Ugly Ducklings Finish First by Stacy Gail Page B

couldn’t believe Payton had the gall to show up, and it made something inside freeze over.
    “I know,” she said before her mother could say anything, backing instinctively toward her car. “I know I should have called. I would have called if I had known I was coming.”
    “That’s all right.”
    “No, really. I know how rude this is. How rude I’m being.” Payton nearly groaned. Who knew she could be so fluent in babbling gibberish? “What I mean to say is, I came here on impulse. You see, I’m in San Antonio all this week—”
    “I know.” A fluttery smile appeared on Deborah Pruitt’s finely lined face, only to vanish just as fast. “You’re attending a medical convention. I hope it’s going well.”
    “Oh. Yes. It is.” Baffled, Payton shook her head. “How did you know?”
    “I ran into Wiley yesterday at the hardware store. We talked for a while.” Deborah seemed to run out of words, and the silence ballooned from awkward to stifling. “He...he said your presentation yesterday was brilliant.”
    “He exaggerated. He’s like that.” This was a mistake, Payton thought again, so dismayed by the tension her throat tightened with tears she refused to show. “I... Oh, jeez. I really should have called.”
    “Don’t be silly. This is your home, Payton.”
    She managed to stifle a scoff, but only just. “You look like you’re going out.”
    “I was just leaving for work.”
    “Work?” Surprise had Payton moving up the neat stone pathway before she thought better of it. “You have a job? You never told me about that.”
    “You never asked.”
    Payton thought back to the last email exchange she’d had with her mother, and scoured her brain for what information they’d shared. Other than the news about her own new job, there hadn’t been anything remotely personal. “Mom, there’s no reason for you to work. Even without Dad’s life insurance, you can always rely on me for—”
    “It’s not the money, Payton.” Deborah smiled again, a real one this time that touched her deep brown eyes. “I enjoy it. I enjoy being with people, as well as the feeling I’ve accomplished something at the end of the day. I enjoy feeling like I’m part of the community.”
    “Really?” At a loss, Payton tried not to gape. She needed an abacus to tally up how many times Deborah had refused to even think about becoming a part of Bitterthorn’s community. “Where do you work?”
    “Busy Fingers Craft Store.” When Payton stared at her, Deborah laughed. “I know, I know. The name leaves a lot to be desired. But I like it.”
    “Well, then. That’s...amazing.” There was really no other word for it. “Would you like a lift into town?”
    “Yes, I’d like that.” Before Payton could make a move, her mother touched her cheek. “It’s good to see you, Payton.”
    “You too. We’d better go,” she mumbled and stepped back before she could stop herself. When had her mother last touched her? Something fractured deep inside when Payton discovered she couldn’t remember.
    The drive into Bitterthorn was one Payton wouldn’t soon forget, fraught with endless silences interrupted by graceless spates of polite small talk. The tension eased only when the town’s live-oak-shaded square appeared, with its whitewashed bandstand, two statues of historical Bitterthorn heroes and a fountain that had never worked. As she guided the car onto Main Street, Payton nodded at a bustling single-story daycare center.
    “That place is new, isn’t it?” she asked her mother, who looked out at the building, its yard filled with brightly colored play equipment.
    “That’s Leslie Ann Cross’s place. She opened it after she and Donovan married.”
    “Didn’t Donovan Cross used to be Wiley’s best friend?”
    “He still is. Leslie Ann!” Deborah waved a hand out the window as they rolled to a stop, and a petite blonde looked up from ushering a child indoors.
    “Deborah, I was just thinking about you.”