A Baxter's Redemption. Patricia Johns
nestled in white gold. Isabel knew this necklace well—it had been her mother’s.
“Where did you get that?” she demanded.
“This?” Britney shrugged. “Your dad gave it to me. Isn’t it pretty? I love it.”
Isabel shot Britney a tight smile. “I see.”
It looked like a lot of things were changing around here, and Isabel didn’t have to like it.
“Well, anyway, I’m meeting up with Carmella, so I’d better go.” The younger woman beamed at Isabel once more. “Baby’s hungry!”
With a flutter of her fingers, Britney pranced away in her two-inch heels, leaving Isabel on the curb with a white-hot feeling searing through her middle. She didn’t use the word hate lightly, but right now, she truly hated Britney Baxter.
Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she fired off a text to James Hunter: I need your advice on a lease contract. Can we meet?
She dropped the phone back into her purse. If there was one thing her father had taught her, it was that feelings might get hurt, but business wasn’t about feelings. It was about money, and it was about building something bigger than yourself.
And right now, she’d stick to business. Feelings were a little too volatile to be trusted.
Britney met a woman on the opposite side of the street who paused, shaded her eyes and peered in Isabel’s direction. Isabel knew her well—Carmella, a high school friend. She’d been running into old acquaintances a lot the last few days, and their first reactions had never been very warm. There had been some sympathy over her scars that barely concealed their satisfaction at seeing her brought down a peg or two. Some didn’t bother saying anything—just stared. And a couple of old classmates had crossed the street to avoid her, which made their feelings about her pretty clear. So far, she hadn’t come across people from the wealthier circles she’d used to move in, and they were the ones who intimidated her the most right now.
“Isabel Baxter, is that you?” Carmella hooted across the street. “Get over here, girl!”
Isabel pasted a smile on her face, hoping it didn’t look like a grimace. “Carmella Biggins?” she called back, and headed across the road.
Sometimes, there was no way around it, and all a woman could do was face it head-on. Like a firing squad.
* * *
JAMES PULLED UP to the curb next to Family Cheese and turned off the engine. Jenny sat on a wooden bench, squinting in the morning sun. Her shoulders were hunched, her plump legs dangling, not quite reaching the ground. A slanted triangle of shade from the building behind her just missed her shoulders, and her blond hair shone like gold in the sunlight. Her eyes, small in her round face, followed the truck as he parked, but she didn’t move.
Every time this happened, Jenny was crushed.
Pushing open his door, James got out and headed over to where she sat. Another car drove past, tooting a horn in hello. James raised his hand in a distracted wave, not even bothering to check to see who it was. He stopped in front of his sister and looked down at her. She looked girlish from a distance, but up close she looked like the adult she was.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “You okay?”
“Nope.” She heaved a sigh. “No one wants me, Jimmy.” She had a slight lisp, and it still reminded him of when she was a little girl. His heart welled with love.
“I do,” he said.
“You don’t count.” She looked away.
“Ouch,” he said, sinking down to the seat next to her. “I like to think I count a little bit.”
“Sorry,” she retorted.
“So what happened?” he asked. Jenny didn’t answer right away, tears misting her eyes, then she turned toward him, her lips quivering with anger.
“He called me retarded.”
James blinked. “Bob did?”
“No, not Bob.” She shook her head, eyes flashing in exasperation. She put her fingers up to make air quotes. “The customer.” She still wasn’t clear about how to use air quotes, and she tended to use them when she was upset.
“And Bob didn’t stand up for you?” Images of lawsuits danced through his head, but he sucked in a breath to try to calm his anger. “So tell me what happened. Exactly.”
“This little boy was pointing at me and laughing,” Jenny said. “So the boy’s dad said, ‘Don’t do that. It’s not nice. It’s not her fault she’s retarded.’ So I threw cheese at him.”
An image of his sister launching Gouda at a customer’s head struck him as funny, and James stifled a laugh. “You had to know that wasn’t a good idea,” he said.
She shrugged, not looking the least bit apologetic.
James attempted to control the smile that tickled the corners of his lips, but he had a burning question. “How was your aim?”
“I have great aim. I hit him in the face. With a nice, old, gooey brie.”
James laughed out loud and shook his head. “Jenny, you’re a nut.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a nut with good aim!” she shot back, but a smile toyed at the corners of her lips. “It was expensive, too.”
“I don’t think we have a leg to stand on to argue this one, Jenny,” he said apologetically. “You can’t throw cheese at people.”
“I know.”
“We’ll find you a different job.” The words came easily enough because he wanted them to be true, but Jenny already had a reputation around this town. She stood up for herself, but she had her own method that didn’t always suit customer service. And what other jobs were there for her?
“Really, Jimmy?” she asked hopefully.
James paused. “I actually don’t know. But we’ll sort something out.”
“I’m not retarded,” she said, her voice low. “I’m a person.”
“I know, Jenny. And you’re a good person, too.”
The problem was that people didn’t understand Jenny the way he did. He’d gotten her a job in his office stuffing envelopes and doing some photocopies, but the pace was too quick for her and he’d felt terrible when he saw how frustrated she was. It would have been perfect to have her close, but what could he do?
His phone blipped and he glanced down at the text message. It was from Isabel. She wanted to meet up.
“Who’s that?” Jenny asked.
“A client,” he replied.
“Do you have to go back to work now?”
He sighed. “No, it’s okay. I’ll take you home first.”
He paused to text Isabel back, his thumbs hopping over the keys: I can meet you around 2, if that works. Let me know where.
Jenny scooted forward until her running shoes hit the ground and glanced up at James. “I wasn’t ladylike.”
James shot her grin. “So? I’m not ladylike, either.”
It was a long-standing joke between them. Jenny grinned and rose to her feet.
“Do you want to stop for a milk shake on the way home?” James asked.
Jenny cocked her head to one side coyly. “I wouldn’t object.”
He chuckled and opened the truck door for her to get in. As he shut the door after her, he wondered what he could do to find a place for Jenny to belong. She’d always be his sister, and this would always be her town, but she needed more than that—she needed the equivalent