Page 82 of The Killer Cupcake
Lea’s shoulders relaxed—probably one of the men from the construction site, needing Ely to settle some dispute or lenda tool. Everyone in Butts came to Ely for something. He had that way about him, steady as a heartbeat, reliable as sunrise. She hummed softly and returned to her cooking, content in the rhythm they'd built together.
Ely looked at the door, barefoot and bone-tired, ready to send whoever it was away so he and his Lea could watch the sun sink behind the pines before he drove her home or took her to his bedroom, whichever she preferred, was fine by him.
When he opened the door, his heart stopped beating.
Kathy stood there, trembling. The hem of her dress and her feet were dusty from the road, her eyes swollen from crying. "I'm sorry for coming here. I'm so very sorry. But I have nowhere else to go. I’m out of time, Ely.”
Before he could speak, she dropped her bag and collapsed against him, her tears soaking through his shirt. "Help me, Ely. Please."
For a moment, muscle memory took over—his arms started to close around her. Then he heard Lea calling him from the kitchen, and reality crashed back. He gently but firmly set Kathy back, holding her at arm's length.
"Kathy, you can't—" He glanced over his shoulder, then stepped out onto the porch, pulling the door shut behind him. “Wait. Just wait." He collected her things. Took her hand and walked her around to the back of the house. He guided her to the old bench seat against the wall, keeping his voice low. "Just... wait, here. Don't move."
She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself like she might fall apart.
Ely slipped back inside, his mind racing as he entered the kitchen. Lea looked up from stirring the pot, her smile fading at his expression.
"What's wrong?" She asked.
"Big Mama," he said, the lie bitter on his tongue. "One of the Jensen boys just came by—she's taken poorly. Real bad. I need to run you home quick, then get over there."
Lea's face creased with concern. She knew how much Big Mama meant to him, to all of them. "Oh Lord. Let me just?—"
"No time, Sugar. Come on." He grabbed her shawl from the hook, already moving toward the front door—away from where Kathy waited like a ghost at the back of the house. "I'll come back for the food later."
As he helped Lea into the truck, guilt twisted his stomach. But what else could he do? Two years of carefully built peace, and here was Kathy, bringing her storms to his door again.
"You sure you don't need me to come with you? Is Kathy there?” Lea asked as they pulled away.
"No, baby. Might be a long night. I'll see you tomorrow."
He drove the familiar route to Lea's family's place, every minute stretching like an hour, knowing Kathy sat on his porch—desperate, alone, and still able to undo everything he'd worked to build without her.
Half an Hour Later:
Ely drove back up the dirt road to his house, the truck's headlights cut through the gathering dusk. Kathy had stayed exactly where he'd left her, planted on the bench like she'd grown roots there. He pulled around to the back, where no passing neighbor could see, killed the engine, and sat there in the dark.
Through the windshield, he could see her lift her head at the sound of his return. Even from there, even in the fading light, he could see how broken she was. Not just tired or sad—broken in a way that scared him.
He sighed deeply, his hands still gripping the wheel. If he got out of this truck and went to her, as he had so many times before, he'd be risking everything he'd built with Lea. Sweet Lea, who called him her rock, who hummed while she cooked, who loved him simply and uncomplicated. The wife he'd always thought he wanted.
But sitting there in the truck, he finally admitted what he'd always known. He still loved Kathy Freeman. Had never stopped. Maybe never would. That kind of love didn't care about common sense or carefully built lives or sweet women who deserved better.
Their eyes met across the yard—hers pleading, his already surrendering. She looked away first, and in that small gesture, he saw her shame over needing him again.
"Fuck it," he muttered.
He climbed out and walked straight to her, each step feeling like fate. She stood when he approached, gathering her things with trembling hands.
"I'm sorry for coming here. I saw you leave with Lea.” Her voice was small, broken. "I don't want to cause any trouble. If you could take me to get Big Mama's medicine before the drug store closes, and drop me home, I'd be fine."
"You aren't fine." He lifted her chin gently, making her meet his eyes. "Are you?"
"No." The word came out on a sob. "No, I'm not. I'm in big trouble, Ely. Bigger than any trouble I've ever been in. And I'm terrified."
He took her bag from her hands and led her inside. The house still smelled of Lea's cooking—collard greens with ham hocks, cornbread in the iron skillet, sweet tea cooling in the pitcher. The kitchen looked like a woman's love made visible—clean dish towels she'd embroidered, flowers from her mama's garden in a mason jar, everything in its place.
Kathy froze in the doorway, taking it all in. He watched her understand what this kitchen meant, what kind of woman had made it this way.
