“Part-time,’’ he said. “He worked full-time as an electrician. He always liked to say that the church fed souls, but it was electrical work that fed the family.’’

Kelly smiled at him. “Sam played the piano in their church.’’

“Badly,’’ he said. “But I enjoyed it. My father and I were close. We did everything together.’’

“Did he pass away?’’ I asked.

He nodded. “My senior year in high school.’’

“I lost my daddy, too,’’ I said. “I always wonder how life would have been different for us if he hadn’t died.’’

Sam regarded me with dark eyes, full of intelligence and compassion. I could understand why Kelly wanted him as a friend, even if she didn’t love him the way he so obviously loved her.

“I’m sorry about your father, Mace. Losing a parent stays with you your whole life, doesn’t it?’’

I nodded, grateful for the hat brim that kept my face in shadow.

“Well,” Kelly said, “I know one thing that’d be different. Sam probably wouldn’t be a Hollywood film editor if his dad had lived. Right, Sam?’’

From under my hat, I saw him nod.

“My father was convinced Hollywood was a modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah. Some days, I think he had it right.’’ He chuckled. “Besides, I planned to work with my dad after high school. He even had the signs made up before he died: Dobbs and Son.’’

“Sam’s a brilliant editor.” Kelly beamed at him. “One of the best in the business. Most of his magic is created after the film is shot.’’

“So that’s why you haven’t been that busy on the set,’’ I said.

“Right. I come to locations when I can,’’ Sam said. “I like to watch out for Kelly.’’

“I don’t know what I’d do without Sam.’’ She patted his arm. “He’s my best friend.’’

Sam looked like he could listen to her brag on him all day. But I was curious about something else besides film editing and their one-sided relationship.

“You said you were praying for forgiveness, Kelly. What for, if you don’t mind me asking?’’

She raised those glorious green eyes to the sky. Her lovely face was open, guileless. She didn’t look like she minded at all the personal nature of my question.

“You know God sent his son to redeem our sins, right?’’

Her question made me think of all my Wednesday nights and Sunday mornings in church; of singing hymns and memorizing scripture. Maybe I didn’t spend as much time in the pew these days as Mama or Maddie did, but I still considered myself a believer.

I quoted John 3:16: “For God so loved the world, he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’’

Kelly’s eyes shone. “So you know then. I was asking forgiveness for damning Norman’s soul to hell.’’

“You mean when you spit on the ground.’’

She nodded. “Only God has the right to decide who is rewarded with eternal life, and who suffers the fires of hell.’’

Sam gave her arm an encouraging pat.

“I’m not big enough to forgive Norman for what he did to me, and to others. But I can ask God to help me get there; and to forgive me when I fall short.’’

Shortly after Kelly’s surprising revelation that she’d been saved, she and Sam said they had to go.

“Why don’t you come with us to breakfast?’’ she asked.

“Thanks for the invite.’’ I waved an arm at the horses in the corral. “I’ve still got lots of work to do, though.’’

So I wouldn’t feel like such an antisocial liar, I did get to work. As they left, I began brushing down the horses. By the time I got to the pony, Sam and Kelly had disappeared from sight.

Combing out the little guy’s mane, I stared into the empty pasture. Across the way, the cow pen caught my eye. That started me thinking about how Mama and I found Norman’s body on the fence. I thought of what Kelly had said about asking for God’s help.

All my life, I’d learned that God hears you no matter when or where you pray. I wondered what made Kelly traipse all the way out here to have her conversation with God.

Why did she want to stand in the same spot where Norman was murdered to seek forgiveness?

I know what you did to my daughter.

Omigod, I thought. Not again.

“That’s the way I think it sounds better, but my husband Sal likes it the other way. Mace says she can’t tell the difference, either way. Which way do you think has more emotional weight, Jesse?’’

Mama had cornered the young star outside her trailer. Jesse sat in a camp chair, a floppy sun hat protecting her fair skin. The brim was turned up, so she could watch Mama’s repeat—and repeat—performance. On the empty chair next to Jesse sat Mama’s library copy of An Actor Prepares, sticky notes marking several pages.

“Try it the first way again, Rosalee.’’ Holding a hunk of bread, she pointed at Mama, like a conductor signaling with a baton.

Now I was certain Jesse was on drugs. There was no way she could listen to one more rendition of Mama’s line without resorting to violence. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a stash of happy pills in the back pocket of my jeans.

I called out to Mama, and she whirled at the sound of my voice. “Honey! You’re just in time. I’m getting acting tips from the most talented, most beautiful young star in Hollywood.’’

She picked up her autograph book, hidden by the thick acting text, and waved it at me. “Jesse gave me her John Hancock, too. I’ll treasure it forever and ever.’’

Mama was really stirring it up.

“Sorry, Jesse,’’ I said. “You’ll have to forgive my mother, if she’s bothering you. She’s not used to being on a movie shoot. Her enthusiasm runs away with her manners sometimes.’’

Jesse winked at me. “No prob. I don’t mind at all. I expect to be coaching her next on how to accept her Academy Award.’’

“Speaking of coaching, are you still up for a horseback lesson later?’’ I asked.

“Don’t think so,’’ she said. “I broke down and confessed to Paul that I’m not a very good at the horse thing. He says we may not need me riding; just sitting in the saddle will do.’’

“Lucky,’’ I said.

“You know it. I’m a pretty good actor, but I don’t think I could sell having grown up galloping on horseback through the Florida wilds.’’

Mama shook her head. “I bet you could, honey. Jesse won an Oscar when she was just eleven years old, Mace. You were the youngest winner ever, weren’t you, honey?’’

Jesse absent-mindedly picked off pieces from the bread and tossed them on the ground. “Not quite,’’ she said. “Tatum O’Neal was younger.’’

“Oh, that’s right. I saw that on IMDb.’’

I looked blankly at Mama.

“Internet Movie Database, sweetheart. You really have a lot to learn about the Wide World of the Web.’’

While Mama crowed about all she’d learned on the ‘‘Wide World of the Web,’’ I was wondering how winning that prize affected Jesse. How do you live up to achieving that kind of success before you’ve even hit puberty? Maybe you’re so afraid of failing, you don’t even try.

A few mourning doves and a blue jay had discovered the crumbs. Jesse studied the birds as they edged closer to us. Suddenly, they startled and scattered. Mama’s face brightened at something over my shoulder. I turned to see Paul Watkins’s wife coming from around back of Jesse’s trailer.

“Yoo-hoo,’’ Mama sang out. “Over here, Savannah!’’

Jesse let out a sigh of what sounded like exasperation. But when I looked at her face, all I saw was a cool smile.

“What’s this?’’ Savannah’s drawl was music to my Southern ears. “Are y’all having a hen party without me?’’

“What the hell is a ‘hen party’?’’

“It’s an old-fashioned term from our generation, Jesse,’’ Mama explained. “Think of it as Girls Gone Wild, without the going wild.’’