Dust Eva Everson (story reading txt) 📖

father had mailed to her for Christmas. At least he still remembered his kids during the holidays. On birthdays. Not much any other time, but at least then, always leaving her to wonder if he’d had to sneak the presents out when his new wife wasn’t looking. “How do I look?” she asked.

“Too pretty for your own good.”

Cindie pulled at a tendril of hair, her mother’s answer sending a rush of fear through her. She looked so much like photos of Lettie Mae in her youth. Would she still look like her when her age had doubled? Would she act like her, holding on to the same bitterness? Or was it envy. Anger. “Well, as long as I look good enough for Westley Houser, that’s all that matters.” She turned again. “All right. I’m going to Odenville to see if he’s come back to work by now. The sign on the door yesterday said they’d be open today, so I reckon—”

“Bring me back a box of Salem Lights while you’re over there, hear?”

Cindie walked past her mother, the heels of her boots clomping on the hardwood floor that needed a good mopping. “All right.”

“Two if they’re on sale.”

Cindie reached for the strap of her purse she’d left in the living room and brought it over her shoulder. “Yes’m.”

“And don’t stay gone too long,” she said as Cindie reached the front door, her mother’s car keys now jangling from her fingertips. “I got a life, too, you know.”

Cindie rolled her eyes but not so she’d be seen. The last thing she needed was Lettie Mae’s palm print across her face when she saw Westley. Then again …

She turned back into the room, caught her mother’s eyes with her own. “What life, Lettie Mae?” she said, daring the woman who’d given her life to end it.

And, right on cue, a hand came across her cheek, stinging it soundly, snapping her head sideways, bringing tears to Cindie’s eyes without trying. “Don’t you sass me, little girl. I don’t deserve it.”

Cindie blinked slowly as a smile spread across her soul. “No, Mama. You don’t. Sorry.”

She found Westley behind the raised pharmacy counter, head down, lips moving slightly. Like he was counting or something. She stopped dead in front of him. Waited until he sensed her presence. Looked up.

“Hey, there,” he said.

She thought she saw a blush rush across his cheeks, like he was embarrassed for her to be there. Not that he should be. She’d dressed up nice. Done her hair like he liked it. Worn the earrings. Then again, maybe the sight of her did to him what the sight of him did to her. “Hey.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked, but he came around the counter to where she stood, hands shoved loosely into his pants pockets, letting her know that her being there was okay. He wasn’t mad or nothing. “Is Michelle—hey … what happened to your face?” His right hand came up quickly; his fingertips brushed across her still-reddened cheek, sending shivers down her body.

“It’s nothing,” she lied. Because it was surely something, mostly half-planned and purposeful. “Lettie Mae just didn’t like something I had to say about her life.”

His brow furrowed. “She doesn’t hit Michelle, does she?”

“Never. I’d never—”

“Good, because—”

“I waited until nearly lunch to come up here, Westley. Hoping maybe you and me could go somewhere and get a little something to eat. Because I—uh—well, you didn’t call or nothing on Christmas Day like I’d hoped you would and I—I wanted to show you the pictures I took of Michelle with that Instamatic camera you got me. I already got ’em developed.”

Westley returned his right hand to the pocket, then looked over the counter toward the large-faced clock hanging on the wall. “Yeah … um … yeah. Okay. I’m about done here for the morning, but I—why don’t you—why don’t you go on down to Mama Jean’s Restaurant and grab a table for us there.” He smiled in that gentle way that made her know everything between them was good. Better than good. Might even have a future to it. “I’ll be right behind you.”

She smiled as the warmth continued to spread through her. Yes, yes. A future with the father of her child. “I can do that.”

He started to walk away, then stopped. “Um—see if you can grab one near the back, okay?”

“Sure,” she answered with a sigh that caught her off guard. Yes, yes. This just may go better than she’d hoped.

Chapter Seventeen

Westley

After slipping out of his lab coat and hanging it on the brass hook near his desk, Westley picked up the phone and dialed a number he still had to look up—his own.

Allison answered on the third ring, her voice sounding confused. “Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart. You okay?”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, Westley. I couldn’t imagine who’d be calling. I don’t know anyone here.”

He tucked his chin and grinned. “You know me.”

“I definitely know you,” she said, once again understanding his banter. Something she seemed to have gotten better at since their wedding.

“Did you go to the grocery store?”

“I did. Took me longer than I thought it would. I’m not used to shopping on my own.”

“Did I give you enough cash?” He glanced up at the clock knowing he had to hurry. “We’ll go to the bank soon and get you added to the account. Get the checks printed with both our names.”

“You gave me plenty. Came back with extra, actually.”

The very soul of him smiled. Beautiful and thrifty, his wife. “And you had no trouble finding your way there and back?”

“I did fine.” She giggled. “Okay. I got a little lost, but I figured it out.”

“I’m sure you did,” he said around a grin. “Well, I’ve got to get back to work. I just wanted to check on you.”

“I love you so much.”

“You too … say, what are you doing with yourself the rest of the day?”

“Well, I just got back from the grocery store so