She opened the door, alarmed by the suddenness of his ugly mood, and unwilling to be trapped inside with him. The air outside was steamy, enfolding her in summer heat rising from the sidewalks. The breeze that had blown through the old building’s uppermost floor couldn’t be felt down here.

Bobby Joe pulled the wood-framed glass door shut with a bang that rattled the panes. Then he locked it from the outside and stalked away without a word. She saw him reach Alma’s car, which she’d given him to drive now that he could. He opened the door and got inside. The roof light illuminated his face for several seconds until he put the car in gear and drove past her without looking at her.

There was nowhere for her to go but home. Her own.

Mary Beth tiptoed past the arched doorway to the living room, grateful that her dad and Alma were watching baseball with the volume up high. Alma was settled into a huge armchair and her dad had the recliner and the remote. Engrossed in the game, neither saw her.

She made it all the way up the stairs to her bedroom and tossed her purse onto the bed. Her smartphone skidded across the comforter and Mary Beth retrieved it.

Bobby Joe hadn’t called to apologize and that was just as well. She needed a reason to not be with him. Parr hadn’t called either, but she hadn’t been expecting him to. She tucked the phone into her purse and set it aside on the night table.

She changed out of her clothes into jersey-knit pajama bottoms and her softest T-shirt, then flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. Out of recently acquired habit, her fingers traced the fine chain that held the hidden gem Parr had given her.

It was the only reminder she had of his passionate tenderness toward her and the seductive words he’d whispered in her ear the very first time he’d held her. “I want to kiss you. But you want more, don’t you?”

He had known instinctively that she did. Parr Weston’s experience more than made up for her burdensome innocence.

Afraid, she’d pulled back, deeply unsettled by what she felt for him, fearing what other people might think of her, retreating into the role she’d always played: a good girl. She’d tried to believe in Bobby Joe’s promises and done her best to not upset his devoted mother.

Her fingers tightened on the chain and the clasp suddenly opened. She could feel the fine links slide down over her collarbone. Mary Beth rolled on her side, pulling carefully on the chain until it was draped over her fingers and the ruby strawberry was resting in her palm, warm from her body heat.