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  “Sorry about that,” she said as she opened the door for Darlene.

  “That’s okay.”

  Darlene was a petite little thing with blond hair and a much-too-friendly smile, as if the world hadn’t sucked the life out of her yet. Give it time, Darlene. Layla sighed, then motioned for Darlene to sit down on the couch. “Just give me a minute, and I’ll go put the dress on and round up some pins.” She went to her bedroom and closed the door.

  A few minutes later, Layla stared at herself in the mirror. Wearing the gown reminded her of times past. She closed her eyes and pictured herself in Tom’s arms, swirling beneath the twinkling lights in the Grand Ballroom of the Waldorf Astoria in Manhattan. Those days were gone, and agreeing to attend this gala alone was probably a mistake. But she’d already committed. The peppy woman who’d come calling a few weeks ago had promised that the plaza at Festival Hill would be transformed into an exquisite venue, and she’d said, “Your presence would make a huge impact on our event.”

  It better. Layla was just glad that Darlene hadn’t figured out who she was yet, or so it seemed. Because then she’d want to be Layla’s best friend, and Layla didn’t have the energy for that.

  Darlene took the opportunity to look around Layla’s living room. Every antique was purposely placed and adorned with expensive-looking trinkets, the inside décor matching the early 1900s style of the outside. Shiny wooden floors were partly covered with patterned rugs, and several glass hutches were filled with exquisite pottery and china. Darlene didn’t know a lot about antiques, but it seemed a hodgepodge of old collectibles and vintage pieces. There was a certain warmth throughout Layla’s home but also a chill that Darlene couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  When Layla walked in wearing the gown, Darlene homed in on the tiny lines feathering either side of Layla’s eyes. The woman had to have six or seven years on Darlene, but it hardly mattered. Layla had gorgeous features. And Darlene was sure she could never wear a dress like that. She just didn’t have the figure for it.

  “That’s an amazing dress.” Darlene stepped closer and squinted as she leaned down and took a closer look at the tiny crystals encircling the base of the gown. A light emerald-green, the sleeveless, floor-length gown had a flattering V-neck, and when Layla turned to the side, Darlene saw the open-draped back. She stood straight, put a hand to her chest. “I’m not sure I should even touch this dress.”

  “I thought you said you could sew.” Layla frowned.

  “Well, I can, but . . . this looks like a very expensive dress. I’d hate to mess it up.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Are you sure you don’t want to have a professional seamstress alter the dress for you?” Darlene could see where it needed to be taken in around the waist and in the bust.

  Layla folded her arms across her chest. “Have you forgotten where we live?”

  “I know there isn’t anyone in Round Top who can alter it, but maybe go to Houston or to—”

  “If you don’t want to do it, just say so.”

  “I’m just worried. What if I mess it up?”

  “Then just don’t mess it up.” Layla handed Darlene a box of pins. “I don’t want it too tight. If I have to attend this gala, I’m going to enjoy the food.”

  Darlene took the pins and set to work. What a transition, from working cowgirl to glamour queen. “What’s the event?”

  Layla sighed. “Another one of the many fund-raisers I’m asked to attend.” She paused. “But this one is for a very good cause.”

  “Why don’t you just send a donation if you don’t want to go?” Darlene carefully pinched the delicate fabric near Layla’s waist and prepared to pin it.

  Layla chuckled as she tossed her hair, causing Darlene to lose her grip on the fold. “They are expecting me there . . . in person.” She shifted her weight, and Darlene wondered if she’d ever get the dress properly pinned.

  After another few minutes, Darlene was finally done, and Layla walked to her bedroom. She returned with the pinned dress on a hanger. “The gala isn’t for three weeks. Can you have it done by then?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “You think so? Yes or no?”

  Darlene wanted to tell Layla that she wasn’t her servant, but instead she just smiled and said, “Yes, I can have it done.”

  Later that evening, Darlene crawled into bed next to Brad. Her husband had his laptop in his lap and papers scattered all over the place. She’d be glad when tax season was over. She waited until he took a break before she told him about her time at Layla’s.

