Page 64 of Slow Burn
His brows wiggled. “Hope so. When you gonna ditch that old geezer and run away with me?”
“Oh, Honey, I’d love to. But these hips don’t run anywhere.”
“I’ll carry you.” He winked. “Just say the word.”
Her chuckle warmed him like always. They’d been running that joke for over a decade.
“You’d break your back, boy,” she said, waving him off. “You goin’ to that bonfire tonight?”
“Droppin’ tables for the dessert contest.” He lifted a brow. “You better be bringing those apple fritters.”
“You know I don’t break tradition.” Her gaze sharpened then, cutting right through him. “That Murphy girl gonna be there?”
He blew out a breath. “How would I know?”
“You didn’t invite her?”
Felt like an accusation, and heat crawled up his neck. “No, ma’am,” he said, keeping the sass in check. She’d ream him if he let it fly.
She clucked her tongue. “You flirt with me all day but don’t snatch up that sweet girl? Shame on you.”
“It’s complicated.”
“I don’t see how. The second I saw her, I knew she belonged here. She’s got roots. Been too long neglected.”
He pushed the garage door closed. “Not everybody thinks she belongs.”
“Some people got sticks up their butts.”
That made him laugh. “Miz Lu spittin’ truth.”
“Damn right. Now, go invite her. Let her know some of us knew and loved her mama.”
That pulled him up short. “You taught Bonnie?”
“Oh sure. Had half this town in my classroom. Jocelyn’s mama was kind. Always helping somebody, the light in every room. I see it in her girl, though life’s dulled it some.” She winked. “You could bring a little of that shine back. You did alright gettin’ your own.”
He walked over to slam the truck’s tailgate so he could dodge both the compliment and the charge.
She squinted at him when he didn’t respond. “You been alone a long time, Cole Hauser.”
That was not a reminder he needed. But he knew what to say to shake her off. “Only ’cause you won’t run off with me, Miz Lu.”
She flapped a hand at him, her laughter following her as she shuffled toward her house.
He tapped his thumb on the tailgate, chewing on her words. Maybe a few folks wanted Jocelyn here. Plenty wanted her gone. They hadn’t been shy about it.
His glance drifted to his parents’ place. The scrap of card stock Jocelyn had handed him sat heavy in his pocket. Wouldn’t take two minutes to see if Ma had paper to match it.
His mama swore Jocelyn deserved answers. He wanted to believe her. But his folks had hidden a truth from him for twenty years, and that wound still throbbed.
Inside, the kitchen was quiet and cool, a sign his mama hadn’t been around for a while. His pop’s truck sat in the garage, but the house felt empty.
He took the stairs two at a time, ducking into the old office. Scrapbooking central. Shelves of albums lined the wall, every year neat in a row. Ma’s projects-in-progress sat in plastic totes he’d seen many times. But he went straight to the scrap bin.
The lid popped loud when he opened it, and he froze for half a second, then shook it off and dug through the piles. Spreading a handful of scraps on the clean table, he compared them one by one to the jagged note. Some were easy to rule out. Colors off. Textures wrong. Edges didn’t match.
Didn’t rule it out. Didn’t ease his mind, either.
