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and comes right by your house. I’ll wave to you as I go by.”
    “And I’ll tell you this: if any of you puts
my
house on that so-called rehab list, you and Connie Clayborn will answer to me. But out of the kindness of my heart, I’ll stand on the sidewalk with a cup of water for you.”
    LuAnne sighed then and rolled her eyes. “If I make it this far.”

Chapter 6

    Saying that she would see me that evening at Sue’s for the ornament sewing group, LuAnne took herself off, leaving me unsure of whether she’d back out of the run beforehand, just not show up for it, or feel she’d have to give it a try. I hoped she wouldn’t do that. She wasn’t in any condition to survive the two blocks from Main Street to my house, much less keep at it for a mile. And to have a runner collapse after a couple of blocks would not speak well for rehabilitating anything, unless it was by way of physical therapy after breaking something. Nor would LuAnne sprawled out on the sidewalk with EMTs in attendance please Connie. And pleasing Connie seemed to be LuAnne’s sole motivation.
    Thank goodness,
I congratulated myself,
I couldn’t care less what Connie thinks of me.
And with that, I decided that henceforth she and her multitudinous ideas would be of no concern to me. Let her have at it on her own. As long as, that is, she left that park alone.
     • • • 
    As it happened, though, the crusade Connie had started toward civic participation popped back up that evening in an unexpected way.
    Sam and I had just gotten up from the supper table on our way to the library when Lloyd came in to spend the night.
    “They’ve all got colds,” he said, explaining his appearance at our house, “and I have a paper to write. I can’t concentrate with all the crying and sneezing and coughing going on.”
    “Aren’t you about to freeze?” I asked as he came in with a blast of cold air from the open door. “Come in and get warm. Have you had supper?”
    “Yes, ma’am. Soup for all the sick and ailing, but it was fine. I’ll just go on upstairs and get started on my paper.”
    We kept Lloyd’s room as it had always been, complete with a computer, printer, books, and clothes, because he spent as many nights with us as he did with his mother, Mr. Pickens, and his twin half sisters. Which was fine with me. I liked having him around and always felt content when he was in the house.
    Sam and I settled into our favorite places close to the fire in the library, with Sam looking through the paper and me picking up some needlework. Picking it up was as far as I got, though, because it was my first chance to tell Sam how I intended to regain the equilibrium I’d had before Connie Clayborn had thrown me for a loop.
    And tell him, I did. But the more I expressed my good intentions, the more incensed I became all over again. Thinking that I’d vented enough to Mildred and Emma Sue to clear the air for good, I was surprised to realize how much fire was still simmering inside.
    “And, Sam,” I summed up after recounting Connie’s lecture again, “Mildred and I are in perfect agreement—Connie has overstepped herself and ruined any possibility of her getting into the garden club or the book club or anything else in town.
    “Emma Sue, though,” I went on, “I just don’t know about her. She takes everything to heart, then it goes straight to her head and down she comes with a migraine. To tell the truth, I’m a little worried about her.
    “However,” I added, “I intend to put Connie’s ranting on a back burner and stay out of her way. I don’t want to hear another critical word about the women of Abbotsville or of the town itself. There’re too many other things to occupy my mind and my time. Sewing ornaments, for one, which I guess Hazel Marie can’t do tonight with everybody sick at her house. And you know, Sam, it takes a lot of energy to stay mad, and I don’t have any to spare on Connie. I’ll just put it all behind me so