CHAPTER ONE
Bella Amaud snatched her purse off the table littered with homework, breakfast dishes, and a stack of half-folded clothes. “Come on, boys. We’re going to be late. Get your backpacks and let’s go.” She swept up the dirty dishes and placed them into the sink. Tomorrow, she’d deal with them tomorrow. Right now she needed to get the boys to their father’s house, then she’d head on over to Becky Lee’s. She was going to be late. Again. “I mean it. We’re leaving.”
“I’m here.” Timmy came out of the bedroom he shared with his older brother, hopping on one foot while trying to put on his other shoe.
“Backpack?”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot.” Timmy hurried back into the bedroom and came bursting back out with Jeremy trailing behind him.
At least they both had their backpacks.
“We’re always late.”
Jeremy announced it as if she wasn’t already aware of the fact. She’d like to blame the lateness on the boys—and they sure contributed to it—but she just hadn’t found the right dance of living alone with two boys, owning her own shop, and handling life. “Get your homework off the table and into the backpacks. Jeremy, don’t forget to finish up your homework at your dad’s tonight.”
“We should have gotten it done this afternoon. I needed your help, but you were busy with the store.”
“I’m sorry. I had to deal with unloading a shipment. But your dad can help you with it.”
“I wanted to play video games with Dad tonight. He got us two new games.”
Of course he did. She didn’t even have a video game system here at the apartment she shared with the boys.
“I’m going to see if he’ll let me play video games before I finish my homework.” Jeremy eyed her defiantly.
She wasn’t going to get into that now. She didn’t make the rules when the boys were at Rick’s, though he didn’t seem to have a problem with insisting on rules for the boys when they were with her.
A long sigh escaped in spite of her attempts to stifle it.
“We have to do homework before games,” Timmy piped up helpfully.
“Not at Dad’s house, stupid.” Jeremy shot his brother an annoyed look.
“Jeremy Hardy. No name-calling.”
Jeremy let out his own long-suffering sigh. “Sorry.”
The boys picked up their backpacks and she took one quick glance around the room, making sure they had all they needed. They walked down the stairs from the apartment over her shop. It was a nice arrangement with their living quarters over the store. Even if the apartment was small, it worked for them. The price was right—included in the rent for the shop.
She pulled the door shut and let Timmy take the key and lock the door.
Rick lived just on the edge of town so there was only time for about one hundred squabbles between the boys before they arrived. She pulled up in front of the huge, old Victorian house. The yard was immaculately groomed. Timmy had already informed her that they were having real fried chicken tonight, as opposed to the kind she made, take-out from Best Friends Diner. TheNewMrsHardy came out to the porch and waved to the boys. Rick’s new wife. A great cook. Crafty. Seemed to really enjoy the boys. It could be worse. But she had to admit she was a bit jealous of the time Rick’s new wife spent with the boys. Bella hated the shuffling back and forth and the nights when it wasn’t her tucking the boys into bed.
The boys climbed out of the car and raced up to the front porch. “Bye, Mom.” Timmy tossed the words over his shoulder.
Rick came out of the house as the boys went in. Headed for her car. Great.
“You’re late.”
“Yep.”
“I’m supposed to have the boys at six o’clock.”
“Rick, you're always welcome to come pick the boys up at the apartment.”
“That’s way out of my way.”
Of course it was. It didn’t matter that driving the boys out here to Rick’s house was out of her way. She knew she should say she was sorry for being late. But she wasn’t. Rick could just get in his own darn car and come get them if her delivery service wasn’t good enough for him.
So she remained silent.
Rick stared at her a moment, shook his head, and turned to walk away.
She watched her ex cross the yard and go into the house. The house where the boys both had their own bedrooms, TVs, video games… and let’s not forget a swimming pool in the backyard. A familiar pang of… something… washed over her. It was not quite longing, not quite jealousy, just a wistfulness for a normal life where she didn’t have to scramble for every penny. She didn’t mind hard work. She was proud of all she’d accomplished in the last few years, but she wished she was able to provide more for her boys. Well, they didn’t need all the stuff and things that Rick showered on them, but it would be nice to have a bit of extra cash to spoil them just a bit.
