The Sweetgum Ladies Knit for Love (9 page)

“You too.” He looked around, as if assessing how many eager ears were in the immediate vicinity. Plenty, Camille could have told him, and every one anxiously awaiting their next words. “Can I walk you to your car?” he asked.

“I didn’t drive,” she said and then stopped. She knew at once she’d made a tactical error.

“Neither did I,” he said. “Why don’t I walk you home?”

Such a simple question on the surface, but the murky emotional waters below threatened to drag her down.

“Um—” How could she refuse? He was nothing more than a former classmate, an old friend who had come back to town.
But they both knew that his request went far beyond a desire to catch up or reminisce. Every member of the Sweetgum Christian Church still congregated on the steps would watch them leave together. By midafternoon, their actions would be common knowledge.

“All right,” she finally said, if only as a means of escaping the scrutiny of her fellow church members. She cringed at how ungracious she sounded, but she couldn’t afford to encourage him. One inch equaled one mile to Dante Brown, and there were a lot of inches between the church and her house.

They headed north on Spring Street, away from the center of town.
It’s only a ten-minute walk
, Camille told herself.
You can make meaningless conversation for that long.
But forming words proved difficult with Dante beside her. The width of his shoulders seemed to take up more than his half of the sidewalk, and she would have sworn there was less oxygen in the air around him. He had to duck the low-hanging branches, and he motioned her ahead of him when the concrete roughened into jagged crumbles where tree roots had displaced the path.

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” he said after several long moments of silence. “You were so set on leaving.”

So he didn’t know. She shrugged her shoulders. “Things don’t always work out like you plan.” The understatement of the year. The decade.

He stumbled, his foot catching on a crack in the sidewalk, and when he straightened, she saw him wince in pain.

“Are you okay?”

He scowled, frustrated to be caught showing any sign of weakness, she knew Dante certainly hadn’t changed in that regard.

“I’m fine. My knee…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

“I saw it. The hit you took. I saw it on television.”

“The only people who didn’t live at the South Pole.” His scowl deepened. With his face looking like a thundercloud, he was more unsettling than ever.

“It still bothers you?”

He smiled then, that wide, infectious grin that had charmed Sweetgum women of all ages. “Only when I’m chasing after a beautiful girl.”

Camille flushed and hated herself for doing it. Dante’s charm was never subtle, but it was nonetheless effective.

“Dante—”

He raised a hand to interrupt her. “Sorry, Cammie. I didn’t mean any disrespect. To your mother, I mean.” He paused as if searching for the right words. “I guess I’m supposed to say that I’m sorry she’s gone, but sometimes it’s a blessing to let people go. Especially when they’ve been in pain for so long.”

Camille looked up at him, startled by his unexpected words. So he did know after all. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, sometimes it’s a blessing.” A cruel, bitter blessing, but a blessing nonetheless.

“How are you doing?” he asked as they resumed walking. They were on her street now, only a few houses from her front
door. If she could just get through the next few minutes, she would be okay. Their first meeting would be over, and she could put him out of her head and go about the rest of her day.

“I’m fine.”

“Hmm.” He didn’t sound convinced.

“Really” The breeze blew a strand of hair in her eyes, and she pushed it back behind her ear. “I don’t know why people look like they don’t believe me when I say that.”

“Maybe people don’t believe you because you don’t look fine. You look terrible.”

Well, he’d definitely turned off the charm. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

His hand caught her arm. They stopped at the walk that led to her front door. “That doesn’t mean I don’t still think you’re the prettiest girl in town.” His smile was softer now, less charming but more sincere.

“Dante—”

“I’m just saying.” He let go of her arm, and she missed the warmth of his hand against her skin. “What are you doing Friday night?” he asked.

“Friday night?”

“The football game. I need all the fans I can get.”

“I haven’t been to a football game in years.” She’d spent Friday nights, like almost every other night, at her mother’s bedside. Except for the one night a month she went to the Knit Lit Society.

“You should come. It’s gonna be a good game. Rivertown’s our second-best rival.”

The first was Chapel Grove from the next county over. Their senior year, Dante had scored five touchdowns against them and cemented his status as a football legend.

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “I’m not sure about my plans yet.”

“Plans? In Sweetgum?” Dante chuckled. “Come to the game, and then I’ll take you out for dinner after. Tallulah’s is staying open late.”

“The café always closes by nine.”

Dante shook his head. “Not anymore. I convinced Tallulah that if she kept the café open later on Friday night, I’d fill it with customers for her.”

“The Dante Brown charm already at work,” Camille said, smiling in spite of herself. “You’ll have this whole town rearranged by the end of the month.”

“Nah. Won’t take me that long.”

The teasing light in his eyes, the ease of his stance, and the gleam of his perfect teeth against his dark skin drew Camille to him. Not just physically, but emotionally as well. Like a sad, pitiful moth to a flame. Only she knew, as everyone did, that the moth always got the worst end of that deal.

“So you’ll come to the game?”

“Maybe.”

Her response wasn’t exactly gracious, but it lit a spark of triumph in Dante’s eyes. “It’ll be like old times. You cheering me on. Maybe you could wear that little cheerleader skirt—”

“Jerk.” But she was laughing. She pushed him in the chest, just below his shoulder, like a high school girl flirting with her boyfriend. And she realized she suddenly felt young again. Not so weighed down. As if the weekend were a time to look forward to, not dread.

