She wished she didn’t feel so awkward around Al and his wife Mary, who had once been like a second set of parents. “How’s it going?”
“All right.” Al looked meaningfully from Royce to the truck sitting with its hood open. “I’m in a hurry.”
“Almost done.” He headed off to finish the repairs.
Casey stood there wondering what to say, although she doubted she could patch this relationship no matter how hard she tried. She and Al’s daughter Sandra had been her best friend for years. When they moved to L.A. together, she knew the Rawlinses had seen her as an anchor for their high-spirited child, but she hadn’t been able to stop the aspiring actress from getting mixed up with drugs. Finally she’d had to move out for her own safety.
“Well, I’ll see you around,” she said at last and went out to the car. Al didn’t answer.
In L.A., she’d hated the sense of letting Sandra down. A week after leaving, she’d gone back to their old apartment hoping to persuade her friend to give up drugs. She’d discovered that a couple of new people had moved in. Not only were they obviously high, but Sandra had joined them in making sarcastic remarks about do-gooders.
Although Casey had attempted a few more times to maintain the friendship, Sandra had bridled at any suggestion of what she termed pushiness. Since the conflict between them didn’t help her friend, Casey had finally stopped calling.
A short time later, she’d met Jack at the restaurant where she worked as assistant manager. He’d stopped in for lunch with his partner, flirted with her and returned that evening to ask Casey on a date.
She’d been struck by how different he was from Sandra’s fast-living friends and the other, rather superficial men she’d met in California. At first, she’d been drawn to his quiet strength. Later, her admiration had grown as she’d discovered both his intelligence and how hard he’d worked to overcome his lack of family support.
They’d married a few months later and spent two years together. Two years of finding out that she couldn’t fill the void left inside Jack by his miserable childhood. Two years of loving a guy who spent most of his time working and who didn’t know how to meet her halfway emotionally.
Casey had hoped a baby would bring them together, but he’d adamantly refused to have one. The stronger her longing grew, the more her husband had withdrawn.
Matters had come to a head a year earlier when she visited Tennessee to help her widowed mother recover from a heart attack. Being back in Richfield Crossing had made Casey realize how lonely and isolated she’d become.
On her return, she’d told Jack she was willing to stay in L.A. only if he would change his mind about children. When he refused, she’d filed for divorce.
Casey still missed him, especially at times such as last night when she’d yearned for his reassuring steadiness. But in the long run, she was better off standing on her own two feet. Besides, she had baby Diane to take care of now and to love.
Still, she couldn’t pretend she preferred it this way. Or maybe the overcast sky was weighing on her spirits, she conceded as she drove along Old Richfield Road. Living in California, she’d grown accustomed to almost constant sunshine.
Casey shook her head. No use blaming the weather. The memory of last night’s close encounter had heightened her sense of vulnerability and this feeling was compounded by her approaching delivery date. But she refused to yield to negative thoughts.
So what if she encountered a few obstacles? She’d never believed life was meant to be easy. And she had much to be grateful for.
Her mood lightened when she caught sight of the freshly painted green-and-white sign advertising the Pine Woods Court. Turning into the driveway past the compartmentalized community mailbox, she rounded some trees and basked in the lights shining from her house into the gray afternoon.
Casey parked in the carport. As soon as she opened the front door, the scents of vanilla and cinnamon engulfed her. She could hear pans rattling in the kitchen.
Enid and Rita must have spent hours decorating. They’d draped the walls with pink honeycomb bells and had floated bunches of baby-shaped balloons up to the ceiling. A stork centerpiece dominated the paper-covered table, with candies strewn about. On the coffee table, bowls of nuts circled a pair of candles in the form of baby bottles.
“This is fabulous.” Casey hurried into the kitchen. “Whatever you’re baking, it smells great.”
Two flushed faces regarded her, one at the oven, where the owner was removing a tray of sweet rolls, and the other from the counter. At seventy-one, Enid Purdue still carried herself with the authority of a high-school math teacher. She wore her champagne-blond hair fluffed, with a flowered dress softening her figure. As Casey entered, she finished propping two cards on which her bold handwriting labeled one coffeepot “leaded” and the other “unleaded.”
Shorter and rounder, Rita Rogers, who was about half Enid’s age, manipulated the hot pan onto the stovetop. Rita might be mentally handicapped but she worked hard in the cafeteria of the Benson Glass Company and never missed a chance to help a friend. She also knew her way around an oven.
A wave of gratitude flooded through Casey. “You guys are amazing.”
“Thanks.” Rita glowed with pleasure.
“How’s the camera?” Enid asked. “I brought mine in case we need it, but it isn’t digital.”
“It’s fine.” As she produced it from her purse, Casey no longer worried about how it had come to be damaged. A prowler now seemed a minor problem and, for all she knew, he’d already decided to make himself scarce.
The Pine Woods had been built for happiness. How could anyone ask for a better home to bring a baby into?
As she’d told Royce, she didn’t need a guy. She had her friends.
* * *
JACK REALIZED as he swung through Richfield Crossing that he’d expected something different. Munching on dried jerky he’d bought at a convenience store, he checked out the mismatched structures.
Although he’d never been here before, he’d imagined he knew the place from Casey’s tales about growing up, but he could see now that he’d filled in the blanks wrong. He’d pictured quaint stores packed tightly along the streets, their facades painted in coordinated pastel colors with artsy brickwork in the streets and signs that blazed with neon. Just what he might expect in a California beach community.
Instead, the stores occupied odd-sized lots, dispersed between community buildings, a church, a doctor’s clinic and a seedy-looking bar, plus the occasional house converted into an accounting firm or a law office. In the early evening, most of them lay dark.
Although the town appeared clean and well tended, it would give an urban planner fits. Nothing wrong with that; sometimes Jack thought the urban planners in California got drunk on their own sense of omnipotence. Yet the irregular spacing and the jumbled styles made him feel off balance.
Since renting a car in Nashville, Jack had driven for mile after mile past open fields and vast stretches of dense pine. In the L.A. area, one urban area blended into the next without a break.
He tried, and failed, to imagine living in the middle
