The Sweetgum Knit Lit Society by Beth Pattillo

all between her and the Reverend Paul Carson. And there was no reason anyone should ever know. As long as matters stayed that way, everything would be just fine.
    Except that he’d said she looked familiar. Right before she’d fled as if he were an ax murderer.
    So a little before eleven o’clock in the morning, Eugenie walked down the library steps with firmness of purpose, determined not to show any fear or hesitation. This library, this town—they were hers. She would not let his presence take that away from her, not when she’d sacrificed so much to have them in the first place. Not after all these years.
    The bright October day was the best kind of Indian summer, warm but not hot and with no humidity to cling to skin or scalp. Eugenie quickly walked the two blocks to Tallulah’s Café on the town square. Her only concession to the tension vibrating through her body was the white-knuckled fingers clutching her pocketbook. She had dressed as she did every day—dark skirt, crisp blouse, cardigan. When she crossed Spring Street, she saw Esther driving past, on her way to her bridge club no doubt. She returned Esther’s cheerful wave. Once, long ago, the ladies had asked if Eugenie would care to join their group. It hadn’t occurred to any of them that she could hardly skip out of the library for three hours every Tuesday. And of course they would never dream of meeting in the evenings when they were home with their husbands and, once upon a time, their children. Bridge club types like Esther had no understanding, really, of what Eugenie’s life was like.
    Had been like
, she corrected herself. Because if Homer and the rest of his cronies had their way and she was forced to retire, everything would change. And she doubted very much it would be for the better for anyone, least of all for her.
    Tallulah’s Café occupied a corner storefront on the west side of the town square. The square itself, a hodgepodge of buildings of every shape and size, was dominated by the imposing Victorian courthouse in its center, which had been built well before the ravages of the Civil War wracked the town. The café had been serving up fried chicken livers and icebox pie since Eugenie arrived in Sweetgum forty years before. Over the last few years, it had become her regular Tuesday lunch place.
    “Morning, Eugenie,” Tallulah greeted her when she entered the café. Tallulah Browning was older even than Eugenie, her tanned face lined with wrinkles but wreathed in a smile. No one was forcing Tallulah to retire or telling her that her time had passed. No, those same men who were putting so much pressure on Eugenie, saying she was too old for her job, well, they would squawk like the dickens if anyone suggested Tallulah should hang up her apron.
    “Good morning, Tallulah. How are things today?”
    “Busy enough to run me ragged but not busy enough to make me rich,” she said with a chuckle. “Your table’s waiting for you.”
    “Thank you.” Eugenie nodded her gratitude and slid into her usual two-top by the café’s large plate glass window. A glass of unsweetened iced tea sat waiting. Tallulah followed her to the table and hovered while Eugenie settled into her chair and carefully unrolled her silverware from its paper napkin.
    “The usual, Eugenie? Or do you want to live a little? The special’s chicken-fried steak.” Tallulah’s teasing grin held no malice, and so Eugenie accepted her good-natured ribbing with a smile of her own.
    “Just the fruit plate, please.”
    “All right. If you’re sure.”
    Suddenly Eugenie didn’t know if she was sure. For years now she’d been coming to the café every Tuesday and ordering the same lunch—two peach halves and a large scoop of cottage cheese accompanied by a packet of saltine crackers. The fruit plate was by far the healthiest thing on Tallulah’s menu, and Eugenie had always prided herself on how well she’d maintained her figure. What’s more, since she never gained