Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,109

of steaming coffee.

“Bless your heart, thank you so much,” Whitney says, settling onto the bench by the hair dryers in the middle of the salon.

“Our first client is in thirty minutes, Whitney. So . . . ,” Merry Carole says.

“Fine. Merry Carole was always so pretty. And then when she and Wes had their whole thing, well, it just did me in,” Whitney says, not looking at anyone.

“And?” I urge.

“And nothing,” Whitney says.

We wait.

“Honey, we all know,” I say.

“You all know about what?” Whitney asks, her face draining of all color.

“West is an amazing kid, you know,” I say.

“I know,” Whitney says, her voice cracking. Whitney’s entire demeanor changes and she just melts at the mention of West.

“Does he know?” Merry Carole asks, stepping forward.

“My parents won’t let me tell him,” Whitney says.

“Do you have to do everything your parents tell you to do?” Fawn asks.

“Well, yes,” Whitney says, pulling a hankie from her purse and dabbing at her mascara with it.

“You’re a grown woman, Whitney,” Dee says.

“I know that. I just don’t want to scare him or freak him out after these years of him thinking I’m his older sister.”

“Are you sure he doesn’t suspect anything?” I ask.

“I’ve come to find out that people know a lot more than you think they do,” Merry Carole adds, Cal’s nonchalant admission to knowing of her and Reed’s relationship still thick in the air.

“But that’s not really true, is it? I mean, look at poor Laurel,” Whitney says, accompanied by a cartoonish reaction that wishes she could scoop all of those words back up and shove them right down her throat.

“What about poor Laurel?” I ask, stepping closer.

“Oh, you know,” Whitney says, blowing on her coffee. “This has three sugars in it, right, Dee?” Dee rolls her eyes and nods that it does. “Bless your heart.”

“Don’t try to change the subject. What about poor Laurel?” I ask.

“You mean about her marriage to Everett?” Merry Carole prompts.

“Why they never had kids?” Fawn fishes.

“Well, yeah . . . I mean, Arabella did a real number on Everett after Felix had that little scare,” Whitney says.

“What little scare?” I ask, trying not to sound too anxious.

“He had a stent or a shunt or something . . . something with an a?”

“An angioplasty?” Dee asks.

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“What does that have to do with them getting married?” Merry Carole asks.

“Arabella all but blamed Everett. Said Felix was worried that if something happened to him, there’d be nobody to take his place.”

“Why did Everett need to be married to take over Paragon?” Dee asks.

“They’re horse breeders. All they do is think about pedigree and bloodlines. And Arabella was worried about Everett not marrying the right kind of woman. No offense,” Whitney says.

“None taken,” I say.

“I remember Momma telling me that Arabella went the whole nine. Made a big show of it. She took Everett down to the hospital, and with Felix lying in the bed, all the tubes and cables or whatever hanging all over him, she begged Everett to do the right thing so Felix could . . . well, she basically said so Felix could get better . . . so that he wouldn’t die. What would you have done?”

“I would have married Laurel,” I say. We all stand there staring at Whitney. Maybe this town can keep a secret after all. Well, until Whitney gets hold of it anyway.

“See? You guys don’t know everything,” Whitney says.

“Obviously,” I say, barely able to speak.

“Whitney, don’t you think West deserves to hear it from you?” Merry Carole asks.

“Hear what?” Whitney asks. We all just stand there. “Oh. That,” she says, deflating.

“On the off chance that he’s heard even one bit of the rumor?” I ask. Whitney crumples in her chair. It’s dramatic and kind of ridiculous. I swear I catch her looking at her reflection, although this is probably the first time she’s talked about this in years.

“You can handle your business any way you want, but taking it out on Merry Carole has to stop,” I say.

“I’m not the only one, you know,” Whitney says, sniffling.

“Oh, I know,” I say.

“So—”

“You stop. They stop,” I say.

“You know Cal really likes West. It’s a shame they don’t know they’re kin,” Merry Carole says.

I can see the idea of Cal and West, and moreover the Ackermans and the Wakes, being family ruffle Whitney. But then something kicks in. Her face calms and she resolves herself to the task at hand. That’s the piece my mom never had. Whitney is going