Louella budged first. It was a small twitch, but noticeable enough to concede she’d lost this round. “Are you suggesting violence?”
Dixie cracked her knuckles. “You bet I am. And another thing, if you don’t hush your mouth and stop fuelin’ the talk about Clifton Senior, if I hear one more time one of Em’s boys has gotten into a fistfight because you really don’t care who you hurt in your pathetic attempt to pay me back for stealin’ your man—even small children—I’m comin’ for you.”
As always, when Louella and Dixie were in the same room, and there were witnesses, a buzz began. An uncomfortable one. One Em didn’t want. It put an ugly spotlight on her and her recent situation she’d rather not have.
But Louella was apparently feeling sassy tonight. “Will you teach me the ways of the reformed, Dixie? Learn me how to be a good person, maybe? Make me see Jesus?”
Dixie gasped—loud and long for dramatic effect. “Did you just use the Lord’s name and yours in the same sentence? Louella Palmer, you should know better than to use His name in vain—especially when associated with you.”
Em grabbed Dixie’s arm. “Let’s go. Right this minute. Everyone is staring.” And remembering the picture of Clifton as Trixie. And the shock on her face when she saw it. And it was like reliving that night over and over.
Dixie shrugged her off and faced the scattered tables, her face angry and red. Dixie was hard to ruffle, and much harder to anger these days, but Louella had gone for the throat. Dixie never stood by and watched that. “No, Em! If you haven’t had enough, I surely have. This stops now. Right now.”
Dixie moved around her, spry in her pumpkin-colored heels, and grabbed a glass from a nearby table, clanging a spoon against it.
“Listen up, people of Plum Orchard! That means you, too, Nanette Pruitt.” She pointed an accusatory finger toward the older woman. “Y’all better hear me loud and clear when I say, mind your business, you bunch of gossiping know-it-alls! You’ve involved the well-being of children. Children I love, with your hushed whispers and gutter minds. Your cruel chatter has trickled down to your children who’re passin’ it on. Shame on all of you for perpetuatin’ that kind of behavior, for teaching your children to be mean little monsters just like the lot of you! If you wanna talk, talk about me. Talk about how I’ll take my dirty little business right on out of this town and you’ll rue the day you didn’t heed my words. Because you know what goes with me when I go? Landon’s money! Who’s going to pay for your fancy exit off the highway then? Will it be you, Louella Palmer? Do you get paid for all the shootin’ off your mouth you do? Because it’s the only way you’d come close to making the kind of money I pour into this godforsaken town!”
“Dixie!” Em whisper-yelled. She hated confrontation. She hated that there had to be a confrontation at all. She hated that she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
She hated even more that in the middle of Dixie’s rant, while everyone was staring at her, Jax had slipped inside Madge’s.
Fifteen
Em’s cheeks were hot, her blood was boiling and if she put her hand to her brow, she’d probably find beads of sweat on it. “Dixie Davis, if you don’t stop now, I’ll never speak to you again.” Pivoting on her heel, she lifted her chin, avoided Jax’s eyes and walked out of Madge’s to the tune of the harsh clack of her shoes, echoing in the astonished silence.
The cold air rushed at her, cooling her cheeks or the tears that stung the corners of her eyes. They were hot and seeping out with a will of their own.
Why couldn’t Dixie just let her sweep this under the carpet? The more attention she gave it, the more it grew out of control. Clifton Senior had been gone plenty long by now, but because nothing more exciting than finding out he was a cross-dresser had happened in Plum Orchard since then, she was the latest target.
Worse, why hadn’t she been the one to have the angry outburst? Why was she always quieting the part of her that was outraged by the horrible things they were saying about her? Because she hated to make a scene. She’d been taught not to make a scene. At all costs, stay out of the fray.
She’d been in the middle of plenty of humiliating situations since high school, and she hated that she’d never found a voice big enough to tell everyone what Dixie had just told them for her. Hated that she was even too yellow to stand up for, at the very least, her children.
A hand came to rest at her back. A large one. Warm and wide, it spanned part of her waist and made her want things she didn’t want to want right now.
Jax.
Exactly what she didn’t need. “Please don’t.” Please, please, please don’t pity me.
“Can I help?”
“You coming after me in front of everyone doesn’t help.” She glared up at the twinkling lights in the tree of the square and prayed no one was looking.
“I was just grabbing some burgers.” He held up a bag.