be a disconcerting habit. Pretty soon she’d be surrounded by cats and acting like a slightly dotty old spinster.
Still, she had things to work out. After Friday night she knew that she was treading on dangerous turf. Coming back to Port William had stirred up old longings.
She picked up one of her mother’s favorite books,
This Side of Paradise,
and clung to it, rubbing her fingers over the worn cover.
“Oh, Mama, what should I do?” she murmured.
She was beginning to get an inkling that this turmoil was part of her mother’s plan. Maybe Ella Louise had recognized that too many things had been left unresolved when Zelda fled to Los Angeles with her heart in tatters. Maybe she’d known, as Zelda hadn’t until the night before, that she’d never be able to get on with her life in L.A. or in Port William until she’d dealt once and for all with the permanent ache Taylor Matthews had left inside her.
But a whole year? She’d barely been home a month and already things were more complicated, instead of less. Another eleven months and she probably wouldn’t have a strand of hair left in her head with the way Taylor’s impossible ways made her want to tear it out.
Okay, this wasn’t something she could blame entirely on Taylor. These were her emotions. Stupid, wasted emotions, as near as she could tell. Just because he’d kissed her as though he’d meant it didn’t prove he was about to get tangled up in something more lasting.
Go or stay? Stay or go? The choice tormented her for the rest of Saturday and all through the endless night.
On Sunday morning, with the memory of the challenge in Taylor’s eyes on Friday still very much on her mind and Saturday’s uncertainty even fresher, Zelda went to church. Sheer instinct had her up and dressed in a subdued silk dress before she considered the ramifications of showing up in a place where she was bound to run into Taylor’s parents. Besides, it had been so long since she’d been inside a church, she ought to be praying that the rafters wouldn’t collapse.
The minister, if it was still Jesse Hall, would probably offer up a few prayers of his own at the sight of her. He’d once had to call the volunteer fire department to drag her and Taylor down from the steeple. Not satisfied to ring the bell by pulling the rope, they’d climbed all the way up to give it a push or two at close range. The memory of Beau’s horrified expression as he’d watched their undignified descent to the ground brought out a smile.
As she strolled across the lawn in front of the Port William Methodist Church, she glanced up at the steeple and felt an old familiar urge to do something outrageous. Maturity kept her feet planted firmly on the ground. Or so she told herself.
She nodded politely at half a dozen acquaintances. She couldn’t help noticing the wary looks some of the women cast first at her and then at their husbands. Wanda Sue Oglethorpe actually latched possessively onto her husband’s elbow and spun him around as if she feared that a simple nod in Zelda’s direction might turn the man into a pillar of salt. Given Denny Oglethorpe’s preference for bib overalls, flannel shirts and chewing tobacco, Zelda could have reassured Wanda Sue that she was welcome to him, if only the woman had asked.
Trying hard not to let the general lack of welcome bother her, Zelda made it as far as the door of the church before she heard her name called with anything resembling enthusiasm. She turned around just in time to see Caitlin running toward her, her face alight with pleasure.
“Well, good morning,” she said, forcing herself not to look beyond the child for the father she was sure couldn’t be far away. “Don’t you look pretty?”
“Thank you,” Caitlin said primly. “My grandmother bought this dress for me.”
That didn’t especially surprise Zelda. The gray wool dress with its simple white collar was precisely the choice she would have expected from Geraldine
Still, she had things to work out. After Friday night she knew that she was treading on dangerous turf. Coming back to Port William had stirred up old longings.
She picked up one of her mother’s favorite books,
This Side of Paradise,
and clung to it, rubbing her fingers over the worn cover.
“Oh, Mama, what should I do?” she murmured.
She was beginning to get an inkling that this turmoil was part of her mother’s plan. Maybe Ella Louise had recognized that too many things had been left unresolved when Zelda fled to Los Angeles with her heart in tatters. Maybe she’d known, as Zelda hadn’t until the night before, that she’d never be able to get on with her life in L.A. or in Port William until she’d dealt once and for all with the permanent ache Taylor Matthews had left inside her.
But a whole year? She’d barely been home a month and already things were more complicated, instead of less. Another eleven months and she probably wouldn’t have a strand of hair left in her head with the way Taylor’s impossible ways made her want to tear it out.
Okay, this wasn’t something she could blame entirely on Taylor. These were her emotions. Stupid, wasted emotions, as near as she could tell. Just because he’d kissed her as though he’d meant it didn’t prove he was about to get tangled up in something more lasting.
Go or stay? Stay or go? The choice tormented her for the rest of Saturday and all through the endless night.
On Sunday morning, with the memory of the challenge in Taylor’s eyes on Friday still very much on her mind and Saturday’s uncertainty even fresher, Zelda went to church. Sheer instinct had her up and dressed in a subdued silk dress before she considered the ramifications of showing up in a place where she was bound to run into Taylor’s parents. Besides, it had been so long since she’d been inside a church, she ought to be praying that the rafters wouldn’t collapse.
The minister, if it was still Jesse Hall, would probably offer up a few prayers of his own at the sight of her. He’d once had to call the volunteer fire department to drag her and Taylor down from the steeple. Not satisfied to ring the bell by pulling the rope, they’d climbed all the way up to give it a push or two at close range. The memory of Beau’s horrified expression as he’d watched their undignified descent to the ground brought out a smile.
As she strolled across the lawn in front of the Port William Methodist Church, she glanced up at the steeple and felt an old familiar urge to do something outrageous. Maturity kept her feet planted firmly on the ground. Or so she told herself.
She nodded politely at half a dozen acquaintances. She couldn’t help noticing the wary looks some of the women cast first at her and then at their husbands. Wanda Sue Oglethorpe actually latched possessively onto her husband’s elbow and spun him around as if she feared that a simple nod in Zelda’s direction might turn the man into a pillar of salt. Given Denny Oglethorpe’s preference for bib overalls, flannel shirts and chewing tobacco, Zelda could have reassured Wanda Sue that she was welcome to him, if only the woman had asked.
Trying hard not to let the general lack of welcome bother her, Zelda made it as far as the door of the church before she heard her name called with anything resembling enthusiasm. She turned around just in time to see Caitlin running toward her, her face alight with pleasure.
“Well, good morning,” she said, forcing herself not to look beyond the child for the father she was sure couldn’t be far away. “Don’t you look pretty?”
“Thank you,” Caitlin said primly. “My grandmother bought this dress for me.”
That didn’t especially surprise Zelda. The gray wool dress with its simple white collar was precisely the choice she would have expected from Geraldine
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