Willa wandered the Louisiana side of downtown Cottonbloom. Two city workers were talking football while stringing Christmas lights around the trunks of denuded crepe myrtles that lined the road. Ignoring Christmas was hard around Cottonbloom. Both sides of downtown looked like elves had barfed tinsel and lights and red bows on everything, living or dead. She’d even seen a dog with reindeer antlers on its head. It was three days before the dreaded holiday and the rare chance of snow in the forecast had sent the Christmas meter to obnoxious.
With Dave too sick to even get out of bed, Marigold had asked Willa to help construct a curtained stage for the library to use for puppet shows. While she wasn’t an expert carpenter, Willa had been happy to be able to pay back a fraction of the kindness Marigold had shown her. It had taken longer than she’d anticipated, but she and Marigold had shared some laughs and the result had made her proud. At least if she had to disappear from Cottonbloom, something tangible and worthwhile would remain.
With the project completed, she’d headed back to her trailer to wash off the paint as best she could. Shivering in the plummeting temperatures, she left River curled up on her bed and headed to town for a hot lunch. At the crossroads, she’d pumped her brakes, almost giving in to an impulse to head to the garage. And Jackson. The unfinished way they’d left things had her afraid to be alone with him. Not because of what he might do, but because of her impulse to jump his bones. An all-around bad idea.
She stepped into Rufus’s Meat and Three, the smells and warmth an instant mood lifter. Clayton Preston was manning the counter. It was early yet for lunch and only one other customer, an older man reading the paper with a cup of coffee, was inside.
“What can I get you, Willa?” Clayton asked.
Clayton was brother to the Cottonbloom, Mississippi, police chief and a recent parolee from the state penitentiary. His forearms were covered in tattoos and his eyes reflected experiences that belied his physical age. When she looked at him, in some ways, she saw herself.
“A pork plate, please.”
He doled out the food, and she paid in exact change. After a moment’s consideration, she dropped two pennies in the “give a penny, take a penny” tray. She was painfully aware there were people worse off than she was. Before she’d landed in Cottonbloom, she’d been one.
She took her plate and sweet tea to a table facing the window. With only her cold trailer and River waiting and her self-control to stay away from the garage in tatters, she ate slowly. Clayton approached with a steaming cup of coffee.
“Like some company? I’m tired of talking to myself.”
She nudged her chin toward the chair across from her. “Sure. What about old man Morrison?”
“He forgot his hearing aid.” Clayton’s smile lifted a decade or more off his shoulders. “Taking his order was a trial of patience.”
“Seems like you’ve settled into Cottonbloom well.”
Like her, Clayton was a transplant, although his path had originated in New Orleans and taken a detour through jail.
“Cottonbloom is a nice town. There’s some that don’t like or trust me because of my past, but nothing will change that except time. And maybe not even that.” He took a sip of coffee.
Willa stabbed the slaw with her spork, his words resonating. “Do you wish you could go back and do things differently? I dream about it all the time.”
Clayton set his elbows on the table and turned the coffee cup in his hands. “One thing I had to come to terms with in prison was the futility of wishing for the impossible. Reality is what it is. You can choose to confront it or run away.”
Willa dropped her spork, rubbed her hands down the legs of her jeans, and met his gaze. “What is your reality?” She was asking a lot, but he didn’t shy away.
“I had to own up to what I’d done and live with the consequences.”
The question that had been stewing since she’d met him popped out. “What were you put away for?”
“Stealing cars and dealing drugs.” He didn’t seem embarrassed or offended at her curiosity.
The longer she stared into his eyes the more familiar the road he’d traveled seemed. The stops along the way might have been different, but the scenery was the same.
“What if something really bad happened to someone you cared about? And what if it was your fault but it’s too late to fix things?” She braced herself for laughter or dismissal at her vagueness.
“It’s never too late to apologize.”
She swallowed and pushed her plate to the side, her appetite turning to nausea. “She’s dead.”
He didn’t gasp or turn away. “And you hold yourself responsible?”
“My best friend OD’ed on heroin she bought from my ex-boyfriend.”
“Did you know she was using?” No accusation shaded his voice. In fact, he sounded as impersonal as the policeman who’d questioned her afterward.
“It started with pot. Didn’t seem like a big deal. Then, things happened after we graduated high school, and I wasn’t the kind of friend I should have been. She shot smack one night at a party.”
“She got hooked.”
“Yeah. I didn’t realize how serious it was until it was too late.”
“Look, I’ve seen more than my share of addicts. There’s nothing you or anyone else can do if someone’s set on using.”
She picked at her thumbnail, the sting centering her and keeping her from flashing back to the past. “But I introduced her to my scummy boyfriend. Brought her around his house, his parties. If I hadn’t—”
“Stop.” He took her wrist, his grip firm. “What-ifs are useless. All you can do now is live your life.”
“That’s what you’re doing?”
“I’m tryin’. My brother and his girl, Sadie, have my back. I’m doing my best to mend what I can and leave the rest behind.” His smile this time was tinged with a sweet bitterness. “Not gonna lie, it’s tough, but people make it better.”
