We both stretch and sit up slowly. She looks at me. “All the noise was a real test,” she says. “Were you able to cope with the distractions?”
“I was,” I say, smiling. “That was incredible, Ellie.” I stretch my arms over my head. “Really, it was just what I needed. And you’re amazing.”
“I could tell you found it soothing,” she says. “I think you’d benefit from making this a regular—”
“Ellie!” She’s interrupted by a woman’s voice calling from the yard. Ellie gets to her feet, graceful as a gazelle, and looks out the window. “Up here,” she calls, then turns to me. “It’s a friend,” she says. “I told her you’d be here and not to come till later, but no one listens to me, it seems.” Her smile looks distracted now, and I think it’s time for me to leave.
“Oh, I’ll go,” I say, scrambling to the end of my mat.
I hear someone on the stairs and a slender woman about Ellie’s age appears in the doorway as I begin rolling up my mat. She wears black jeans and a peach-colored blouse. Her white hair is stylish, very short on one side, grazing her chin on the other. I imagine she was a real beauty when she was younger. Her smile is instantly engaging and I smile back at her as I roll the mat. She’s vaguely familiar, as is nearly everyone in Round Hill.
She grins at me. “Reed Miller’s daughter!” she says. “Ellie told me you’d be here today. I’ve seen you around over the years but didn’t know who you were.”
“This is Brenda Cleveland,” Ellie says. She’s on her feet now, doing something with the essential-oil diffuser. She glances at me over her shoulder as she adds, “She’s my oldest friend.”
“Oldest, as in we’ve known each other a very long time,” Brenda says. “I’m actually two months younger than she is.” She looks around the empty room. “You really need some chairs in here, Ellie,” she says. She sits down cautiously on the purple exercise ball.
I get to my feet and slip the carrying strap of my mat over my shoulder. “I’m Kayla.” I hold out my hand, which she shakes. “You know my father personally?” I ask. Everyone knows Reed Miller, the former mayor. Not everyone knows him as a friend.
Brenda sends Ellie an odd look, almost quizzical, and Ellie seems to avoid eye contact with her as she pours more oil into the diffuser.
“Of course I know your father,” Brenda says. “Everybody knows everybody, especially those of us from the old days when Round Hill was tiny. I knew your mom, too. But Ellie knew your father best.”
“We’re not talking about that,” Ellie says firmly. She screws on the top of the bottle of oil.
Brenda winks at me. “I guess we’re not talking about that,” she says.
“Okay.” I smile, but I’m curious. I remember how both Ellie and my father acted strangely when I mentioned one to the other. A long-ago romance that ended badly? I’m going to have to have a chat with Daddy.
“I hope you didn’t stop the class on my account,” Brenda says to Ellie. “I can visit with Buddy and Mama downstairs if you want to keep going for a while.”
“We’re finished,” I say. “It was wonderful. Have you seen Ellie do yoga?”
“Actually, I haven’t,” Brenda says. “Until she showed up back here a month ago, I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her since we were girls, even though we were once best friends.”
“I invited you to San Francisco several times,” Ellie says.
“I don’t fly,” Brenda says. “And she would never come home.”
“Well, I’m here now,” Ellie says, an edge to her voice. I don’t know if she likes this old friend or not.
“So tell me all about you,” Brenda says to me.
“I really should go,” I say, although I don’t want to. I’d like to know what went on between Ellie and my father.
“No, stay awhile,” Brenda insists. “I want to hear how your daddy’s doing these days. I know you lost your mother a few years ago. I was sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks,” I say. “And my father’s doing really well.” I look at Ellie. She moves back to her mat, sits down, and stretches over her legs. I can’t tell if she wants me to stay or not. I know she only spent the last hour with me out of gratitude for possibly saving her brother’s life. I stand awkwardly in the middle of the room, my arms around my rolled-up mat.
“Do you live nearby?” Brenda asks.
“Actually, yes. I live in the house at the end of the street.” I nod in the direction of our new house.
Brenda’s eyes widen and she laughs. “I didn’t realize anyone had actually moved into ‘Shadow Ridge Estates’ yet.” She puts air quotes around “Shadow Ridge Estates.” I have the feeling my little neighborhood has become the object of derision.
“It’s going to be really nice when the other houses are finished,” I say.
“Well maybe change is good in this case,” she says, rocking back and forth a bit on the exercise ball. “This area was always a little weird, what with the kudzu and woods and all.”
“It wasn’t ‘weird.’” Ellie lifts her head from her stretch over her legs. She sounds defensive, and Brenda smiles.
“Ellie and Buddy and Mama are thrilled about Shadow Ridge Estates, aren’t y’all?” Brenda looks at her old friend, who shrugs. I think Brenda might be a bit of a bitch.
“We’ve accepted it,” Ellie says. She crosses her legs, hands on her knees. “It couldn’t stay the way it used to be forever. Plus, I live three thousand miles away, so what does it matter to me if there’s a development here?”
I remember my father’s letter to Jackson. How the Hockleys would never let go of their property, even after their deaths.
“What will you do with your house after … once you go back to San Francisco?” I ask, the question awkward as it comes out of my mouth.
“You mean once Buddy and Mama are gone?” She looks at me, getting to the point. “I guess I’ll sell it, then. I’m not attached to it any longer.”
So, Daddy was wrong about the Hockleys hanging on to the property forever and ever.
“Where did you live before?” Brenda asks me.
“On Fletcher Road,” I say. The air from the ceiling fan feels good on my face. “Over by—”
“Oh yeah,” Brenda says. “Cute little houses over there.”
“Our house was cute,” I agree, “but way too tiny. And no trees at all.”
Brenda laughs. “Well, you’ve got trees now, don’t you? I’ve never seen a developer leave so many trees.”
“Actually, they freak me out a little,” I admit. It feels good to say it out loud to someone. “We have fifty windows and I feel pretty exposed. I ordered window treatments but they won’t be in for a while.”
“Well, I’m sure no one’s ever back in those woods,” she says reassuringly.
“I’m talking to fencing companies to—”
“Oh no, honey,” Brenda says. “You don’t want a fence! So ugly.”