I rolled down my window, needing air. Whatever Cletus was transporting in his paper bag smelled like three-day-old fish and burnt popcorn.
We drove in silence the rest of the way. Well, mostly silence. He kept sighing.
I pulled into the lot and jumped out of the car, heard him shut his door too, and made for the grocery store. I tried to make quick work of picking up the items on my list, but in the produce aisle my attention snagged on the bouquets of roses by the bananas.
There were several different arrangements. Sienna would be back by tomorrow afternoon and the thought of greeting her with flowers, just to see the smile on her face, appealed to me.
“Get the white ones, with the pink tips.”
I glanced over my shoulder and found Jennifer Sylvester next to me. As usual, she was in an expensive-looking dress and super-high heels, her long blonde hair pulled up in a loose but fancy bun. She had on pearls. She was also holding a big, dirty crate of bananas. I frowned at her, at this little slip of a woman, looking like she was ready for church, holding a giant crate of bananas
I stepped forward to take her burden. But before I could, she set the crate on the floor and reached for the roses.
“These are the ones she’ll like. They’re called moonstone roses.” Jennifer smiled up at me with her violet eyes, placing the bunch in my hands. “Moonstone roses smell the best, and they smell even prettier when they open.”
Jennifer’s eyes weren’t just violet, they were full-on purple. I’d never seen anyone with eyes like hers. Her real hair color was raven black, I remember the color from when she was a little girl, but her momma had started dying it blonde when Jennifer was a teenager.
Kip Sylvester, Jennifer’s daddy and the principal of the high school, didn’t like the attention his daughter’s dark hair, pale skin, and purple eyes garnered, so she’d grown up more sheltered than most. She was nice enough, but she was usually making everything more awkward than needed.
Bless her heart.
I gave her a small smile. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She returned my smile with one of her own, then bent to retrieve her bananas.
I set Sienna’s roses down in my cart and moved to pick up the crate. “Jennifer Anne Sylvester, this crate is too big for you.”
She grumbled as I took the crate away from her. “It’s fine. I have to carry it once a week, I’m more than used to it by now.”
“You’ll break your neck in those shoes, and then what will I tell your daddy? Where are we going? To your car?”
“I said I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own bananas.” She reached for it but I shifted to the side, lifting my eyebrows expectantly. She huffed, rolled her eyes like a kid, and said begrudgingly, “Fine. Follow me.”
Leaving my shopping cart by the roses, I followed Jennifer past the registers and out to her BMW. She’d popped the trunk and opened it all the way so I could drop the crate inside.
“That wasn’t really necessary. I know you don’t like bananas.”
I stepped back so she could shut the trunk and turned a surprised expression on her. “And how do you know that?”
“Because you’ve never ordered my cake.”
Well, she had me there.
She quickly added, as though she was afraid she’d offended me, “To tell you the truth, I don’t really like cake all that much. And I don’t like baking them.”
This was surprising, because Green Valley was famous for three things: the jam session every Friday night at the community center, the trout fishing at Sky Lake, and Jennifer Sylvester’s banana cake.
I crossed my arms, studying her upturned face. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” She paired this with a single nod. “It’s like, how many times am I going to have to make the same goddamn cake? Sorry for my profanity, but I get worked up when I talk about cake.”
“Understood.”
She didn’t seem to hear me. “Just ’cause I’m good at making cake doesn’t mean I want to make it for the rest of my life, you know? Just ’cause you’re good at something doesn’t mean that’s what makes your heart happy. I sometimes feel like I’ve become the banana cake lady, and I’m only twenty-two. But that’s it. That’s who I am. My life is set, and there’s no escape. I’ll be ninety-nine years old, still making banana cakes at my momma’s bakery.”
“So why don’t you do something else?”
Jennifer lifted her eyes to mine, frowning, a wrinkle of consternation appearing between her eyebrows. “You know what I’d love to do?”
“What’s that?”