The bell over the door tinkled and a family of four walked in, their spirits high and their hands full of bags with wrapped presents. The children shoved each other as their parents herded them toward the counter.
Clayton stood and rapped his knuckles on the table. “You take care, Willa. I’ll be working through the holidays if you want to talk more.”
She turned in her seat to watch Clayton take the family’s order. She’d done so much looking behind her that she never considered the distant future. She’d only concerned herself with the next meal, the next month’s rent money, the next town. But being in Cottonbloom and around Jackson had her looking beyond her immediate needs to what she wanted.
The family took the table on the other side of the restaurant, chattering about Christmas and the likelihood of snow. Confronted with their normalcy and ease together, her insides jostled. It didn’t feel as simple as jealousy though. It was akin to longing.
If she told Jackson the truth and he turned away, at least she’d know. She wouldn’t be living in this hellish in-between, waiting for her execution papers. Her heart felt sore from overuse, like a muscle she hadn’t exercised in too long.
She forced herself to finish her food. Making full use of what was in front of her was a hard-learned lesson. After dumping her empty plate, she stepped outside. Her layers of flannel shirt, sweatshirt, and hoodie kept out most of the cold.
She walked across the footbridge toward the Mississippi side of town and window-shopped at the Quilting Bee, laughing to herself at the thought of hanging a picture or lighting a scented candle in her trailer. But the quilts along the walls drew her closer to the window, and she cupped her hands against the glass to look. They were intricate and lovely and warm-looking. Probably expensive too. She moved on.
Standing outside Abigail’s Boutique, she stomped her feet to get her chilled blood flowing. The mannequin in the window wore a fancy off-the-shoulder gown in black. It was pretty enough but how did a woman raise her arms in the darn thing? So impractical. Willa shook her head.
She took a side step toward the footbridge, ready to huddle in front of her kerosene heater for the foreseeable future. The door to the boutique opened with a jangle, and Sutton popped her head out. “I thought that was you. I’m so glad you changed your mind.”
“What? No, I didn’t—”
Sutton grabbed her arm and pulled her inside the shop. “God, it’s frigid out. Can you believe they’re talking about snow showers? I can’t even remember the last time it snowed in Cottonbloom.”
Willa paused, feeling like Dorothy escaping black-and-white Kansas and landing in Technicolor Oz. Racks of clothes, some arranged by color, and headless mannequins in beautiful clothes peppered the floor. The smell was light and feminine, starkly opposite the grease-and-metal manliness of the shop.
Willa had never been inside the high-end clothing store. The only new clothes Willa splurged on were underwear. Apparently, the line she wouldn’t cross in the name of poverty was buying used panties.
Sutton continued to chatter about Christmas in Cottonbloom. The Santa had showed up to the parade rip-roaring drunk and the Girl Scouts and Boy Scouts had gotten into a fight about whose float would go first.
While her ears were focused on Sutton, the warmth and smells and the racks of clothes overwhelmed her other senses. Zigzagging through the racks, Willa reached out and skimmed her fingers along the sleeve of a silky white blouse that was as thin and airy as gauze.
Sutton stopped in the back of the store next to a display of scarves and jewelry. She set her hands on her hips and examined Willa like a pinned bug. “You look like the marshmallow man. How many layers are you wearing?”
“Three or four. It’s cold out.” Defensiveness crept into her voice.
“And that hat.” Distaste made the word sound like an epitaph. “Will you take it off?”
“It keeps my head warm.” She didn’t make a move to remove it.
“We’re inside, and it’s plenty warm in here.”
Willa gave in, mostly because her scalp was tingling with sweat, although it was due more to embarrassment than temperature. Pulling the hat off, she caught sight of the two of them in one of the six-foot mirrors mounted on the wall. She ruffled her hair and looked away, the comparison too depressing.
“To be clear, I’m not here to take you up on your offer of a dress,” Willa said.
“Weren’t you? I think subconsciously that’s exactly why you were standing outside my shop.” Sutton moved around the back of the cabinet and came out with a tape measure. “I need to get your measurements.”
Was she right? Willa wasn’t a fan of fairy tales, and Cinderella happened to be her least favorite of them all. Cinderella never took charge of her destiny. She let a fairy godmother and a prince save her. That’s one reason why she loved Jane Eyre. Jane took charge of her life, and it had been her choice to return to Rochester at the end.
Willa held her hands up to ward off Sutton and her tape measure. “Look, I don’t need a damn fairy godmother.”
“How about a friend, then? Everyone could use more of those.” Sutton’s smile was so genuine and her eyes were so full of understanding that Willa had to blink back a rise of tearful emotion, her breathing turning ragged.
“Are you doing this because of Wyatt?” Her voice was wobbly.
“Him but mostly Jackson. Underneath all his frowns and the loner vibes is a pretty special guy. Wyatt and I might not be together if it wasn’t for him.”
“Jackson and I aren’t … I mean, you don’t think … there’s nothing going on.” Willa flapped the front of her hoodie and wondered if it was possible to spontaneously combust.
