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them that she always made stupid mistakes in
her own work during the rest of the day. She reassured herself, as she always
did, that she hadn’t done anything wrong, but still she worried.
    The FBI was investigating the most recent mayor of Rose
Hill, Stuart Machalvie, for various underhanded and illegal activities he and
his cohort, ex-bank president Knox Rodefeffer, had cooked up over the past few
years. Although Kay had partial knowledge of several of the schemes they were
involved in, she hadn’t been involved in any of them nor done anything illegal.
That hadn’t stopped Stuart from trying to implicate her; or his wife, Peg, from
slandering her in an effort to undermine her credibility and derail her mayoral
campaign. The whole situation was like a dark cloud that followed her around,
and she was looking forward to the day when it was gone.
     
    Later that afternoon, City Council Member Ruthie Postlethwaite
stopped by. She handed Kay a jar of her homemade strawberry preserves and
helped herself to a cup of coffee from the service cart in the hallway. She
settled herself in the chair by Kay’s desk and took a sip of the coffee.
    “Thank you for the preserves,” Kay said. “I enjoyed the hot pepper
jelly you made last month.”
    “The berries are from the IGA,” Ruthie said, “so they’re
probably from Peru or Mexico. Hard to believe we can’t grow perfectly good
strawberries in this country.”
    “I’m sure they’ll be delicious.”
    “I heard you went grocery shopping today.”
    “Such a small town, and with so many other more important
things to talk about,” Kay said.
    “If it’s any consolation, Matt Delvecchio is as miserable of
a man as you’re likely to meet.”
    “That all happened ages ago,” Kay said. “It’s ancient
history.”
    “I remember it like it was yesterday,” Ruthie said. “I was
the one who held you while you cried in the girl’s bathroom.”
    “I’ve always appreciated your friendship,” Kay said. “We’ve
been through a lot together.”
    “Shug and Doreen are living in Sarasota, next to a golf
course,” she said. ‘That could’ve been you, you know.”
    Shug, short for Bert Sugarman, was the man Kay had been
engaged to, but had broken it off.
    “Shug would not have been happy with me in the long run,”
Kay said. “He’s better off with Doreen. She loves to golf and eat salads for
every meal. All those vitamins and protein shakes that man lives on; I couldn’t
have stood it.”
    “But where’s your security, Kay? Who’s going to take care of
you in your old age? I’ve got old Pudge and my kids, and who’ve you got?”
    Kay knew that Ruthie didn’t mean to be cruel; she just
didn’t have the sensitivity filter that most people are born with or develop
over time. Ruthie loved Kay and was concerned about her, so blunt observations
were how she communicated it.
    “I’ll be all right,” Kay said.
    “I’m sure Grace will appreciate you taking her in, but I
doubt she’ll take care of you in your old age. She’s not your blood relative,
after all, and she’ll only be with you a couple of years before she’s off to
college. You won’t be able to count on her long term, you know.”
    “I’m glad to have her for as long as she needs me,” Kay
said. “She should go on and have her own life. I want her to do whatever makes
her happy. There’s no guarantee children will take care of their parents,
anyway. You’re just lucky.”
    “Have you heard from that last one, that rotten Tiffany?”
    Tiffany was the previous foster child Kay had hosted.
    “No, I haven’t heard from her; nor am I likely to.”
    “She had the prettiest voice, just like an angel. She didn’t
turn out to be an angel, though, did she?”
    “Addiction can happen to anyone,” Kay said. “It breaks my
heart when I think of the potential that child had. She was bright; she could
have gone on to college.”
    “The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, is all.”
    “That’s