“I remember now. She was the girl you and Eli and J.P. got into that big fight over—Reba, I mean—and the three of you stayed mad at each other all the way to Christmas.” Tina was tapping her lower lip with the tip of an index finger, thinking hard. “And I remember those poor children. Russ and Bethanne and—wait, it’s coming back to me. The younger one…”

The name, long forgotten, came to Cord’s mind instantly. “Shallie,” he said, with a strange pang of—what? Sadness? Regret?

“Yes,” Tina said. “That’s it. She was Della’s niece, I think.”

Cord nodded. “Sounds right,” he said, wondering about the girl he’d barely known during her teenage years—and his. She’d been part of his group of friends when they were kids; later, in high school, she’d become an outsider, always on the fringe, but not because the others rejected her. No, Shallie Fletcher hadn’t been shunned or bullied. She’d turned into a sulky, obstinate little rebel in those days, spoiling for a fight. With anybody, about anything.

He’d never really understood why. Was it Reba’s influence? He suspected now that Shallie had felt both jealous of Reba and, at the same time, connected with her in that best-friends way.

She’d appeared on the scene when he and Shallie were in twelfth grade. He’d fallen almost instantly for Reba, and lost all awareness of any other girl. Including Shallie.

Until the night she’d suddenly confronted him with avowals of undying love.

He’d been stunned by the outburst, stricken to silence. And turned his face away from her attempted kiss.

Still raw from Reba’s betrayal and the loss of his two best friends, the friends he’d counted on, he wasn’t ready for this, for Shallie, for anyone.

Shallie wasn’t unattractive; she might have been really pretty, in fact, with her compact, shapely body, good skin, thick chestnut hair and large, luminous brown eyes, but by that stage she was doing everything she could to play down her best features. Worn too much makeup and ugly, oversize clothes, boots more suited to a lumberjack than a seventeen-year-old girl. Not to mention the fuck-you attitude and the force field it created.

She’d looked very different that night, he remembered, although he hadn’t noticed at the time. He’d only registered her blue cotton sundress, goo-free face and clean, carefully styled hair later on, much later, when he’d gained some perspective.

Sitting at his table with Tina, he recalled now that he’d tried to be kind but he’d hurt Shallie. Hurt her badly. He knew that. That was the thing about telling the truth—it might be right, but it could also do harm.

She’d left town soon after, and Cord hadn’t seen her or thought about her since.