Page 47 of Panty Dropper

At first, I’d been angry, obviously. But now I realized that in many ways, he was as trapped in our relationship as I was, too bound by social convention to break out of it. His cheating had been a way to accomplish that.

When we’d met in college, I think that I was different than most of the girls he was used to dating. We’d had a genuine friendship at first, and there’d been an attraction there. Our relationship was fine while we were in school.

But after we’d graduated and passed the bar—me on the first try, him on the fourth—I never fit into his world. And once we’d moved into the high-rise condo his parents gifted him when he passed the bar the fourth time around, things changed.

I was expected to throw dinner parties, host galas, and head committees. That was what all of our society “friends” expected. That was the social world he was a part of.

That wasn’t me. I was never going to be that woman. Just thinking about the fact that I was supposed to walk down the aisle in two days to marry him made me sick to my stomach. How had I let things get that far when I hadn’t been happy?

My only excuse was that I don’t think I knew what was really possible. Sure, my mom and Hal had a great relationship. He worshiped her and I believe that, in her way, she really loved him. But in my mind, that was an anomaly, not the norm. It’s not like I’d grown up witnessing healthy relationships.

Being with Billy had shown me what was possible. And even though I knew I couldn’t be with him, I also knew that I didn’t want to settle for anything less. If I was going to be with someone, I wanted to feel the intimacy I’d felt sitting with Billy in the kitchen, and the fireworks that I’d felt when we’d gone upstairs, and the safety I’d felt waking up in his arms.

“Cheyenne Comfort, as I live and breathe!”

Cheyenne and I both turned to find a woman who appeared to be in her late sixties with bleached blonde hair and fire-engine red, acrylic nails that matched her lipstick standing with her mouth wide open.

She shook her head back and forth and looked at Cheyenne like she’d seen a ghost. “You are the spitting image of your mama.” She reached out and took Cheyenne’s hand. “Do you remember me?”

Cheyenne’s eyes cut to me and I could swear that I saw an S.O.S in them.

“Hi,” I stepped up and held out my hand. “I’m Reagan York.”

The woman gave me a once over before arching one of her perfectly drawn on eyebrows. “I know who you are. You’re the one that was crawling into Billy’s truck.”

Cheyenne interjected, “I had a little bit too much to drink and Reagan was helping my brother take me home.”

I appreciated Cheyenne coming to my defense but I didn’t think that it would make much difference. “And you are?” I asked, dropping my hand that apparently was not going to be shaken.

“I’m Caroline Shaw. I own Pretty in Peach, the original beauty salon on Firefly Island.”

My brain fired, making connections and putting a face to the name. I’d heard Mrs. Beasley mention Caroline’s name, and Stew had mentioned Pretty in Peach on the trolley tour.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Shaw.” I smiled as sweetly as I possibly could.

“Miss Shaw,” she corrected before turning her attention back to Cheyenne. “Oh, it is so good to have you back home where you belong. Your mama used to work part-time at the salon, she’d bring you in and you’d sit for hours coloring, and reading your books. You were such a sweet li’l thing.”

“Oh…” A glimmer of recognition dawned on Cheyenne’s face. “I think I do remember that. Was there a cat there? An orange cat?”

“Peaches.” Miss Shaw sniffed as she dropped Cheyenne’s hands to make the sign of the cross. “May she rest in peace.”

The song Great Balls of Fire started playing loudly and Miss Shaw fumbled around in her large bag before pulling out her phone. “Oh, it’s Carol. I better take this. She and Linus have been having issues, you know.”

Cheyenne and I shared a look. We didn’t know.

Miss Shaw theater-whispered, “Because she found those little blue pills, which would be fine, but he hasn’t been using them with her, if you know what I mean.”

There wasn’t a whole lotta room for interpretation with that.

“You don’t be a stranger now!” Miss Shaw pulled Cheyenne into a bear hug before releasing her and pointing a very long, red fingernail my direction. “And you, young lady, you be careful whose trucks you go climbin’ into.”

“Yes, ma’am.” It truly was my verbal equivalent of a knee-jerk reaction.

The red-nailed finger wagged between the two of us. “And don’t you two forget to wear your bras to the funeral. When Earnest Trip passed last month you shoulda seen how many nipples were standing at attention in the First Baptist Church. It was a disgrace.” Miss Shaw paused, staring at both Cheyenne and myself.

“Yes, ma’am,” we both said in unison.

Miss Shaw gave us a decisive nod before turning and answering her call as she walked out of the store.

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