LITMIR.BIZ

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And I didn’t tell you the most vital piece of information.”

      She waited for effect. I waited too. It was a standoff between old friends.

      “All right, I give,” I said after several seconds. “What is your vital information?”

      “Lucie mentioned a man named William with a scar. I know one man with a scar like that, and his name is Billy Joe Sandler. We used to call him the Triple B, for Bad Boy Billy. He’s William Sandler’s grandson. At one point he was being groomed to become the next CEO, but that was before he got into all kinds of trouble.”

      “Trouble?”

      “Drugs, alcohol. Small stuff. Although I did hear he beat someone to a pulp in a bar. That almost got him put in jail for a while. Sandler Senior got sick of his bad behavior.”

      “Wow!” I said. “You think he’s William?”

      “Has to be. Probably trying to seem more grown-up with a new name. But a new name doesn’t change old behavior. Plus ca change, plus c’est la meme chose. He’s the same old Billy Joe.”

      “We have to tell Mason,” I said.

      “Right. Mason.”

      “Detective Garrett.”

      “By all means.”

      I dialed his number. He didn’t pick up, so I left a message.

      When I was done, Lurleen took both my hands. “I think he’s lovely,” she said. “Your detective,” she added when I gave her a blank look. “And I will plan the wedding.”

      “Don’t you think that’s jumping the gun a bit?” I asked.

      “Why? Is he married? Do we have to go through a troublesome divorce?”

      “His wife died a few years ago,” I said. “But I’ve known him two days.”

      “I see,” Lurleen said. “Of course, for the French this would not be a problem. You’d have an affair, see where things went, and decide later if this was a permanent or temporary relationship. But you Americans are so much more cautious.”

      “We Americans?”

      “You know what I mean, chérie. I may be American by birth but certainly not by temperament.”

      I nodded my agreement and smiled. “You really like him?” I said.

      “Ooh la la, I think he’s perfect. For you, that is. He’s not my type, so no worry there. I like my men a little more out there. And your Detective Garrett is quite self-contained. Steady I would say. Kind.”

      Lurleen was a very good judge of character.

      “I like him too,” I said. “But I can’t think about a relationship right now, and I haven’t had good luck with men.”

      “What are you talking about? Sure, you had that ridiculous date from Match.com, but who cares about that? And then there was someone else, I forget his name, who soured you on all men. That was years ago, and I could have told you he wasn’t a keeper.”

      “You mean Phil Brockton?”

      “That was his name. Phillip Brockton the fifteenth or something like that.”

      “Phil Brockton the fourth. What do you mean you knew he wasn’t a keeper?”

      “Phil was always about Phil. And so serious about the Civil War. Of course, the ‘War of Northern Aggression’ will never be over—not if you live in the south. But Phil took it to a ridiculous level. Dressing up like a Civil War general—”

      “Colonel,” I said. “His great-, great-, great-grandfather was a colonel in Cobb’s Legion. Phil’s uniform has buttons from the colonel’s coat.”

      “I rest my case, chérie. He spent more time traveling to Civil War plays than he ever did with you.”

      “They’re called reenactments, not plays,” I said. “And plenty of people spend their lives doing that.”

      “Well, I’m sorry for their wives if they have them.”

      “I thought you liked Phil.”

      Lurleen shook her head. “Not really. I didn’t say anything because you seemed to love him, but you deserved much more. When he left, I thought, Good riddance, bon debarras. Don’t repeat that—it’s very rude in French, but it’s the right expression for him. I didn’t know you’d be so crushed and give up on men all together. It’s a terrible waste, Ditie. You have so much to offer.”

      “Speaking of Phil, I got a letter from him two days ago. He’s coming to Atlanta sometime soon.”

      “You’re not going to see him!”

      “I don’t know.”

      “Oh, Ditie, how can you be so clearheaded about so many things and so totally confused about this man? Here is Detective Garrett, ready and willing. And you think about Phil Brockton?”

      “I did throw away his letter. Maybe that will be the end of it.” I studied her. “How do you know so much about Detective Garrett and his intentions?”

      “I saw the way he looked at you during the party. I’ll bet he wants to take you out.” She smiled. “I can tell by the look on your face I’m right.”

      “It’s the wrong time. He said so too.”

      Before I could say more, Lucie appeared at the door with Jason beside her. Lurleen and I made room for them on the swing. I cuddled Jason, and Lurleen put an arm around Lucie.

      “I bet you two are hungry for dinner,” I said. “I wondered if you were going to sleep all night. Why don’t we go out to eat? After all, it’s still Jason’s birthday. Would you like that?”

      Both children nodded enthusiastically.

      “How about the Varsity?”

      The children stared at me as if I were speaking Swahili.

      “The Varsity? Hot dogs? Onion rings? What’ll ya have? What’ll ya have?”

      No signs of recognition.

      “Okay. Well, the Varsity is a tradition in Atlanta. They claim to be the biggest drive-in restaurant in the world. We’ll make it a birthday tradition. Maybe Lurleen will join us.” I looked over the children’s heads at Lurleen.

      “Ah, I would love to, mes chéries, but I am stuffed like a French sausage. No room.” She patted her flat belly. “Remember, I will pick you up after school tomorrow and then the fun we’ll have!”

      We all got up at once. Lurleen kissed each of us on both cheeks and we watched as she folded her long legs into her tiny Citroën and drove off down the street.

      I asked if the children were ready to go, and Jason looked at me.

      “Can Mommy come with us? I want to wait until she comes home. She’ll be hungry.”

      “Oh, Jason,” I said, sitting back down on the swing. He climbed onto my lap.

      “Mommy missed my birthday party,” he said, and with that he started to cry. Lucie wasn’t far behind. She cuddled next to me, rubbing her eyes and her nose from time to time. I grabbed some tissues out of the box on the table next to the swing. One for Jason, one for Lucie, and one for me.

      We didn’t talk. We just sat in the swing, barely moving, crying our eyes out. Hermione joined us, aware that something was terribly wrong, and settled at our feet. Even Majestic jumped up on the swing next to Lucie and crept onto her lap. We were as sad as we could be, but we were a family. I knew at that moment that I couldn’t bear to let these children go, and I prayed to God I wouldn’t have to.

      Chapter Six

      The kids woke up early the next morning. I could hear them talking in the breakfast

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