was caught red-handed with a note,” Helen admitted. “But, in fact, it was Jimmy Bob West who’d shoved it into her hand when he saw the teacher heading their way. He was scum even back then.”
“Didn’t he try to convince you to go into practice with him a few years ago?” Lynn asked. “I’d like to have been there when you gave him an answer.”
Helen chuckled. “I just told him that, regretfully, I’d rather eat dirt than work with him, or words to that effect.”
“I suspect they were a lot more colorful,” Lynn said.
“A lot more,” Helen conceded. “But Jimmy Bob, being the man he is, didn’t take the slightest offense. He still asks from time to time.”
She gave Lynn a hug. “Hang in there, okay? And call me immediately the next time there’s a problem. Meantime, I’ll be in touch about that court date and whatever we find out about Jimmy Bob’s whereabouts.”
“Have a good evening,” Lynn told her. She waved the check in the air. “I’m going to relax for the first time in days.”
At the very least, she was going to be able to sleep tonight.
4
Flo Decatur was sitting on the sofa reading a book to her granddaughter, Sarah Beth, when Helen came in from work looking beat.
“Mommy!” Sarah Beth cried joyfully, running to throw her arms around Helen. “Gramma’s reading my favorite story.”
“Of course she is,” Helen said. “You have Gramma wound around your little finger.”
Sarah Beth’s face puckered up with a frown. “What does that mean?”
“It means I love you,” Flo interpreted. “Even more than chocolate ice cream with hot fudge on top.”
Her granddaughter’s eyes widened. “More than gooey chocolate cake like Daddy makes?”
“Even more than that,” Flo confirmed.
Sarah Beth turned to her mother. “Can we have ice cream and cake for dinner?”
Helen laughed, then gave Flo a feigned frown. “Thanks a lot. Now peas and carrots won’t cut it.”
“Peas and carrots never cut it with you, either,” Flo said realistically, then followed her into the kitchen. “Why don’t you go take a shower and change into something comfortable, while I put whatever Erik sent home from Sullivan’s on the table? I’ll see that Sarah Beth’s fed, too. You look as if you could use a few minutes to relax and unwind.”
She was surprised when Helen gave her an impulsive hug. “You have no idea how wonderful that sounds.” Helen gave her pint-size imp of a daughter a pointed look. “And try to keep Miss Sarah Beth here out of the cake until after she’s eaten dinner.”
“I’ve got it covered,” Flo assured her, then winked at Sarah Beth.
Flo had come to treasure these regular dinners with her daughter and granddaughter. Though she was happily settled into her own apartment now and had an active social life, she missed the time she’d spent in this house while she’d been recovering from a broken hip. She was capturing so many new family memories, the kind that had been few and far between when she’d been struggling to make ends meet as a single mom back when Helen had been Sarah Beth’s age. She liked to think that she and Helen were actually friends now, and not just mother and daughter with a contentious relationship.
She also enjoyed the meals her son-in-law sent home from Sullivan’s. That restaurant of Dana Sue’s where he was the sous-chef had better food than anything Flo had ever put on her table at home, and she’d at one time been considered the best when it came to her church’s potluck suppers.
Tonight Erik had sent home two fried catfish dinners for her and Helen, some chicken tenders and mashed potatoes for Sarah Beth, along with some of that gooey molten chocolate cake that was Sarah Beth’s favorite. Flo’s, too, for that matter.
Flo poured a glass of milk for her granddaughter, then made cocktails for herself and Helen. She sat with Sarah Beth while she ate, then sent her off to her room to play before bedtime. “But give Mommy some peace and quiet, okay?”
“Uh-huh,” Sarah Beth said, then scampered off, dragging a tattered stuffed tiger with her.
By then, Helen was back, looking refreshed, though worry was still etched on her forehead.
“Bad day?” Flo asked, always interested in the legal cases her daughter was involved in. They’d realized a while back that Helen’s interest in law probably went back to all the TV shows like Divorce Court and The People’s Court that Flo used to keep on while she did the baskets of ironing that brought in a few extra dollars each week.
“You have no idea,” Helen said, taking a sip of her drink, then closing her eyes with a sigh of satisfaction. “I needed this.”
“One of these days I’ll make you a batch of margaritas,” Flo said, grinning. “I know they’re a personal favorite of yours. You must have gotten that from me. Made a batch for the first time in years not long ago.”
Helen regarded her with amusement. “Do you really want to remind me of the Senior Magnolias fiasco at Liz’s?”
Flo chuckled. “Yep, that was the night and I refuse to apologize for it. Frances needed a distraction from the diagnosis the doctor had given her.”
“Even so, I hope you learned a lesson when the neighbors called the police,” Helen said with mock sternness.
Her mother just grinned. “Afraid not. Best time we’ve had in years, at least as best we can remember.”
Helen sobered. “How’s Frances really doing these days? She seemed pretty sharp at the bullying rally a couple of weeks ago.”
“She’s fighting this cognitive impairment thing or whatever it is with the same determination she’s faced everything else in her life. I think stirring up a ruckus that day was good for her.” She winked. “So were the margaritas. You should know firsthand the healing effect one of those and a night with friends can have.”
“The operative word being one,” Helen chided, but she was smiling.
“Yes, well, we might have gone a little overboard,” Flo conceded. “We’re old. Allowances should be made.”
Her daughter laughed at that. “I imagine people have been making allowances for the three of you for years. I’ll bet you all created chaos in this town back in the day,” Helen said, regarding her mom with something Flo thought might have been a hint of approval.
“Well, I can’t speak for Frances and Liz, since they have a good ten years or more on me, but I certainly did,” Flo said. “I imagine we have a few more commotions left in us.”
But even as she spoke, she frowned. “Despite what I just said about Frances giving this her best fight, I’m not at all sure she’ll be able to live alone much longer. Maybe it’s not Alzheimer’s yet, maybe it won’t be, but there’s been
