A Mother's Homecoming. Tanya Michaels

of it last year and had been keeping it short ever since. She rose. “Can I help you with that tray, Aunt Julia?”

      A pitcher of tea sat between a plate of muffins and—hallelujah—a china bowl of sugar.

      “I think not,” her aunt said. “This pitcher is vintage. Everyone knows fatigue makes people unsteady, and you look like you haven’t had a full night’s sleep in a month of Sundays. You’ll stay with us tonight, not out there at Trudy’s.”

      It took Pam a moment to process the imperious decree as an invitation. “Thank you. It’s kind of you to offer.”

      “Well, we’re kin.” Julia sniffed. “Not that you could tell from the number of messages and letters we’ve had from you over the years.”

      Now, beneath the criticism, Pam heard the decade plus of worry. “I’m so sorry I never let you know where I was.” Sorry for all of their sakes. If she’d allowed herself that familial anchor, would she have turned to them for help before she hit rock bottom?

      Probably not. Hitting rock bottom was why she’d finally admitted she needed help.

      “We knew you were in Tennessee, of course,” her uncle offered with exaggerated joviality. “It was something else, seeing you on television!”

      “Oh.” Pam had only been on a regional cable channel, and she’d never been entirely sure whether her show was available this far out. “Thank you. I went to California after that. Guess I was hoping to do even more television, but it didn’t pan out.”

      She’d first been “discovered” playing guitar and singing in a Tennessee bar. All those juvenile dreams she and Nick used to spin—about her eventual fame, and his leading an NFL team to the Super Bowl, where she would naturally sing at halftime—had kept her afloat when she was alone and scared out of her mind. Despite a small-time talent agent’s attempts, she’d never progressed beyond the periphery of the music industry. In the fading heyday of music videos, she’d briefly held a job as a video jockey, hosting a weekly country music countdown and reading entertainment-news bulletins.

      But she’d yearned to find validation through stardom and quickly grew unhappy reporting on other people’s fame. So she quit a perfectly good job—the best one she’d ever had, really—to go with her loser boyfriend of the time to California. What followed had been a downward spiral of bad decisions and bad boyfriends.

      Ironic. Pam remembered clearly the day she’d looked into her infant daughter’s squalling face and panicked at the flare of resentment that pierced her postpartum numbness. In that moment, Pam had realized how easily she could become like her own mother—a former prom queen who took her disappointment in life out on her kid and anesthetized herself with booze and men. So Pam had fled, wanting more for herself and more for baby Faith. I ran like hell, all the way to the opposite coast. Where I promptly turned into Mae.

      The silver lining was that she hadn’t dragged her daughter down with her.

      “You and your mother,” Julia chided, unknowingly echoing Pam’s thoughts. “Always so ambitious, always wanting more.”

      “Like what?” Pam asked. “I never heard Mae mention wanting to be an actress.” Pam had grown up with the sense that her mother was deeply unhappy without ever having any idea what it would take to fix that.

      “She wanted to be adored. Everyone was so surprised when beautiful, outgoing Mae married your father, who, let’s face it, was a shy, awkward man. But I know what the attraction was—that mile-high pedestal he had her on. He worshipped her like a goddess, and she treated him like … Well, he snapped after just a year and ran off with a clerk from the bookstore. A man needs to be nurtured! He can’t stay married to a woman who intimidates him.”

      Pam wondered absently if Julia had become a more nurturing wife over the past decade; it wasn’t how Pam remembered her aunt and uncle’s relationship. Then again, what did Pam know? She’d always had the impression that her father had left because of her, because he wasn’t sure he was ready to be a father and because his physical interest in Mae had waned during her pregnancy.

      “I’ll never be beautiful again,” Mae had complained one summer, meeting her young daughter’s eyes in a dressing room mirror. “Pretty, sure, but I was stunning once. You ruined that. See these stretch marks? I got huge with you. No wonder your daddy left us.”

      To Pam, daddy had seemed as exotic and nonsensical as unicorn. Her biological father had never been more than the name on her birth certificate and monthly checks. Who knew what his side of the story sounded like? In her first year after leaving Mimosa, she’d suffered periodic anxiety attacks, waking in the middle of the night, worrying what Nick would tell their daughter about her own absent parent. For herself, Pam didn’t care—she deserved anything he had to say about her—but she’d prayed he was careful with the girl’s feelings, that Faith would never blame herself.

      Faith. The name came more naturally to mind after this morning’s talk with Nick. For years Pam had continued to think of their daughter as “the baby,” long after she’d no doubt been enrolled in school.

      “Speaking of ex-husbands,” Pam began hesitantly, “do either of you see Nick Shepard much? I understand he’d moved away but is back in town now.”

      Julia and Ed exchanged a glance that made Pam ache inside. For all that Julia could be domineering and Ed could be oblivious, they clearly shared a bond. An entire conversation seemed to pass between them in a single moment of crystalline silence.

      “That’s what we heard, too,” Julia said. “But, no. We … stay out of his way.”

      “Right after you left, he used to come by,” Ed added. “A lot. He was convinced we knew where you were. Or that you’d contact us. After a few months, he realized we were as in the dark as he was.”

      Pam winced. “I’m sorry. For any worry I put you through. I didn’t—I’m sorry.”

      “It’s done now,” Julia said decisively. “Maybe you could start fresh, now that your mama left you the house. Move back to Mimosa. Your uncle might even be able to hire you on part-time at the furniture showroom—”

      “Absolutely not.” Once the words were out, Pam regretted shooting down her aunt so quickly. Maybe she should have pretended to consider settling here for a millisecond, to spare Julia’s feelings.

      But really? Move back to emotional ground zero? No. She couldn’t quite wrap her mind around doing that even if Nick and Faith hadn’t been in Mississippi. With them here, it was impossible. Recalling the furious intensity in Nick’s blue eyes, she could just imagine the fit he’d throw if she announced she was staying. Pam shivered.

      “I don’t know exactly what my plans for the future are,” she reiterated gently. “But I can’t see myself in Mimosa long-term. How can I start fresh by going back? I want to stay for a little while—at the house, if I become an imposition here—and I want to keep in touch with the two of you when I go. But I will be moving on.” That part was imperative.

      Uncle Ed cleared his throat. “We understand,” he said, overtop of his wife’s entreaties. “The important thing is, you’re here now.”

      After a moment, Julia nodded her reluctant agreement. “I’ll start on dinner in a few hours. A big dinner! You’re too scrawny. In the meantime, have some muffins. And drink your tea—it’s good for you.”

      Pam eyed the glass in her hand. Beverage penance. Sure, why not? She took a big drink, meeting her beaming aunt’s gaze. Bleah. Yet considering where Pam was, other things coming her way would likely be much harder to swallow.

       Chapter Five

      “Pssst, Faith!”

      Faith Shepard shot her best friend a warning glance. Even though both girls were finished with their pop quizzes, Morgan knew what a stickler Mrs. Branch