Firefly Summer

by Kathleen Y'Barbo

  “Oh, of course it is.” Sessa felt her phone buzz. With the back of her foot, she shoved her purse further under her chair. “I’m fine. I’ve just been so busy working on those orders and that Pansie, well, she’s a handful, so I don’t sleep much.”

  Coco nodded toward the kitchen and then stood. Sessa rose and snatched up her full-to-the rim glass of sweet tea. “I’m just going to go top this off.”

  Thankfully Sue Ellen was kind enough not to point out the lameness of her excuse. Instead, she smiled. “You go right ahead. I’ll save your spot.”

  Sessa stepped into Mama’s kitchen right behind her. Before the door closed completely, Coco had turned to face her.

  “All right. I want to know right now what you plan to do.”

  Sessa eyed her friend, clad tonight in a lime green sundress and matching earrings, and shook her head as she set her tea glass on the counter. “About what?”

  Coco rested one hand on her slender hip and gave her a sweeping look that sent Sessa heading for the mirror Mama kept hanging by the back door.

  One last look before you go out is never wasted time. Mama could have embroidered that one on a pillow for all the times she’d said it.

  “What are you doing?” Coco demanded.

  “I’m checking to see what you’re talking about.”

  Coco’s chuckle held very little humor. “Honey, you look just fine. Great, actually. You really should wear that color of blue more often. It does fabulous things for your eyes.” Her manicured and bejeweled fingers swept an arc in front of her. “Never mind about that, though. What I meant is what are you going to do about that man?”

  Sessa shook her head. “What man?”

  Her perfectly drawn brows rose. “The man who … you don’t know, do you?” Her expression fell. “He’s out. The man who killed our Ross. They let him out.”

  She let the words hang between them for far longer than they should. Such was the friendship between her and Coco, though. The unexpected call from the man at the Chronicle was beginning to make sense.

  “Why?” she managed, though it came out as a whisper.

  “Seems like Ross didn’t go to that doctor’s house by himself that night. The fellow who was waiting outside …”

  Her best friend seemed to search for the words, so Sessa took a guess. “Told the cops the truth?”

  If Coco was surprised at the question, she didn’t show it. “Apparently.”

  “Mama always said the truth would set us free. I guess she was right.” She lifted her attention to meet Coco’s even gaze. A tear shimmered, and she swiped at it with the back of her hand. “I knew all along he didn’t murder Ross. Ross was the cause of whatever happened to him, wasn’t he?”

  “Oh, honey.” Coco moved forward to hug her. “I know what you’re thinking, and I’m so sorry. Neither of us knew that little boy would turn out to be someone who would do what he did.”

  “If only Ben had lived,” she managed. “If I’d been a better mother to him.”

  She held Sessa at arm’s length. “You loved him enough for the both of you. We both did.”

  Sessa blinked back more tears. “We did, didn’t we?”

  “Yes we did.”

  “Still, I can’t help but feel like I didn’t just fail my son.” She rested her hip against the counter and let out a long breath. “I also failed that doctor who lost his medical career. Coco, if I’d just gone to that trial. Maybe if I’d told the judge how Ross turned out.” She rubbed her palm over her forearm. Sometimes it still ached where Ross had broken it on his last visit home.

  She met her best friend’s gaze. “I’m so sorry about all of it. I just wish I could fix it, for Ross and for that doctor.”

  Tears glittered in Coco’s eyes. “I know you do, honey, but you can’t go back in time, and there’s nothing you can do now.” When Sessa shook her head, Coco continued. “Maybe someday you’ll get the chance to tell him how sorry you are, but not tonight.”

  “Maybe I ought to write him a letter,” she said. “I bet I could find out where he lives.” She paused. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Because you’re putting a lot of energy into something you cannot do a blasted thing about, Sessa Lee Chambers. Now focus. If you don’t want to go back in there, head on out the back door, and I’ll tell them you weren’t feeling well.”

  Though the idea of making her escape was tempting, Sessa knew she’d never get away with it. Besides, her purse was still under the chair in the living room.

