Page 34 of Hot Shot

He doesn’t drive off until I’m inside.

Mom’s stuff is in the middle of the foyer, and I hear noise in the kitchen. “Mama? You home?”

“In here!”

Nervously, I twist the curl of my ponytail, wondering how pissed she is about the yard. When I exit the hallway and enter the kitchen, she definitely doesn’t lookhappy.

My mother leans one hip on the island and crosses one arm over the other, holding a glass of white wine. Even annoyed, she is a beautiful creature. Her red hair has faded, but it’s still vibrant, with shocks of gray at the temples. Her eyes are big and green, and though she might have more wrinkles than she used to, she’s still somehow always the most gorgeous woman in the room.

Even when she frowns, which she’s doing right now.

“Cassidy Leigh Winfield,” she says in her pretty southern accent, “what in the world did you do to my backyard?”

The yard is the least of my problems, so I conjure up a smile and try to make jokes. “Well, funny story.”

One copper brow rises. “Does it involve the fire department?”

“Actually, it does.”

Now she’s frowning. “Wait, seriously? I was just kidding.”

I drag myself to a bar chair and plop into it, holding my shoulders up by my elbows on the surface of the island. “Well, Jessa and I thought it would be fun to burn Davis’s stuff in the burn pile.”

“Jessathought it would be fun to burn things?”

“Okay fine, it was my idea. We might have had a little too much to drink and let the fire get a touch out of hand. Mrs. Crowley called 911. Really, the only damage is the fence!”

“And my begonias,” she adds, but her eyes are twinkling a little.

“And the begonias. I’m sorry. We tried to clean it up!”

“Well, I just have one question,” she asks, her lips flat and tone serious.

“What?”

A smile breaks out on her face, and she leans across the island toward me. “Was it fun?”

My laugh punctuates a flash of relief. “It was. I mean, until I got sad. And threw the clothes I had on in the fire. Right when the fire department showed up.”

Her face opens up in surprise. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Was Wilder?—”

“Yes. Yes he was.”

A string of giggles escapes her, her smile glorious. “Oh, Cass. That’s terrible,” she says like she does not at all think it’s terrible. “Did you justdie?”

“Yes, I’m pretty sure I did. And Jessa scrambled around for something to put on me and came back with my bride robe. Can you believe her?”

She’s still laughing. “Oh my God. Were you totally naked?”

“My pants were tangled up around my ankles, but yes. Wilder grabbed me before I fell over.”

“Oh, honey. This is great.” Her cheeks are high and flushed and lovely. “I wish people still read Reader’s Digest. You could send that story in and they’d print it, easy.”

“I think I’ll keep my shame contained to the people who were there and you, thanks.”

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