“It’s no big secret,” she said. “I was married; we tried to have children. None of it worked out.” She tapped her ring finger against the side of her empty glass, missing the clink of metal. As tempted as she was to reach for the wine bottle, she did not. Experience had taught her a hangover did not make anything better.

“Your father told me a little about what you were going through,” Elaine said.

Again, weird they had been talking about her. “We all have something, don’t we?”

“I suppose so.”

Margaret rose from the table and reached for her plate and Libby’s. “I have dessert. A hummingbird cake.”

Libby stood. “I’ll help.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Margaret said. “You’re our guest.”

Still, she stood and reached for the boys’ plates. They had each eaten the noodles and had done an expert job of pushing around the chicken and vegetables while consuming little of both. She carried the dishes into the kitchen and scraped the bits of food into the trash can under the sink.

While Margaret sliced the fruity hummingbird cake, Elaine scooped ice cream. As Colton set more dishes on the counter beside her, faint hints of his aftershave mingled with a masculine scent.

As he scraped dishes, she studied his wrists and again felt a pull she had not experienced for so long. What was it about this guy’s hands?

Colton did not remind her of Jeremy in any way, shape, or form. And for that, she was glad. She had her hang-ups, but she was certain there was no desire to re-create what she’d had with an ex-husband. Maybe that was why she was so attracted to him. He was truly different.

Sierra would have called it stress sex. Easier to focus on desire than on what was really happening in your life. Whatever stress she was feeling, it would hopefully pass as soon as she left Woodmont and returned to her real life.

“This hummingbird cake recipe has been in Margaret’s family for generations,” Elaine said. “How far does it go back?”

“My great-grandmother, I think,” Margaret said. “My grandmother made it for me when I was growing up, though then she flavored it with honeysuckle syrup.” And then turning to Libby, she said, “I was raised by my grandmother.”

Margaret offered no other explanation about her mother, and Libby, who had been on the receiving end of too many intrusive questions, did not press.

Libby helped carry the dessert plates to the table and sat down again next to Colton. Coffee gurgled in a dated percolator that hinted at Margaret’s attachment to the old kitchen.

More small talk rattled around the table. Most of it centered on the cake, which was delicious. She drank two cups of coffee and, between the caffeine and the sugar, chased away the effects of the wine.

Finally, Colton gathered his sons, wished them all a good night, and escorted his boys, who were not really ready to leave yet, back to their home, located on the Woodmont Estate.

When Colton drove off with the boys, a welcome silence settled over the house. Libby knew children were work, but the boys had consumed all the energy in the room.

“Lofton always made a racket as a kid,” Elaine said, smiling. “Were you a busy child?”

The question hung between them. “Always asking questions. I liked to draw and play soccer. But I didn’t have any siblings, so there was no competition for attention.”

Elaine frowned. “Did you mind being an only child?”

“It’s all I knew. And I lived next door to Sierra, and she and I were like sisters. After Mom died, I spent a lot of time at her house. Her mother took me under her wing, and they’re still there for me now.”

“But they aren’t family,” Elaine said.

“Just like it.”

“Either way, you’re not really alone,” Elaine said quietly. “You have such a full life.”

She drew in a slow breath. “You’re right. I have good friends and a great job. I stay on the go.” She smiled, but it felt stilted and a little forced. “Don’t mind me. Just having a little pity party at the moment.”

Elaine’s eyes softened. “Everyone is entitled to a short one. I’ve certainly had my share over the years.”

They stood side by side, neither speaking as their own thoughts walled the other off. The silence grew heavier, and as it stretched, Libby grasped for something to bridge the gap widening between them.

Elaine shifted and cleared her throat. As she looked at Libby, her expression suggested she had more to say. However, she simply smiled. “It was nice having dinner with you, Libby. I look forward to working with you.”

“Thank you for dinner. Margaret put my proposal on the desk in the nook. Call me if you have any questions about the prices or anything.”

“I’m sure it’s just fine. Can you be here tomorrow morning? Colton is cleaning out the greenhouse. Currently, it’s in a terrific before state, and it would be worth photographing for posterity. Everyone loves a comeback story.”

“Sure. I can be here. I’m in town until Wednesday afternoon. I’ll see you bright and early.”

“I look forward to it.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

SADIE

Wednesday, December 24, 1941

Bluestone, Virginia

Sadie shifted gears on the truck, wincing when the engine ground and sputtered. “Don’t make that face; you know the clutch sticks sometimes. And it’s hard for me to reach the pedals.”

“You got to push the clutch in the whole way now,” Johnny said.

“I know.” She scooted up on the seat, not bothering to look at her brother. She guessed he was frowning like always. “My legs are too short. Pa used to put blocks on the pedals for me.”

“Well, I don’t know where the blocks got to, so you best grow a couple of inches. You need to drive this truck proper so that it lasts,” Johnny said.

She shifted in her seat, hating the way the cold air blew up through the floorboards and froze her backside. “I don’t like being out on Christmas Eve when there’s a ham waiting for us back home,” she said. “I’m starving.”

“You’ve told me a few times. And Dr. Carter’s daddy always pays me six dollars for moonshine around the holidays.”

“Six dollars. I don’t think I’ve seen that much money ever in one place. You think his son will pay the same?”

“I don’t see why not. It’s a tradition.”

The gears strained as she downshifted to turn a corner. When he frowned, she added, “I don’t see why it’s so important I drive us up to Woodmont.”

“Better get used to driving.”

“Why?”

He was silent for a long moment. “I’m not going to be around for a while.”

Her struggles to get the stick shift in third distracted her from the full weight of his words. Only when the truck was rumbling along the dirt road did she speak. “What do you mean? Are you leaving?”

“I signed up for the army,” he said.

“The army? When did you do that?” The headlights showed barely a dozen feet in front of the truck, but she had driven the roads enough to know there was a sharp curve up ahead.

“I signed up a week ago when I was in Waynesboro making a delivery. They are looking for men to fight.”