She sighed. It wasn’t like her to feel sorry for herself, and to be honest, she didn’t. She loved her adorable boys. Loved the shop. Loved the feeling of making it on her own. Things were what they were. She pulled out of the long driveway and headed over for a much-needed girls' night with her friends.
* * *
Owen Campbell stood under the live oak tree at the edge of the yard. The lawn was teeming with children of all ages. And dogs. Lots of dogs. More dogs than he’d ever seen in one place at one time.
He stood in the shade, avoiding the humid sunshine as much as possible. He tugged at the collar of his long-sleeve button-down shirt. He’d at least rolled up the sleeves, but he lusted after a pair of shorts about now instead of his neatly pressed khakis.
He hadn’t known he’d be invited to a family barbecue. A big family barbecue. Two long tables lined the side of the yard and were filled with every kind of food imaginable. Twin little girls crawled in and out from under the tables. More tables were scattered around the yard and filled with people laughing, talking, and eating, along with a fair measure of spilling. The passel of dogs was helpful in that regard, not a scrap of food stayed on the ground for long.
He glanced over toward his half-brother, Jake. Owen was jealous of the easy way Jake moved through the throng of family—scooping up a little girl and twirling her around, drying the tears and replacing the fallen ice cream scoop of a dark-haired little boy, grabbing a glass of lemonade for an elderly lady sitting at the head of a table.
Jake hadn’t really wanted Owen to come to the barbecue, that much had been obvious when he extended the reluctant invitation. Jake’s mother had insisted Owen come because she wanted to meet him.
He saw the family members glancing his way, wondering who this friend of Jake’s was, and why he was here at their barbecue. Owen scuffed his loafers in the dusty soil beneath the tree. A puff of dirt covered his black leather shoes.
Oh, they’d all been nice enough to him, in an obvious you’re-an-outsider kind of way. Jake had just introduced him as Owen. Nothing more. Nothing less. The family had accepted that with only the occasional curious glance his direction.
Owen studied Jake’s face from a distance. He could see a resemblance to his father—their father—in Jake’s face. It’s what he imagined his father would have looked like if the man had ever once in his life relaxed. Jake had his father’s eyes too, just like Owen.
Owen searched for other signs of himself in Jake, but saw none. No mannerisms, nothing that would make anyone think they were brothers. Jake had a larger frame but moved with athletic grace. From what Owen could tell, Jake was one of those people who always fit in, could always hold his own.
He’d only met Jake two months ago when he’d come to Comfort Crossing to find him, the brother he’d never known existed until he'd come across an old file in his father’s desk mentioning a possible son in Mississippi. Possible? What the heck did that mean?
Owen had hired a private investigator, then later he had flown to New Orleans and rented a car to drive to this small town near the coast of Mississippi. Their first meeting had been awkward, to say the least. Jake, it seemed, had always known about their father. He wasn’t much interested in having any relationship with Owen. Jake made that perfectly clear.
So here Owen was back in Comfort Crossing, trying again. Where he now found himself baking in the stifling heat on a spring day with record-breaking high temperatures.
He watched while his brother talked to a woman sitting at a table, then helped her rise. She rested a hand on Jake’s arm as they crossed the distance to the shade where Owen was standing.
“This is my mother, Sylvia Landry.” Jake glanced at Owen with a warning look in his eyes.
Owen held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Landry.”
The woman stared at him for a moment, then slowly reached out her hand to touch his face. It took everything in his power to keep from flinching. She might as well have slapped him. She dropped her hand to her side.
“You look so much like your father.” Her voice was low with a melodious Southern drawl to it.
Owen cleared his throat. “You think so?” He didn’t see it, maybe refused to see it. He wanted to be nothing like his father.
“You have his eyes, just like Jake. But you’re more like him. Same build. Same chin.”
The woman’s eyes burned into him, scorching him with shame… his father’s shame.
“I hear he passed away last year. I’m sorry for your loss.”
He never knew what to answer to that remark. He’d sound like a callous jerk if he said it wasn’t much of a loss, that they’d never been close. The man had never been a father, not really. But instead, as usual, he just nodded.
