The Sweetgum Knit Lit Society by Beth Pattillo Page B

threatened to tip her out of her chair onto the black-and-white tile floor of the café.
    He continued to stare at her. She reached for her iced tea and took a sip to calm her nerves. It would take something far stronger than tea to accomplish that task.
    “You live in Sweetgum?” he asked, and then he waved a hand as if to dismiss the question. “Sorry. That’s obvious. Of course you do. I just can’t believe it, after all these years.”
    “It has been a long time.” She kept her words light, refusing to let him see the pain his presence caused. “I’m surprised you remembered me.” She didn’t mean the self-deprecating words but said them for her own protection.
    He frowned. “Remember you? Eugenie, I’ve never for—”
    At that moment, Tallulah walked up to the table with another glass of iced tea in hand. “Here you go, preacher. What can I get you for lunch today?”
    “Grilled cheese would be fine, Tallulah. And maybe some onion rings?”
    “Sure thing.” She turned to Eugenie. “Shall I wait and bring your food out with the preacher’s?”
    In her wildest imaginings, Eugenie never would have envisioned sitting down to lunch at Tallulah’s Café with Paul Carson after forty years of separation. Or sitting down with Paul Carson
anytime
, for that matter. She’d so neatly and carefully packed away her memories and her feelings. Now they were spilling out of her like a waterfall, and she had no idea how to contain them again.
    Before she could answer Tallulah, Paul responded. “The same time would be great. Thanks. Eugenie and I have a lot to talk about.”
    Tallulah’s eyebrows arched like the beams in the church sanctuary, but she simply nodded. “Five minutes or so. Shouldn’t be too long.” And then she walked away, leaving Eugenie at a loss for words.
    “How long have you lived in Sweetgum?” Paul asked. He reached for a packet of sugar, ripped it open, and poured it in his tea.
    “Over forty years now,” she answered quietly. She was torn between looking into his eyes and avoiding his gaze. “I’m the head librarian.” She stopped. “That sounds more important than it is, since the only other staff are two part-time ladies who help me shelve the books and a janitor who splits his days between the library and the courthouse.”
    Paul smiled. “Knowing you, I expect it’s the best-run library in Tennessee. An impeccable collection and nary an overdue book in sight.”
    Eugenie stopped herself from wincing at the accuracy of his statement. He hadn’t meant any insult, she was sure, but somehow his words stung.
    “I do my best. It’s been a good job.”
    “Been? You’re retired?”
    “Not yet, although I’m being pushed in that direction.”
    Paul chuckled. “I’d like to see the man who’s brave enough to try to force your hand.” And then his smiled faded.
    “I’m sorry, Eugenie. I didn’t mean—”
    “It’s okay. I know you didn’t.”
    The whole episode was surreal. Paul. The café. The decades of separation that lay between them on the chipped top of the well-worn table. Eugenie felt like one of those clocks in the Salvador Dali painting, as if she, too, might slide out of her chair and onto the floor. The idea held a certain appeal.
    “Is there anyone—” Paul stopped. “I mean—”
    “I never married.” She looked at him now, bracing herself for the pity she would see in his eyes. That was the worst part, really, of seeing him again. Knowing that he of all people would see the empty spaces around the shape of her life. “Did you? Marry, I mean?” For the first time, she let her gaze drop to his left hand, where it rested on the table. There was no ring on his finger, but she could see the outline where one had been. Her stomach twisted, and she knew she would never be able to choke down even one bite of her chicken-fried steak.
    “Yes. After seminary. Helen and I were married for more than thirty years.”
    “Were?”
    “She died two years