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”
    “Another time,” Chesney said as she tried to breathe through the stomach pain. “I really should get going.” She offered an air kiss before hurrying out the door of the house that didn’t look at all familiar anymore. She crunched across the snow-covered driveway, blinking away tears.
    Why in the world do I regress the moment I step into my childhood home? Especially when it doesn’t look anything like the place I lived in as a child? Why don’t I simply sit down with my mother, tell her the truth and walk out with my head held high?
    Chesney dialed Becca’s number while turning left at the end of Shade Creek Avenue.
    “Well? Are you okay? How did your mom take the news? Does she need to be medicated?” Becca’s voice, a mix of humor and concern, took some of the hot shame away from the tears rolling down Chesney’s cheeks.
    “I didn’t tell her,” Chesney said with a loud sigh as she rubbed her temples.
    “What?” All the air gushed through Becca’s voice on the other end of the line. “Chesney, what in the hell are you doing?”
    “I don’t know,” Chesney whispered, now suddenly honest. “I just couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t destroy her dream wedding. I just couldn’t do it.”
    “Do you see a problem, Chesney? You aren’t confronting anything. You’re pretending you are still a bride-to-be,” Becca said. “Tell your family the truth. No one would expect you to marry that guy if they knew what he did. He cheated on you, Chez.”
    “I’ll handle it,” Chesney rolled her eyes, now aware that she was sweating profusely.
    “When?” Becca squealed. “You’re driving me crazy. You are absolutely the queen of procrastination, Chesney. The wedding is…”
    “Less than a month away,” Chesney mumbled.
    “Get busy,” Becca said sternly. “Take control. Do something about this mess. It won’t fix itself. And the longer you wait, the worse it will be.”
    “Okay,” A pounding headache now pulsed behind her left eye.
    For a few moments there was silence. Then Becca’s voice was softer, more patient. “Why don’t you stop by?” she asked. “I’ll help you make a plan.”
    “I’ll call you tomorrow,” Chesney flipped the cell phone shut and tossed it into the passenger seat. “Becca is right, you know,” She said aloud. “You’ve got to stop acting like you don’t have major issues to resolve. You’ve got to stop being so damned afraid of doing what is right for you instead of what everyone else expects you to do.”

Chapter Three
     
     
    Chesney and Becca sat together at Delilah’s, the local coffee shop. It was one of the few non-chains left on this side of town. The wallpaper, a faded newsprint theme, was peeling. It was the same décor since the early eighties. Fresh, homemade pastries lined the glass counter, lovingly prepared every morning around four a.m. by Delilah Dixon, her daughter Sam, and Rueben, Delilah’s fourth or fifth husband. Chesney guessed the bakery business was hard on marriages. Or maybe Delilah was hard on men. But the cheerful fiftyish woman certainly didn’t look like the type who married and divorced so frequently.
    Standing behind the counter with her huge torpedo-shaped breasts barely contained under a stained polyester tank top, Delilah smiled warmly at Chesney. “Do you know I am a psychic?” she whispered. Chesney shook her head and Delilah moved closer. “Come to see me very soon.”
    Chesney didn’t know how to respond so she simply nodded and made her way to the wobbly table by the window where Becca was already devouring a cream cheese pastry. She sipped hot chocolate since she hated coffee. It was a truth that made Chesney feel unworldly. She felt the same way when everyone else at a dinner table ordered wine but she requested sweet tea. Sometimes Becca required five entire minutes to place a coffee order, soy milk and a dash of blah blah with extra blah. No wonder Jack was banging Belinda. She was a grown woman who knew