Save the Date

by Jenny B. Jones

  It was the big fat L word. And it hadn’t gone away.

  “Lucy—”

  “The one on the right.” She sighed and picked up her coffee mug.

  “You may think this is juvenile, my dear, but these women are connected to very important allies for your intended.”

  Well, she wasn’t going to marry him, so what was the point? Society functions had gotten much easier, though they still wore her down. This week she had even attended some with Clare, though it was pure drudgery when Alex wasn’t there. She just didn’t fit in with the political elite and wealthy highbrows of South Carolina. She was never going to be a sparkle.

  “You did an excellent job at Tuesday’s fund-raiser.” Clare returned the pictures to the bottom of the stack on her lap. She’d been quizzing Lucy since Julian had served them pancakes and bacon. Forty-five minutes ago. “Except for mistaking Mrs. Peabody for her mother, you had an almost flawless night. Much improved.” Her hand reached out to pat Lucy’s. “Much improved.”

  Lucy checked her watch. Alex wouldn’t arrive for another ten minutes. He was ever prompt, but never early. She missed his face. That scent that was his alone. And his laugh. He had called her every day, but instead of rushing to grab her phone like usual, she had often let it go to voice mail. The election was coming up, and they would soon part ways. He would ride off into the Congressional sunset, and she would go back to being a nonprofit worker and social misfit. It was time to put some boundaries between them and wean herself from the drug known as Alex Sinclair.

  “Would you like to discuss your father?”

  Lucy’s head lifted at Clare’s random question. She still resented the term father. It was a title that needed to be earned, and supplying the other half of her genes did not count for anything in her way of thinking.

  “No.” Lucy’s tone was clipped. “I know all I need to.”

  “I know you don’t owe me anything.” Clare’s face may have been retouched with a surgeon’s fairy wand, but right now she looked every bit of her seventy-six years. “But you owe it to yourself to forgive him. To let the bitterness go. And maybe . . . forgive me as well.”

  There was too much in Lucy’s head screaming for attention.

  “All I ask is that you don’t hate him,” Clare said. “He led a very spoiled, indulged life. I’m to blame for that.”

  “No.” Lucy stood in her black heels. “You’re a wonderful person, Clare.” There. She’d said it. “You may not have let him fall on his face enough growing up, but at a certain point he had to take responsibility. He had many chances to reach out to me. But he didn’t. And it’s not your fault.”

  “Do you really think I’m . . . wonderful?”

  Lucy couldn’t bring herself to elaborate and give Clare the words she knew she needed to hear. “You are much improved.” Her lips curved in a small smile. “Much improved.”

  “One day . . . I do hope you will forgive me.”

  Lucy didn’t know what to say. In her head she had forgiven her, but there was such lingering bitterness in her heart. She and Clare had forged an unlikely alliance—lived together, worked together—but never quite crossed over into friendship.

  Sniffing her regal nose, her grandmother brushed away the moment with a sweep of her hand. “Anyway, on to new business.”

  “I know.” Lucy mentally pulled up her social calendar as she lifted her mug. “I have the literacy council tea on Tuesday and the rural cooperative event on Wednesday night.”

  “That’s not what I want to discuss,” Clare said. “I want to talk about you and Alex. I’ve noticed some troubling developments this week.”

  The coffee tasted bitter on her tongue. “There’s no trouble. No developments. No troubling developments.”

  Clare’s thin eyebrow arched. “No matter what you think of me, I’m not blind. I’ve noticed that you’ve spent the majority of the week moping about. At first I thought you were missing your groom-to-be.” Her hawk-eyes pinned Lucy in place. “But then a little birdie informed me you weren’t taking Alex’s calls.”

  “A little bird?” Lucy asked. “Or a snitch named Julian?” He could forget further invitations to the Hobbits’ meetings.

  “I believe we covered the importance of discretion in week two,” Clare said. “I don’t reveal my sources.”

  “There’s nothing wrong between me and Alex.”

  “Something is amiss. Was there a fight? A misunderstanding? I only ask because it’s important that you two present a united, happy front. You may think you can fool the world, but you cannot.”