Jake had his arm protectively around his mother. The woman patted her son’s hand. “It’s okay, dear.” She looked up at Owen. “Oh, and Mr. Campbell? It’s not Mrs. It’s just Sylvia Landry.”
* * *
Bella parked in front of Becky Lee’s cute little cottage. Jenny was already there, her sporty car parked in front of the cottage. It was time for their once-a-month meet up, not that they only saw each other once a month, but the first Monday of the month was always written in ink. Bella certainly needed a dose of her friends tonight. Her life was constantly poised on the brink of chaos and she needed not only support from her friends, but also a big glass of wine. Maybe some chocolate.
She climbed out of her car and shut the driver’s door. The car window slid down inside the door. Great. Just what she needed, another wrench thrown into her previously well-planned life. Well, it wasn’t supposed to rain for a few days. There was a piece of cheery news. Maybe her brother, Gil, could help her fix the window this week. Sure, she’d just add it to her to-do list, the list she never managed to actually get through.
Jealousy towards Becky Lee’s cute little paid-in-full cottage washed over her, followed quickly by guilt. What kind of person was jealous of another friend’s hard work and a bit of inheritance? She’d love more space for herself and the boys. And a yard. Still, she was just darn glad to have their apartment.
The door to the cottage popped open. Jenny and Becky Lee stood in the light spilling out on the front porch.
“Izzy! You made it. Come on, we’ve already cracked open the wine.” Becky Lee motioned her inside. Jenny had decided, the first time she'd met Bella, that Izzy was a better nickname for Isabella than Bella. So began the years of Becky Lee and Jenny calling her Izzy. It always made her feel special and accepted to hear them use the nickname.
Bella crossed the yard and climbed the porch stairs. She was just steps away from the coveted glass of wine.
Jenny plopped down on the overstuffed floral couch in Becky Lee’s front room. “I’m exhausted. Remind me again why I became a teacher?” She kicked off her shoes.
“Because you love it?” Becky Lee sat down beside Jenny and poured glasses of wine for each of them.
“Thanks.” Bella picked up a glass and took a sip. Ah. Yes, that’s what she needed. Good wine and good friends.
“Rough day, Izz? You look a bit frazzled,” Becky Lee said.
“Some of it’s just the usual shop craziness. I did get time to set up a new display. You guys should see it. A teal painted armoire—it’s just gorgeous—some vintage dresses that I hung in it and a couple of paintings in really old frames.”
“Sounds really pretty. You have such a good eye with that.” Jenny reached to the coffee table and took one of the delicious-looking canapés.
Bella had her eye on the strawberries dipped in chocolate. She reached and helped herself to one. “Becky Lee, I swear you always try to outdo us with your cooking when it’s your month. I mean really, the last time it was my turn to host, at the last minute I took you guys to Magnolia Cafe. Which obviously wasn’t a treat for Bec.”
“Oh, I don’t mind eating there. I know I work there all the time, but I still love the food and it’s kind of fun to actually be waited on there instead of serving people.” Becky Lee took a canapé. “Oh, my heavenly days, this is good, if I do say so myself.”
“Well, Timmy had the flu last month when it was my turn. I knew you didn’t want anything to do with that.” Bella remembered the round of flu she and the boys had generously shared with each other.
“No, we probably didn’t.” Jenny agreed.
“Besides, I always feel guilty having you to our cramped apartment over the store. I sometimes miss the days of the big house in Ashford Heights, but I sure don’t miss Rick.”
“Here’s to getting rid of Rick.” Becky Lee raised her glass. “He wasn’t good enough for you, Izzy.”
“No, he probably wasn’t, but this struggle for every penny isn’t much fun either.” Bella smiled at her friends. “But, guess what. I actually saved some money this month. Savings. Imagine that.”
“That’s fantastic. I knew you’d make a success of the store,” Jenny said.
“I am doing okay. Thrilled to put money in savings, but I’m just a bit overwhelmed these days.”
“Bless your heart, Izz. You’ve got every right to feel overwhelmed. Look at all you do every day. You’ve got those two boys to take care of and you have the shop to run.” Becky Lee said.
