Aunt Martha shook her head. “I always thought it was odd that she didn’t have a husband. I’m telling you, I don’t think that boy is just her nephew.”
“Hush, Martha,” Aunt Jewel admonished. She went back to the table and began dealing cards again. “I’m not Saylor Stark’s biggest fan by any means, but no matter who she is to that boy, she’s done the best she could by him. And he’s turned out nearly as smart as our Harper!” Leaning forward, Aunt Jewel gave me a shrewd smile. “You’re still going to whoop him for valedictorian though, right, baby?”
I smiled back. “Absolutely.”
They started to play again, and while I was already about to go into a diabetic coma, I poured myself some more tea anyway. “Are there any other weird things that’ve happened here in town? Not only related to the Starks, but . . . I don’t know. People seeing things. Stuff disappearing, like . . . magic kind of stuff?”
All three of them exchanged a look this time, and then Aunt Martha very gingerly put her cards down. “Harper, have you been doing the huffing?”
“No,” I said, setting down my glass so fast that tea sloshed out onto the counter. I reached behind me for a paper towel and continued. “I was just wondering. For a research project. I’m doing a—a paper on local superstitions.”
Mollified, The Aunts resumed their card game. “Oh, well, in that case, of course there have been odd things,” Aunt May said. “There’s that window in the courthouse that supposedly shows a man’s face if the sun hits it the right way.”
“And they say the choir loft at First Baptist is haunted,” Aunt Martha added, pulling out another cigarette from her pack. “Although I think it’s just pigeons up there, and the janitorial staff isn’t doing their job.”
“You know, sweetie, now that you mention things disappearing, there was that man years back,” Aunt Jewel said, not looking up from her cards. “Real particular. Several people saw him lurking around town, dressed all in black, very suspicious. He was renting a room over at Janice Duff’s boarding house. One night, Janice hears this God-awful ruckus up there, and when she goes in, she swears up and down that she saw him dead on his bed with a big sword in him.”
My neck prickled as Aunt May nodded. “That’s right. I talked to her about it the next week at church. She said it wasn’t a regular sword either, it was one of those big curvy ones. Like in the old movies about sheikhs. What do they call those things?”
“Scimitars,” I croaked, my mouth dry.
“That’s right, a scimitar. Anyway, she calls 911, havin’ an absolute fit, but when the police get there, the man was gone.”
“And more than that,” Aunt May said, discarding a five of clubs. “There was no trace he’d ever been there. No blood, no clothes, no suitcase. Bed made up all pretty and everything.”
“Most everybody thought Janice was having a nervous breakdown. Happens when some women go through—” Aunt Martha dropped her voice to a whisper—“The Change.”
My hand was shaking as I poured myself another glass of tea. This time, I was pretty sure it wasn’t from the sugar. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and hoped The Aunts wouldn’t notice.
Not my problem, I tried to tell myself.
Aunt Jewel picked up a discarded card, and then turned a bright smile on me. “Anyway, does that answer your question, baby?”
I swallowed. “Sure does.”
Chapter 18
“I’m pregnant.”
“Huh?” Looking up from the pair of shoes I’d been pretending
to study, I turned to face Bee. “What did you say?”
“Finally!” Bee said, tossing her head back with an exaggerated
eye roll. “I said your name three times already, and when that
didn’t grab your attention, I decided to go dramatic.” Smiling, I tossed one of those little stockings you get to try on
shoes at her. “Well, it clearly worked. I take it you are not actually
carrying Brandon’s spawn, then?”
Bee snorted and lifted one foot, turning her ankle so that I
could admire the shoe from all angles. “No, thank God. My
mama would kill me. Now what do you think of these?” We were at the Pine Grove Galleria, our typical Saturdayafternoon destination. Today’s trip was especially important
since we were picking out our shoes for Cotillion. Or Bee was. I
hadn’t worked up the nerve to tell her I’d quit Cotillion yet, but
since we were already on our third store, I was going to have to
do it soon. I just wasn’t sure how to break it to her in the middle of Well Heeled. The store was relatively deserted and I didn’t see anyone we knew; the only other customers were a little girl, who was probably around ten, and her mom. Still, I was beginning to
wish I’d just said something in the car on the way here. Dutifully, I continued to inspect the white high heel she’d
slipped on. “Pretty,” I told her.
Bee frowned. “But not perfect.”
“I . . . don’t you think they’re a little high?”
Sighing, Bee slid her foot out of the shoe and put it back in the
box. “Probably. I’m good in heels, but I don’t want to pull a Mary
Beth.”
Next to us, the little girl was trying to talk her mom into buying her a pair of red sparkly ballet flats, but the mom was holding
her ground. “We’re picking out church shoes, Kenley,” she said,
exasperated, and I had to hide a smile.
Bee stood up and reached out, picking up a strappy sandal.