  “She’s just . . . different. I can’t figure her out.” Darlene pumped lotion into her palm, then breathed in the aroma of lavender as she spread it up and down her arms.

  “So why try so hard to be friends with her?” Brad took off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. He’d probably needed the glasses for much longer than he would admit, but when he turned forty last year, he’d finally stepped out of denial and purchased a pair.

  “I’m not trying hard to be friends with her, she’s just . . .” Darlene shrugged as she smoothed the last of the lotion on her neck. “Interesting, I guess.”

  Brad put his glasses back on and focused on the work in front of him. Darlene reached for a book on her nightstand and started to read, finding it difficult to stay in the story. Her mind kept drifting.

  In Houston, she’d worn herself out by volunteering for too many things—Girl Scout leader, band booster sponsor, softball mom, room mother, T-ball coach, and the list went on. She’d been happy to do it, but her kids were older now and didn’t need her as much. Even though she’d been enjoying a quieter life for the past two months, an idea had been rooting around in her mind.

  “I was thinking about maybe getting a part-time job.”

  “What?” Brad turned to her and grimaced, a reaction she’d expected. “Why? I told you I think I’ll make partner soon, and we’ll have plenty of money to do everything you want with the house.”

  “It’s not the money. I think if I was out and about, I’d meet more people in the community. The kids are older now, doing their own things, so I don’t meet their friends’ parents like before.” Darlene knew Brad was a proud man, and she’d need to tread carefully around anything to do with money. Her husband was old-fashioned in that way, believed the man should take care of the family. She gave him a playful nudge before saying, “But you have to admit—any money I make would help.”

  He pulled off his glasses, leaned down, and kissed her on the mouth. “If you want to get a part-time job, you go for it. But not for the money. Do it for you. I’ll take care of us financially.”

  “I know that. And it would be for me.” She thought about having play money in her pocket, not a bad perk either. Then Layla’s dress came to mind. She’d noticed earlier when she hung it in the closet that it was a Versace. Darlene couldn’t imagine purchasing a designer dress for two or three thousand dollars, and she wished more than ever that she’d never agreed to alter the gown. She and Brad led a comfortable life and had never gone without, nor had their children. But her formal attire came from a local department store, and spending anything over three hundred dollars seemed extreme. She was worried about ruining Layla’s expensive dress.

  Brad closed his laptop, picked up two file folders, and gathered up some loose papers.

  “Done for tonight?” She put her book on the nightstand, then edged closer to him.

  Brad moved his laptop and files from the bed and took off his glasses. “Yep. I can’t keep my eyes open.”

  Darlene was wide awake, but as Brad clicked his lamp off and rolled onto his side, she knew he was exhausted. She turned the knob on her light too and snuggled into the covers as she waited for his arm to drape across her.

  She said her prayers the same way every night, checking off a list, never changing the order, and knowing that it was almost obsessive-compulsive. First she’d run through all the things she was thankful for, then she’d ask forgiveness for her sins—st
ating specifically the offenses she felt she’d carried with her the longest. That was followed by requests for her children’s health and happiness, and she always asked God to continue to bless her marriage. At the end were all the extra prayers, for people she’d met, certain situations, or if one of the kids needed extra time dedicated to them. But all was well in her family this evening, so as she drew to a close, she felt a strong urge to pray for Layla. She kept it simple, unsure exactly what to pray for.

  Lord, please bless my new friend, Layla. Darlene paused, wondering if she and Layla were really going to be friends. I know that sometimes You put people in our lives for a reason, and I’m sensing a purpose. I pray that You’ll guide my steps toward a friendship with Layla and all that I do in Your name. Amen.

  She pulled Brad’s arm tighter around her, closed her eyes, and basked in the peacefulness she felt. Things had been rough in Houston. Chad hadn’t been making good choices, Ansley had been failing her classes, and Grace had been all distraught over a boy. This move was exactly what they all needed.

  “Who do you love?” she whispered in the darkness.

  “You, baby.”