  Actually, she thought they were doing a pretty good job.

  “Has he hurt you?” Clare’s face was full of concern, and guilt squeezed Lucy’s conscience. “Because I simply won’t have it. He’s lucky to have you. You’re a diamond among gems, and any man should thank his lucky stars for you in his life.”

  Now Lucy was the one taken aback. The look in Clare’s blue eyes was nothing less than fierce.

  “I am not one to exaggerate,” she continued. “You are smart, kindhearted, and wonderful to those girls. Even though I don’t always approve of your reading material or lack of updos, I do believe Alex has the better end of the bargain.”

  Lucy could hear the grandfather clock in the sitting room dong the half hour. “Don’t be silly.” The words wove through her heart, bringing as much ache as joy. She wanted to believe the picture Clare had painted.

  “I do not jest. You are worthy of the finest man. Your mother raised a wonderful young woman, and it pains me to see you reject my praise.”

  And Lucy realized Clare was right. The girls at Saving Grace didn’t even have one decent parent, but she had been blessed with a wonderful mother. Her mom had withheld a life-changing secret, but Lucy couldn’t hold that against her any longer. She would cherish the memory of her mom, who had done all she could to provide for Lucy— and protect her.

  The doorbell rang, interrupting the conversation and announcing the arrival of her fiancé.

  There were things still left to be said to Clare, and they hung in the room like the crystals from the chandelier, just waiting to fall. But Julian’s blond head peeped into the room as he announced the arrival of Alex.

  “Your betrothed is here.” Julian waved his hand with a flourish as Alex appeared behind him.

  Smiling as he saw her, Alex looked particularly fetching in a dark suit and lime-green tie. “Ready to go?”

  Surely there were pills to take to rid her of these bungee-jumping butterflies in her stomach. A magic elixir? Some of Clare’s secret stash of Metamucil?

  Holding her hand, Alex walked Lucy to the car, shutting her door after she got in. Once inside, he turned the key and fastened his seat belt.

  Then leaned over and kissed her.

  She sighed as her traitorous hands moved around his wide shoulders, pressing her lips closer to his. She had missed him. He had taken her thoughts hostage this week, and now that he was here, she couldn’t let go. He conquered her lips, just as he had conquered her heart. Slowly lifting his head, Alex brushed his knuckles across her cheekbone and caressed her with his simmering gaze.

  “Now that we have that out of our systems.” He skimmed his finger down her nose. “You want to tell me why you’ve been ignoring me all week?” Like someone had flipped a switch, he moved away from her and straightened in his seat. With something less than a careful hand, he reached for the gearshift and threw the car in reverse. “I’m waiting, Lucy.”

  She pressed a hand to her stomach, still waiting for the knots to untie.

  The sun flitted through the palmettos lining the street. “I’ve had six hours of sleep in three days, I’ve talked policy until I want to gouge out my eyeballs, and my fiancée has decided to give me the silent treatment.” With one finger he whirled the car into a left turn. “My patience ran out yesterday, so start talking.”

  I love you. I hate you. I don’t want this to end.

  “I’ve been busy.”
r />   “Busy,” he repeated with a laugh. “That’s good. That’s real original.”

  She’d thought it was pretty good. “It’s a hectic time at Saving Grace right now. And I’ve been checking on Marinell and her family.” It had been up and down. They had received word just days ago that neither Marinell nor her mother were a match for Carlos’s kidney. But, thanks to Alex, Mrs. Hernandez had a place to live and food was delivered to the house twice a week.

  “And Squid said you keep sending them home. I pay them to watch you and keep you safe. It’s hard to focus on welfare reform when I’m worried about rogue photographers climbing in your office window.”

  “I don’t need anyone looking out for me. I took care of myself before you came along, and I will take care of myself after.”

  He shot her a look that could melt Astroturf. “And I thought I was the immature one.”

  “I haven’t robbed you of your title, if that’s what you’re worried about.” She wanted to reel the words back as soon as she cast them out. But what was he so angry about? She was the one who had done the stupid thing of falling for him. What did she care if his little ego got bruised?

