I lowered myself onto my bed and rolled onto my side to feel the baby kick. A little flurry of activity bubbled beneath my hand, letting me know the baby was alright.
At least you like me, I thought as I felt their little feet moving in my belly.
Just then, my phone buzzed. For the hundredth time, it was Jack. Now it was my turn to ignore his calls and texts just as he’d done to me.
PLEASE call me, Cassy, Jack texted. I need to tell you something.
I deleted the text, as I’d done with all the others.
I was done with all of it. I was counting down the days. All I had to do to get my tuition money was to have one little dinner with the Jacksons. One dinner to make it all go away, my mother promised the day after I returned from New Orleans red-eyed and so sad I could hardly walk.
It was to smooth things out, to make amends. For what, I didn’t know. I hadn’t done anything wrong and whatever rumors were floating around about me were none of my concern. I was simply numb inside. I was content to let things play out without my involvement. I’d just sit and smile and nod and make small talk until the night was over, then I’d get a check from my parents and a way out of Buford forever.
“Cassy, hurry and finish getting ready. The Jacksons are on their way.”
It seemed like I’d spent half my life hearing that same refrain. The other half of my life was spent getting ready for something I didn’t want to do.
“One minute. Just zipping up.”
The zipper jammed halfway up my back and I let out a curse.
“Cassy,” mother gasped when she heard me take the Lord’s name in vain. “Here, I’ll help you.”
She eased the zipper up a bit more until it slid freely toward the top of my dress. The dress had been cute on the hanger, but it did my pregnant body no favors.
Jack’d say I look beautiful, but that the dress’d look even better laying on the bedroom floor.
The thought came to mind before I could stop it. The smile it brought me withered on my lips as I pushed it aside.
Don’t think about Jack. That’s all in the past.
“Not too bad,” mother said as she looked over my shoulder into the mirror.
She’d helped me with my hair and makeup, though she had a heck of a time concealing the puffiness beneath my eyes. It seemed like I was always crying.
My eyes met hers in the mirror and I looked away. I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t stand feeling her judgement and pity and scorn.
“Thanks for the help,” I said as I pulled a pair of sleek little pumps from their tissue paper nest and tried them on. I’d normally not be caught dead in shoes like this, but I had no choice.
“I hope for your sake everything goes smoothly, Cassy,” mother said with a sigh as she hung up my bathrobe. “This whole mess is… well, a mess.”
“Yep. It’s a mess alright.”
“Well, you don’t have to sound so resigned to the whole thing. You can make a difference here, you know.”
“Oh? And how will I do that, mother? Everyone in this town knows about the baby thanks to Betty Willows.”
“Don’t you worry about Betty Willows,” mother spat as she folded and refolded my pajamas like she always did when she was agitated. “You might think I’m just an empty-headed housewife, but I know the law and I know that Betty Willows won’t be working in any doctor’s office every again.”
“Well, that’s just great, mother. But that doesn’t help me much now, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t. What’s done is done, although you can make it a little better for yourself and for that baby you’re growing in your belly.”
My eyes met hers and I knew exactly what she meant. She meant that things would be just fine if I’d lie and say that Cash was the daddy. His money’d protect me, she thinks.
“Let’s not bark up that tree again, alright?”
“It’s just a suggestion,” she said as she held up her hands defensively. “I’ll zip my lips and remain silent hereafter.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I said with a smile.
“Oh, Cassy, I do so miss seeing your smile.”
The earnest tenderness in my mother’s voice made my heart ache. Despite everything, I knew she just wanted what was best for me. She was trying to help me, in her own flawed way.
“I miss smiling. But things will be better soon.”
“Without a doubt.”
We stared at each other in the quiet little room where I’d grown up. Words wouldn’t suffice, so we held our tongues. There was hurt in the air and healing. Something shifted and was lost when the doorbell chimed downstairs.
“They’re here,” mother whispered as she reached over and squeezed my hand. “Lord help us.”
She disappeared downstairs while I looked at myself in the mirror. My nerves were raw and I felt myself getting nauseated with anxiety as I listened to their voices chirping and chatting in the sitting room. I stayed upstairs as long as I dared.
“Go on,” I told myself in the mirror. “Get it over with. It’s the last hurdle and you can go free.”
If my mother was a prized thoroughbred of high society, Marcheline Jackson, Cash’s mother, was the Triple Crown winner.
She swept toward me as if she was floating, her body surrounded by a delicious cloud of Opium. She wore vintage Chanel that might looked dated on anyone else, but on her looked timeless. Her slender arms wrapped around me as she kissed each cheek and guided me into the sitting room as if we were old friends.
“Aren’t you just the most darling thing I’ve ever seen,” she purred as she settled us onto the sofa with a perfectly angelic smile couched between her dimples. “Isn’t she just lovely, Trip?”
Trip Jackson nodded where he stood leaning against the mantlepiece, drink in hand. He raised his glass.
“A vision,” was all he said.
