Oops, Wrong Bride? Fine. No Wedding. novel · Chapter 9 of 24

Chapter 9: September Third

"September third," I said in the truck. "That's Shelby's birthday."

Hayes was driving slowly over the bridge with one hand, his ball cap of pearls in my lap and my mother's portrait propped between us.

"What does your dad do on Shelby's birthday?"

"He goes fishing. Down at Edisto. Every year since I can remember." I turned a pearl over in my fingers. "Mama used to say it was the one day a year he got to himself."

"Did he ever bring back fish?"

I opened my mouth.

Then I shut it.

I tried to remember one single fish.

"No," I said.

Hayes didn't say anything. He reached over and put his hand on my knee and left it there until we were off the bridge.

I didn't sleep much that night.

I lay in his iron bed and stared at the ceiling fan and did the arithmetic I didn't want to do.

My father, who hated to spend money, paying for her license. Her lunch. Her house.

Some woman across the street, alone, with a baby. Some fishing trip with no fish.

I thought: he's sleeping with her mother.

I thought: he's been sleeping with her mother since I was a baby, and Mama knew, and that's why she cried in the pantry sometimes.

That was the worst thing I could think of.

I was wrong.

On Tuesday morning, Sweetgrass was having a soft opening.

That's what Shelby's post called it. "Soft opening of Shelby's at Sweetgrass, come say hi, loves!"

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