Bella took a sip of her wine. “I’m happy with my life. I am. I love the store and I’m so glad that Mr. Potter gave me a break on the lease if I’d keep the commercial kitchen in the back of the store. I just don’t use that area except to occasionally stash things in the fridge, or heat water for tea without having to go upstairs to the apartment. He wanted the kitchen left in case the next renter— as if I would ever leave willingly— wanted to open another restaurant there, like it was before I started leasing it.”
“I know, it had been Sylvia’s Grill for years. When her son, Jake, took it over, he sold it soon after. Which was too bad, because it was a great place to pop in and get something to eat. No offense to Magnolia Cafe, Bec.”
“Jake’s decision to sell was my good luck. It’s been a great place for the store and to live.”
“Jake sure just up and sold it suddenly, didn’t he? Always wondered ‘bout that.” Becky Lee said.
“Yes, he did. I didn’t understand it, because that building had been his grandparents’ before his momma started Sylvia’s Grill. I remember when I was a little girl, his grandmother had a bakery there and lived upstairs with his grandfather. I remember those pies she baked. They were wonderful. We always got our pies for Thanksgiving from her. I thought it was strange that the family would let it go.” Jenny shrugged her shoulders.
“I think Mr. Potter felt sorry for me when Rick left us, and since the commercial kitchen space was worthless to me, Mr. Potter used it as an excuse to keep my rent so reasonable.” Bella took another chocolate-covered strawberry. Surely more chocolate would help her stress level. “I’m just glad business has picked up in the last few months.”
“We do seem to be getting our share of tourist traffic. It helps that those two old plantations out Richland Road converted to inns. They attract a lot of people wanting that antebellum Southern get-away,” Becky Lee said.
“We’re getting more people moving here and commuting to New Orleans for work, too. The school is expecting record enrollment for the next school year,” Jenny said.
Bella plopped a canapé in her mouth, convincing herself that it was okay to overindulge in celebration of her shiny new savings account. “Yum, this canapé is great. I swear I’m going to learn to cook someday.”
“You’ve been saying that ever since we had home economics together in high school,” Becky Lee teased.
“Well, I got that stupid C in home ec while you got an A, of course. Then there was that time in junior high that I caught our kitchen on fire. Luckily my dad put it out before too much damage was done.”
“Well, notice I never ask you to help cook in my kitchen.” Becky Lee grinned.
Bella sat back in the comfortable chair, enjoying the conversation with her friends, letting the stress of the day and her annoyance with Rick wash away. The three friends had known each other since grade school days. In high school Jenny had gone on to a prestigious private high school while Becky Lee and Bella had stayed at the public high school. They had all three remained fast friends through the years, the kind of friends you could call in the middle of the night when your husband said he was leaving you. Like Rick had done. He married his new wife—the perfect little homemaker—the day after their divorce had been final. Seriously, who does that?
Not to mention his new wife was a world-class cook. Her boys were always telling her what fabulous meals TheNewMrsHardy had made. Bella was glad she’d taken back her maiden name, Amaud, when she and Rick had gotten divorced. It was one of her first steps toward independence, toward control.
“So, how is Nathan doing?” Bella pulled herself away from her own problems and turned to her friend. Jenny’s son had been getting into a bit of trouble ever since Jenny’s husband had died about a year ago.
“I’m thinking I’ll ground him for, oh say, the rest of his life.” Jenny sighed. “I know he misses Joseph. I do, too. I keep hoping Nathan will settle down before he gets into any real trouble.”
“I heard the sheriff brought him home from a party where there had been underage drinking.” Becky Lee always knew what was going on in town. She had her whole Magnolia Cafe connection. Eventually everyone in town dropped by the cafe at one time or another and chatted with Becky Lee. She was everyone’s favorite waitress, so she was always in the know.
“There are no secrets in Comfort Crossing, are there?” Jenny sighed again.
The three friends looked at each other. But no one said a word. They all knew there were some secrets in Comfort Crossing. Big secrets. The swear-you’d-keep-the-secret-until-your-dying-day type secrets. The kind of secrets the three friends had been keeping for years.
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