Page 3 of Whispered Southern Secrets

“I need to tell you something,” his raspy voice whispers. I lick my lips as I wait for him to continue. “Nothing’s going to become of this. I’m leaving in the morning to go back to the Air Force. And lots of women have tried to romanticize the idea of being in a relationship with me. There won’t be any love letters. Calls. Nothing.”

“You vanish?” I ask, intrigued.

He mistakes my question as a deal breaker. His eyebrows pull together. “Yeah. I do. I have a lot goin’ on. I don’t need any more complications.”

“That’s perfect.” His eyebrows rise up to his hairline. “I don’t want any complications. Or to ever see you, again.”

“Ouch.” He gives a slightly pinched expression.

I shrug and continue. “I don’t even want to know who you are.”

The slow smile that spreads across his face has my knees weak. “Well, I already know who you are, darlin’.”

“Who am I?”

“Trouble.”

Chapter Two

Honey

Three years later

What could make being at a funeral worse? Having your monthly friend decide that’s the time to make an appearance. And no sanitary pads. Being a twenty-five-year-old somewhat responsible woman, I typically know when Aunt Flo is going to arrive, but life’s been unpredictable these days. Since I rode with my grandparents, and we were in a hurry, I didn’t bring my purse—meaning I don’t have any of my emergency pads or tampons.

This toilet paper practically disintegrates as soon as it’s touched. Listening for any sounds outside of the stall door and not hearing any, I shuffle out with my panties between my ankles. I grab some paper napkins from the basket by the sink and hurry back in the stall to make a makeshift barrier. Hopefully my little dam will keep it at bay until I can find some proper sanitary supplies. Maybe one of the ladies will have a spare in their purse. I step back out of the stall and stare at my reflection in the mirror while I wash my hands.

My auburn hair is tamed into silky strands hanging past my shoulders, reminding me I need to get a trim. Dark circlesare evidence of my lack of sleep. Sunken cheekbones and my protruding collar bone have Mimi beside herself. I don’t blame her but hate that I’ve given her reason to worry. After the divorce I simply lost my appetite. Even if it has been a year and a half. Getting married in your early twenties after everyone warned you not to, only to have it blow up in your face, and then feeling the shame and regret, ages you. The verdict is still out if I’m more upset with having a failed marriage so young or admitting I was wrong.

Today isn’t about me though. I’m sure some of the gossiping bitties will make it about me, but I’m here for my best friend, Olivia, and Mimi. They’ve lost someone special, a grandmother and a best friend; whereas, I got rid of someone who was just a special kind of asshole. I ease out of the restroom and hurry to the sanctuary. The service for Mrs. Odette Duprey has thankfully begun.

It’s been years since I’ve been to Magnolia Grove, Alabama during the spring. Generally, I only show up for Christmas. But when your childhood best friend loses her grandmother, who was also Mimi’s best friend and neighbor, you drop everything and come running. And running is something I’m very good at. I shake my head before I begin stewing on my own disaster of a life. I’m here for Oliva, who is laying her grandmother to rest.

Olivia has a crowd circling her, so I ease over to Emma Sullivan. “Psst. Emma.”

“Yeah, Honey?” Everyone calls me Honey. Pepaw hated the name Harper. Said it sounded like what you’d call someone who annoys, nags, or harps all the time. Since I was a baby, he insisted on calling me “Honey” and would tell everyone my name was Honey. Then he said I grew into the name and turned out to be sweeter than honey.

I lean in and whisper, “Do you have a pad?”

Emma shakes her head, but before I can stop her she taps her mother Geri, who is sitting next to Laney Ann Whitfield. “Do either of y’all have a pad? Honey needs one.”

Laney shakes her head and leans forward to tap Rae Lynn and Zoey Harding sitting in the pew. I pinch my lips together as I watch even Emma’s dad, Sammie, make eye contact with me as every lady around him is whispering for a pad. I hear Zoey’s daughters ask, “What’s a pad? Like a notepad? iPad? I have an iPad. But if you need a notepad, I bet Nana has one.”

Wren Whitmere opens her purse and begins frantically searching. She looks over to me and shakes her head. Savvy Greenwood’s voice carries over as I hear her ask Ayla Carington, “Aunt Flo is at Honey’s door. Do you have anything?”

To which sweet little Goldie Jenkins asks her dad, Wade Jenkins, if he knows Flo. He kindly tells his daughter he isn’t acquainted with my aunt. She shrugs and mumbles, “I thought you knew everyone.”

Wade turns wide-eyed and beat red as he makes eye contact with Lemon. I want to apologize to Wade for putting him in that awkward situation with his daughter but I’m too busy watching the disaster play out. Pew to pew, groups of people passing word of my mischief along, the entire sanctuary is busy whispering. All discussing my menstrual cycle and on a treasure hunt for a sanitary pad or tampon. I regret ever asking. Ireallydo.

Dolly Hanes stands from her seat in the front pew. She approaches Lucy Landers who smiles kindly and nods. She hurries over to lift up a bag that has to belong to Mary Poppins. Lucy approaches me with a sympathetic smiles. When she reaches me she slides a pad into my hand like we’re having a drug exchange in the sanctuary of Shady Grove Church of little ole’ Magnolia Grove.

I turn and hurry to the bathroom only to have Mimi block my path. “Why didn’t you tell me your started, sweetheart? Iwould’ve ran to the store real quick and got you something. Do you need something for the cramps?”

Pepaw walks up and pats my back. “I’ve got some of them pain killers that I take for headaches and when I get down in my back. They’re in the truck. I’ll go grab it.”

“No, I’m fine,” I whisper loudly to his retreating back.

I can feel all eyes on me but I power forward to the restroom with Mimi at my side. I start to tell her I am in no need of any further assistance but I’ve been gone for so long and she seems anxious. An ache pierces my chest when a thought occurs to me. Maybe my mini crisis is helping distract her from the fact her best friend is gone.

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