Dixie Divas Read Online Free Page A

offices. Not that week, anyway.
    I decided the only thing to assuage my disappointment might be a generous helping of hot peach cobbler topped with vanilla ice cream, so I crossed the street in the rain to Budgie’s café. It now belongs to a man from Ohio who decided to invest in Mississippi real estate, but at least he has the good sense to keep Budgie on as the manager. After Budgie’s husband took off and her parents went into a nursing home, she had to sell the café to pay for expenses. It’s still called Budgie’s café, despite the sign out front that says French Market Café in fancy lettering
    It’s a neat little place, with round tables and chairs made out of curved iron, and walls painted in bright colors. A few framed posters of ladies in big hats sitting at French cafés hang on the walls. A long Formica counter holds a cash register, a chubby ceramic chef wearing a Gallic mustache and holding a small sign announcing the specials of the day, and a slender vase filled with plastic flowers. Next to the flowers is a pretty crystal jar with dollar bills inside to encourage tips. Tables sport brightly colored plastic cloths, votive candles, and brass napkin and condiment racks. Menus run more to hot biscuits and milk gravy, grits, cornbread, and chicken fried steak than they do to croissants, but do offer beignets and hot chicory coffee like Café Du Monde in New Orleans . France comes to Holly Springs .
    Since the breakfast rush was over and the lunch rush hadn’t started, and I was the only one in the café, Budgie met me at a corner table by the window with a cup of coffee and a small pitcher of cream. “How are Uncle Eddie and Aunt Anna doing?” she asked.
    Everyone familiar with my parents calls them that, whether they’re related or not. When I was a kid, other kids knew they could count on my parents for help or advice on almost anything. Except me. Somehow, I’d never tapped into that. My mother still refers to me as her “most active child.” That’s a tactful synonym for hellion.
    “They’re doing fine,” I said. “When I left they were cuddled up on the couch watching an old thirties movie of Gable and Colbert chasing each other.”
    “That’s so sweet.”
    “By the time I get back, they’ll have probably planned a camel trip along the Nile .” I put a few packets of artificial sweetener in my coffee and followed it with a generous splash of cream. “If they get to the stage of buying plane tickets, I might have to lock them in the basement.”
    Budgie laughed, and I took a sip of my coffee. She had no way of knowing I wasn’t kidding about it. There should be some kind of instruction book on babysitting parents who are elderly, mobile, and have a checking account and credit cards.
    “You’re lucky,” Budgie said. “My parents are in a nursing home and don’t even know each other, much less me. The only bright spot is that I finally divorced that rotten husband of mine—Oh. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned that.”
    It doesn’t matter how well related you are to anyone in Holly Springs, or how long you’ve been gone; everyone you grew up with knows almost everything there is to know about you. Some people might consider that a disadvantage, but it does save a lot of lengthy explanations.
    “If you’re talking about my divorce, it doesn’t bother me,” I said. “We’re still cordial. I’m just glad he’s far away and out of my life. Today I’m celebrating being turned down for a job in every government department in the court house. Do you have any peach cobbler?”
    “With lots of ice cream on top.” Budgie knows what makes unemployment, divorce, and a rainy day better.
    “Why don’t you talk to Carolann Barnett?” she said when she brought back my cobbler with a huge mound of ice cream melting on flaky crust. “She’s looking for someone to help out in her book store and lingerie shop.”
    My spoon hovered over cinnamon and nutmeg spiced cobbler. “Book