  “I’m fine.” She reached for her tea glass. “Let’s go back in there before Mama comes in to see what she’s missing.”

  “Want me to go first?” Coco asked.

  “I’ll do it.” Sessa pasted on a smile and opened the kitchen door

  “So nobody’s said anything about the big news,” Robin Chance, the owner of the Pup Cake Bakery and Doggie Diner was saying as she sipped at her tea. “They’ve let that doctor out. What do y’all think of that? He only served a year’s time, and now just because some kid says he was with Ross and they planned that robbery, he gets to—”

  “Hush. You know Sessa doesn’t want to talk about that,” Mama said. “Although how she managed to stick her head in the sand and ignore anything having to do with the trial is beyond me. That boy was my grandson, and you know I adored him, but that poor doctor. I feel for him, really I do. I heard he was planning on giving that boy money to pay for college. Can you feature it?”

  “Bonnie Sue?” Vonnette nodded not so subtly toward the kitchen door, and all eyes turned to Sessa.

  “Like I said,” Mama repeated. “Sessa does not want to talk about that, so we are most certainly not going to talk about that, are we, honey?”

  Most days it was easy enough to ignore her very opinionated Mama, but with those words hanging in the air and every member of the Pies, Books & Jesus Book Club waiting for her reaction, Sessa decided enough was enough. Yes, the man who’d gone to prison for killing her son was being released. The residents of Sugar Pine would no doubt have the full scoop before nightfall.

  She set her tea glass down next to her copy of And the Ladies of the Club, this month’s book club selection.

  “That’s right, Mama. I do not want to talk about that,” she said evenly. “Why don’t we get back to the book discussion? That is why we’re here, isn’t it?”

  “Well, that and the pie,” Carly Chance said with a nervous giggle. The pregnant waitress from the Blue Plate Lunchateria and wife of a former military man who was gone more than he was home rested her hand on the bump where her trim waist once was. Her expression sobered. “And for what it’s worth, I can’t blame you for not thinking about what happened. Why, if I thought about where Jared was and what he was doing back when he was in the service, I’d just about lose my mind.”

  Sessa opened her mouth to form a response and found nothing to say. The difference in a wife waiting for her hero to return and a mother knowing her son was neither a hero nor returning was too great. Too painful.

  “Thank you, Carly. For the pie and the understanding.”

  Carly’s worried look brightened. “The peach is good, isn’t it? I had hoped to make buttermilk but then I ran out of …” She paused. “I’m running off at the mouth again. Look, we love you, Sessa, and if you don’t want to talk about this Brown fellow, then we won’t talk about him. Isn’t that right, ladies?”

  A few nods mixed with soft murmurs of agreement. Only Mama kept her silence. Instead she met Sessa’s gaze with a determined look. Determined to do what, Sessa could only imagine.

  “So, what did you all think of the book?” Mama asked with a tone that told her they’d revisit the unpleasant topic at another time.

  “It was long,” Vonnette said. “Goodness knows I enjoyed it, but I like to have turned myself into a raisin trying to get that book read in my bathtub before the club meeting.”

  That comment set the ladies to talking, easing the tension in the room and succes
sfully changing the subject. By the end of the evening, Sessa had almost forgotten about the phone call and the conversation with Coco.

  Almost but not quite. The topic simmered at the edge of her thoughts, daring her to consider it.

  She carried the last of the pie plates into the kitchen and dunked them into the sudsy water then reached for the scrubber. As she washed the dishes, she could hear Mama bidding goodbye to her guests.

  Snatches of conversation, phrases like “she’ll be fine” and “give her some time” drifted across the old floorboards to reach her ears. Of course she would be fine. She would stuff down the grief just like she had when Ben died.

  Sessa dried off one hand and turned the knob on Mama’s old kitchen radio, the same radio she’d had in that spot on the kitchen window since Sessa was a child. Set to the oldies station since that music was brand new, a lively sixties tune about going downtown filled the room with a much-needed buffer between her and the conversation on the other side of the wall.

