High Noon Page 0,76

on through the day, starting when Carly bounced into her bed for Sunday Morning Snuggles.

Snuggle they did so Phoebe snuck kisses and sniffs of her daughter's soft curly hair, deliciously shampooed the night before. Cuddled up, she got the lowdown on Sherrilynn's brother Tear-so named because he always seemed to be on one-sawing off the heads of two of Sherrilynn's Barbies with his daddy's penknife before he was caught and suitably punished.

Heads on the same pillow, nose to nose, they expressed their mutual horror over the crime.

What had she ever done to earn such a perfect, precious child?

Phoebe wondered. How could she not spend every free moment of every day with this incredible little girl?

Of course, later that morning when she and Carly bumped heads over Carly's desperate need for the purple butterfly sandals she'd seen in one of her grandmother's catalogues, Phoebe wondered how she could dare risk letting this pint-sized shoe hog out of her sight for ten minutes.

She would not feel guilty.

And wasn't Carly going off to a backyard picnic birthday party at her current best friend in the entire world Poppy's house? And wasn't Ava already set to drop her off, then pick her up, bookending her own trip to a flower show?

And Mama? Well, Mama was so busy designing new patterns, organizing her threads and yarns, she'd barely notice if Phoebe jetted off for a weekend trip to Antigua.

There was nothing to feel guilty about.

But she suffered twinges of it nonetheless as she brushed Carly's lovely bright hair, helped pick out the absolutely perfect hair clips. She fought against those twinges while she approved Carly's choice-after numerous rejections-ofjust the right outfit.

They tugged again while she stood on the front veranda, waving to Ava and her fashionable little girl as they drove off for their Sunday outings.

Inside, she hunted up her mother, only to find Essie on her sittingroom computer, laughing away as she clattered on the keyboard.

Chat room, Phoebe thought. The agoraphobic's constant friend.

Still, Phoebe leaned against the doorjamb, watching as her mother's fingers flew and her eyes sparkled with humor.

This was one of her safe conduits to the outside world, after all. Neighbors still dropped by, or old friends paid calls. Now and then

Essie would have a group of women over for tea, and God knew she always enjoyed it if she or Ava planned a cocktail or dinner party.

People came. Of course they came. The South loved their eccentrics, and to many in Savannah who knew the MacNamaras, Essie's condition was no more than a charming little eccentricity.

Essie MacNamara? they might say. She was Essie Carter before she married Benedict MacNamara. Married up, too, and only to be widowed before she was thirty. Just a tragedy! She hasn't stepped one foot outside ofMacNamara House on Jones in ten years or more, bless her heart. She comes out on the veranda sometimes, and she's still as pretty as a picture. And so slim.

Of course, they'd never weathered one of Mama's panic attacks, or watched her struggle just to find the courage to step out on that veranda. They hadn't seen her weep with gratitude when her future daughter-inlaw asked if she and Carter could have the wedding at the house.

God bless Josie, Phoebe thought. And hell, God bless the Internet while she was at it. If her mother couldn't go out into the world, at least the world could come to her through her computer.

"Hey, sweetie pie." Essie's fingers stilled as she spotted Phoebe. "You need something?"

"No. No, I was just poking in to let you know I'm going up to work out, then I'm going to get ready to go out."

Essie's dimples deepened with her smile. "With Duncan."

"To a barbecue at one of his friend's."

"You have a good time, and don't forget the flowers you put in the spare fridge now."

"I won't."

"And wear the green sundress," Essie called out as Phoebe turned. "Show off those nice shoulders. God knows you work hard enough on them."

Phoebe glanced back. "Should I wear more blush, too, so I can catch me a husband?"

"What's that?"

"Nothing. I'll check back with you before I go."

She escaped to her little gym, and a solid sweaty hour.

Later in the shower, she wondered if she'd been using exercise over the past months as a substitute for sex. She'd definitely kicked it up a few notches in the past six months.

Eight months, she corrected, rinsing shampoo out of her hair. Or was it ten?

"Well,Jesus, had it actually been a year since she'd had