'No…' Then, realizing her mistake,
Rachel amended, 'Yes.'
'Want to go water ski-was The ping of the ancient cash register bell cut off the rest of his question and the drawer sprang out at the same moment Tommy Lee reached across the counter and grabbed Rachel's wrist.
'Rachel, come out to the house, please.' His mouth looked intense and sincere.
How dare he come here and do this to her! Verify the fact that there were other women in his life while inviting her to become one of them!
'No!' Her eyes veered toward the back room. 'Please, Tommy Lee…'
From the rear of the building came the scrape and thump of Verda putting away the machine. Rachel's wrist strained against his hold.
'Sunday?' he asked quickly, his fingers tightening.
Her startled eyes held both anger and an undeniably tempted look, so he hurried on. 'Beth will be there, so we wouldn't be alone. I want you to meet her.'
Verda's footsteps were coming back and he was forced to drop Rachel's wrist. When the clerk emerged from the doorway Tommy Lee was putting
his credit card away and Rachel was 133 dropping the gift into a tiny floral paper sack.
'Thank you for stopping in,' she said cheerfully, handing him his purchase. 'And have a nice weekend.'
Tommy Lee carefully wiped his feelings from his face and brought forth a lazy smile. 'Y'all do the same, Mrs. Hollis, and you, too, Verda.'
He nodded to the clerk, who called out the customary 'Y'all come back.' Then he strolled from the store without a backward glance.
The moment the door closed behind him, Verda propped a hand on her hip, raised one eyebrow, and said, 'Mrs. Hollis?' Her shrewd eyes homed in on Rachel. 'What's going on?'
'Going on?' Rachel busied herself arranging the scarves on top of the showcase. 'Nothing's going on, Verda. Whatever in the world do you mean?'
'I suddenly put a name with the voice on the phone. It's his. Tommy Lee Gentry.' She peered closely at Rachel. 'He been pestering you?'
'Oh, for heaven's sake, Verda, don't be silly. What would Tommy Lee Gentry be doing pestering me?'
'What does Tommy Lee Gentry do pestering half the women of this town?' She glanced toward the door. 'Which one of his doxies do you reckon those earrings were for?'
The question shot a flash of cold through Rachel. She wanted to cringe and defend him simultaneously. Why should she care about his indiscretions or what the town thought of him because of them? Yet the fact remained that she did. She always had.
'Do you want to stand there wondering about it all weekend, or would you rather lock up and go home?' Rachel forced an amused smile to her lips, as if she, too, were curious about the woman whose ears would be decorated with the red beads.
'You sure it wasn't him?' Verda couldn't resist asking one more time, scrunching up her eyes and studying Rachel closely.
'Tommy Lee Gentry?' Rachel turned away casually, heading for the light switch by the armoire. 'I swear, Verda, if I have to put up with any more ridiculous questions from you I'll begin
to wonder if I've given you enough time off 135 lately.' Rachel's low laugh followed, and Verda gave up.
'Oh, all right, but I could've sworn it was him when he walked in here and started talking.'
Duplicity was not Rachel's long suit. When she'd locked up and was on her way home, safely away from Verda's inquisitive eyes, she pulled over to the curb along a tree-shaded street, crossed her wrists on the steering wheel, and dropped her forehead on them.
Rachel Hollis, get the man out of your mind. See what people think of him? And just what do you think they'd be saying about you if you were seen with Tommy Lee Gentry when Owen is scarcely cold in his grave?
But it hurt, having to lie about Tommy Lee. She felt she was injuring him more, yet what else could she have done with Verda all ears and eyes? But she remembered his wind-whipped hair, his fingers on her arm, the soft invitation in his voice as he leaned across the counter. And his lips… those lips that hadn't changed a bit in all these years. And she thought of the empty house, superimposed on images of herself in a boat, or on water
skis, or riding off somewhere beside him in the white Cadillac to have dinner.
But then, remembering how many others had done those same things-and more-with Tommy Lee, she shook his image from her mind and continued home to the waiting, silent house.
CHAPTER FIVE
But by Sunday afternoon the house had grown too silent, too oppressive. It was spring, and Alabama had embarked upon that time of color and rebirth. Blossoms were exploding everywhere: azaleas in shades of red and pink, dogwoods in white, wisteria in violet, and redbuds like a purple haze limning the countryside. Was there a time of year that tugged at the heartstrings more than this? That drew memories out of hiding and made them even more poignant in recollection than they'd been in reality?
Rachel lay in the backyard while bees buzzed in the blossoming pyracantha bushes bordering the high brick wall. She moved restlessly on the chaise longue, closing her eyes against the sun and the loneliness, but seeing
dancing pictures on her closed 137 eyelids. Pictures of Tommy Lee past and Tommy Lee present. She rolled to her stomach, trying to shut them out, but they persisted even as she searched for a distracting sound to take away the memory of his voice, inviting, 'Come out to the house… please.' But there was nothing so silent as a small-town Sunday afternoon.
When she could tolerate it no longer she flung herself up and marched into the house, driving her fingers through her twenty-five-dollar hairdo, realizing that stubbornness was a poor substitute for company. Don't think about whether it's wise or not-for once, just go with your heart.
She bathed, applied fresh makeup, dabbed scent behind her ears, and dressed in a sporty knit pink and gray striped top with matching skirt, both of which snapped up the front. She slipped her bare feet into white thong sandals, debated about what bathing suit to take, and decided to stop at the store and pick out a new one.
The store was different on Sundays-empty and shadowed. The display lights were off, the silence oddly disquieting, and Rachel had the strange
feeling she was being given this pause as a last chance to come to her senses. But today spring controlled her senses. Almost defiantly, she stepped to the bathing suit rack. She flipped past the array of bikinis, which were for the most part too revealing for her taste, but cast a disdainful eye on the one-piecers, which seemed sexless and dull. In the end she chose a modest two-piece design of shimmering gold with a diagonal bar of red slicing from left hip to right breast, interrupted by a band of naked skin. Assessing herself in the full-length mirror, she tugged the waist up securely and checked to make sure it fully covered the scar on her stomach, then turned to view her back. Lord, Callie Mae is right. If I don't gain some weight this thing will fall right off me.
She turned full front to the mirror again, and her dark eyes appeared uncertain. Standing with her fingertips resting on her stomach, she thought she could feel nerves jumping inside.
He said his daughter will be there, so what can happen when you'll be chaperoned by a fourteen-year-old?
The suit had a matching cover-up of
luxurious velour that reversed the 139 design and colors, sporting a diagonal bar of gold on red. Its elasticized waist closed with a single gold catch, leaving provocative glimpses of the bathing suit and her bare midriff showing above and below the closure. But, considering her shape, Rachel hardly felt provocative, and decided the outfit would do. She stripped it off, packed it in her straw bag, and dressed in her street clothes again, then locked the store and bounded to her car before she could change her mind.
The drive out to Cedar Creek Lake was beautiful. She took old Belgreen Road, which wound through the hills west of town, curving through pine forest and past areas where orange peaks of overburden from long ago strip- mining created a stunning contrast against the lush greenery surrounding it. The old limestone quarries gave over to
