Jilted Read Free Page A

“How long you been here, Momma?”
    â€œSince three.”
    â€œThings were quiet at the grocery store tonight, so Gene let me leave early.”
    â€œLucky.” I wrinkled my nose at Dixie, then walked around the counter and set the glasses on the Formica. When I eased onto the stool next to Ruthie, the muscles in my thighs gently reminded me I’d been standing for six hours.
    Dixie brought a plate of fries. “I was just telling your mother she should date more.” She crossed her arms and ignored my frown.
    â€œI’ve been telling her that for years,” Ruthie said. “You see how she listens.”
    Ruthie thought she knew everything. She had found the man of her dreams, fallen for him like a bag of cement, and was now living her happily ever after. It was nauseating. “I’ve got no need for it,” I said.
    â€œI think you should date.” Lonnie Lombard, the high school ag teacher, sat at a booth near the restroom, chewing with his mouth open and giving me a suggestive smile.
    I smirked.
    â€œYou’re all wrong for her, Lonnie,” Ruthie said.
    He straightened. “I’m a fine specimen of masculinity.”
    â€œIt’s true you are, but Momma likes men with hair.”
    His jaw fell open, and he ran a palm over his slick head. “Bald is beautiful. Or hadn’t you heard?”
    â€œYes, I got that memo, but Momma never did.”
    Dixie crooned softly, “I was thinking of someone with blond hair. In a ponytail.”
    A slow breath labored through my lungs as it made its way from my pride to my lips, and I cocked my head toward Dixie. “Could you give it a rest?”
    She hummed a melodic yes as she returned to the kitchen.
    Ruthie continued to banter with Lonnie, but I ignored them and sipped my drink, wishing I were better at chitchat.
    Once he was gone, Ruthie turned her attention back to me. “Sunday is the birthday party,” she said.
    â€œYes …” I already knew where she was headed, and it had nothing to do with a birthday party for my nephew’s baby. Now that Ruthie was married to the preacher, most of her sentences began with the words Sunday or Wednesday . At least when I was around.
    â€œIf you came to worship with us, we could all go to the park together.”
    â€œI’ll meet you there.”
    â€œGirl,” Dixie called from the kitchen, “your momma ain’t ever going back to that church. You might as well give it up.”
    I decided to give Dixie a better gift for Christmas this year.
    Ruthie didn’t say anything else, but she didn’t have to. Her eyebrows shot up as she squirted ketchup.
    That was Ruthie— Ruth Ann , as I called her. Hoby and I named her after our mothers, but she was Ruthie to everyone else in town—spunky, straightforward, invasive. It was enough to drive a well-balanced, emotionally healthy person over the edge, and I had never been described in such positive terms. But she meant well. I knew she did. She wanted me to be as happy as she was, and she hadn’t yet realized that happiness could evaporate like mist in a single afternoon.
    I pulled the band from my hair, fingered the loose strands back in place, and then reworked the bun on top of my head.
    The bell above the door clanked, and when I saw Neil Blaylock, I automatically clenched my jaw, but just slightly. Dixie’s cousin stepped into the restaurant, and his raised chin and sweeping gaze seemed to judge the worth of each person in the room—two elderly women, a family of four, a teenager in the corner … and Ruthie and me. After his instantaneous analysis, he turned and held the door for his daughter.
    Fawn, with her willowy legs and curly blonde hair, still looked out of place pushing a baby stroller. She bumped past chairs to make her way to the table behind us. “I finished my economics paper, Ruthie.”
    My daughter swiveled on her stool. “Stop