  Grace climbed into bed later than usual. She’d stayed up and watched a movie downstairs, despite her mother’s constant push to go to bed. She’d been having a hard time getting to sleep since they’d moved.

  The glow of her bedside lamp lightly illuminated her room in the old farmhouse. It was nothing like the bedroom she used to have before they moved to the middle of nowhere.

  Once she was tucked beneath her pink comforter, she reached into the drawer of her nightstand and pulled out her trinket box. She loved the lavender sachet she kept inside of it, right next to the necklace Tristan had given her for her fifteenth birthday. She didn’t wear the heart-shaped pendant anymore. Except to bed.

  She lifted the sachet to her nose and breathed in the floral scent, then fastened the tiny clasp of the pendant around her neck. She closed her eyes, anguish swimming through her veins. There was only one way she was going to get any relief. She stared at the shiny objects lying in the box.

  She just wanted to feel better.

  The next morning, she grimaced when she looked down at her sheets. She had to be more careful. She blotted the blood spots with cold water, stripped the sheets from her bed, then hurried to the laundry room downstairs. She stuffed the sheets into the washer, added detergent, and twisted the knob to On.

  “I know why you keep washing your sheets.”

  Grace spun around at the sound of her mother’s voice. Her heart raced. Mom walked closer and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “Honey, I don’t mind washing your sheets. I know what’s happening.”

  Grace was sure her mother could see her heart beating through her chest. “You do?” She stared at the floor, but Mom lifted her chin.

  “Yes. It’s happened to all women at some time. I promise. We’ve all had accidents during our time of the month. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I don’t want you feeling like you have to hide that from me.”

  Relief washed over her like water putting out a fire. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Breakfast is ready. Go eat, and I’ll get these in the dryer and back on your bed before you get home from school.”

  Grace nodded and walked to the kitchen for breakfast.

  Her mom came in a minute or two later. “Your dad left earlier than usual this morning. He said to tell you all to have a good day and to have fun tonight at the youth group gathering.”

  Chad stood up as he shoved another biscuit in his mouth. “Hurry up, let’s go,” he said with a mouthful.

  “Let your sisters eat, Chad. You’ve got plenty of time.”

  “I’ll be in the truck.” Chad left the room, and Grace knew in a few minutes, they’d all hear his music booming. Hopefully her parents would get her a car when she turned sixteen. She hated Chad’s obnoxious rap songs. He was so juvenile. He thought it was cool to drive up to the school with that stupid music blaring, but it was embarrassing.

  Grace was ready for school to end for the summer, but there was another six weeks left. She hadn’t made any real friends since they’d moved. Acquaintances only—a group of girls she ate lunch with. Everyone was nice enough, but Grace just didn’t fit in. That was fine by her anyhow. She didn’t expect it would be any different at the “meet and greet” youth group party tonight.

  She’d begged her parents not to drag the family here, but when Tristan broke up with her, she’d just given in. Chad and Ansley weren’t for the move in the beginning, but they seemed to be adjusting better than Grace was. Whatever.

  She put her napkin on her plate and waited for Ansley to finish her breakfast, which always consisted of two biscuits stuffed with peanut butter and pickles. Ansley’s eating habits were as weird as Ansley was, but Grace didn’t think anyone loved Ansley as much as Grace did. Not always the sharpest tool in the shed, her younger sister was the sweetest person on the planet. She’d never intentionally hurt anyone, and her bubbly spirit was the only thing that kept Grace going some days.

  “Grace! Grace! Your arm is bleeding all through your shirt! Look, Mom!”

  Grace grabbed her arm and jumped from the table as her mother drew near.

  Mom grimaced as she held out her hand. “Grace, let me see your arm.”

  Chapter Three

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Darlene yelled as Grace went upstairs to change her shirt.

  “Yes, Mom!” Grace shouted back from the stairs. “I told you, I cut it on the fence yesterday. Quit making a big deal about it!”

  Darlene waited until Grace came back down the stairs wearing another long-sleeved shirt. “It’s so hot, Grace. Don’t you want to wear something cooler?”

