A Mother's Homecoming

“I’ll never be beautiful again,” Mae had complained one summer, meeting her young daughter’s eyes in a dressing room mirror. “Pretty, sure, but I was stunning once. You ruined that. See these stretch marks? I got huge with you. No wonder your daddy left us.”

To Pam, daddy had seemed as exotic and nonsensical as unicorn. Her biological father had never been more than the name on her birth certificate and monthly checks. Who knew what his side of the story sounded like? In her first year after leaving Mimosa, she’d suffered periodic anxiety attacks, waking in the middle of the night, worrying what Nick would tell their daughter about her own absent parent. For herself, Pam didn’t care—she deserved anything he had to say about her—but she’d prayed he was careful with the girl’s feelings, that Faith would never blame herself.

Faith. The name came more naturally to mind after this morning’s talk with Nick. For years Pam had continued to think of their daughter as “the baby,” long after she’d no doubt been enrolled in school.

“Speaking of ex-husbands,” Pam began hesitantly, “do either of you see Nick Shepard much? I understand he’d moved away but is back in town now.”

Julia and Ed exchanged a glance that made Pam ache inside. For all that Julia could be domineering and Ed could be oblivious, they clearly shared a bond. An entire conversation seemed to pass between them in a single moment of crystalline silence.

“That’s what we heard, too,” Julia said. “But, no. We … stay out of his way.”

“Right after you left, he used to come by,” Ed added. “A lot. He was convinced we knew where you were. Or that you’d contact us. After a few months, he realized we were as in the dark as he was.”

Pam winced. “I’m sorry. For any worry I put you through. I didn’t—I’m sorry.”

“It’s done now,” Julia said decisively. “Maybe you could start fresh, now that your mama left you the house. Move back to Mimosa. Your uncle might even be able to hire you on part-time at the furniture showroom—”

“Absolutely not.” Once the words were out, Pam regretted shooting down her aunt so quickly. Maybe she should have pretended to consider settling here for a millisecond, to spare Julia’s feelings.

But really? Move back to emotional ground zero? No. She couldn’t quite wrap her mind around doing that even if Nick and Faith hadn’t been in Mississippi. With them here, it was impossible. Recalling the furious intensity in Nick’s blue eyes, she could just imagine the fit he’d throw if she announced she was staying. Pam shivered.

“I don’t know exactly what my plans for the future are,” she reiterated gently. “But I can’t see myself in Mimosa long-term. How can I start fresh by going back? I want to stay for a little while—at the house, if I become an imposition here—and I want to keep in touch with the two of you when I go. But I will be moving on.” That part was imperative.

Uncle Ed cleared his throat. “We understand,” he said, overtop of his wife’s entreaties. “The important thing is, you’re here now.”

After a moment, Julia nodded her reluctant agreement. “I’ll start on dinner in a few hours. A big dinner! You’re too scrawny. In the meantime, have some muffins. And drink your tea—it’s good for you.”

Pam eyed the glass in her hand. Beverage penance. Sure, why not? She took a big drink, meeting her beaming aunt’s gaze. Bleah. Yet considering where Pam was, other things coming her way would likely be much harder to swallow.

Chapter Five

“Pssst, Faith!”

Faith Shepard shot her best friend a warning glance. Even though both girls were finished with their pop quizzes, Morgan knew what a stickler Mrs. Branch was about talking in class. After yesterday, Faith was in enough trouble at home without her lit teacher sending a disciplinary note. Faith used to think of her dad as one of her best friends—not that she would ever say something so dorky out loud. In the last year, though …

She didn’t know what was going on exactly, but lately it didn’t take much for her previously cool dad to freak out. Maybe it was the divorce. Or Grandma Gwendolyn always harping on him.

“I have to talk to you,” Morgan whispered urgently. She always sounded urgent.

Keeping her eyes on the teacher’s desk, where Mrs. Branch had started grading, Faith asked out of the corner of her mouth, “About Kyle?” The way Morgan rhapsodized, you would think Kyle Gunn was Robert Pattinson’s hot younger brother.

Morgan shook her head slowly, also keeping her gaze forward. When she spoke again, her lips barely moved. The two girls could totally do their own ventriloquism act on one of those talent search shows. “No. About you.”

What? Faith abandoned their eyes-front subterfuge, whipping her head in Morgan’s direction. What did her friend know? Did it have to do with the strange murmurings in the cafeteria today when Faith passed, the way that hag Arianne had snickered this morning?

“After class,” Faith whispered, hardly caring anymore if they were caught. “My house.”

NICK CAME HOME EARLY for two reasons. The first was, he’d been thinking about his daughter all day and wanted to be there for her—even though he doubted she’d welcome his presence. Less than twenty-four hours ago, he’d grounded her, which meant he was destined to be persona non grata for a few sulky days.

The other reason he came home was much simpler. He oversaw a construction crew. And men who were distracted shouldn’t be around power tools and huge pieces of motorized equipment.

“Faith?” He walked through the back door, entering the kitchen and calling out her name. Based on the past few times they’d clashed, she would be holed up in her room, blasting some sort of music guaranteed to annoy anyone over the age of twenty-five, pretending not to hear him.

So it came as a surprise when she met him at the edge of the kitchen tile, hands on her slim hips, glaring at him through exceedingly red eyes. The eyes combined with her sniffling made it clear she’d just finished a crying jag.

“Faith? What is it, honey?” Stupid question, when he already knew the answer. The coincidence was too great. But on the one-percent chance that this wasn’t about Pamela Jo Wilson, he held his breath and waited for his daughter’s reply.

“Is it true? Is my mom in town?”

Nick sucked in a breath, wondering for the millionth time when this parenting gig was going to get easier. That entire first year, when Faith had been so tiny and fragile, he’d been scared witless. He’d told himself that when she was bigger, stronger, it wouldn’t be so excruciating. But then there’d come the day when he’d had to put her on the bus to kindergarten, and it had been like taking shrapnel in the chest. Which had been nothing compared to the first time she told him she liked a boy. And now …

“It’s true.”

She deflated, arms dropping, shoulders hunching. “I was hoping you didn’t know. I thought, no way would he keep something like this from me. I found out from Morgan, Dad. You don’t even like Morgan! Half the school knew before me. Or figured, anyway. Someone’s mom knew that you and this chick used to be a thing, so people were wondering … Do you know how squicked I was to hear that people were talking about my parents’ sex—”

“Please stop.” Nick flinched, hoping he’d never hear his daughter use the word sex again. While he wasn’t sure what the exact definition of squick was, he felt confident that he was right there with her. “If it makes you feel better, I haven’t known long, either. And it’s why I came home early today. Why don’t we sit in the living room?” This wasn’t going to be a simple conversation, suited to a few minutes of standing in a doorway.

“Okay.” But instead of turning around, she marched further into the kitchen toward the refrigerator. She pulled out a gallon of mint-chocolate-chip ice cream, then went to the utensil drawer, shooting him a defiant look as she withdrew a spoon.