as if she doubted Pam were tough enough to weather a cold shower. “There’s one TV, downstairs in the common area. You’re free to use the microwave, but other than that, my kitchen is off-limits. I’ll need to see some ID. Is there a Mimosa citizen who can vouch for you?”
“Violet Keithley is the one who recommended you,” Pam said as she reached into her car for an old driver’s license. Technically it hadn’t expired yet, but the address was hopelessly out of date. “I just need a place to stay the night until my aunt Julia gets back tomorrow.”
Trudy nodded sharply. “Well, come on then, if you’re coming. In another few minutes, I’ll be missing my program.”
After grabbing her duffel bag and leftover chicken-fried steak from the car, Pam followed Trudy—no last name; Mimosa, Mississippi’s answer to Cher and Madonna—into the house. The air-conditioning rattled through the vents in a feeble attempt to ward off the day’s heat. It wasn’t the cool bliss of this afternoon’s gas station, but it was a vast improvement over Pam’s car. In her tired, grungy state, a shower sounded like heaven, no matter what the temperature of the water.
It was a humbling commentary on her life that the cranky septuagenarian and her run-down house were easily the best things to happen to Pam today.
NICK YAWNED, wishing that the day’s forecast called for rain. The cheery morning sunlight that filled his kitchen was doing nothing to help his headache. He estimated that between turning off the late-night sports show before bed and getting up to fix Faith eggs a couple of hours ago, he’d slept a total of … about four minutes. Thoughts of Pamela Jo Wilson had kept him awake all night.
No, he corrected himself as he chugged a third cup of coffee in the now-empty house. He hadn’t been thinking about Pamela Jo, the person. He’d been over her for years. His mind had only been occupied with the possible repercussions of her visit.
Last night had been like learning a Category 3 hurricane was headed in his direction. It stood to reason that he’d spend a little time battling denial and being angry, then start planning for how best to cope. It was a damn shame he couldn’t protect his daughter from Pamela Jo’s presence with sandbags and an emergency supply of bottled water.
In fact, he was kicking himself even now for letting Faith go off to school unprepared. He’d wanted to learn more about Pamela Jo’s intentions before he said anything to his daughter—who was barely speaking to him right now anyway. But what if she found out from a schoolmate that her mother was in town? None of her peers had ever known Pamela Jo, of course, but eventually adult gossip trickled down to the younger citizens of Mimosa.
Then you’d better deal with this immediately. Leigh had suggested he meet with a lawyer today, which he’d initially rejected as overkill.
“She left us with no more than a note,” he’d pointed out bitterly, “in which she granted me full undisputed custody of our daughter. And all this time later you think she’s had a change of heart and came back to Mimosa to fight me for Faith?” He couldn’t picture that. In the short time Pamela Jo had lived with them, she’d had to be bullied into even holding the baby.
“She was a scared kid,” Leigh had replied. It was the single most empathetic statement she’d ever uttered about his ex. “I mean, so were you, that’s no excuse, and she was horrible and selfish, but one assumes she might have regretted her actions since then. We don’t know anything about what her last couple of years have been like. What if she’s settled down and tried to have kids, but can’t? What if she thinks Faith is her last chance at motherhood?”
Screw that. Pamela Jo forfeited any such chance a long time ago. And she was crazy if she thought to drag Faith through some sort of custody battle or belated “Mommy’s home now, darling!” movie-of-the-week moment. Despite his sister’s well-meaning suggestion of hiring legal counsel, Nick favored a more direct approach.
One that centered around figuring out where Pamela Jo was staying, then running her out of town on a rail.
Chapter Three
Shortly after nine in the morning, Pam’s prepaid cell phone rang. The only reason she was still in bed was misplaced optimism. She hadn’t managed to get any sleep the night before but kept hoping that, any minute now, slumbering oblivion would be hers.
“Hi, Annabel.” She’d known who was on the other end before she even pressed “accept call.” No one but her sponsor had the number. The phone had been a parting gift. A reminder that you’re not alone, Annabel had said when she’d hugged Pam goodbye. Given how early it was on the west coast, Annabel was probably just now getting out of bed for her morning run before work.
“D’you make it through the night?” Annabel asked without preamble. “I’ve been worrying about you ever since you called last night. That was a hell of a lot dropped on you.”
“Tell me about it.” Pam felt like some hapless cartoon character with a big hole through her middle where a cannonball had been fired. “But, yeah, I made it through. Booze-free.”
One might assume that was a perk of being near broke—not having the funds to fall off the wagon—but there had been a few years in her past when she simply would have undone a couple of top buttons, made her way to Wade’s Watering Hole and struck up a conversation until some guy bought her a drink or two. Or six. She fought back a ripple of shame with the reminder that she’d been sober eight months and counting. She clenched trembling fingers into a fist. Never again.
“I’m a little shaky right now,” Pam admitted, “but that’s from lack of sleep.”
“And the announcement that your mother is dead,” Annabel said with brutal honestly. “And the news that your ex-husband and child are somewhere in the vicinity. Don’t downplay what you’re going through. You have a right to be angry and upset and conflicted.”
“I’m not in denial, I’m just numb.” Plus she was too exhausted to muster the energy for hysterics. She’d driven so far over the last few days, fueled by caffeine and a kind of grim eagerness. Having made the decision to confront Mae, she’d wanted to get it over with and, whatever happened between them, move on from there a healthier person. “I haven’t had much rest lately.”
“I won’t keep you then,” Annabel said. “When were you planning to see your aunt and uncle?”
“I’m going to call them after lunch, find out if they’re back yet.” She wondered nervously what kind of reception she’d get from her only remaining family. Not your only family.
Yes, they were, she argued with herself. Pam had given up any right to claim Faith years ago—probably the most responsible thing she’d ever done. Even at eighteen she’d realized what a train wreck of a mother she would be.
“If you’re not going to track them down until after lunch, you still have a couple of hours to catch some z’s.” Annabel was half drill sergeant, half big sister. She was constantly admonishing Pam to eat, sleep and generally take better care of herself.
Rest, however, didn’t seem to be in the cards. No sooner had Pam disconnected the call than there was a knock at her bedroom door. Surely it wasn’t time to check out already?
“Coming, Trudy.” As she shuffled to the door, Pam spared a second’s thought for her attire. She wasn’t exactly dressed for the day. Braless and bottomless except for a pair of bikini briefs, she wore
