She walked past gift shops, restaurants, and flight-information boards. Misery surrounded her, pressing down like a thick black fog. She kept her gaze lowered, positive her heartache showed on her face, certain if people looked at her too closely, they would see the truth.
They would see that there wasn’t one person alive who gave a damn about Georgeanne Howard. Not in this state or any other. She’d deserted her only friend, Sissy, and if Georgeanne died, there wasn’t one person who would care, not truly. Oh, her aunt Lolly would act as if she cared. She’d make her green funeral Jell-O and cry as if she weren’t secretly relieved that she wouldn’t have to feel responsible for Georgeanne anymore. Briefly Georgeanne wondered if her mother would grieve, but she knew the answer before she finished the thought. No. Billy Jean would never grieve for the child she’d never wanted.
She entered the Delta boarding room just as her fragile control slipped. Taking a seat facing a bank of windows, she moved aside a copy of the Seattle Times and set her overnight case on the vinyl seat beside her. She looked out onto the runway and an image of her mother’s face rose before her, reminding her of the one and only time she’d met Billy Jean.
It had been the day of her grandmother’s burial, and she’d looked up from the casket into the face of an elegant-looking woman with stylish brown hair and green eyes. She wouldn’t have known who the woman was if Lolly hadn’t told her. In an instant the grief of her grandmother’s death mixed with apprehension, joy, hope, and a myriad of conflicting emotions. For all of Georgeanne’s life she’d anticipated the moment she would finally meet her mother.
Growing up, she’d been told that Billy Jean was young and that she just didn’t want children yet. As a result, Georgeanne had dreamed of the day her mother would change her mind.
But by the time Georgeanne had reached adolescence, she’d given up on dreams of reunions. She’d discovered that Billy Jean Howard was now Jean Obershaw, wife of Alabama representative Leon Obershaw, and the mother of their two small children. The day she’d learned of her mother’s other family was the day she’d had to face a cruel reality. Grandmother had lied to her. Billy Jean did want children. She just didn’t want her.
At her grandmother’s funeral, when Georgeanne had finally laid eyes on Billy Jean, she’d expected to feel nothing. She was surprised to find that buried deep in her heart, she still harbored the fantasy of a loving mother. She’d held on to the dream that her mother could fill the empty place inside her. Georgeanne’s hands had shaken and her knees quaked as she’d introduced herself to the woman who’d abandoned her shortly after giving birth. She’d held her breath… waiting… wanting. But Billy Jean had hardly looked at her when she’d said, “I know who you are.” Then she’d turned and walked.to the back of the church. After the service she’d disappeared, presumably back to her husband and children. Back to her life.
The announcement of an arriving Delta flight drew Georgeanne’s attention from the past. Other passengers were beginning to fill up the boarding room, and she grabbed her overnight case and set it on her lap. An older woman with tight white curls and a polyester smock made her way toward the now empty chair. Out of habit, Georgeanne automatically reached for the Seattle Times newspaper and moved it out of the woman’s way. She set it on top of her suitcase and looked back out the windows at a passing tow tractor and baggage trailer. Normally she would have smiled at the woman and perhaps engaged her in pleasant chitchat. But she didn’t feel like being pleasant. She thought of her life and her attraction to people who couldn’t return her love.
She’d fallen in love with John Kowalsky in less than a day. Her feelings for him had happened so fast she could hardly believe it herself. Yet she knew it was true. She thought of his blue eyes and the dimple denting his right cheek whenever he smiled. She thought of his strong arms around her, making her feel safe. If she closed her eyes, she could feel his hands on her behind, lifting her onto the china hutch as if she weighed nothing. No other man she’d ever known, not even old boyfriends she’d thought she loved, had ever made her feel the way John had.
You should have warned me that you’re perfect, he’d said, making her feel like the reigning Queen of the San Antonio Fiesta. No man had ever made her feel so desirable. No man had left her feeling so wretched inside.
Her eyes began to sting again and her vision blurred. Lately she’d made some pretty poor choices in her life. At the top of the list was her decision to marry a man old enough to be her grandfather. A close second was running from her wedding like a coward. But falling in love with John hadn’t been a choice. It had just happened.
A single tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped at it. She had to get over John now. She had to get on with her life.
What life? She had no home and no job waiting for her. She had no real family to speak of, and her only friend probably hated her now. All of her clothes were at Virgil’s, and there was no doubt in her mind that he despised her. The man she loved didn’t love her in return. He’d dumped her on the curb without looking back.
She had nothing and no one but herself.
“Attention,” a female voice announced, “passengers holding rickets for Delta flight 624, Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport, will begin boarding in fifteen minutes.”
Georgeanne looked at the ticket in her hand. Fifteen minutes, she thought. Fifteen minutes before she boarded an airplane that would take her back to nothing. No one would be there to greet her. She had no one. No one to take care of her. No one to tell her what to do.
No one but herself. Only Georgeanne.
Panic grabbed ahold of her stomach, and she lowered her gaze to the Seattle Times on the overnight case in her lap. She could feel an emotional overload just below the surface. In order to avoid a complete shutdown, she concentrated on the newsprint. Her lips moved as she slowly read the want ads.
The sign above Heron Catering hung awkwardly to the right. Thursday night’s storm had knocked it around until one of the chains had snapped. Now the great majestic bird painted on the sign looked as if it were about to take a nosedive onto the sidewalk. The rhododendrons planted on each side of the door had survived the heavy winds, but the hanging red geraniums were pretty much history.
Inside the small building, everything was in perfect order. The office in the front of the converted store had a desk and a round table. A large picture of two people with matching clothing and identical faces hung on the wall. Each held an opposite end of a dollar bill. In the kitchen an industrial slicer, grinder, and stainless steel pots and pans shined. A selection of menu samples sat on a tray in one of the refrigerators, while the owner’s doubler-decker air-flow oven dominated the opposite corner.
The owner herself stood in the bathroom with a blue rubber band clamped between her lips. A fluorescent light flickered and buzzed and cast a grayish tint over Mae Heron’s face. Her brown eyes studied her reflection in the mirror above the sink as she brushed her blond hair into a ponytail high on the back of her head.
Mae was the epitome of an Ivory Soap girl. She didn’t have any use for fruity skin cleansers or toners or fancy creams. She hated the feel of makeup on her face. Sometimes she wore a little mascara, but because she had little practice, she wasn’t any good at applying it, not like Ray had been. Ray had always been so good at dress-up.
Mae turned to look at herself from the side and raised a hand to smooth a lump of hair at her crown. She might have taken the ponytail out and started over if the bell above the front door hadn’t signaled the arrival of the customer Mae had been expecting. Mrs. Candace Sullivan was a frequent client of Heron’s, and she’d called Mae to cater her parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary. Candace was the wife of a respected cardiologist. She was wealthy and Mae’s last hope to keep her and Ray’s dream alive.