The Judge. Jan Hudson

of her birth and death, and the simple but profound message: Beloved Wife and Mother. A permanent brass vase was filled with a pretty bouquet of silk flowers that changed with the seasons, but Susan had always liked fresh flowers, so he brought them now and then.

      “Hi, Suz,” he whispered, laying the mums just below the marker. “I brought you some flowers. They’re yellow. Your favorite color.”

      Now he knew that Susan wasn’t there, but it was the closest he could come to physically being near her, so he often came to the cemetery to talk to her. Looking at a photograph of her or looking up at the sky or sitting in the kitchen or even in church didn’t do it for him. He’d tried it. This was the last place he’d seen the body of his wife, and this was the place where he returned.

      “God, Suz, I miss you so much. It’s so lonely sometimes without you.”

      A gust of wind sent more leaves sliding across the marker.

      “Did I tell you that the twins are doing really well learning to ride their bikes? Of course they’ll have training wheels for quite a while yet, so there’s no need to worry about them getting bunged up.”

      He told Susan everything that had been going on his life—except that he didn’t mention Carrie Campbell. He couldn’t quite bring himself to mention her.

      Afterward he felt better. He returned to his car and headed home. This was the night he’d promised the twins they could watch the Charlie Brown special on TV.

      CARRIE PUT the low-cal dinner in the small freezer compartment and the salad in the fridge. Although she’d done it hundreds of times, somehow the prospect of eating out alone that night seemed dreary, so she’d stopped by the grocery store to pick up something.

      She stretched her back and rolled her head around, trying to ease the stiffness in her muscles. Exercise. That’s what she needed. She’d missed jogging the past couple of days, and she felt it.

      After changing hurriedly into grungies and her running shoes, she did a few warm-up exercises, then stuck her key into her pocket and went outside.

      She greeted Mary Beth Parker, who was coming out of the office unit.

      “Hi,” Mary Beth said. “Going for a run?”

      “Thought I would. What’s a good route?”

      “Go down this street about a quarter mile, then take a dirt road to the left. There’s not much traffic there. I teach aerobics on Thursday nights in unit two. You’re welcome to work out with us tomorrow if you like.”

      “Thanks, I’ll do that.”

      “I was just going for a short run myself,” Mary Beth said. “Mind if I join you?”

      “Not at all. I’d like the company.”

      “I broke my foot last spring, and I still have to take it pretty easy while I’m getting back into shape. I’m not at marathon level yet.”

      Carrie grinned. “You don’t have to worry about holding me back. A couple of miles will do it for me. Three maybe if I walk and jog.”

      “That’s about my speed for now.” They started down the road at a fast walk.

      The route they took was a two-lane blacktop with pastures on one side and tall trees, mostly pines mixed with a few hardwoods, on the other. A few head of black cattle grazed in the pasture while a breeze rustled the treetops and swayed the underbrush.

      “Tell me,” Carrie said. “How did you come to be a chef and an innkeeper? Was it a family business?”

      Mary Beth laughed. “It’s a long story, and I’m no chef. I’m a cook—through necessity. And I’m not sure that running a small motel elevates me to the grand term of innkeeper. It was a family business—in a way. A distant cousin owned it, but when I inherited the Twilight Inn and the restaurant last spring, the place was a mess. Worse than a mess. The motel units had been standing vacant for years and were dilapidated beyond belief. The tearoom had been a Mexican restaurant more recently and wasn’t as bad, but the roof leaked and it had mice.”

      “You’ve certainly done wonders with it, and chef or not, the food at the tearoom is great.”

      “Thanks. It was a lot of work, and I couldn’t have done it without the help of some very good friends. I was desperate when I came back to Naconiche, and inheriting this place seemed like a godsend—until I saw the condition of it. This is where we turn.”

      They took the dirt road and began to jog at a slow pace. “Desperate? Sounds like an intriguing story.”

      As they trotted along the red dirt, Mary Beth related the tale of her return to Naconiche. She’d grown up in the town, then moved away with her parents about the time she started college. She’d met her former husband in school, married him, moved to Mississippi and lived the good life—for a while.

      “Marriage to Brad wasn’t the fairy tale I’d imagined it would be. Things got really bad, and we divorced. Katy and I moved into the garage apartment of a friend in Natchez.

      “I was teaching aerobics, and we were getting by,” Mary Beth said. “Barely. Until I injured my foot. I couldn’t teach with my foot in a cast, and I was almost broke when I discovered that I’d inherited the Twilight Inn. I thought we were saved.”

      “Except that it wasn’t what you expected.”

      “Lord no. It was a disaster.” Mary Beth laughed. “Katy and I lived in the restaurant for a while.”

      “In the restaurant?”

      Mary Beth grinned. “Yes. It wasn’t so bad until it rained and the roof leaked like a sieve. J.J. came to the rescue. This is where we turn around.”

      They started back to the motel, walking for a while, then resuming their jog. “Your fiancé seems like a really nice guy.”

      “He is. Sometimes I think that probably I should have stayed in Naconiche and married him to begin with. But I know we were too young in those days.”

      “So you knew him before?”

      Mary Beth nodded. “He was my first love. We dated a long time.”

      “And he never married?”

      “Nope. Says he was pining for me all that time. And if you believe that, I’ve got this bridge…”

      They both laughed.

      “And you’re not married or committed to some special fella?” Mary Beth asked.

      “Never have been. Never will be.” Her tone was sharper than she meant it to be.

      Mary Beth was quiet for a long time. The only sounds were their breathing and the slap of their soles on the road, but Carrie could almost hear the wheels going around as her running partner considered possible explanations for her statement—and was too polite to question her further. Carrie should have kept her mouth shut. She’d never been prone to sharing intimacies with anyone, but she’d felt drawn to Mary Beth almost immediately and felt very comfortable with her—almost as if they’d been friends for a long time. And God knows, Mary Beth had certainly been candid about her life.

      After about a half mile, Carrie chuckled and said lightly, “I always figured that my mother was married enough for the both of us. Seven times at last count.”

      “Seven? You’re kidding.”

      “Nope.”

      “Is she still living?”

      “Alive and well and in the south of France. The last couple of times, she married Europeans.”

      “Do you see her often?”

      “Only occasionally. We don’t have much in common. My mother is a dependent type who must have a man to take care of her. I don’t need anybody to take care of me. And the truth is, my work keeps me on the road too much for a long-term relationship.