Chapter 12
Epilogue
The frenetic whir of post-Sunday-service gossip floating through the Mop & Glo–scented air of the New Hope Baptist Church hall intensified the throbbing behind Leslie Kirkland’s eyes. She slid into a cubby between the water cooler and a multitiered plant stand, her cheeks demanding a respite from the constant smiling at well-meaning church members determined to impart their gratitude for her singing at this morning’s service.
Leslie took a sip of lukewarm fruit punch, the drink of choice during the church’s fellowship hour, and glanced at her watch. She was counting down the seconds until she and her girls could leave without garnering judgmental stares from the deaconesses, who considered the fellowship hour sacred. She’d faced her share of raised penciled-in eyebrows when she walked into the sanctuary this morning after being absent the past two weekends. That was more than enough censure for one day, thank you very much.
“Leslie Kirkland, I swear you are an angel sent down from heaven.”
Frustration at being discovered tightened the skin around her mouth, but her expression softened when she saw it was Nathan Robottom, owner of the hardware store in Gauthier, the tiny dot on the Louisiana map that Leslie had called home for more than a decade.
Nathan clasped her hands between his roughened palms and gave them a gentle squeeze. “That solo this morning was the loveliest thing I’ve heard since the last time you sang a solo in church.”
“That’s so nice of you to say, Mr. Nathan,” Leslie said, her lips stretching into a genuine smile. It was impossible not to love this old man. “How is Ms. Penelope? I noticed she didn’t join you this morning. I hope everything is okay.”
“Aw, she’s fine,” he said, waving off Leslie’s concern. “Her gout flared up and she didn’t want to come limpin’ in the church. She’ll be sorry she missed your pretty singing.” He gave her hands a good-natured pat before heading to the other side of the church hall where day-old doughnuts were doled out after Sunday service.
Leslie glanced at her watch again and decided that twenty minutes of fellowshipping should more than satisfy the deaconesses. She left her safe cubby in search of Kristi and Cassidy. Based on the trouble her daughters had given her when she’d woken them for church this morning, they should have been scratching at the doors to leave. As usual, they’d met up with friends and now she had to play Find the Kirkland Sisters.
As her eyes roamed the crowded hall, Leslie spotted Clementine Washington and Claudette Robinson sitting at the church ministries sign-up table. She averted her gaze, trying not to make eye contact, but she wasn’t quick enough. The Two Cs rose from the table simultaneously and started straight for her.
What would happen if she made a run for it? Just dashed right through the doors?
“Leslie!” Claudette called, waving her arms to get her attention.
Too late.
“Ms. Clementine. Ms. Claudette,” Leslie greeted with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. “How are you two doing this morning?” Please don’t ask me to join the Ladies’ Auxiliary. “I hope you’re both doing well.”
“Oh, yes. And especially after hearing you sing,” Claudette said. “Girl, I know the spirit was moving in you.”
“Amen,” Clementine added.
“Thank you.” She smiled. Leslie just knew her cheek muscles were on the verge of staging a revolt after the workout she’d put them through today. “Well,” she said, clamping her hands in front of her, “I really need to find my girls. We have plans for this afternoon.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’re out there with the youth ministry,” Claudette said. “Marsha and Lewis Marcel donated Popsicles for the little ones.” She slid a step closer to Leslie and leaned toward her. “And speaking of people who live out on Willow Street...”
Confusion tugged at the corners of Leslie’s mouth. Huh?
“Did you notice the way Sawyer Robertson was looking at you while you sang this morning?” Clementine asked.
Leslie couldn’t prevent her eye roll even if the Eye Roll Prevention Wizard had granted her special powers. And her eyes were rolling. Hard.
She should have known these two had something much more intrusive up their sleeves to ask her than joining the Ladies’ Auxiliary. In the month since Sawyer Robertson had moved into the charming colonial on Willow Street—only a few streets from where she lived in the residential area of downtown Gauthier—Leslie had encountered no less than a dozen people who were all too eager to make introductions.
According to the gossip she’d overheard while browsing the produce section at the supermarket last week, the handsome divorcee, who had left Gauthier about three years ago, had just started a job with the state, though the gossipers had not been sure in what capacity. He hailed from one of Gauthier’s more prominent families, and both of the ladies had agreed that he probably didn’t have to work if he didn’t want to.
Despite the town’s small size, Leslie had never had much interaction with Sawyer in the years before he’d hightailed it out of Gauthier. She hadn’t seen him much in the month since he’d returned, either, though she sure had heard his name enough.
“Sawyer comes from good people,” Claudette said. “Rich as sin, but not uppity.”
“Nope, never was uppity,” Clementine agreed. “I went to high school with his mama, Cheryl Ann. Cancer took her a while back.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that,” Leslie said. “Didn’t his father die of cancer, too?”
She knew at least that much about him.
Clementine nodded. “Sawyer took care of Earl until he passed, then he sold the house, married that girl from New Orleans and moved somewhere up north.” Clementine clucked her tongue. “Don’t know what happened, but that marriage sure didn’t last long.”
“You know what I heard,” Claudette started.
Leslie held up her hand. “This really isn’t the place for that, is it? And I should really go—”
Claudette’s face brightened. “Well, speak of the devil.”
Leslie turned and just barely held in her groan at the sight of Eloise Dubois—another pillar of the church—and Sawyer Robertson walking toward them. Sawyer looked as though he’d been hit by a hurricane.
Or three very determined deaconesses.
“Look who I found in the parking lot,” Eloise said.
“Why, Sawyer, you remember Leslie Kirkland, don’t you?” Clementine asked in the most pathetic attempt at subtly known to mankind.
If only the floor could open up and swallow me...
Or,