She ran her fingers over the jeweled straps. “This is pretty. It
would look good with your dress. Doesn’t it have sparkles?” I tried to keep from sighing longingly. Yes, my dress had sparkles. Subtle ones, but sparkles nonetheless. And a little bustle and
a short train, and about a hundred silk-covered buttons . . . and I
would never wear it.
I’d been trying to work up the nerve to tell Bee all afternoon.
First, I’d sworn I’d say something on the ride to the mall. And
when we’d walked inside, I had been all set to say, “Actually, Bee,
I’ve decided not to do Cotillion this year.”
Now we were on our third store, and I knew it was now or
never.
I took the shoe from Bee’s hand and set it back on the shelf. “It
would look good, but . . . I’m, um, not doing Cotillion after all.” Bee’s mouth dropped open a bit, but no sound came out.
Turning away from her, I moved over to a display of scarves. I’d
never worn a scarf in my life, but I made a big show of pulling
one out and examining the pattern.
“Why not?” Bee asked from behind me.
I put the first scarf back and pulled out another, and once
again thought about telling Bee the truth. I can’t do Cotillion because I have superpowers, but they suck. Because something is going to
happen there that night that I don’t want to be involved with. But I couldn’t say any of that. So instead, I played the one card
I’d promised myself I would never, ever play. “Leigh-Anne,” I
said. “It’s . . . too hard. Thinking about the year she did it . . .” Bee didn’t say anything for a long time, and I wasn’t sure I had
ever felt worse than I did at that moment. Damn it, I’d given up
the whole Paladin thing. So why was it still messing up my life? Bee appeared at my elbow. “Okay,” she said, tucking her hair
behind her ears. “Then I won’t go either.”
I dropped the scarf. “Bee, you can’t—”
“I can,” she said, even as she threw one last lusting look at the
shoes. “We always said we were going to do Cotillion together.” Bee may have been the only person on earth more excited
for Cotillion than I was, but she gave me a brave if entirely fake
smile. “It’ll be fine. We’ll do, like, one of those anti-prom proms,
only it’ll be an anti-Cotillion Cotillion. We’ll wear black dresses
and hang out at my house watching bad movies and drinking
bad punch.”
“It’ll be hard to find worse punch than my Aunt Jewel’s,” I
said, and Bee’s smile got a little more real.
“We’ll manage,” she said. Then she stopped to pick up the
scarf, placing it back on its shelf. “Now let’s go to the food court
and eat our weight in Cinnabon.”
“You are the bestest best friend in all the world,” I said, looping my arm through hers.
“I know,” she said, squeezing my arm against her side. “And
you in no way deserve me.”
I didn’t. Not even a little bit, and the truth of that lodged in my
throat so that all I could do was squeak, “Yup.”
As we made our way through the mall, Bee and I chatted
about Ryan and Brandon, and it could have been any other Saturday, if it weren’t for the constant gnawing of guilt. Staying
away from the Starks was the best thing to do, which meant staying away from Cotillion. I didn’t want to ruin that for Bee, but it
wasn’t like I’d asked her to give it up.
Suddenly, Bee came to a stop, pulling me up short, too. “Oh.” “What?” I asked, following her gaze. And when I saw what
she was looking at . . .
“Oh,” I echoed.
Mary Beth was standing in front of the Starbucks in the food
court, sipping an iced coffee and smiling up at Ryan. He was leaning against the wall, hands in his back pockets,
and he was smiling down at her. There was even . . . head-tilting. My boyfriend was leaning and head-tilting at another girl. And
not any girl. Mary Beth Riley, who practically had a neon sign
flashing “TAKE ME NOW, RYAN BRADSHAW!” over her head. “Is she chewing on her straw?” Bee asked quietly, and I narrowed my eyes. She was. She was totally chewing on her straw
and smiling and head-tilting and—
Before I could think it through, I was walking over to the
Starbucks, Bee trailing a few steps behind. “Ryan!” I called, smiling broadly.
He swiveled his head at the sound of my voice, but there was
no guilt in his face. Mary Beth, however, jumped a little. “Are you following me?” I asked him, coming in close to slide
my arm around his waist. “I told him Bee and I were doing some
shoe shopping today,” I informed Mary Beth, who gave me a
sickly smile.
“Actually, no. I was here to pick up my tux. Check me out,
renting a full six weeks early.”
“You’re a good boyfriend,” I conceded. And he was, which was
why I couldn’t stand idly by and let other girls chew straws at him. A thought occurred to me. Ryan said he was picking up his
tux for Cotillion. Ryan was supposed to escort me to Cotillion,
and while the night wasn’t such a big deal for guys as it was for
girls, I knew Mrs. Bradshaw was on the committee at Magnolia
House. She expected her son to go. And if I wouldn’t go with