Bittersweet Creek by Sally Kilpatrick

shot, too, but he would live to serve his prison sentence for also shooting little Otis Satterfield, age six, who, in all of the confusion, had managed to tag along after his father to help free his favorite sister.
    Nine months later, Louisa gave birth to a bouncing baby boy. She refused to list his last name as Magilroy. She named him after her little brother Otis instead. Otis Satterfield went on to be a Justice of the Peace, fitting since he was both a Satterfield and a Magilroy.

Julian
    W hen I walked up to the Satterfield place, I immediately regretted the decision not to drive. Sure, it was a short distance, but there was the silver Porsche and there was Richard Paris pacing on the Satterfields’ front porch. I stopped short.
    Go on, coward, what do you have to fear from him?
    As I got a little closer, I couldn’t help but hear his conversation.
    â€œYes, Mother, of course she said yes!” He paced a bit, his other finger in his ear. “Well, I’m not sure the wedding will be in the cathedral after all.”
    He held the phone away from his ear, noticing me for the first time. Even I could hear his mother, and I was still a few feet from the porch. City Boy stepped aside to let me pass, and I knocked on the door, almost tripping over a box there against the wall.
    Romy answered the door looking shell-shocked, and I couldn’t look away from the rock on her left hand. I mean, Gibraltar wouldn’t have measured up. A lump came up in my throat. It dwarfed the ring I’d given her: the worn band decorated with orange blossoms that had belonged to my mamaw.
    â€œMother. Calm down. Just keep the reservation for the cathedral. No, I’ll talk with her. No, you don’t need to—”
    I picked up the large box by the door and entered the house, glad to leave that conversation behind. Romy swallowed hard. She looked more like she’d narrowly survived an Independence Day alien attack instead of becoming engaged to one of the richest men in Tennessee.
    â€œI’m ready,” I said, but she continued blinking as though looking through me.
    â€œReady for what?” Hank asked.
    That got her attention.
    â€œI have something of his I needed to return,” Romy said hastily.
    â€œYou can bring it to him, then.”
    â€œBut he has that box.” She turned to me. “Mind taking that upstairs?”
    As if Romy had ever once asked me to carry something for her before. I gave her a look, but said, “Not at all.”
    â€œTell Richard I’ll be right back,” she said to Hank.
    He pursed his lips and lowered his brows. Apparently, in his eyes, being closer to thirty than twenty didn’t make it any more appropriate to take a man up to your bedroom alone.
    I ducked as I reached the top. It was significantly warmer upstairs, and she had a couple of windows open to pull what little breeze there was across the house.
    â€œAC doesn’t work as well up here,” she said apologetically. “Granny didn’t like to use these rooms because she was afraid of fire, you know.”
    I waited in the area at the top of the stairs, the spot that was originally designed to be a sitting room. Romy disappeared into the first bedroom and returned with a manila file folder and a small box. I swallowed hard at the sight of it. “That’s it?”
    She nodded. “This is it.”
    There was a little end table beside a tiny couch. She moved the lamp and opened up the folder, then handed me the pen before pointing me to the X below her name. I handed her the box I’d picked up outside, and she made an almost orgasmic sound when she read the label.
    My hand hovered over the paper and I had to ask, “What’s that?”
    â€œIt’s my Keurig,” she said with reverence. “I’ll have coffee again.”
    I shook my head and almost told her it was pretty sad when coffeemakers could cause her to make that sound. Before I could