A/N: Sorry it's such a short chapter, guys:)
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Were it not for the serious circumstance, watching Barbra Jean pay for her shirt would have been a comical sight to behold. The store clerk, carefully keeping his gaze on the item he was ringing up and not on the 'crazy lady' before him, missed the encore performance of Macy Gray's "I Try" as Barbra Jean grabbed one of the fuzzy pens from the display on the counter and began singing along with the store's radio. A group of old gossiping ladies, huddled together by the magazine rack, surveyed the blonde. Their eyes peered up at her from under the rims of their oversized glasses as though this act of bold confidence went against all their principles. They seemed very intent on taking something, some morsel of the latest goings on of this town back with them to the retirement home, and Barbra Jean seemed just fine giving it to them.
Even with so much on her mind, Reba couldn't help but admire how completely comfortable in her skin Barbra Jean seemed.
As the group moved from the magazine rack to something of a little more interest to them, their not-so-hushed whispers swept past her. The words "harlot" and "home wrecker" were among them, as they glared at her. Undoubtedly, Barbra Jean had heard them, but if she had, she made no indication.
Reba's cheeks flushed with anger when she realized that this wasn't just about Barbra Jean's little sing-along performance, but about what she'd done to the Hart family. Her family. She opened her mouth to come to her friend's defense, but found herself unable to speak.
It was as if time stood still as scenes from her past came rushing forward to the front of her mind all over again: All the lonely nights, the endless marriage-counseling sessions by herself, hearing Brock blurt out that he wouldn't ever be coming home again, seeing Barbra Jean carrying her husband's child ... one after another, they came crashing down her like the relentless tide beating against the shore-line.
Suddenly, Reba realized just what laying all that to rest had cost her. She'd forgiven Brock. Hell, she'd even forgiven Barbra Jean. They were friends now. Maybe if she hadn't, and had held fast to that resentment and anger, she wouldn't have been so quick to give in when, in a moment of weakness, he had come to her that night. She never would have done this to someone else if she'd only kept in mind how it had felt to her. But she had.
Desire had risen up within her like a new bride ready for her first taste of love; when in reality she'd been a once-divorced woman reclaiming what she'd known all along to be hers. Her husband.
Reba shivered, remembering his kisses on her bare skin. She stopped herself before any other forsaken memories could invade her mind, and soon Barbra Jean walked up to her, hand out-stretched with a bottle of water, ready for her to take.
"Here, drink this." she said, smiling.
Reba tentatively took the bottle, still trying to shake off the vision of Brock pulling her closer to him with each heated kiss. "Thanks." she managed.
As the two walked out into the windy parking lot, Barbra Jean prattled on about the new movie at the cinema. Excitement lit up her features as she explained that the heroine of the story had reminded her an awful lot of her, and as she did so, Reba felt that sick feeling rising again. Averting her eyes from Barbra Jean, she glanced down at the bottle, noting the label indicating it was pure spring water.
"How ironic.", Reba thought, taking a long drink from it. She knew with absolute certainty that no beverage, no matter how pure, would be enough to wash away the acrid taste of betrayal in her mouth.
Nothing would.
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