One corner of Sutton’s mouth rose along with her eyebrows and her uh-huh was definitely sarcastic. “You can’t tell me you and Jackson haven’t kissed or anything. I see the way you two look at each other.”
“How’s that?” Her voice had acquired a weird squeak.
“Like you’re the chocolate to his peanut butter. So have you kissed him or what?” Sutton tugged the hem of the hoodie up, and Willa raised her arms like a toddler and allowed her to slip it off.
Clayton’s advice rang in her head. She wanted a friend, maybe even needed one, and it wasn’t like Sutton was a stranger. She was Wyatt’s girlfriend which gave her extra marks. Willa peeled the sweatshirt off by herself, leaving her in a baggy red plaid flannel shirt.
“Okay, so we’ve kind of kissed. The first time—”
“The first time? Way to go.”
“Yeah, well, I ran off and he thought I was mad at him for taking advantage of me because he’s sort of my boss.”
“But you weren’t mad?”
“I was embarrassed. And a little wigged out.”
“But you do like him?”
Willa sighed and rolled her eyes. “Yes. Although I’d prefer to be the peanut butter in any potential relationship. Crunchy and not smooth.”
Sutton’s laugh pealed through the store. “Crunchy peanut butter, it is. Have you got anything on under that shirt?”
“A bra.”
“Come on back here.” Sutton led her into a spacious changing room. “Off with it.”
Willa squeezed her eyes almost shut to block out the three-sixty view of the two of them, slipped the shirt off, and crossed her arms over her chest more to hide the ratty bra than her boobs. Next Sutton tugged Willa’s pants low on her hips.
“Arms up.”
When Sutton didn’t tease her about the sorry state of her underwear, Willa complied, and Sutton efficiently took several measurements, mumbling the numbers under her breath as she jotted them down.
“You have a gorgeous figure. I’m jealous.” Sutton tossed her the flannel shirt, and Willa held it over her chest.
The compliment unfurled in her chest like the beauty of spring’s first buttercup. “I’m too busty.”
“I have a feeling 99.9 percent of men would disagree with that assessment.” Sutton shot her a smiling sidelong glance before leaving her to get dressed.
It wasn’t her habit to spend much—or any—time in front of a mirror. But with her reflection unescapable, she forced her shoulders back and her hands to her sides and really looked. The physical work in the garage plus her skipped meals had left her stomach flat and her arms taut. Even so, her body had filled out since she’d left home. Curves that she hid under her coveralls were on display.
What would Jackson think of her body? She yanked her pants up and shoved her arms into the sleeves of her flannel shirt, fumbling with the buttons. Getting naked was a far cry from a couple of kisses. Not going to happen. But now the thought was planted, it grew roots and flowered. Heat in her lower belly made her ache like a fever was coming on. Or maybe the stomach flu. She actually felt sick with desire.
When she emerged from the changing room, Sutton was sitting on a stool behind the counter with a white sketch pad in front of her, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, as a pencil flew across the page.
Without looking up, Sutton said, “I’m thinking something simple. Not black. Too stark for you. Maybe a blue. No lace or ruffles or fringe. Not your style. A classic old-Hollywood silhouette that will highlight your amazing bod.”
Willa stepped forward, hypnotized by the lines and curves taking shape. The sparsely drawn figure even looked a little bit like her, with short hair and a pointed face. The dress was something a heroine out of one of Willa’s books might wear. If the actual creation was even half as pretty as Sutton’s drawing, Willa would be in awe.
“You like it?” Sutton’s tone and Cheshire cat grin made it clear that Willa’s face already bore the answer.
“You know it’s beautiful, but I’m not sure I’ll feel comfortable wearing it.”
“Comfort, schmum-fort. You think these bad boys are comfortable?” Sutton came around from behind the counter and kicked up her foot, showcasing her red high heel. “Newsflash—they’re not.”
Willa couldn’t help it, she laughed along with the other woman. Still, the camaraderie was slightly nerve-racking after so many years without. “I’d better head. River will be whining for her dinner.”
“I’ll have something for you to try on soon after Christmas. I’m going to get started tonight.” Sutton walked her to the door and leaned in the gap after Willa hit the sidewalk. “I’m closing up early and headed back to the garage. I’m giving Wyatt his Christmas present. You going to be around?”
“No.” Again the impulse to see Jackson was like a chant in her head. “No,” she said more firmly. “I’m headed back to my place.”
“How about we keep this dress business between us and surprise Jackson?” Sutton raised her eyebrows.
“Sure.” Probably smart in case Sutton didn’t follow through or Willa decided not to go to the party. Sutton took a step back. As the door was closing, Willa grabbed it before she had a chance to stop herself. She swallowed. “I just wanted to say ‘thanks.’ This was unexpected, but really nice.”
Sutton’s smile didn’t disappear but morphed into a surprised delight. Willa partly meant the offer of a dress, but mostly she’d meant the offer of friendship, even if Willa couldn’t take her up on it. Before Sutton could say anything else, Willa mashed her cap on her head and ran-walked back across the river.