Dear Enemy

JoJo takes my free arm. “I’m starved, doll.”

I lead Mama and JoJo out to a table set beneath a vine-covered trellis on the north side of the lawn. There is much oohing and aahing over the ocean view before they inspect the table. I managed to find a natural linen tablecloth, some tumbled glass votives, and a large chrome-and-wood hurricane lamp. Mixed with his everyday creamware plates and Mexican-style glasses, the setting is as nice as I can make it.

“This is lovely, pumpkin,” Mama says, touching one of the sprigs of rosemary I tucked into the linen napkins. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

“It’s your birthday lunch, Mama. And it was no trouble.”

“I can’t believe this view.” JoJo sighs as she stares at the ocean. She turns our way, and her salt-and-pepper curls lift in the breeze. “That boy has excellent taste.”

“He always has.” Mama takes the seat I pull out for her. “Thank you, dear. Though I will say, I had no idea TV acting paid so well. Oh, don’t give me that look, Dee. I know it’s tacky to mention money, but we’re family.”

I roll my eyes and pour her a glass of sweet tea.

JoJo takes the seat to her right. “He’s a star in one of the most popular shows on cable, Andie. I expect it pays well.”

“Not this well.” Mama waves a hand in the general direction of the lawn.

Knowing that Macon might return home at any moment makes me itchy. I cringe to think of him overhearing my mother and her best friend being gossips.

“Lemonade or sweet tea, Ms. JoJo?” I cut in before they can say more.

“Lemonade for me, angel.” She leans past me to look at my mother. “This is likely from his family money. Turns out Cecilia’s family was richer than a shiny-toothed television evangelist.”

“I knew they had money, but not to that extent.”

JoJo gives a careless shrug. “Old money doesn’t like to be showy.”

Mama nods sagely, and I press my lips together in irritation.

“Does it really matter if Macon comes from money?” I snap without thinking.

Mama grimaces and sets her cool hand on top of mine. “Of course not, baby.” She smiles brightly. “Well, obviously you two have made nice this time around.”

A noncommittal hum is all I can manage.

“I always thought Macon was secretly sweet on you.”

I can’t help but snort. “Sweet on me? Not a chance. His loathing was real.”

“Now, I know he could be . . .”

“An asshole?”

Mama pretends to be shocked. “Language, Delilah.”

It’s JoJo’s turn to snort. Though my mother has excellent manners and is the soul of kindness, she also curses like a trucker when she thinks her children aren’t around to hear. I don’t consider that a flaw, but it is amusing when she tries to put on airs.

“He was horrible to me,” I say firmly.

Mama waves a hand. “That doesn’t mean anything. You know, they say boys are meanest to the girls they like the best.”

“I hate that saying. Meanness is meanness. To tell a girl that there’s some sort of benevolent action behind it all is to say that it’s okay for her to be victimized.”

Mama stares up at me for a moment, then shakes her head. “You’re right, pumpkin. I don’t know why I said that.”

JoJo snorts again. “Because you and I were raised with ‘boys will be boys’ tossed in our faces.” She sits back in her chair and turns her face to the sunlight. “I say it should be ‘dicks will be dicks, and a misbehaving dick deserves a knee to the balls.’”

Mama and I look at each other and then start to laugh.

“Well,” Mama says finally with a faint gasp. “There you go, Dee. If that boy gets out of line, knee him in the balls.”

“Hopefully I won’t give her cause to do that,” says a deep, amused voice behind us.

I’m ashamed to say we all jump like escaped convicts.

Macon stands, leaning slightly toward his good leg, the sunlight glinting in his black hair. A slight smile plays on his lips. His gaze meets mine, and a flush of . . . something goes over me.

“You’re back.” I try not to make that sound like an accusation. And fail.

A taunt flares in his eyes. “I am.”

He lingers a second longer before turning his attention to my mother.

“Mrs. Baker, Ms. Davis, you’re both looking well.”

“As are you, dear boy,” JoJo drawls. “So handsome. You have the jawline of a young Robert Redford, even if it is hidden by all that scruff. Now come over here, and give your elders a proper kiss on the cheek.”

I barely refrain from coughing “cougar” under my breath.

Macon grins and strides forward, making it look effortless even with a cane and a severe limp. Dutifully, he leans down and kisses both JoJo and Mama on their presented cheeks. As he pulls away from Mama, he gives me a sly wink before straightening, and I know he’s going to put on a show—sweet, gallant Macon Saint.