  “Mom, please! Don’t you hear Chad honking? We’re gonna be late.” She brushed by Darlene, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, then turned to Ansley. “Come on. We have to go.”

  Darlene watched her children pile into Chad’s truck faster than what seemed humanly possible. “Have a good day!” she yelled from the front porch.

  Still sipping coffee, she moseyed back into the house, mentally planning out her day. She wanted to get Layla’s expensive dress back to her as soon as possible, but first she wanted to reread that ad in the newspaper, the one she’d circled earlier that morning. She sat down at the kitchen table and spread out the classifieds.

  Teacher’s aide, special needs school. Experience working with children.

  Darlene knew her two years of college, taking mostly core classes, didn’t qualify her to work with children, but didn’t life experience count? Ansley hardly qualified as a special needs child, but Darlene had spent years tutoring Ansley and searching for resources to help her. Maybe working at the school would give Darlene some insight into how to help Ansley better.

  The Evans School was between Round Top and Fayetteville, less than ten miles from her house. She’d passed the small brick building plenty of times. There were always a few cars in the newly paved parking lot, and she wondered what areas the school served. Round Top had a population of only eighty-nine, but nearby towns, with populations from three hundred to three thousand, surely could benefit from the school too.

  She decided to go by The Evans School in person. After showering and dressing, she cleaned the kitchen, put Grace’s sheets in the dryer, and ran the sweeper across the floors. At ten o’clock, she arrived at the school.

  The small waiting room was empty except for four chairs and a coffee table. She noticed a bell on her side of a fogged glass window. Gently, she gave it a tap. A few moments later, the window slid open.

  “Can I help you?” A girl who didn’t look much older than Grace peeked out.

  “I’m here about the job in the newspaper for a teacher’s aide.”

  “Oh, sure. Hang on.” The window closed, and within a few minutes an elderly woman with gray hair and kind, hazel eyes stepped from behind the closed door.

  “Hello, hone
y. Come on back.” The woman motioned with her hand for Darlene to follow her. She turned and looked at Darlene over her shoulder. “Ever worked with special needs children before?”

  “No, ma’am, I haven’t, but—”

  “No worries.” The woman stopped in front of a closed door. “Really, don’t all of our children have special needs?” She smiled, and Darlene instantly liked her.

  Brad walked in the door at eight o’clock. He could smell dinner, but it was unusually quiet. He set his briefcase on the couch and headed toward the kitchen. Empty. “Darlene?”

  He loosened his tie and walked into the dining room. “Wow.” His beautiful wife was sitting at the head of the table, dinner was laid out, and there were only two places set. “Dare I ask where our children are?”

  “The youth group party, remember?” She smiled as her eyes twinkled in the candlelit room, then she winked. “So sit down, handsome.”

  Brad was so tired, he felt like he could crawl into bed and sleep for days, but he was going to muster up every bit of energy he had to enjoy this evening. He pulled out his chair at the other end of the table. “You look beautiful. What’s the occasion?”

  “I told you, the kids are at a youth group function.” She smiled again. “The house to ourselves is the occasion.”

  “Good enough for me.” But Brad could tell by his wife’s giddy expression that there was more. He raised an eyebrow and waited.

  “I got a job today.”

  Darlene was glowing, and if this was really what she wanted, then he was going to be happy about it too. “Baby, that’s great.

  Doing what?”

  “Let’s pray so we can start eating, then I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Brad said a quick blessing as his stomach growled, then asked what she’d cooked.

  “Chicken spaghetti, the way you like it, loaded up.”

  “Aww, honey . . .” Darlene’s chicken spaghetti was his favorite, but most of the time she left out the onions because Ansley wouldn’t eat them, the celery because Chad insisted he was allergic to it, and some of the spices because none of the kids did spicy very well. It made for a decent dish, but nothing like this—with all the good stuff in it. “Have I mentioned how much I love you?” He scooped out a generous portion, then reached for a roll. “Tell me about your job.”