about every piece. When the bag was empty, Jo sighed. “Okay, it’s official. I’m jealous. And let me guess, there’s nothing like any of this left in the store, is there?”
Katie shrugged, feeling suddenly sheepish. “Sorry,” she said. “I was there for a while.”
“Well, good for you. These are treasures.”
Katie nodded toward Jo’s house. “How’s it coming over there?” she asked. “Have you started painting?”
“Not yet.”
“Too busy at work?”
Jo made a face. “The truth is, after I got the unpacking done and I cleaned the place from top to bottom, I sort of ran out of energy. It’s a good thing you’re my friend, since that means I can still come over here where it’s bright and cheery.”
“You’re welcome anytime.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that. But evil Mr. Benson is going to deliver some cans of paint tomorrow. Which also explains why I’m here. I’m dreading the very idea of spending my entire weekend covered in splatter.”
“It’s not so bad. It goes fast.”
“Do you see these hands?” Jo said, holding them up. “These were made for caressing handsome men and meant to be adorned with pretty nails and diamond rings. They’re not made for paint rollers and paint splatter and that kind of manual labor.”
Katie giggled. “Do you want me to come over and help?”
“Absolutely not. I’m an expert in procrastination, but the last thing I want you to think is that I’m incompetent, too. Because I’m actually pretty good at what I do.”
A flock of starlings broke from the trees, moving in an almost musical rhythm. The motion of the rockers was making the porch creak slightly.
“What do you do?” Katie asked.
“I’m a counselor of sorts.”
“For the high school?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m a grief counselor.”
“Oh,” Katie said. She paused. “I’m not sure what that is.”
Jo shrugged. “I visit with people and try to help them. Usually, it’s because someone close to them has died.” She paused, and when she went on, her voice was softer. “People react in a lot of different ways and it’s up to me to figure out how to help them accept what happened—and I hate that word, by the way, since I’ve yet to meet anyone who wants to accept it—but that’s pretty much what I’m supposed to do. Because in the end, and no matter how hard it is, acceptance helps people move on with the rest of their lives. But sometimes…”
She trailed off. In the silence, she scratched at a piece of flaking paint on the rocker. “Sometimes, when I’m with someone, other issues come up. That’s what I’ve been dealing with lately. Because sometimes people need help in other ways, too.”
“That sounds rewarding.”
“It is. Even if it has challenges.” She turned toward Katie. “But what about you?”
“You know I work at Ivan’s.”
“But you haven’t told me anything else about yourself.”
“There’s not much to tell,” Katie protested, hoping to deflect the line of questioning.
“Of course there is. Everyone has a story.” She paused. “For instance, what really brought you to Southport?”
Jo seemed to stare right through her as she studied the answer. “Okay,” she finally said, her tone light. “You’re right. It’s not my business.”
“That’s not what I said…”
“Yes, you did. You just said it in a nice way. And I respect your answer because you’re right; it isn’t my business. But just so you know, when you say you wanted to start over, the counselor in me wonders why you felt the need to start over. And more important, what you left behind.”
Katie felt her shoulders tense. Sensing her discomfort, Jo went on.
“How about this?” she asked gently. “Forget I even asked the question. Just know that if you ever want to talk, I’m here, okay? I’m good at listening. Especially with friends. And believe it or not, sometimes talking helps.”
“What if I can’t talk about it?” Katie said in an involuntary whisper.
“Then how about this? Ignore the fact that I’m a counselor. We’re just friends, and friends can talk about anything. Like where you were born or something that made you happy as a kid.”
“Why is that important?”
“It isn’t. And that’s the point. You don’t have to say anything at all that you don’t want to say.”
Katie absorbed her words before squinting at Jo. “You’re very good at your job, aren’t you?”
“I try,” Jo conceded.
Katie laced her fingers together in her lap. “All right. I was born in Altoona,” she said.