Dust Eva Everson (story reading txt) 📖

even told my parents and I’ve barely wrapped my brain around the move and I—I—” And then, against my will, monstrous tears slid from my eyes.

“Ali …” Westley released my hand and, in one swift movement, he stood next to me, his hand resting on my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

Through a haze of tears, I saw the woman sitting across from me cock one of those perfectly arched, penciled-in brows. “Westley,” she said, her tone maternal and forthright. “Leave us alone, will you?” She waved him away with the back of her ringed fingers. “Go on, now. Go tell Rose Beth we’ll have coffee and dessert in the front parlor.”

Westley did as he was told but not before planting a kiss on top of my head and not before the world turned nearly to night outside and, as predicted but later than expected, rain began to spatter against the glass. The next thing I knew, Miss Justine had me by the same hand Westley released. She pulled me over to a cluster of white wicker loveseats and chairs with overstuffed cushions, all nestled in the far-right corner, where I sat blubbering like the child I was.

“There now,” she said, stuffing a pale pink handkerchief into my hand. “Blow your nose before you dribble all over that adorable little top of yours.”

This time, it was I who did as she was told. “Mascara must be all over my face,” I whimpered, thinking of how I probably looked to such a refined woman. A woman I had so wanted to impress. But, how to do that with mascara streaks down my cheeks?

“It is, but you’ll survive it. Now,” she said patting my knee. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

And I did … I told her how much I loved Westley … and my parents … and my job … and my hometown. I told her that it all seemed to be happening so fast; faster than I could keep up with. I told her how one minute I was a single girl watching Match Game and the next I was an engaged woman whose fiancé hadn’t told her about the move. He’d told his brother and sister-in-law, but he hadn’t told the one person—me—who it would have the greatest effect upon. And then I ran down a completely different rabbit trail, telling her about the bridal showers my mother’s friends had already scheduled and the tea the women of the church were organizing and that, so far, no one had asked me if the dates were okay. They simply expected me to be there and that was that, and so far, I’d been fine with it because all of this was really, truly exciting, but …

“But … I don’t even have my dress,” I sobbed. “And to top it off, I never really had an example with my older sister. I mean, she’s married and all, but she didn’t go through any of this. Not that we’re even that close. I’d like to be, of course, but, well, we just never were. Not that there was much hope for that after she ran off and married the—”

A brow rose with the tilt of her head. “The?”

I managed a wobbly smile. “We call her husband ‘the bum.’”

Miss Justine smiled. “And why is that?”

I squeezed the pretty pink handkerchief. Shook my head. “I-I shouldn’t say …”

She sat upright beside me. “Oh, come on now. You and I are slated to be friends, I just know it. And if you can’t confide in a soon-to-be friend …”

“It’s nothing personal against him, really,” I supplied quickly. “Because he’s—as my sister says—a godly man.” I shook my head. “It’s because of his job … or lack thereof.”

“Oh,” Miss Justine said, the word coming out in a tiny staccato. “So, he doesn’t work.”

“Oh, he works,” I said, keeping my eyes on the handkerchief, wondering if I should take it home with me and wash it or hand it back to her in the awful mess it was now in. No one had ever taught me the etiquette for such a moment. “It’s just …” How could I explain my brother-in-law to such a woman as Justine Knight?

“Well, if he’s a godly man, he must do something. If I’m not mistaken the Good Book says that if any would not work, neither should he eat.” She cocked a brow. “Does he eat?”

I had to swallow a smile. “Yes. Yes, of course, he eats.”

“Well then. What exactly is it that he does so he can eat?”

I looked at her fully, then. At the graciousness of her. “Well, he says he’s a writer, and I suppose he is. I mean, he’s a journalism grad, but so far all he’s done is turn out a few articles for some local magazines and, well, a small one in Time. Mostly my sister brings in the bread and butter.” I spoke rapidly now, hoping Westley was not in earshot. “My parents went slap crazy when Westley and I started dating. And I mean that in a good way. I thought my mother was going to have a spasm when I told her he’d asked me—me—to marry him.” I took a breath. “But without a dress, how am I supposed …” Then, without warning, the tears started back up, tears I’d fought to keep at bay since I’d overheard Westley speaking with his brother and DiAnn. Tears I’d kept buried beneath the surface while wondering why my future sister-in-law seemed a little … cold toward me. Or, if not cold, reserved. Tears I’d covered up while focusing on having a “good time.”

Miss Justine ran her hand between my shoulder blades, told me to blow again—which I did—and then calmly noted that there were plenty of shops in Savannah that sold lovely gowns and with my cute little frame, finding the perfect dress shouldn’t be a problem. “Your mother and—are your grandmothers still alive?”

I nodded as I ran the handkerchief over a now-tender nose.

“Well you