Page 49 of Lemon Pound Cake Club

"It was."

"Damn."

He shook his head.

"I hate that for her."

"So do I."

The reporter kept talking, but I stopped listening. My mind went back to last night with Danielle’s shaky voice, and how every woman at Camille’s table hugged her in silence.

I remembered the closed office door and the smile she wore when she came back into the dining room. She hadn’t smiled like that when she first arrived.

"You okay babe?" Zaire asked.

I realized I’d been staring at the TV.

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

"I'm fine."

He looked at me for a moment, then leaned over and kissed my forehead.

"I've got an early meeting. I'll call you later."

"I'll be here. I love you."

"I love you too."

A few moments later, the garage door rumbled shut, and the house grew quiet. I took my coffee to the front window.

Outside, everything looked the same as it had yesterday. It all seemed perfect. At the end of the street, a landscaping crew trimmed the hedges. Children laughed as they waited for the school bus. A golden retriever chased a squirrel across a neighbor’s lawn.

Camille stood under her lemon tree across the street. She wore white gardening gloves and a pale yellow sundress. She trimmed a dead branch and watered the flowers by her front walk. She looked peaceful and calm, as if nothing had happened the night before. It seemed hard to believe that just hours earlier, one of the women at her dining room table had lost her husband.

She looked up, and our eyes met through the window. She gave me a warm smile, lifted her gloved hand, and waved. I smiled and waved back.

To her, I was just the new neighbor. I was the one with the grandmother’s lemon pound cake recipe, eager to fit in and grateful to have found such a welcoming community. I wanted to keep it that way.

At least for now.

Chapter Six

Maci

I was already dressed for the day when I walked to the front window, smoothing out my blouse. I wanted to check if the police had finally left.

But instead, I saw Camille standing under my lemon tree. She held a wicker basket at her hip and reached up to pick another bright yellow lemon from a branch.

The lemon landed softly next to four others. I frowned. Wait a second. She hadn’t knocked or waved or anything. She just helped herself.

I watched her pick another lemon, then went to the door. By the time I opened it, she was already reaching for another branch.

“Good morning.”

Camille glanced over her shoulder. For a moment, she seemed surprised, but then she covered it with the warm smile she always used.