“I can’t pick you up because I’ll be with the team. But if you can get a ride, I’ll bring you home after dinner.”

She was making a date with Dante Brown, Camille realized with a start. He hadn’t been back in her life half a day, and already she was doing exactly what she’d sworn not to.

“Maybe it would be better—”

Before she could finish her sentence, he laid a finger against her lips. A minimum of contact with maximum effect on her nervous system.

“I can’t think of anything that would be better than having dinner with you after the game.” He stepped away. “And I’m leaving right now, before you change your mind.” He looked at her for a long moment, and Camille felt the power of his gaze from her head to her toes. She was playing with fire, but oh, how wonderful to feel warm again after all these years.

“See you later, Cammie.”

“Good-bye, Dante.”

He shook his head. “Not good-bye. Good-byes are for endings.” He winked. “We’re just getting started.”

He turned and walked down the street, whistling. Camille stood rooted to the spot. What had she done? She would regret it later. Of course she would. And if she thought the town rumor mill
was cranking now, wait until she showed up with him on Friday night at Tallulah’s.

But as unpleasant as being the subject of local gossip might be, she couldn’t regret agreeing to see him. She’d wondered for a long time what might have happened if she hadn’t been so afraid of him in high school. She’d wondered if her whole life might have turned out differently. Maybe he would have taken her with him—to college and on to the pros. Or maybe he would have dumped her before graduation, broken her heart, and left her in Sweetgum, even lonelier than she was now.

At the last meeting of the Knit Lit Society, Eugenie had wanted to know their definition of love. And she’d said quickly enough that to her love meant doing things for other people. But she hadn’t told the complete truth. Because secretly, in her heart of hearts, she knew that love meant opening up her entire being to another person, a person who, like her father, could walk away and destroy her all over again. Or like her mother, who wouldn’t want to leave, but wouldn’t have any choice in the matter.

Standing on the sidewalk in front of her house, Camille wondered if she would ever have the courage or the faith to love someone that way again.

Maria had almost refused to attend the covered dish dinner that Sunday evening at the church, but her older sister, Daphne, had persuaded her to relent.

“If you don’t go, I’ll be forced to run interference between Mama and Mrs. Emerson by myself. And I’d really like to enjoy the evening a little.”

Daphne rarely resorted to guilt, and the overbearing Mrs. Emerson was sure to antagonize their mother, so Maria couldn’t help but give in. Daphne had no idea just how effective her strategy was. In the almost two weeks since Maria had signed the papers to begin the sale of the farm, she’d continued to put off telling her mother and sisters the truth. Better to let them continue in ignorant bliss for as long as possible. But Daphne’s gentle guilting—

Maria didn’t stand a chance against that. So just before six
o’clock she found herself climbing from the backseat of her mother’s yacht of a Cadillac. She leaned back in the car and retrieved the casserole dish with its thermal cover. The strong smell of tuna and cream of mushroom soup clashed with the pine scent of the car’s air freshener. Thankfully, the ride to the church was a short one.

“Maria. You came after all.” Annabeth Logan, Maria’s closest friend, hurried across the small parking lot toward her. She, too, carried a casserole dish. “I’m glad you changed your mind.”

“Daphne worked her mojo on me.”

“I wish I had her touch.” Annabeth was as petite as Maria was tall. Her plump figure showed her love of children—she had three—as well as her fondness for baked goods. Annabeth and her family ran the bakery on the town square next door to the five-and-dime. “We’d better get moving or we’ll be late.”

Maria nodded in agreement, but her feet felt like lead as they approached the rear of the church and the double glass doors that led to the fellowship hall. Daphne and her mother disappeared inside the building, surrounded by a gaggle of other church ladies.

Church suppers invariably followed the same pattern. The older ladies clucked like hens, shifting dishes on the three tables laid end to end until the twenty-four feet of food resembled the messianic banquet. Fifteen minutes after the meal was supposed to begin, the preacher would finally get everyone to quiet down so he could say the blessing. And then the older men, who had
been lining up for the last half hour, would descend on the casseroles and side dishes and salads like locusts on a field of grain. The women and children would make do with conversation and whatever the men left behind.

After handing off her casserole to a pair of eager hands, Maria scanned the fellowship hall for her mother and sister. Annabeth, her hands also free now, joined her.

“Look There’s an empty table in the back. Let’s save some seats.”

Maria nodded in agreement, and they threaded their way across the room.

“Where are your kids?” Maria asked as they turned sideways in the narrow aisle to allow Henry Hale to pass. The church organist was almost as broad as he was tall, so they had to squeeze up against the folks already seated at one of the numerous round tables.

“The older two are helping Bob at the bakery, and Amy’s with my mom.”

“So you’re on your own?”

Annabeth nodded and grinned. “I hardly know what to do with myself.”

They achieved their goal and sank into chairs at the empty table. Only when they had settled in did they notice that several chairs on the other side of the table had already been tilted up and forward, the traditional church signal for reserved seats.

Maria glanced around to see who might be coming their
way. She heard a buzz near the doorway, a sure sign that a person or persons of interest had arrived, but she couldn’t see who it was. And then, like the Red Sea before the Israelites, the crowd parted, and Maria saw two familiar male figures accompanied by an unknown woman.