barely resisted the urge to scoop up a handful of snow and hurl it at his back. Only the awareness of where she was kept her from doing just that.
When Jesse was out of earshot, Glory put her hands on her hips and told Dylan, “He really burns me up. I don’t know why you liked him so much.”
You liked him, too, she heard Dylan’s voice say, way down deep in her heart. You had his baby, Glory.
“Don’t remind me!” Glory snapped, folding her arms. “I was barely eighteen, and my hormones were out of control!”
She thought she heard Dylan’s laughter in the chilly winter breeze, and in spite of the unpleasant encounter with Jesse Bainbridge a few minutes before, she smiled.
“I love you, Dylan,” she said, touching the headstone again. Then, with her hands in her pockets, she turned and made her way down the walk to the driveway and the towering wrought-iron gates.
It was time to face Pearl River, something she hadn’t done since Dylan’s funeral, and she was reluctant for more than one reason.
Glory’s sports car, the one great extravagance in her life, started with a comforting roar, and she drove slowly back into town, telling herself to take things one moment at a time. Before she knew it, Christmas and the New Year’s wedding would be over, and she could get on with her life.
She parked in front of Delphine’s Diner just before an orange snowplow came past, flinging a picturesque fan of slush at the sidewalk. Glancing up at the life-size plastic Santa and reindeer, Glory remembered Dylan sliding around on the roof to put them in place for Christmases past, deliberately clowning because he knew his mother and sister were afraid he’d fall.
The little bell over the door jingled when Glory went inside. Her mother, as slender and active as ever, lit up brighter than the Santa over their heads when she saw her daughter.
“Glory,” she whispered with a choked sob of pleasure. And then she was hurrying across the brown-and-white linoleum floor, with its swirls of fresh wax, to embrace her.
The hug brought a lump to Glory’s throat and quick tears to her eyes. “Hello, Mama.”
“It’s about time you got here,” boomed a male voice from one of the stools at the counter. Harold Seemer, the good-natured plumbing contractor who had finally persuaded Delphine to marry him after a five-year courtship, beamed at his future stepdaughter. “We were about to send the sheriff’s patrol out after you.”
Glory tried not to react visibly to the indirect mention of Jesse. She didn’t want thoughts of him interfering with her visit. “Hi, Harold,” she said, giving the well-fed balding man a hug. He and Delphine had visited her in Portland on several occasions, and she’d become very fond of him.
“You look skinny,” Delphine commented, narrowing her green eyes as Glory took off her coat and hung it on one of the chrome hooks beside the door.
Glory laughed. “Thanks, Mama. I’ve been dieting for two months to make up for all the food you’re going to force me to eat.”
Harold finished his coffee and replaced the beige china cup in its saucer, with a clink. “Well, I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll leave you two to catch up on everything.”
When he was gone, Glory took a stool at the counter, sighed, and pushed back her hair. “No customers,” she commented, looking around at the six Formica-topped tables. The chrome legs of the chairs glistened, and so did the red vinyl seats.
Delphine shrugged and, stepping behind the counter, poured a cup of coffee to set in front of her daughter. “The lunch crowd’s been and gone. Things’ll be quiet until dinnertime.”
Glory reached for her cup and saucer and pulled them toward her, feeling the steam caress her face and taking comfort in the familiar aroma, but she didn’t drink. “I saw Jesse,” she said, and her voice was shaky.
“Did you, now?” Delphine’s voice was light as the feathery snow falling past the window with its neon “We Serve Pepsi-Cola” sign. “How did that happen?”
“I stopped by the cemetery to leave some holly for Dylan, and he was there.” Glory raised her eyes, watched her mother’s face pale slightly at the mention of her lost son. But Delphine recovered her composure rapidly, like always. She was nothing if not a survivor.
“Jesse’s brother, Gresham, is buried there, along with his sister-in-law, Sandy, and his folks. Must be some special day to him, or something.”
Glory recalled the plane crash that had taken the lives of Gresham Bainbridge, promising young state senator, and his pretty wife, Sandy. The tragedy had been big news in Oregon. “They left a child behind, didn’t they?” Glory asked, because thinking about the Bainbridges’ misfortune was better than remembering her own and Delphine’s.
Delphine busied herself rinsing out a glass pot and starting a new batch of decaffeinated coffee brewing. “A little girl,” she said quietly. After a few more moments, she turned to face her daughter, leaning against the spotless counter, her shrewd eyes inviting—even demanding—confidences. “Tell me about this Alan man. What did he do that made you uproot yourself like that?”
Glory ran her tongue over her lips and fiddled with a paper napkin. She still hadn’t touched her coffee. “He was a rat, Mama,” she answered after a long time. “He cozied up to all my clients while I was away taking a training course in Chicago, and when I came home, the board had given him the promotion they promised me.”
“So you just threw your resignation in their faces, cleared out your desk and left?” Delphine put the question in a non-challenging way, but it still made Glory’s cheeks flame.
And she definitely felt defensive. “What should I have done, Mama? Stayed and brought Alan pencils and files in my teeth? I worked night and day for four years to earn that job!”
Delphine shrugged, leaning on the counter again. “I think maybe you just wanted out of the relationship and that was the best excuse that occurred to you. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that you’ve never gotten over Jesse Bainbridge.”
Glory’s hands shook as she picked up the coffee and took an angry gulp. It burned her tongue and the roof of her mouth. “Well, I have!” she sputtered moments later. It still hurt that Jesse hadn’t come for her at the unwed-mothers’ home in Portland and brought her home to have their baby, even though she knew the scenario was woven of pure fantasy. Jesse couldn’t have come for her because he hadn’t known she was pregnant. “It was nothing but a childish high-school infatuation in the first place.”
Delphine’s eyes took on a sad look. “It was more than that,” she insisted softly, resting one well-manicured hand on Glory’s arm.
Glory pulled away, went to the jukebox and busied herself studying the titles of the songs imprisoned inside. They were all old tunes she couldn’t bear to hear when her feelings were so raw.
She turned to the window instead.
Mr. Kribner came out of the drugstore across the street and hung an evergreen wreath on his front door.
“Merry Christmas,” Glory muttered, wishing she’d never left Portland. She could have made some excuse for the holidays, then dashed into town for the wedding and out again after the reception.