  “Have I done something to tick you off?” he asked.

  “No.” Just asked her to marry him.

  “Is there something you want?”

  She wanted him to care about her. To tell her he couldn’t live without her.

  “Part of the deal was that you make yourself available,” he said. “Our contract states that . . .”

  That contract. She’d like to nuke it right off the planet.

  “If you’re angry about something, have the guts to come out and say it.”

  “I don’t jump on command. Sorry I’m not like all the other girls who drop everything for the honor of your call.” Alex was never going to admit deeper feelings for her. Because he didn’t have them. She was just a game-winning play.

  “Obviously you and your insecurity have had a tough week.” He sped through a yellow light, catching red at the tail end. “But you’d better brace yourself because we have a full schedule ahead of us. I hope you can suffer through it.”

  His phone buzzed in the cup holder, and they both made a grab for it. Lucy was quicker.

  Kat.

  “Your girlfriend’s calling.” She slapped the phone into his hand. “Maybe that will bandage your bloated ego.”

  “Lucy—”

  “Take the call. Because this conversation”—she turned toward the window—“is over.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  It happened in the third game of Alex’s first pro season. Thirty seconds left in the fourth. Lewis Simpson was wide open and the end zone in sight. But Alex had misinterpreted the coach’s signal. He’d run one play, his receivers another. When he’d thrown the ball, his man hadn’t even been open. The Warriors lost that game. A stupid rookie mistake by a young, punk kid. One he’d never forgotten.

  Operating on little sleep and a mind full of stress, he had let Lucy’s glib response get to him, and he’d fumbled. He’d basically poured out his heart to her at the beach like he was trying to get in touch with his inner Dr. Phil, and then she shut down.

  And he’d missed her. He’d just wanted her to pick up the phone so he could hear her voice, her laugh. To tell her about the headway he had made in Lincolnville and Ravenel, the endorsement he’d received from the state’s previous governor, and about the people he’d met. What kind of friend just ignored you? Didn’t she get that he cared about all her fiery opinions? Nobody put him in his place like Lucy.

  But he’d blown it. Now she sat fuming beside him in church, legs angled away, and her hands gripping the Bible in her lap.

  Like he needed something else to worry about. The time away from her had made one thing perfectly clear. Lucy was a brat.

  And he didn’t want to let her go.

  She was important to him, and they made a good team. Not to mention every time he touched her it was like flame to dynamite. She felt it too—he’d like to see her try and deny it. They could push out the engagement date and just see where it went. Continue as they were. There was no need to rush things once he secured his seat in Congress. She could still wear his ring for the sake of maintaining the story, but obviously he wasn’t going to marry her in October. Marriage wasn’t in his plan right now. He had a new career to establish. Surely she could understand that.

  “Hey, guys.” Chuck stuck out his hand and Alex shook it. “Glad you’re here. Lucy, I’m gonna need some help with decision time at the end of the service.”

  She still wouldn’t look at Alex. “Sure.”

  “Ready for the wedding?” Alex knew Chuck had not been the most hands-on groom.

  “One more week.” Chuck’s smile pushed his round cheeks upward. “I really think I’m ready now.” He flipped through his Bible and pulled out some notes. “I woke up at two this morning and had to change my message. Say a prayer for me.” Chuck walked away, climbed the stairs to the stage, and joined his worship band.

  Alex led Lucy to a seat and, risking possible dismemberment, stretched his arm across the back of her chair, his hand grazing her shoulder. It was a move worthy of any teen boy in the room. “How long are you going to be mad at me?”

  “Next century sounds good.”

  “I brought you a souvenir from my trip to Mount Pleasant yesterday.”

  She flashed him a look from the corner of her eye. “Give it to Kat.”

  After a few worship songs, Chuck grabbed a mic and his Bible and reappeared front and center. Funky urban art hung on mocha-colored walls, and fat candles glowed in glass hurricanes on stage. If it weren’t for the big cross in the middle of the stage, it could almost be a Starbucks. The wooden prop seemed a bit dramatic and out of place with the acoustic guitars and dimmed lighting.