Dazed and confused, I fought to maintain my composure as I looked at each person’s face. Cash wore a wooden grin, Conrad furrowed his brows as if so deeply engrossed in what Trip Jackson was saying that he couldn’t acknowledge his stepdaughter. My mother stood to the side, her eyes darting from glass to glass, waiting to swoop in for refills.
“We’re going to be the best of friends, I just know it,” Marcheline said with a warmth and enthusiasm that almost seemed convincing, though I knew better, of course. She and Mr. Jackson had bigger and better plans for their Cash, not a shotgun wedding in Buford with half the population looking down their noses and the other half laughing behind their hands.
“I—I sure hope so,” I managed to say, though it wasn’t one of my most convincing performances. “Cash has told me so much about you.”
“He has?”
For an instant, her practiced demeanor fell away and I saw a mother touched that her son would speak highly of her when she wasn’t around. I almost felt bad for lying to her. I nodded.
“And Mr. Jackson. He said he’s a real tiger in the oil industry.”
“Do you keep up on the industry?” she asked, seamlessly moving from one topic to the next.
“To be honest, no, I don’t,” I laughed as I accepted a small glass of ginger ale from my mother and took a sip. “It’s not my forte.”
Marcheline leaned in, her pretty amber eyes flitting around the room before she whispered conspiratorially, “Me neither, my love, and it’s so good to have another girl to talk to about anything other than oil.”
Dinner passed in a blur of candles and laughter. The smell of lamb and mint, bourbon and praline filled the dining room as I sat quietly at the foot of the table across from Cash. The parents all spoke together, leaving us alone to make our own conversation.
“We should talk after dinner,” Cash said as he leaned in and gave me an earnest look. It was the first time I’d ever seen him look serious.
“Sure,” I answered, though I had no intention of actually doing it. My mind was focused on getting through the dinner without any comments on my pregnancy, without p
uking from the rich food, without crying or losing my temper or otherwise jeopardizing my college tuition.
“Meet me on the porch after coffee.”
A heavy sigh escaped my lips. This wasn’t going to go away. He really did want to talk.
“Fine. I’ll meet you on the porch after coffee.”
“Thank you. Thank you, Cassy,” he said as he leaned back in his chair and pasted his patented Cash Jackson smile on his handsome face.
Coffee came in a hundred-year-old silver service polished to a brilliant sheen. It was served in bone china cups so delicate that the evening light shone right through them. The coffee was thick and hot and black as hell, bitter with chicory and sweet with sugar lumps.
I sipped it slowly in an attempt to draw it out, to postpone meeting Cash on the porch. The flavor lingered on my tongue, leaving the faint taste of orange peel and cinnamon.
Every fiber in my being screamed to stand up and tell my parents, the Jacksons and Cash himself who the real father was, but I couldn’t. It was none of their business. The lies told about me were not mine to correct because I didn’t really care, not anymore. Saying that Jack was the father would draw him back into my life, it’d make both our lives more complicated. We’d keep it secret and he’d pay the baby’s way through life—that’s what I wanted.
“I’m going to step out and get some night air,” Cash said as he pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his sport coat. “Cassy? Care to join me?”
Four pairs of eyes latched onto us, glowing with anticipation. I dared not look because I didn’t want to see the excitement pouring down on us. Instead, I let Cash help me to my feet and I took his arm without a backward glance.
“Oh, thank god,” I whined once we got outside and I could kick off my shoes. Pumps were not made for pregnant feet. “These shoes were killing me.”
“They looked real nice,” he said with a smile as he helped me to the porch swing and sat down beside me. “If that makes a difference.”
“It doesn’t, but thank you for the compliment. Now, what’s so important? What do you need to talk to me about?”
“You know exactly what this is about, Cassy. Don’t play dumb.”
“I’m not playing, Cash. I know there are rumors about my baby, that it’s yours, that you were more than happy to have your little fun and games at my expense for your own amusement. Is it causing you problems now? Hm?”
“Goddamn it,” he spat as he stood up and went to the porch railing. He stood there, outlined against the streetlamp, with his head hanging down. “Why do you have to be so difficult?”
“Excuse me? I’m being difficult? You’ve put me through hell—you and Betty Willows. And I’m the one getting side-eye from all the people in town. I can’t even go shopping for soap without it turning into a running commentary on the state of my moral decrepitude.”
“Decrepitude. Why do you always talk that way? It makes you sound so pretentious.”
“I’d rather be pretentious than an entitled asshole, Cash. That’s where we differ. I guess this marriage won’t work out after all.”
He turned to me and I saw a lopsided smile crack his lips.
“You really don’t like me, do you?” he said, as if it had just dawned on him.
“No, I don’t. I’ve never made that a secret.”
“I guess you haven’t.” His eyes drifted out into the street then back again, meeting mine in the shadowy darkness of the porch. “So, I guess you don’t care how this whole mess is troubling me.”
“To be honest, Cash, I don’t give a rat’s ass how troubled you are. You make all your own trouble and it always magically goes away. You had your laughs at my expense, haven’t you? I don’t know if this is karma or divine retribution or what, but I don’t lose any sleep over it. You’ve walked around your whole life making messes and someone has always been walking right behind to clean them up for you. In a few weeks I’ll be gone and I don’t plan on coming back here ever again. I’m done with the mess you’ve made. You deal with it.”
