Page 82 of Don't Call Me Sweetheart

“What?” Come again. My bafflement turned to outright horror. For the first time in my life, the double entendre was absolutely not intended. “No! I didn’t understand the question, that’s all.”

The women shared a look. Maud shook her red curls. “The state of our education system,” she said mournfully.

“Condoms,” Lillian explained gently, “go on your penis. They prevent pregnancy and disease. Mostly.”

Oh, fucking hell. This could not be happening. I could not stand here, in front of all of Main Street, and have a conversation about condoms of all fucking things with the septuagenarian mafia. Hell no.

“I don’t need condoms,” I ground out. When the looks turned pitying, a hot flush scalded the back of my neck. The only thing more embarrassing than telling these ladies deep into their seventies that I needed condoms was admitting that I didn’t.

“Well,” Estelle said. “Should your circumstances improve, you might find it interesting that Mr. Dixon keeps them locked behind the counter. Which is obviously a deterrent, seeing as most people don’t want buying condoms to be a public matter.”

“You don’t say,” I said dryly. I split a pointed look between them, which they ignored.

“Will you sign our petition requesting Mr. Dixon to keep the condoms in the aisle?” Lillian thrust her clipboard at me.

“Of course.” Nothing lowered the rates of unwanted pregnancy like available birth control. I scrawled my signature and returned the clipboard.

The ladies parted, allowing me to enter the store.

“Cleaning supplies are in aisle three,” Maud said helpfully.

I paused. I had been so close to escaping, but my curiosity got the better of me. “Why would I need cleaning supplies?” I asked. Fearfully. Please, please don’t be about sex.

“For the skate park,” Lillian said. “Aren’t you going?”

“He wasn’t at the commemoration this morning, Lilli. He doesn’t know,” Estelle said.

“Oh. Right.”

The three women regarded me with abject disapproval.

This time, I didn’t need clarification. The commemoration of George’s life—and death—had been held at ten o’clock this morning. It hadn’t slipped my mind for even a second. Twice, I had gotten in the car, and twice, I had turned back around.

“It’s complicated,” I said.

“Hmm. Well.” Estelle pursed her lips. “The ceremony was lovely. And then Kate announced that there was an additional part this afternoon. An act of service, in honor of George.”

“We’re going to clean up the skate park,” Lillian explained.

The skate park? I furrowed my brow. That wasn’t part of the original plan. But I knew Kate had had misgivings about the country club. George had worked there, but his heart was at the skate park—a place neither his parents nor Kate’s had approved of.

But she had done it anyway.

That meant something. What exactly I didn’t know. But something.

The commemoration…that was about appearances. But this was about George. It was about honoring a person for who he truly was. I hadn’t known George, but I knew Kate. This mattered to her, and friends showed up for things that mattered.

I wanted more than that. More than friendship. But I had to accept that she didn’t want more from me. This would have to be enough. She wanted my friendship, and come hell or angry fathers, I would give that to her.

Chapter 30

Kate

It didn’t surprise me in the slightest that everyone between the ages of seven and seventy had shown up at the skate park, armed with garbage bags, brooms, paint, and miscellaneous cleaning supplies. I had known they would, for George. The citizens of Hart’s Ridge had their petty squabbles and century-long family feuds, but they could all agree that George had been a good kid, well on his way to becoming a good man, and his loss had reverberated through our community like a shock wave.

For once, I let that thought slide through me without the ensuing wave of guilt that inevitably swallowed me up. It was okay that I hadn’t been a perfect wife. It was okay that he hadn’t been a perfect husband. That didn’t make us bad people. Somehow, I had fallen into hero worship just like the rest of the town, and lord, how George would have laughed at that! He was a great guy, but flawed, just like me. Like everyone.

We had been blessed with good weather. November could be tricky in Hart’s Ridge, depending on what the mountains served up. But today was all blue skies and a temperature that hovered at fifty degrees.

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