people called

out to her—three beauticians, two customers—so she got caught up in

conversations, acknowledged offers of sympathy and of welcome before

she found her grandmother.

“Perfect timing. I just finished doing Dolly Wobuck’s highlights, and my

next appointment canceled, so I’ve got time to give you a facial. Go put a

robe back on.”

“Oh, but—”

“Callie’s fine. She and Chelsea are having a tea party, with costumes.

Ada Mae said they hooked together like two links in a chain and reminded

her of you and Emma Kate.”

“That’s good to hear.” Shelby tried not to think of that cool look in the

eyes of her childhood friend.

“She’ll have your baby home in a couple hours. That’ll give you time for

a facial, and us time to talk.” Viola tipped her head, and the light through

the front window tipped gold in the red. “Vonnie did you some good, didn’t

she?”

“She’s wonderful. I don’t remember her being such a little thing.”

“Takes after her mama.”

“She may be little, but she has wonderfully strong hands. She wouldn’t

let me tip her, Granny. She said Mama had seen to it, and anyway, we’re

family.”

“You can tip me by giving me an hour of your time. Go on, get a robe

on. The facial rooms are in the same place. We’ll be in the first one. Get!”

She did as she was told. She wanted Callie to make friends, didn’t she?

To have someone to play with, to be with. It was healthy and right. And

foolish to feel so anxious because she was spending the day at her

grandmother’s salon.

“I’ve got just the thing for you,” Viola said when Callie came in. “It’s my

energizing facial. It’ll give you and your skin a boost. Just hang that robe on

the hook there, lie down here and we’ll tuck you up.”

“This is new, too. Not the room, but the chair, some of the machines

here.”

“If you want to be competitive, you’ve got to keep up.” Viola took out a

bib apron and tied it over her cropped pants and bold orange T-shirt. “I’ve

got a machine in the next room that works on lines with electrode pulses.”

“Really?” Shelby slipped under the sheet onto the inclined chair.

“Only two of us trained to use it for now, that’s me and your mama, but

Maybeline—you remember Maybeline?”

“I do. I can’t remember a time she didn’t work for you.”

“Been some years, and now her girl’s working here, too. Lorilee’s got the

same good touch on nails as her mama. Maybeline’s training on the new

machine now, so we’ll have three can use it. Not that you have to worry

about lines for some time yet.” She laid a light duvet over the sheet, then

banded back Shelby’s hair. “But let’s have a look at things. Your skin’s a

little dehydrated, baby. Stress’ll do that.”

She started out with a cleanse, her hands soft as a child’s on Shelby’s

face.

“There are things a girl can tell her granny she might not say right out to

her mama. It’s that safety zone. And Ada Mae, she looks at bright sides,

she’s blessed with that outlook. You’ve got trouble, and it’s not grief. I

know how grief looks.”

“I’d stopped loving him.” She could say it out loud, with her eyes closed

and her grandmother’s hands on her face. “Maybe I never really did love

him. I know now he didn’t love me. It’s hard knowing that, hard knowing

we didn’t have what we should have and he’s gone.”

“You were young.”

“Older than you were.”

“I got awful lucky. So’d your grandpa.”

“I was a good wife, Granny. I can say that and know it’s true. And Callie

—we made Callie, so that’s something special. And I wanted another baby.

I know maybe it’s wrong wanting another when things aren’t the way they

should be, but I thought maybe it’s just how it would be, and it was all right.

It could be good if there was another baby for me to love. I had such a

hunger for another baby, such a yearning in me.”

“I know that hunger well.”

“And he said that was fine. He said it’d be good for Callie to have a

brother or sister. But it didn’t happen, and it happened so easy and fast the

first time. I had tests, and he said he had tests.”

“Said he had?” Viola repeated as she worked a gentle exfoliant into

Shelby’s skin.

“I . . . I had to go through all his papers, and his files after. There were so

many things to go through.”

Lawyers and accountants and the tax people, the creditors, the bills and

debt.

“And I found a doctor’s receipt or invoice, whatever. Richard, he kept

everything. It was from a few weeks after Callie was born, the time I

brought her home, her first visit, and he said he had a business trip. He was

so good about us coming home, he made all the arrangements. Private plane

and a limo to get me to it. But he went to a doctor in New York and had a

vasectomy.”

Viola’s hands paused. “He got himself snipped and let you think you

were trying to make a baby?”

“I’m never going to be able to forgive him for that. Out of all of it, it’s

that I can’t forgive.”

“His right to decide if he wanted to make another baby, but not his right

to get fixed and not tell you. It’s a terrible lie. And a man who could tell that

terrible lie, live with that terrible lie, had something missing inside him.”

“There were so many lies, Granny, and finding them after he’s dead?”

There was an emptiness left there, Shelby thought, that could never be filled

again. “I feel like a fool, I feel like I lived with a stranger. And I don’t

understand why he married me, why he lived with me.”

Despite what churned up inside her, Viola kept her hands gentle, her

voice calm. “You’re a beautiful girl, Shelby Anne, and you said you were a

good wife. And you’re not to feel like a fool because you trusted your

husband. What else did he lie about? Were there other women?”

“I don’t know for certain, and can’t ask. But I have to say yes, from

things I found, yes, there were other women. And I find now I don’t care. I

can’t even care how many—he took so many trips without us. And I went

to the doctor a few weeks ago, got tested in case . . . He didn’t give me

anything, so if he had other women, he was careful. So I don’t care if he

had a hundred other women.”

She worked up her nerve while Viola slathered on the energizing mask.

“The money, Granny. He lied about the money. I never paid much

attention to it because he said that was his business, and mine was to run the

house and Callie. He—he could lash out like a whip over that without

raising his voice or his hand.”

“Cold contempt can be a sharper blade than hot temper.”

Comforted, Shelby opened her eyes, looked into her grandmother’s. “He

cowed me. I hate admitting it, and I don’t even know how it happened. But

I can look back and see it so clear. He didn’t like me asking questions about

money, so I didn’t. We had so much—the clothes and the furniture and the

restaurants and the travel. But he was cheating there, too, and running some

sort of scam. I’m still not clear on all of it.”

She closed her eyes again, not in shame—not with Granny—but in

weariness. “Everything was on credit, and the house up North, he hadn’t

made even the first payment on the loan, and he bought it back in the

summer. I didn’t know a thing about it until he told me in November we

were moving. And there were the cars, and the credit cards, and the time

payments—and some debts in Atlanta he left behind. Taxes unpaid.”

“He left you in debt?”

“I’ve been sorting it out, and setting up payment plans—and I sold a lot

off in the last few weeks. There’s an offer on the house, and if it goes

through, it’ll take a lot off.”

“How much did he leave you owing?”

“As of right now?” She opened her eyes, looked into her grandmother’s.

“One million, nine hundred and ninety-six thousand dollars and eighty-nine

cents.”

“Well.” Viola had to draw in breath, let it out slow. “Well. Jesus Christ in

a rocking chair, Shelby Anne, that’s a considerable sum of money.”

“When the house sells, it’ll cut it back. The offer’s for one point eight

million. I owe a hundred and fifty more than that on it, but they forgive that

with this short-sale business. And it started out around three million. Some

over that with the lawyers’ bills, and accounting bills.”

“You paid off a million dollars since January?” Viola shook her head.

“That must’ve been one holy hell of a yard sale.”