Mildred Sanderson, an elderly woman whose memorial service would be held at the Rumor Community Church on Friday morning.
The bell on the door chimed, and she looked up to see Blake Cameron enter the florist shop, his tattered, gray backpack slung over his shoulder.
What was it about the kid that tweaked her sympathy? Maybe it was because he reminded her of Jeff, although just in looks and temperament. Jeff had been born to a life of privilege, and Blake was strictly blue-collar.
She smiled at the dark-haired teen whose life, she suspected, was not much better than hers had been. “If you want an after-school snack, I’ve got doughnuts in the back room.”
The munchies, unfortunately, had struck again. But she guessed her increasing weight and girth were no longer a major concern, so this morning she’d given in to the craving for chocolate éclairs and glazed doughnuts from the MonMart bakery.
“Sure. I’m always hungry, or so my dad says.” The teen wandered to the back of the shop and returned with a broom in one hand and a glazed twist in the other.
Jilly continued to work, clipping the stem of a pink carnation and sticking it into the spray she was making. She cocked her head. Maybe the flower should rest a tad lower.
In the background, the soft sounds of classy elevator music blended with the gentle swoosh and scratch of a broom on scarred hardwood floors, as the teenager she’d hired as a delivery boy swept the shop.
Blake slowly made his way to the worktable where she stood. “Did you hear the news?”
She placed a sprig of baby’s breath into the spray of carnations. “What news? I don’t hear much of anything these days.”
“The wind shifted yesterday afternoon, and a couple of Rumor firemen fighting the forest fire near Rocky Point were cut off from the dirt road by the flames. They sent in a rescue chopper to get them out, but one man died from his injuries.”
Jilly’s heart did a nosedive. Cain was fighting that fire. And so were some of the other guys she’d met through him. “Do you know who it was?”
Blake mumbled, pointing to his mouth and indicating the need to finish chewing before he could answer her question.
“Yeah,” he said, jaws still moving. “The dead guy lived in my apartment complex. His name was Cain, but I don’t know the last name. I only saw him a time or two.”
She dropped the carnation in her hand and grabbed ahold of the table to steady herself. Obviously, Blake didn’t know she’d been involved with Cain in a romantic way. “Are you sure? He’s dead?”
“Yep. Reed Kingsley, the fire chief, came by the apartments and talked to the manager. I was standing right there and heard it all.”
Jilly glanced at the funeral spray she was making. Cain, who loved life—maybe too much—was gone. She would be creating arrangements and sprays for his memorial service in the next few days.
A sense of sadness washed over her, yet her heart felt surprisingly numb.
Her baby’s father—her old lover—was dead. Shouldn’t she be feeling something? Grief? Heartbreak?
Would she mourn later? When reality set in? When the community hosted a funeral service?
She closed her eyes, her hand reaching to the small bulge in her tummy where her baby grew, warm, protected and completely unaware of the tragic circumstances surrounding his or her birth.
Jilly would bear her child alone, a single mother to the fullest extent of the definition.
She might have told Jeff that she didn’t need Cain or his financial support, but now that she couldn’t depend on either, doubt crept into her mind.
Money couldn’t buy happiness, the old adage said, but it could sure take the edge off misery better than poverty could. And she ought to know; she’d had her share of both misery and poverty.
Jilly planned to offer her children more than her parents had provided her. She wanted her kids to have a sense of stability, hope for the future.
Her son or daughter would have a real house, not a run-down trailer like the one in which she’d lived while growing up. Her child would play on a swing set perched on a green lawn and surrounded by a picket fence, not a rusted-out sedan that no longer ran and was encircled by overgrown weeds.
Her child would come home from school to the scent of cookies baking in the oven, not stale cigarette smoke and beer.
But was a loving home all she could offer her baby?
What about her dream of being a part of the Rumor community, maybe even president of the PTA someday? She’d fought long and hard to earn respectability. Would bearing a child out of wedlock wipe out all she’d accomplished?
Or had Jilly—like her mother, Jo-Ellen Davis—set the circumstances in motion that would lead her back to a no-account life? Especially since Jilly had never managed to feel as if she’d truly broken free and become an accepted, respectable member of the Rumor community.
Until recently.
So close, yet so far away.
Jilly reached for a carnation and fingered the stem. If Rumor had tracks, she would have been born on the wrong side of them. In fact, she’d probably still be living on the outskirts of town and the fringe of society if it hadn’t been for Jeff.
Most folks hadn’t understood what Carolyn Kingsley’s nephew had seen in the little Davis girl. And why not?
Jeff’s mother had been a wealthy socialite—East Coast born and bred. And Jilly had grown up with very little supervision or kindness—other than what she’d received from the McDonough family who had lived next door.
She thought of Emmy McDonough, her one-time best friend and neighbor, and Emmy’s two older brothers whom Jilly had once looked up to.
Karl had gone off to fight in the Gulf War, and Ash went to prison. In a way, the McDonough boys had let Jilly down, just as they had their little sister.
The only guy in her life who had stuck around had been Jeff.
And he’d been there through all her trials and tribulations, including her mother’s death.
Jilly had only been seventeen when she came home to find her mother dead, the victim of an apparent suicide. It had been Jeff she called first, to wait with her for the coroner to arrive. And it had been Jeff who’d listened to her cry and bemoan the fact her mother had let her down yet again.
Sometimes Jilly’s lot in life seemed to be her own fault, directly or indirectly. Even her mother’s choice to check out of life because her latest man was a bigger loser than the last had felt like Jilly’s fault…somehow.
It had been Jeff who’d convinced her otherwise.
And Jeff who had always been there for her.
Jilly blew out a sigh. There wasn’t much he could do to protect her from herself or the mess she’d made of her life this time.
“Mr. Kingsley
