Love Remains by Kaye Dacus Read Free Book Online Page B

being egotistical in his belief they were talking about him. Flannery’s reaction to his arrival pretty much guaranteed it.
    He continued talking real estate with Patrick, finding out how much Patrick had paid for his house in Green Hills—and barely hiding his reaction to the mid-six-figure number. The area had always been upscale; apparently it was even more so now. Thursday, he’d had to drive down through the heart of Green Hills, past the mall andHillsboro High School, to a multi-use retail and office building to get his car registered and his Tennessee license plate. At eleven o’clock in the morning on a weekday, traffic had been horrible—akin to what he might expect in the shopping district on the Saturday before Christmas.
    Not only did he not want the maintenance a house required—yard work, exterior, roofing—he wanted to be close to one of the interstates. Easy on, easy off—meaning easy to work. After four years spending an hour to ninety minutes sitting in traffic every morning and evening to go about twenty miles to get to work, he was ready for an easy commute.
    “I can hook you up with my real estate agent—she’s a member here, actually. She’d have been at the party Friday night, but she was going out of town for the holiday weekend. She did me a huge favor getting me in to see my house literally five minutes after the listing went public.”
    “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”
    People started trickling in. Patrick stopped trying to get the chairs arranged so that there was the same amount of space between each one and went over to the side table and made coffee.
    Zarah moved to stand beside the small desk just inside the door. She greeted everyone by name, offered to get them coffee or orange juice, and, as they mingled, brought each one his or her name tag and beverage of choice. The only people who didn’t let her serve them were the ones who wanted to doctor their coffee with the powdered creamer and sweeteners.
    Bobby observed in horrified fascination. Didn’t these people remember that Zarah had been in the hospital recently—and that just Friday night, she’d been so sick he’d had to drive her home? A few people asked her how she was feeling, but those were the women he’d tagged as forty-plus, most likely divorced, and almost certainly moms. But the younger people—those he estimated to be no older than Zarah’s thirty-two—were the ones who took advantage of hersubservient nature, who seemed to find nothing amiss in her acting like a restaurant hostess rather than a member of this group, an equal of everyone here.
    He remembered all too well the Thanksgiving dinner at General Mitchell’s home when he’d mistaken Zarah for part of the catering staff her father had hired in to cook and serve the meal. He also remembered asking her a few months later if she ever got tired of always doing things for others and allowed herself to have a selfish moment. Her answer had been no. Apparently, it was still no.
    “If y’all will take a seat, we’ll get started.” Patrick’s voice boomed over the din of conversations.
    Zarah quickly wended through the crowd, the coffee carafe in one hand, a jug of OJ in the other, refilling people’s cups. He shook his head. If she did it in the middle of the lesson, he might have to reconsider his decision to become a member of this class. He couldn’t watch her debase herself like that every week—even though he wasn’t allowing himself to feel compassion toward her. Not after the way she’d treated him.
    There were just enough chairs for everyone—well, for everyone except Zarah. But she sat down at the desk and started marking the attendance sheet. She’d probably bring her chair over when she finished.
    He sat so that he could just see her. After a few minutes, she took the roll sheets and put them in the plastic box on the classroom door, which she then closed. She stood just inside the door a moment, looking over the circle—and