“Morning, Wade. It’s Rhett Baldwin.”
“Rhett, buddy, good to hear from you. How’s your old man?”
“Hanging in there. He suffered a stroke.” Everett repeats what his mom wrote in her email. “Fortunately, there was no permanent damage, but he’s still not a hundred percent. Mentally, he’s struggling. I’ve been helping my mom out. She really needs me right now.” Everett cringes at how easily the lies depart his lips.
“You’re a good son,” Wade says, and Everett thinks, I’m the lousiest son on the planet.
“When do you think you’ll be ready to launch your career?”
“Whenever you’re ready, Wade. I can’t put my life on hold forever.” Everett hates the idea of leaving Presley. But she’s from Nashville. His hope is she’ll move back to Nashville with him, if she doesn’t break up with him when he tells her about Carla.
“Well, look,” Wade says. “Thanksgiving is only a few weeks away, and nothing ever gets done around here during the holidays. Why don’t you plan to be in Nashville the first of January?”
Wade’s proposed timing will give him a chance to sort out his mess of a life. “January sounds perfect.”
“In the meantime, I’ll be putting some things in place to launch your career.”
Everett slumps against the counter as an enormous burden is lifted off his shoulders.
Wade goes on, “I’ve got your demo tape. I realize you’ve been busy with your old man, but have you been working on any new material?”
“I have a few songs I think you’ll like. I’ll polish them up and send them to you in a couple of weeks.”
They talk logistics for a while longer, and when he hangs up with Wade, Everett goes straight to the library. He’s disappointed to find his inbox empty. Something is wrong at home. He feels it in his gut. He considers calling his mom. But, if something is wrong, he’ll be tempted to drop everything and drive home to Atlanta. And he can’t leave Hope Springs until after the party. Until after he’s talked to Presley.
20
Presley
Presley works from her apartment on Friday morning, tying up loose ends for the party before meeting Lucy for lunch at noon. The island theme for Main Street’s newest lunch spot seems all wrong for a small mountain town. Maybe the owner’s goal is to offer patrons an escape from the dreary winters everyone complains about, which Presley has yet to experience. But when she enters Paradise Found, instead of feeling like she’s in the islands, the riotous display of pink flamingos and fake palm trees makes her nauseous.
The tables, painted a high-gloss bubblegum pink, are all occupied by sophisticated middle-aged women with expensive hair highlights and trendy clothes on their well-toned bodies. The clientele who should be lunching at Jameson’s.
Lucy manages to snag a table by the window. Sitting down opposite her, in a low voice intended for Lucy’s ears only, Presley says, “I have my doubts about this place.”
Lucy peers over her menu at Presley. “You think? Vulgar is the word that comes to my mind. Why aren’t these refined ladies eating at Jameson’s?”
“I just asked myself that very question. Maybe we need to do a better job of advertising our weekday specials.”
One eyebrow cocked, Lucy says, “Maybe we need to do a better job of advertising period.”
Presley opens the menu on the table in front of her. “They have twice the offerings we do.” She pretends to read a text on her phone while she photographs the laminated pages.
“The owner is a young local woman in her mid-twenties who just graduated from culinary school in New York. From what I understand, her father bribed her into coming back to Hope Springs by setting her up in business.” Lucy eyes the plates on a nearby table. “The food looks gross.”
Presley follows her gaze. “I’ll bet it tastes worse.”
Lucy scrutinizes her. “What happened to your glow? Trouble in paradise already?”
Presley’s face warms. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
Does she? She’s not sure. Maybe it’ll help to confide in someone. “Okay, so we were together on Wednesday night. And the sex was lovely, tender and meaningful. Being with him felt so right, like I could totally see myself waking up in his arms every morning for the rest of my life. But when I saw him last night, he was acting standoffish.”
“Do you have any idea why?”
“Not a clue. I’m proceeding with caution until I know him better.” She lifts the menu off the table and begins studying it, signaling to Lucy the discussion about her relationship with Everett is over. Presley doesn’t want to tell her about the talk she and Everett have planned for after the party. If things don’t go well, she won’t have to explain.
The waitress, a thin woman with a beehive of inky hair, appears at their table. Cecily gave strict instructions on which menu items to try. When Lucy orders the crab cake sandwich, Presley asks for the lesser of the two evils—the sesame-ginger chicken salad.
As soon as the waitress leaves, Presley says, “Now. Moving on to the purpose of this lunch. You promised to tell me why men can’t be trusted. What happened in your marriage, Lucy?”
“It’s a long story. Are you sure you want to hear it?”
Presley bobs her head. “Oh yeah! I totally wanna hear it.”
Lucy settles back in her chair and crosses her legs. “Grant and I were childhood sweethearts, our families across-the-street neighbors. By the time we started high school, we were in a serious relationship. As you can imagine, living in such close proximity to each other drove our parents crazy. They watched us like hawks. But they worried needlessly, because Grant and I agreed to wait until we were married to have sex. Then, Grant’s senior year in high school, his father accepted a job in Chicago.”
“During your senior year? That must have been hard for both of you.”
“I cried for months. But it was especially hard on Grant, because he loved—loves Hope Springs. There was never any doubt
