The Sweetgum Knit Lit Society by Beth Pattillo Page A

weight, she never had to worry about buying new clothes every season. Her serviceable skirts and blouses could last for years, a fact that suited her natural frugality.
    But now, sitting in the window of Tallulah’s with one nervous eye on the square searching for any sign of Paul Carson, Eugenie needed more sustenance—and comfort—than canned fruit and cheese curds could provide.
    “Wait.” The word fell from her lips before she could talk herself out of it. She looked into Tallulah’s kind eyes, blue as robin’s eggs. “Maybe I will have the special.”
    Tallulah was nice enough not to look surprised. “Sure thing, honey. You want your mashed potatoes with or without gravy?”
    Why not go whole hog? “Gravy. And some fried okra if you have it.” Eugenie couldn’t believe what she was saying.
    “Coming right up.” Tallulah’s smile was even wider than usual. Eugenie forced herself to turn her attention back to arranging her silverware on the Formica tabletop. And that was when she heard the familiar baritone voice at the entrance to the café calling out a greeting to the owner.
    “Good morning to you too, preacher,” she heard Tallulah answer. Eugenie willed herself not to look over her shoulder. Instead she fixed her gaze on the marquee of the art deco movie theater kitty-cornered from the café. She could hardly make sense of what the marquee advertised—something about a new animated children’s movie. But as hard as she stared, she couldn’t distract herself enough to keep from overhearing the conversation at the door.
    “Sit anywhere you like,” Tallulah said. Eugenie felt the moment Paul’s eyes landed on her.
    “Anywhere?” Since the café was empty at this early hour except for Eugenie, he had his choice of tables, booths, or counter seats. She wasn’t surprised, though, when she heard his footsteps walking toward her. Didn’t all preachers instinctively know how to work a room?
    “Morning, ma’am.” He appeared at her side and extended his right hand. “We never finished our introductions that night at the church. I’m Paul Carson, in case you don’t remember.”
    Her eyes rose the long, long way up his neatly pressed button-down shirt to rest on his never-forgotten face. She put her own hand out and felt his palm press against hers, his fingers curled around the side of her hand.
    “Hello, Paul.” She didn’t say her name. She couldn’t. Her tongue was as thick as a compendium of Shakespeare’s plays. The warmth of his hand holding hers sapped the remaining good sense out of her brain.
    “Eugenie.” His eyes lit with recognition. He didn’t so much say her name as breathe it. His face widened in a look of wonder and then one of understanding. “Of course.”
    “Of course?” she asked, forcing a small smile to her lips. “You were expecting to find me at Tallulah’s?” Her wry tone covered the panic that flooded her chest. Every instinct told her to do exactly what she’d done the last time she saw him—flee for her life. Or her sanity. Or both. Anxiety had been banished from her existence for more than forty years. Eugenie refused to entertain, much less tolerate, such a useless state of emotion. But now it was as if every fear she’d ever denied or banished had come flooding back and threatened to swamp her.
    “May I?” Paul nodded toward the chair opposite hers. He was still holding her hand, and out of the corner of her eye Eugenie could see Tallulah watching them in fascination.
    “Yes,” she said, opting for the lesser of two evils. Paul Carson sitting across a table from her had to be far less threateningthan Paul Carson standing there holding her hand again after all these years.
    “I can’t believe it.” He sank into the chair and kept his eyes on her face. She could feel the flush rising in her cheeks. She who never blushed. Ever. She wouldn’t allow herself to. But now she could do nothing to stop the flood of color or the dizzy feeling that