The Girl Who Chased the Moon

“It looks like you scratched your heel.”

She turned her right foot slightly to see the bandaged cut. “Oh. I cut it running barefoot through the woods.”

“You should put on shoes next time.” She looked back up to see that he was smiling.

She narrowed her eyes. “Thank you. I plan to. Who were those ladies you were talking to?” she asked.

He sighed regretfully. “Inez and Harriet Jones. They’re my next-door neighbors.”

“Were they talking about me?”

He considered several different answers, but decided to go with “Yes.”

“They knew who I was,” she said. “They knew my mother.”

“Yes.”

“Why would they say I wouldn’t fit in?”

He shook his head. “If you had cause to worry about them, I would tell you. I promise.”

“It sounded like they didn’t like my mother.”

He picked at imaginary dust on his sleeve. He knew he looked calm, but inside, his heart was knocking against his chest. “If you want me to tell you the story, I will.” God, what was he going to say? “I think it’s better if you know. I’m not sure I should be the one, though. Your mother should have told you. At the very least, your grandfather should have said something by now.”

“About what? They mentioned your uncle. Is this about him?”

“Yes. We have history, you and I.” He leaned in slightly, conspiratorially. “You just don’t know it yet.”

She tilted her head curiously. “That’s a strange thing to say.”

“Just wait. It gets stranger.” A flashy older woman in heels and shorts clicked by them. He and Emily both turned to watch her walk to the door of J’s Barbecue. That’s when Win saw that Vance Shelby was inside, watching them. Not that anyone who knew him could ever be afraid of him, but it was still disconcerting to have someone that large give him such a forceful look. Did Vance know what Win was doing? Emily hadn’t noticed, so she seemed surprised when he suddenly stood and said, “I think I should go.”

“What? No, wait, tell me about this history. Tell me about my mother and your uncle.”

“Next time I see you, I will. Goodbye, Emily,” he said as he walked away. It took such restraint to keep from looking back at her until the last possible moment. When he did, right before he entered the diner where he’d left his father, he saw her watching him.

No going back now.

The foundation was set.

She was officially curious.

Chapter 5

Julia had the day’s cakes baked and was writing on the chalkboard before there were even four customers in the restaurant. Vance Shelby had arrived and was sitting by himself, waiting for the rest of the old men in his breakfast group. He was drinking his coffee from his saucer instead of his cup, because the lip of the saucer was larger and his giant hand could more easily manage it. Julia was tempted to go talk to him about Emily. But then she thought better of it. It wasn’t any of her business. She was only going to be here for a few more months. There was no need to get all knotted up in things. She would be Emily’s friend while she was here, and try to help her get settled. That’s all she could do.

Vance was watching something outside, a frown on his face.

Julia had just finished writing the names of the day’s specials on the board-Milky Way cake, butter pecan cake, cigar-rolled lemon cookies, and vanilla chai macaroons-so she set the chalkboard down and turned to see what had captured Vance’s attention.

As soon as she did, the bell over the door rang, and Beverly Dale, Julia’s former stepmother, walked in.

At least it wasn’t Sawyer.

But it was almost as bad.

“Julia!” Beverly said as she teetered up to the counter in her white kitten heels. “I haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays. I always try to get here early enough, but I’m not a morning person, as I’m sure you remember. Last night I said to myself, ‘Beverly, you’re going to set your alarm and get to the restaurant early enough to see Julia.’ And here I am!”

“Congratulations,” Julia said, glad that the counter was between them and Beverly couldn’t hug her. Beverly could choke an elephant with the scent of her Jean Nate perfume.

“I see you’re still wearing those long sleeves,” Beverly said, shaking her head. “Bless your heart. I can’t imagine you’re comfortable, especially in this summertime heat.”

“It’s cotton. It’s not so bad,” she said, drawing the sleeves down farther and grasping the cuffs in her hands.

“I understand. Scars aren’t pretty on a woman.” Beverly leaned in and whispered, “I have a tiny scar here on my forehead that I don’t like anyone to see. That’s why I have my hairstylist, Yvonne, fix this curl just so.”

Julia smiled and nodded, waiting for Beverly to get to what she was really there to talk about.

Julia had been twelve the first time her father had brought Beverly home. He’d told Julia at the time that he thought she needed another female around to talk to about girl things, now that she was growing up-as if he’d brought Beverly into their lives for her sake. Beverly had been very attentive to Julia at first. Julia had been a baby when her mother died, so she’d begun to think that maybe having Beverly around would be nice. But then Beverly and Julia’s father had gotten married, and Julia had actually felt the power shift. Julia’s father’s attention had been inexorably drawn to the person who’d demanded it the most. And that person had been Beverly. No amount of pouting or temper tantrums, and, later, pink hair or cutting, could ever have competed with Beverly, sexy Beverly with her puff of blond hair, the low V of her shirts, and the high heels she wore even with shorts. She’d liked doing things for Julia’s father-cooking his meals, lighting his cigarettes, rubbing his shoulders as he watched television. When Beverly didn’t get her way, she’d stop doing those things, and it had been painful for Julia to watch her father try to get back into her good graces.

Beverly and her father had stayed together until about four years ago. When her father had told her about the divorce during Julia’s annual Christmas call to him, he’d said in his kind, simple way, “Beverly is such a vibrant woman. She needed more than I could give her.”

What she needed, Julia later found out, was a man with cash. Julia’s father never had a lot of money, but he’d done very well for a man with only an eighth-grade education. He’d owned his own home and business, free and clear, by the time he was thirty. And he’d been an excellent money manager, which was why Julia had been so shocked when she’d discovered the extent of his debt after his death. She could only assume Beverly had spent her way through what he had, and when there was nothing left, she’d left him for Bud Dale, who had just opened his second muffler shop in town.

Julia remembered seeing Beverly for the first time in years at her father’s funeral. She’d aged quite a bit, but she still had that power women with big noses have to seem beautiful, even when they aren’t. “I’m sorry about your daddy,” she’d said. “Let me know if there’s any money left. Some of it should go to me, don’t you think? We had twenty beautiful years together.” And she’d said it right in front of Bud Dale.

When Julia sold her father’s house and took what little was left after paying off the mortgage and applied it to his restaurant mortgage, Beverly had been livid. Some of that money could have gone to her, she’d insisted. But once she realized what Julia was doing, staying here and working to get the restaurant mortgage paid off in order to sell it for a profit, she periodically accosted Julia to remind her that some of the money should go to her, naturally. Like they were in this together.

“Is it always this slow at this hour?” Beverly asked, waving one of the waitresses over to her. “I’d like two breakfast specials, to go. I’ll surprise Bud at work. He’ll never believe I’m up this early.”

“The place will fill up soon,” Julia assured her.

“I hope so. It looks like you’re not doing enough to bring in business at breakfast. And you make a lot of desserts.” She pointed to the chalkboard. “Do people really eat it all every day? If there’s any left over, that’s a