Page 73 of Summers at the Saint
When Heather reached her, the two women stood inches apart, awkwardly sizing each other up. They hadn’t been close, not really. They’d see each other at family events; birthdays, holidays. Traci was busy with her job at the hotel, and Heather, at first, had a career of her own, as the lead singer in a band.
That’s how she’d met Ric Eddings, playing at a wedding reception at the Saint. He’d been instantly smitten by the exotic Heather and had pursued and won her in a matter of months. They’d married and Heather got pregnant not long after. She’d miscarried that first child, and then, within a year, had Parrish.
Three years later, when her daughter was in preschool, Heather left, telling Ric that life as a wife and mother was “stifling and soul-deadening.”
“Hi,” Heather said now, holding out a hand.
Traci took her hand, squeezed, and released. “Hey.”
Her former sister-in-law sighed. “Hey. I, uh, heard about Hoke, and I was so, so sorry. I wanted to call, but you know how it is. But lucky you, marrying the good brother.”
Traci bit her lower lip. “Heather, I don’t know what to say. Except that Parrish was amazing. In every way. She was smart and kind and fabulous. Maybe she got that from you.”
“Maybe. Guess we’ll never know, huh?”
With the back of her hand, Heather brushed her bangs from her eyes. She looked around. Mourners entering the parking lot were openly staring, then giving them a wide berth.
“Wow. It’s like we’re a couple of Typhoid Marys from the collective stink-eye people are giving us, huh? You wanna get out of here? Maybe go get a drink. Not at the hotel, though, okay?”
“There’s a dive bar a couple blocks from here. Pour Willy’s.”
“I remember the place,” Heather said. “Meet you there.”
Traci found a two-top booth near the back of the bar, and five minutes later, Heather slid into the seat on the opposite side of the table.
“Place looks about the same,” she commented, and nodded at Traci. “And so do you. But don’t bother trying to tell me I haven’t changed. We both know I’m older and fatter, and only maybe a little bit wiser.”
Their server, a girl barely out of her teens, in cut-offs and a tank top, arrived and took their orders.
“She reminds me a little of Parrish,” Heather said wistfully.
Traci looked up, surprised. “When was the last time you saw her?”
“Graduation. I saw you there, from across the room, but Parrish didn’t want me anywhere near the rest of the family. She knew her dad would be pissed that I was there.”
“I had no idea you’d been in touch with her.”
“That was the general idea,” Heather said.
Their drinks arrived, club soda for Heather, wine for Traci, along with a basket of French fries.
“She found me on Facebook,” Heather confided. “The year Ric and Madelyn got married. I hadn’t posted anything on that page in ages, but for some reason, I looked at my page the week after the wedding, and saw that she’d private-messaged me. My heart about stopped.”
“I’ll bet,” Traci said, sipping her wine. “Can I ask? Where’ve you been all this time?”
“All over. I sang with different touring bands. After a couple years, I got tired of the road life and got a job as a booker. Married the boss and moved to Vermont.”
“Vermont,” Traci said wonderingly.
“I like it there. We have a big vegetable garden and I have chickens and a donkey. It’s quiet, but it’s good.”
“Still married?”
“Yeah. I finally figured out I should stay clear of bad boys.”
“Did you ever have any more children?”
Heather sipped her drink. “Nope. I didn’t think I had the right to bring any more kids into the world after I walked away from my own daughter.”
