Peaches

fiddled with the rings on three of her fingers, then scanned the wall for the clock. Leeda’s parents liked to forget that Rex existed since he lived in a crappy brick duplex on the edge of Pearly Gates Cemetery across town, among other things.
    He’d been Leeda’s boyfriend since October. He was the hottest guy in Bridgewater, without a doubt. And he adored her. When he’d asked her out, her knee-jerk reaction had been to say no. Her second knee-jerk reaction had been to say yes because it had suddenly occurred to her that dating someone like Rex might make her mom sit up and take notice for once. Only Rex had turned out to be an okay guy. A great escape. And maybe theone place in her life where she felt maybe she was showing her parents who she truly was after all. She wished he had come; she always felt more solid with her family when he was around.
    “Actually, Leeda, your father and I were talking….”
    Leeda felt her stomach clench instinctively.
    “We think it’d be nice for you to stay with your uncle Walter for the break, help him out with the orchard a little, and spend some time with Birdie.”
    “Birdie?” Leeda never saw her second cousin Birdie except at weddings and funerals on the Smith side of the Cawley-Smith family, which her mom mostly wanted to forget.
    “Sweetie, you know they’re having a tough time with Cynthia gone,” Leeda’s mom whispered, almost gleefully. She loved being the bearer of personal info, even when it involved her own cousin running out on Birdie and Uncle Walter.
    “But I already promised Rex….” Leeda frowned, her perfectly arched blond eyebrows descending rapidly. Though she hated camping, she’d imagined she’d end up begging Rex to stay in some resort overlooking the ocean, somewhere where she could wash the sand out from between her toes. Where she could shop in the lobby and lounge at the waterfall pool bar, a safe distance from the creepy things that lurked under the ocean’s surface—hermit crabs, blowfish, seaweed. Rex liked to catch things like that and stick them on her legs. “You guys can’t.”
    “Walter was saying what a nice young lady you are and how he’d like his Birdie to be more like you.”
    Leeda rolled her eyes. “Birdie makes me uncomfortable. C’mon. You can’t.”
    Leeda felt a familiar helpless lump in her throat. This was the way her parents worked. Requests were never requests; they were just orders all dressed up. Naked orders would be too tacky for the Cawley-Smiths.
    “You just don’t want me to spend time with Rex.” Leeda crossed her arms tightly, lilac water from her fingertips dripping down her palms and the pale side of her wrists.
    Mrs. Cawley-Smith sighed, a derisive grin spreading itself on her face. “Really, honey, don’t you think that’s a little dramatic?”
    “You guys are such snobs!” Leeda said, tossing what was left of her lobster claw onto her plate. A few people at the surrounding tables stared. Horatio Balmeade leered.
    Danay stared around, wide-eyed and scandalized, a perfect replica of their mom. “Leeda, you’re being a brat.”
    “I’ll leave, then.” Leeda shot out of her chair and stalked out of the room and into the back garden of the Primrose Cottage Inn. She flopped onto one of the wrought-iron chairs, crossed her legs, and whipped out her cell. She was going to call Rex immediately.
    He’d rev up his dirty pickup and be here in five minutes flat. That was the kind of guy he was. At times like this, she wanted him more than ever.
    People like the Cawley-Smiths, by the way, got buried on this side of town, at Divine Grace of the Redeemer—miles from both Pearly Gates Cemetery and Anthill Acres Trailer Park.

Chapter Three
    B irdie’s window was wide and broad, with a window seat for sitting in and a view of the garden her mom had planted years ago. Cynthia Darlington had spent tons of money on fancy latticework, gazebos, and exotic breeds of roses—and then left her creation to the kudzu. She had fostered Birdie into the world in much the same way she had fostered the garden. She’d insisted on homeschooling her “because you never know what kind of trash they’re teaching in the Georgia public schools.” She’d insisted on art lessons, French language, and cello, though Birdie wasn’t interested in any of the above.
    The only thing Birdie was ever interested in was home. There was nothing Birdie loved more than to curl up in her window seat and watch the orchard.