  A few minutes later, Mama came through the door carrying a coffee cup and a wadded up paper napkin. “That Vonnette always leaves something in the bathroom. This time it was her coffee.”

  “At least it wasn’t her car keys like last time.” Sessa chuckled. “I thought Jim Bob was going to have to come get her in the cab.”

  Mama grinned, then abruptly her smile disappeared. “Oh, honey, we can’t all just pretend it didn’t happen like you. People are going to talk. They can’t help it. You’ve got to figure out how you’re going to deal with it.”

  Sessa dried her hands and set the towel aside. “What’re you talking about?”

  “The trial. That doctor.” She gave Sessa a helpless look. “Ross. Oh, you know what I mean. He’s out. He didn’t do it. That young man, Ross’s friend, he said some things that probably weren’t true but I think he said some that were.”

  “Well.” Sessa pressed past her mother to head toward the spot where she’d left her purse. “I don’t know what was said, and I don’t care to know.”

  Mama followed two steps behind. “It’s a shame that a boy who was so loved turned into a man who might have killed someone, but you’ve got to recognize it happened and learn to live with it, especially now that they’re letting that doctor out of jail.”

  Sessa let the words trail her as she snapped up the keys from the depths of her purse.

  Mama hurried to her feet and trailed her across the kitchen to the door. “Ignoring what you don’t want to deal with might have worked just fine when your heart got broken in junior high, but it’s not working now. You know it’s the truth.”

  It was the truth. She just didn’t plan on doing anything about it any time soon.

  Chapter Four

  Dr. Dalton “Trey” Brown, III, drove slowly along the downtown streets. One elbow propped in the truck window, the 15-mph speed limit allowed him to drink in the once-familiar digs.

  Around the corner was the parking garage, and just outside it stood the newsstand where he used to buy his newspapers, at least until the headlines began to hit too close to home. Then he’d settled for hearing the bad news from his attorney.

  Today, his first real day back in his old life as a doctor, he planned to buy a copy of the Chronicle and read it in plain sight in front of God and everyone. For the first time in recent memory, he had no fear of whose picture would be on the front page.

  Or maybe he would take it to a quiet place and savor it alone. He wouldn’t have patients today, only paperwork and meetings—if the chief agreed to reinstate him.

  Trey throttled down to allow a pair of bicycle policemen to cross Fannin Street. By habit borne in prison, he averted his eyes and sat very still until they’d passed. Only the sound of a horn honking behind him let him know the road had been cleared.

  Easing into the physician’s-only parking entrance, Trey found a spot and shut down the engine. He leaned against the well-worn leather of the driver’s seat. He’d bought this truck brand new back in college with rodeo winnings.

  A rare shaft of sunlight cut between the garage windows and sliced across his left eye, blinding him. He closed his eyes against it.

  A moment later, he opened his eyes and slid out of the truck, chest going tight at the familiar rows of trucks—and the occasional low-slung sports car. Slinging his backpack over his right shoulder, he walked north toward Turner Memorial Hospital’s main entrance. A warm wind caught his hair and blew it into his face, reminding him he hadn’t found a new barber yet. Old Jack had retired, selling out his shop on the first floor of the building to a gal who made purses out of license plates and jewelry out of broken machine parts.

  Up ahead lay the corner and Bayou City Newsstand, the first milestone in his return to work. He refused to think of the next, concentrating on the coins jingling in his pocket rather than on the doors to the hospital just some fifty-odd yards away.

  The old man who used to run the place was gone, replaced by a woman of middle age with a less than enthusiastic expression. He offered her his best smile and waited while she gave change and a copy of Reader’s Digest to a Life Flight attendant.

  “Today’s Chronicle, please,” Trey said a bit more confidently than he felt.

  To avoid looking at the actual headlines on the papers displayed across the back of the stall, he concentrated on fishing the quarters out of his pocket and placing them on the chipped red linoleum counter. He’d waited a long time to read a paper like an ordinary citizen, and saving the privilege until his first day back at work seemed the right thing to do. After he met with the chief, he’d find a quiet place to regroup.

