Dust Eva Everson (story reading txt) 📖

over the rim, pooling onto the saucer. “What did you say?” his father asked, ignoring the mess.

Westley rose from the table and walked to where a roll of paper towels hung over the counter. He tore off two, then handed them to his father who only wadded them into his fist. “Say that again.”

“I have a daughter, Dad,” Westley said, returning to his seat. “Her name is Michelle. She’s a year old and, Dad, the cutest thing.” He attempted a smile, one that went unanswered.

“Who is the mother?”

Westley took in a deep breath, letting it go slowly enough to buy him the time he needed to say the name. “Dad—it’s—it’s Cindie Campbell.”

His father’s ears turned bright red, the color spilling down his neck and throat, until the shading crawled back up his face. “Lettie Mae’s girl?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Which one? The oldest one? I’d heard she married a—”

“Middle girl.”

His father paused, his natural color returning to him as his brow furrowed and dates and timeframes calculated through his brain. “How old is she?”

“She’s almost eighteen.”

More calculations. “She was what, then? Seventeen?”

“Sixteen … but, almost seventeen.”

His father’s hand came down on the table, rattling the dishes, sending more coffee into the saucers.

“Dad.”

“You’re lucky you’re not in jail.”

“Well, I’m not, Dad,” Westley said, his voice on edge. “It was one night, and we were drunk and now I’ve got a little girl. Bottom line.” He took a breath, which caught in his chest. “Michelle Elise. And she’s—she’s beyond amazing.” He stood, walked to his room where he retrieved the cheaply framed photo he’d hidden between the mattresses, then returned to the kitchen where his father busied himself cleaning up the mess, his jaw as tense as Westley had ever seen it. “Here,” Westley said. “This is your granddaughter.”

With that, his father’s face softened, and he reached for the photo.

“Dad,” Westley said, keeping his voice soft. Calm. “I know I’ve done some things over the years that have aged you and Mom ten years or more with each event. And I know I was reckless having sex with a girl I didn’t really know and, yes, I should have used protection, but that’s water under the bridge, quite frankly. What’s important now is—”

“Have you told Allison? Because if you haven’t—” His father’s admonition was interrupted as the kitchen’s storm door opened and both men turned to see a thoroughly coiffed Olive Houser standing at the threshold, her eyes wide.

“What is it?” she asked, her face a canvas of concern. “What’s wrong?”

Chapter Fourteen

Allison

Finally, everyone and most especially Mama had left the bride’s room—a secluded chamber within the church decorated in antiques and chintz—leaving me alone with Elaine. I turned from the floor-length gilded mirror where my reflection revealed a bride about to lose her breakfast, had she bothered to eat one. Despite my mother’s plea to “at least swallow down a piece of toast, Allison.”

“Elaine,” I said to a young woman I feared may show the bride up in her beauty. One good look at her and Westley may grab her by the hand and take off running. I shook away the notion. “Let me ask you something. Last night, did you notice anything? Anything at all? Like something going on between Westley and his parents?”

Elaine bent over a Queen Anne coffee table where my bouquet—a cascade of miniature red and white roses with green ivy spun between the petals—lay protected within a large box filled with white tissue paper. She picked it up, then straightened it and handed it to me with a serious shrug. “I don’t really know them, so I can’t say. But you insisted all last night that something was going on and you know them better than I do. So … okay.”

I took the bouquet and turned back to the mirror for a glimpse at the results of weeks of planning and choosing and picking over. “Something’s up,” I breathed out. “Do you think they think that maybe Wes shouldn’t marry me?”

Elaine came to stand behind me, looking resplendent in the red, white-dotted swiss maid of honor gown I’d chosen for her. “Stop that. This is just nerves talking. They’re lucky to have you in their family. In spite of the fact I think you’re getting married too soon, it’s obvious Westley loves you. One look at his face and I knew.”

Before I could ask her to pinky swear it to me as we’d done so many times over the years about so many childish things, the door behind us opened and we both turned. Julie stepped in and I smiled at the sight of her. The white, red-dotted swiss gown I’d chosen for her (and Heather) gave a shimmering glow to her always-bronzed complexion. “Are you about ready?” she asked, then stepped over and ran her long fingers through my hair, fluffing it enough that it lay over my shoulders like a shawl. “You’re gorgeous,” she whispered.

Tears stung my pupils. We’d never been much on deep conversations, but for once the situation warranted being open and vulnerable. “Julie, did you notice anything with Wes and his parents last night? Did they seem to you like they wished Westley would marry someone else?”

She kissed the air around my cheek, careful not to mess up her lipstick or the tiny bit of makeup I’d carefully applied earlier in the day. “Don’t be silly.”

“That what I say,” Elaine chimed in.

“They’re lucky to have you in their family.”

“That’s what I said,” Elaine concurred. She had stepped in front of me, close to the mirror. Leaned in to check her reflection as my shoulders sagged, their words of assurance not quite hitting the mark of good intentions.

“If you think something like that, Allison,” Julie began, “then you should have asked him about it last night.”

“Well, I did. Right after the rehearsal dinner …”

“And what did he say?” Elaine asked. She turned, then stood on tiptoe to bring the veil over my face. “That’s perfect.” She stepped to the coffee table for