  The room went hush-quiet as Chuck grabbed his duct tape–covered Bible and read from Luke. In a storyteller’s voice, he brought the passages of Jesus’s temptation to life.

  “Jesus had been fasting forty days. Satan knew right when to visit Christ for a little chat—when he was at his weakest. Jesus was worn down with hunger and loneliness, so guess what areas the Big Deceiver targeted?”

  Chuck stepped off the stage and stood in the middle of the aisle. His gaze swept every row. “Today I want to inform you, just in case anyone else hasn’t, that Satan is a liar. Right now? He’s lying to you. And the scary thing is, these lies usually make sense. Do you believe you’re ugly? Think you’re a loser?” Chuck paused. “Lies. All of it. My friends, Satan is a terrorist. He’s a gang leader. The Bible says he is a thief who wants to steal, kill, and destroy you. And you know what? He’s succeeding with a lot of you.”

  Alex’s hand slipped from Lucy's chair to rest on her neck, kneading the tight cords of muscle. How easy it would be to just lean into him. She was tired and weary of the fight raging in her heart. Everywhere she looked people wanted things from her. Some too much—others not enough.

  Chuck’s Converse sneakers scuffed as he walked the floor. “That guy doesn’t come out at you like a horned monster. No, he’s one smooth dude. You afraid of rejection? He’s gonna use it. You afraid of what others think? He’s all over that.”

  Chills pebbled across Lucy’s skin. God, are you talking to me—in a high school service?

  The youth pastor held up his tattered Bible. “This is your armor.” He rushed back to the stage and pointed to the crude wooden cross. “And this is the only place you surrender. Tell the devil you’re through listening. It’s time to tell yourself, ‘I’m good enough.’ It’s time to claim the verse in the Bible that says you are a dearly loved child of God. You are adored. And you deserve love.”

  You deserve love.

  “When that voice sneaks into your head with lies, you claim the opposite. Say, ‘I’m beautiful. I’m a success. I’m going places.’ God doesn’t care about your money, your background, what kind of clothes you wear.” Chuck’s voice rose with passion. “Stop l
ooking in the mirror for your truth. Stop listening to your friends. Don’t read that magazine and think that’s your reality. They’re lying to you. Because you are dearly loved.” He looked to the left. “Isn’t it time we started acting like it?”

  Chuck wiped his brow with a handkerchief and stepped up to the stage again. “You want to know what’s holding you back? It’s not what is or isn’t in your wallet. It’s not your folks or your face. It’s lies.” He slowly walked to the cross and touched its rough surface. “Here is where truth begins. Jesus died for you. He died for this moment.”

  Lucy couldn’t breathe. The sound of her pulse pounded in her head.

  “You know what lie I’ve been buying?” Chuck gave a mirthless laugh. “I’m getting married soon. And since day one of meeting my amazing girl, Satan’s been telling me, ‘You’re not good enough. You’re too poor. Too fat. Too boring.’” His eyes sought out Morgan in the front row. “‘You’re way out of her league, and it’s only a matter of time before she wakes up and realizes it.’ On July seventeenth, I’m going to become one supremely hot chick’s husband. And I’m gonna say ‘I do’ without those lies in my head.” Chuck went to the podium, held up a pad of Post-its and a pen, then began to write. Lucy leaned forward to get a better view. “On these three scraps of paper, I’ve written the lies that I’m not gonna accept from this day forward. I’m taking it to the cross— where it belongs.”

  He picked up a hammer. Pulled a nail from the pocket of his jeans. And nailed the first lie to the cross. The sound reverberated through the room as the hammer met the metal, and the nail pierced the solid wood.

  “Standing up to Satan’s lies takes guts.” Chuck’s forehead wrinkled as the hammer rested in his hands. “I want to live that peace God promises. And I think there are some of you here today who feel the same. You’re sick of the lies stealing your joy. They sound like truth. They make sense. Satan plants questions in your mind and says, ‘Answer this with logic.’ But God says, ‘No, answer with faith.’