  The woman complied without comment, slapping a copy of Houston’s largest daily paper into his hand. He checked his watch, then folded the paper in half and jammed it into his backpack.

  Walking through the doors of the hospital proved easier than he thought; he didn’t see a single soul he knew. Most used the staff entrances to avoid out-of-office contact with patients. He, on the other hand, had always preferred to take the front doors in. Dressed in jeans and boots, without his lab coat, he could’ve passed for a patient himself.

  Would he feel more normal, more back to his old self, when he donned scrubs and his white lab coat?

  The elevator doors slammed shut on him and a carload of others, but by the time his floor came around, Trey rode alone. All the better to slip in undetected.

  Until the doors opened on the fourth floor and there stood the last person he expected to see.

  “V-v-v-vikki.”

  Funny, he’d never stuttered before; not even at the trial. But then she hadn’t been at the trial, except for one pivotal day. An assistant district attorney intent on clawing her way to the top couldn’t afford to be linked to a common criminal, especially a common criminal who’d just called off the wedding of the century.

  A common criminal who might not have gone to prison if she’d testified to what she knew.

  “Trey.”

  She wrapped her voice around his name and made it her own, just like she’d once done with him. What was she doing here? Her presence was a shock—an unwelcome one.

  “What a nice surprise,” she added in a tone that told him this meeting was anything but chance. Vikki allowed her gaze to slide slowly over him, and then she touched his shoulder, thick with muscles built up while behind bars. “I hardly recognized you. In fact, you look very different.”

  “I am.”

  “It suits you.”

  Oh, but she wasn’t different. Not from what he could see. His former fiancée wore the same color blue as her eyes, a conservative dress that managed to look tame and tempting all at the same time. Or perhaps this, too, was his imagination.

  He buried the urge to step right back in the elevator.

  Vikki repeated his name, this time phrasing it as a question. He watched her lips move, perfect full lips painted a shade darker than the rosy glow on her cheeks.

  For a moment, all Trey could do was stand there,
snared like a rabbit in a trap. Words, so long practiced and yet never intended to be said, caught in his throat. He licked his lips and tried to dislodge them, hoping he could manage to swallow the sentiments rather than allow them flight.

  A man on the other side of forty should never feel this tongue-tied about a woman fifteen years his junior. But then Victoria Carlotta Elisabeth Rossi of the Palm Beach polo-playing Rossis was hardly an ordinary woman. Two years ago they’d been a formidable team, a pair who met over a conversation about a horse and who remained together because it suited them both. Not so much a love match as a power match.

  He stared at her hair, now caught in a twist at the nape of her neck, and wondered when she’d found the time to grow it so long. When he knew her it had been shorter, a spiky blond style that made her look as if she’d just stepped in from dancing in a fresh breeze.

  He’d loved it.

  He’d loved her.

  Until she’d betrayed him.

  She moved an inch closer and took his hand, and the scent of something sweet and exotic caught his attention. It encapsulated all he remembered of her, this perfume, and he fought the urge to inhale more of it.

  A phone rang in an office somewhere in the distance, ending the thought. He noticed she’d stopped speaking and merely stared.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  No. No, he wasn’t.

  “Fine, I’m, um, fine. How are you?” he managed as he finally dragged his hand away from her clasp.

  “I’m good,” she said slowly, her gaze skittering past him to focus on something in the distance. A slow smiled dawned and brightened the already sunlit space as she recovered to stare directly into his eyes. “I’d like to take you to dinner tonight.”

  The statement toppled what little balance he felt, and he braced his hand against the wall.

  Vikki straightened the thick gold and diamond bracelet on her wrist.

  Her slender fingers, nails painted the same shade as her lips, were devoid of rings. Not a single gold band or oversized engagement ring in sight.

  “Running into you like this was hardly a coincidence. I knew about this appointment before you did.”