Page 50 of One Southern Summer

Unbelievable. Avery huffed out a laugh. “Now is not the best time.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep it short.” Whitney linked her arms across her chest and raised her voice to be heard above Hayes’s meltdown. “I’d like for you to be mindful about how you conduct yourself in public.”

“I—I don’t understand.”

“You seem to think I’m not paying attention, but I’m fully aware of who you’re spending time with. So clever, aligning yourself with someone who’s well respected in Camellia.”

Her stomach churned. “Are you referring to Cole? We’ve been friends for years.”

Whitney smirked. “So I’ve heard. I can see that you’ve attached yourself to an important cause. I hope you’re not spreading yourself too thin and that your intentions are genuine.”

“I have no intention of saying or doing anything that would reflect poorly on you, your husband or your son.” Anger seeped into her voice, but she refused to be disrespectful. “I’ll be back at 1:30. Please take good care of Addison.”

She turned and strode back to the car. Hayes was crying so loud the whole neighborhood could probably hear him. He screamed and arched his back as she tucked him into his car seat. Fumbling in the diaper bag, she found a pacifier attached to a string and a clip. Usually he refused, but this time when she offered it, he gladly started sucking. Mercifully, his eyelids grew heavy then fluttered closed.

Thank You, Lord.Avery quietly shut the car door then slid behind the wheel and started the car. Her pulse sped as she pulled out of the driveway then worked her way down the hill toward downtown Camellia. Whitney’s comments made an unwelcome visit, spooling through her head and provoking several snarky comments that she sort of wished she’d come up with before she’d walked away.

Did people really think she’d agreed to help Cole to make herself look good? And was that true? She cringed then gripped the steering wheel tighter. She’d always struggled with craving other people’s approval.

Admitting that, even to herself, stung. As she drove, she silently offered a prayer. Something she hadn’t done on a consistent basis for quite some time.

Lord, I need Your help. I can’t navigate these family dynamics on my own. This all feels so convoluted. I want Addison and Hayes to spend time with their grandparents and to have healthy relationships with Pax and Trey. But I’m still so wounded and, if I’m honest, a little angry. My life does not look the way it used to, and I know I’m supposed to be thankful and use this as an opportunity for growth. I’m fumbling in the dark here. Please, please don’t let me cause irreparable harm to these precious children. I have so many issues because my dad left and I want to protect them from feeling that pain.

Tears burned hot against her eyes. She pressed her hand to her mouth and swallowed back the sob cresting in her throat. She would not show up at the doctor’s office looking like an emotional wreck.

Please make a way forward for our family, despite the hurt. Teach me to forgive, Lord. Even though I really,really,don’t want to.

The late afternoon sun baked Camellia with its unforgiving heat, like a pizza in a wood-fired oven. Cole nudged the AC in his car up another notch then sighed and glanced at his phone.

Avery was late. Twenty-two minutes, by his calculations. He glanced in the rear-view mirror. Waves undulated across the pavement. The only vehicle in sight was the white van with its dented bumper and extra ladders mounted on the top. Roberto and his crew didn’t let humidity or temperatures in the nineties set them back. They’d been hard at work framing the walls for the expansion project all day, only stopping for lunch and brief water breaks.

Cole stared through the windshield, imagining the day when the whole project was finished and the women had moved in. His brain veered off track, delivering a mental picture of a familiar woman with long brown hair and a wide smile bringing gift baskets by the house. What a cruel trick his mind played on him sometimes, like a twisted puppet master, fabricating a grown-up version of his sister, Kim, and what she might be like as a young adult.

“Of course you’d be here, serving others, trying to make this house a home,” he whispered. “You had a heart as wide as the Mississippi.”

He slumped against his car’s headrest and squeezed his eyes shut. If he hadn’t shirked his brotherly responsibilities that horrific day and Kim was still here, would his personal and professional life look any different? Would he have kept practicing law? Married Evangeline and started a family by now?

Groaning, he opened his eyes and cut the engine. That miserable train of thought took him into a dark and ominous tunnel of what-ifs every single time.

Not today. He plucked his phone from the console and exited his vehicle. The humidity enveloped him like a wet bedsheet suspended from his grandmother’s clothesline. Avery had exactly five minutes to text him her ETA or he was calling. Max and Charlie wanted to start filming early next week, so he needed to know whether she was on board with the documentary. Or not.

He shoved his phone in his pocket and resisted the urge to pace the sidewalk. Since his conversation with Max this morning, he’d grown increasingly attached to the idea of a documentary. But he wouldn’t go back on his word to let Avery weigh in.

He checked his phone for a text from her. Still nothing. He kicked at a pebble on the sidewalk.

The breeze kicked up, rustling the leaves of the giant magnolia tree in the yard behind him. A discarded plastic bottle skittered across the pavement, landing in the well-manicured lawn of a local resident. Cole chased after the litter and snatched it, along with an empty potato chip bag. He quickly disposed of both in the trash bag he kept tied to the back of his passenger seat in his car. All the permits had been approved for the home’s expansion, but he knew the residents in this established neighborhood didn’t appreciate the construction equipment and crew descending on their turf. The last thing he wanted was to field complaints about trash blowing through their yards.

A vehicle turned the corner. He glanced at the black luxury sedan. Not Avery. Cole waved to the gentleman behind the wheel as he did a slow roll past the construction site. Where was she? Another vehicle rumbled toward him. The pungent aroma of a diesel engine confirmed that this one wasn’t Avery, either. Unless she’d borrowed a dual-axle silver pickup with an extended cab.

Dale, the project manager, waved through the windshield as he eased to a stop and claimed the shaded parking spot behind Cole’s car.

Dale silenced the engine then shoved the door open. “Hey, buddy.”

“Hey.” Sweat tunneled down Cole’s spine and he wished he’d worn shorts and a T-shirt instead of khaki pants and a collared polo.

“Somebody steal your lunch money?” Dale’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he climbed out of the truck then slammed the door.

“Excuse me?”

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