“She is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Lesroy said. “I’m going to call her Stella Star because she is the most beautiful, beautiful, shining star in the entire universe.” My cousin had a gift for hyperbole. But she was lovely with her enormous aquamarine eyes and heart-shaped face. The name suited her.
A soft whine brought me back from thoughts of Stella before her star had tarnished. I met the reproachful stare of Scarlett O’Hara, who sat regal and imposing, ears raised in elegant little points. Ben might be a jackass, but his taste in dogs was impeccable. Like her namesake, Scarlett was a beauty. Black with well-defined reddish-orange markings on her majestic face, the animal was a head-turner. She was also neurotic. Loud noises freaked her out, and she hated to be awakened before eight. It was 7:45.
“Easy, Miss Scarlett.” I offered my hand in peace, but she wasn’t buying it. Her whine morphed into a low-throated growl. “Okay, okay. I’m getting your leash. Just don’t—”
But it was too late. She hurled herself forward and pinned me to the wall. Eye-level with the beautiful creature, I braced myself. She thrust her muzzle into my hair, sniffing frantically. I read the hairline offers a canine vantage point for inhaling an owner’s scent—that and the crotch, another of her favorite spots. Trapped in a mad Doberman ritual, the best I could do was wait it out. In a few seconds, she stopped her wild snorting. She dropped to the floor, sighing as she placed her head on her paws. I had been scent-tested and had failed.
“Sorry, sweet girl.” I knelt beside the dejected animal. “I’m not her. I’m the other sister.” She let me scratch her ears but kept her face turned away. “What do you say we go for a quick walk and forget about her?”
After our walk, I showered and proofread an article I was pitching for a local magazine. After being in advertising over five years, I took the plunge into freelance writing and editing. Requests from former agency clients paid the bills, and Lesroy’s graphic design company sent business my way. I picked up work from several area publications. The latest was my piece on the death of romance in the digital age. I was trying a new spin on the topic by comparing love letters my grandfather had written to my grandmother and teenage text messages. I wondered if Ben had written love letters to Stella or had sent her pictures of his penis.
A little after nine, I called Alisha. She picked up, and I identified myself.
There was a long pause. “Grace Burnette. Well, this is a surprise. How long has it been? Three, four years? Wait, don’t tell me. It was at your...” Her voice trailed off.
“That’s right, Alisha. It was at the engagement party.”
“I’m sorry, Grace. Stella was my best friend, but I was as shocked as anyone when she ran off.”
I wanted to tell her she was only one of many who claimed to be my sister’s best friend, but snarkiness wouldn’t help my cause. “I’m calling about Stella. Have you heard from her?”
Another pause. “She and I haven’t spoken for over a year, not since I went to see her. Is something wrong?”
“We’re not sure. That’s why I’m calling.” I gave her an abbreviated account of the situation and asked if we could get together. She hesitated before agreeing to squeeze me in between her morning yoga class and an afternoon waxing session. I promised I wouldn’t take up too much of her valuable time. The irony appeared to be lost on her.
I flipped the TV on to the local news. Scarlett snorted at the sound and shook her head until her ears rattled. She rose from the fancy orthopedic dog bed Stella had sent her last Christmas and strode out of the room. She hated the news.
The story of the day was the approaching storm: thunder, lightning, heavy wind and rain, possibly snow and ice if the temperature fell. Icy weather in the South is always challenging, but it was the prospect of a thunderstorm that got my attention. Lightning terrified Stella and me. Mom said we inherited it from Gran, who took to her bed at the first rumble of thunder.
Sometimes we joined her. We covered up with quilts and sandwiched Gran between us. She told stories of growing up in the country and meeting our grandfather at a church social. He’d been very handsome and extremely determined to get her attention. At first, she thought he was stuck on himself, but after time, she realized he was the love of her life. Stella and I would sigh and snuggle deeper under the covers.
Years later, whenever I got ready to go out on a date, Stella would sit on the bed and watch me apply my makeup and curl my hair. Before I’d leave, she would ask if I thought this one would be the love of my life. “Just like Grandpa was Gran’s true and only love.”
When I brought Ben home the first time, she took me aside and whispered, “This is it, isn’t it? He’s the one and only true love.”
Later, I wondered if she meant mine or hers. But it didn’t matter because by then I’d realized love like Gran’s played better as a story than it did in real life. Maybe it was because times were simpler. Or could it be because my grandfather didn’t live long enough to disappoint her?
Chapter 4
On the drive to my mother’s house, I pictured what life might have been like for Stella and Ben. After they got together, I thought about it all the time. I imagined them in bed, entangled with sheets and each other. I saw them sitting on the couch
