A is for Always, because you are true
U is for Us, because we are friends
R is for Rosy, which your future will be
E is for Ever, which has no ends
L is for Loving, which is our Laurel E.
Lolly looked up at Laurel. “It’s signed, ‘Always, Your Own Fri- without -end, Sarah.’ Who’s she?”
“Sarah Bridges, a rather bad poet,” Laurel replied, trying to keep her smile in place. “She was my best friend since second grade, but we’re out of touch now. She used to live in Bosque Bend, but then she married a doctor and moved to Austin.”
“Tough luck. You must miss her.”
Laurel nodded, surprised to realize she missed Sarah more than she missed Dave. But then, Sarah had more personality. “It’s odd how things work out. Her family had just moved into town, and I remember the day when the elementary school principal walked her into the classroom. I didn’t like her.”
Flame-haired and brash, Sarah Bridges was the new girl, an outsider without a single connection to Bosque Bend, not even a second cousin three times removed.
“Her family lived across the street from us, but my grandfather told me to ignore them. He didn’t like the way they’d remodeled the house, didn’t approve of the red Jaguar convertible Mrs. Bridges drove, and never responded when she gave him a friendly wave while she was waiting for Sarah after school and he was waiting for me.”
Lolly’s eyes glowed with interest. “How did you and Sarah get to be friends, then?”
Laurel took a strengthening breath. All these years later, and the scene was still vivid in her mind.
It was the week before Halloween, and she’d run to the car to tell Grampa that she’d been chosen to narrate the class pumpkin play, but Grampa was slumped down against the door, his jaw agape, a thin line of drool oozing out if the corner of his mouth. When she’d jerked the door open, he fell to the pavement.
“Grampa had a stroke while he was waiting for me, and Mrs. Bridges called an ambulance for him, then took me home with her. My parents were at MD Anderson in Houston because my grandmother had cancer, so I stayed with Sarah and her family till they came home.”
By the time Mama and Daddy came home, Laurel and Sarah had bonded for life. Or at least she’d thought so, but Sarah had proved to be as faithless as Dave.
Dave—good ol’ Dave. He was a late development. She’d dated Tucker Beebe all through college. Tuck—tall, dark, handsome—another classic hero straight off a book cover—was in the ministerial program. Maybe Daddy would hire him as an assistant pastor when he got his degree, and they could marry and move into Kinkaid House. Or maybe they’d have a big wedding in Daddy’s church, then go off somewhere nearby and start their own church. Independent congregations were getting to be a big thing. She’d play the organ and direct the choir while Tuck preached and counseled, but eventually they’d return to Bosque Bend and live with Mama and Daddy, just like her parents had lived with Gramma and Grampa.
But the day after they graduated, Tuck took her out to dinner, apologized, and told her he’d fallen in love with a wonderful man he met in Christian Scriptures class. Laurel was more dumbfounded than heartbroken. How had she been so blind? And here she thought he’d never made the final move on her because of his high moral values.
She’d stuck around Baylor for two more years to nurse her injured pride and pick up a master’s degree before heading home.
Enter Dave. He and Karen Fassbinder had been an item ever since middle school, but she eloped with Ted Menefee three days before their wedding. Suddenly Laurel was running into Dave everywhere—at Piggly Wiggly, Overton’s, and the Bosque Club. Soon he was calling her on the phone just to talk, inviting her out, sending flowers. It was a whirlwind courtship, and it worked. Laurel thought she had found her soul mate, her mother approved of Dave’s family connections, and her father noted Dave was gainfully employed.
Looking back, she realized she’d been ripe for marriage. All the girls she’d grown up with were married—some of them even had a couple of kids—and she didn’t want to end up like her mother, who remained single till she was in her midthirties, and then produced only one child. Besides, she wanted sex. Dave had taken her halfway there a couple of times, but never gone all the way until their wedding night—after all, she was Pastor Harlow’s virgin daughter.
But that was past history, like the high school annual Lolly was poring over so intently. Laurel was amused to notice her guest had skipped to the front and begun a page-by-page critique of the faculty members’ photos. Apparently her major categories were “ick,” “gross,” “gnarly” or “has funny hair.” Looking over her shoulder, Laurel was surprised to hear that sexy Marguerite Shelton garnered a unique “sly-faced.”