“But how? Everyone thinks I’m such an asshole for not marrying you.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. He didn’t hear a word I’d said. He just wanted someone else to mop up after him.
“I guess you could start by telling the truth. Tell them the baby isn’t yours but you let everyone think it was to torment me. The only part you need to leave off is who the father is because that’s nobodies business but mine and his.”
“Tell the truth.” He echoed my words incredulously, as if the truth was so foreign he’d never considered it before.
“The truth, Cash. And start by telling your parents. Some great big business deal is hanging in the ethers attached to this fake engagement. It’s your job to let them down like I let down my parents.”
“Wait, you’ve already told them?”
“Mm-hm. Weeks ago.”
“So, they know I’m not the father?”
“Yeah. I can’t tell if they’re happy or not about that particular nugget of information, although they’re not too happy that I won’t be marrying you. Seems I was part of the bargain they struck with your folks. Your company’s money for Conrad’s connections, something like that. I don’t really care, if we’re telling the truth.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
“Probably,” I answered as I grabbed my shoes and moved to the door. “Night, Cash. Good luck.”
Chapter 18
A stack of messages sat on the polished wood table on the landing outside my bedroom. The maid always left them there for me rather than knock and disturb me in my bedroom.
I thumbed through them, then swept them into the trash after the reading the tenth in a row wondering What happened?! I heard you and Cash aren’t getting married! Oh, you poor thing! Call me back when you get a chance, hon!
Word spread fast in Buford and I doubted the messages were going to stop anytime soon. I didn’t even recognize half the names and numbers on the messages. They were all people from town who I’d never met or spoken to beyond a friendly greeting passing them on the street and suddenly they were bearing witness to their own real life soap opera with me as the star.
On top of all the messages, the folks around town were getting worse about staring and whispering and nudging each other whenever I walked past. It was enough to make me never leave the house again, except to escape to the country where no one cared who I was or what I did or didn’t do. No one out there knew or cared about my name, my mother’s name, Cash Jackson’s God-forsaken name.
“Where you headed?” my mother asked as I passed her sitting room.
She sat primly by the window, legs crossed at the ankle, crochet work resting on her lap.
“I’m headed out to where there are no phones and no messages,” I answered as I pulled on my sweater.
“I saw all those,” she tsked as she gripped the soft pink yarn on her lap and shook her head. “People haven’t got anything better to do than to poke their nose in other folks’ business.”
I stifled a smile at that. My mother was one of the worst offenders when it came to being a nosy gossip. I held my tongue, though.
“That’s true. I’ll be back in a while so don’t wait up.”
“Okay, honey, just be careful. There’s a storm moving in and you’re carrying precious cargo.”
Long, meandering drives never failed to set me right. I loved to drive out deep into the tangled green countryside, out to the woods and fields where you could hear yourself think. I’d get lost out on those red dirt roads listening to music or to the sound of wind rushing in through the open window. It was all I wanted in my life after such a long stretch of stress and complications and worry. I just wanted something simple. Something quiet.
All around me, the daylight shifted from gold to amber to blue. The car slid past a smattering of little Creole cabins, well-loved and time-worn with folks sitting on the porch in the cool blue evening. Those houses looked such a part of the wilderne
ss it was as if they’d always been there. They looked natural, a part of the landscape, a part of nature.
I waved lazily as I passed the last one, a little blue shotgun shack with a little white-haired lady rocking on the porch. She waved back as her ornery yellow dog chased me a ways and turned back to wag at his master’s knee.
That was the last house for a long while and I knew it. There was nothing beyond for miles but fields and fallen trees. No power lines or oil derricks—no nothing. Just a stretch of land with no fences where everything grew from the earth and nothing was built by hands. It was heaven.
Somewhere out here was the Governor’s Mansion, where I’d had my debutante ball. It seemed like a lifetime ago that I’d worn that white dress and danced with Cash when I still thought he was decent. That night had changed me forever, though at the time I didn’t know it. I suddenly wanted to see the old building, to remember who I’d been before I came and went from there under the big, yellow moon.
I pushed on, gliding around the broad curves that hugged the river bank and rolling down the occasional dip in the road where I knew water would flow during heavy rain. I was smiling, somehow. I felt like a girl again, free from all but the most trivial worries. A voice in my mind told me to head back home before it got any later, but I was having fun and I had to see the old place.
It’s just a few more miles, I thought as the terrain around me became familiar.
I didn’t know what my plan was and I didn’t care, frankly. I wanted freedom and spontaneity. I wanted to feel young because I’d felt so damn old the past few weeks.
My mind cleared completely. My thoughts drifted away. It was just me and her, the little girl in my belly. She fluttered and swayed inside me, giving little kicks as the car bumped over the rutted dirt road. I forgot to be sad or worried for a time… until my car hiccuped. It was the littlest hitch in its stride, but I noticed it. Something was wrong.
The Debutante Page 13
