“What are you doing here?” I scoop Nether up in one hand and grab my best friend’s suitcase with the other, walking into the living room and depositing them on the rug. “I was sooo worried about you.”
“These were tacked to your front door.” She sniffles, handing me the stack of papers, articles printed from medical websites: “Why You Should Be Taking Your Shoes Off at the Front Door,” and “Sick Spot, Sick: Is Your Pet Making You Ill?” Thank you, William. “I would enjoy reading them if Cash hadn’t broken my heart into a million pieces.”
I take her coat and hang it on the hook behind the door, then grab her hand and force her to sit beside me on the sofa. Nether curls up in her basket. I made a cushion out of an old cashmere blanket and slipped my aunt’s alarm clock in the basket. The puppy-rearing manual Knightley left is jammers with ideas for soothing and training pups.
“What happened?”
“Cash is m-m-married!”
“What?”
“He eloped.”
I shake my head, like a cartoon character trying to clear the birds flapping around.
“Eloped? With who?”
“Charity Hawkins.”
“Who?”
“S-s-some girl he met in Pigeon Forge.” She sniffles.
“Charity Hawkins?” I cannot even wrap my mind around what is happening right now. Cash. Married. “What kind of name is Charity Hawkins? It sounds like a Stripper Name Generator name.”
“Sh-she is a str-strippper!” Lexi wails, tears spilling out of her eyes. “He met her in a strip club. They flew to Vegas and got married at some all-night, drive-through chapel. Eloped! With a stripper! Could he have been more cliché? I don’t think so!”
“Oh my word!”
I cover my hand with my mouth and stare at Lexi in disbelief. This is my cue to say something wise and comforting, but Cash and his lap-dancing bride have rendered me deaf, numb, and dumb-struck. What in the actual H-E-double L?
“He said our relationship was like that old U2 song.”
“U2 song? What U2 song? How does Cash Aiken even know a U2 song? I thought he only ever listened to good old boys like Blake Shelton and Tim McGraw.”
“ ‘I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.’”
Ouch. I don’t know the song well enough to recall the lyrics, but the title pretty much says it all, doesn’t it?
“I couldn’t remember the lyrics.” Lexi wipes her tears with her soggy Kleenex ball and plum eyeliner smears across her temple. “I had to Google them.”
“Bad?”
“Brutal.”
I reach into the pocket of my robe and pull out Knightley’s handkerchief, freshly laundered and folded with a peony petal inside, and hand it to her.
“Thank you.” She sniffles, dabbing her cheeks. “It is about a man who has climbed the highest mountains, scaled huge walls, and run through fields to be with a woman, but after all that he realizes he still hasn’t found what he is looking for. Pretty self-explanatory title, really.”
“That boy is an ass.” I am sorry for the cuss word, but I am so mad. There was no reason for Cash to do Lexi like that, to be cruel. Those damn lyrics will remain written on her tender heart for the rest of her life. “He couldn’t find what he’s looking for with somebody else’s damn eyeballs. Look at you, Lex! You are beautiful, inside and out, and you don’t need to get on a stage and shake your hoochie to prove it!”
“Thank you,” she says. “I appreciate the pep talk. I swear I do, but . . .”
“But?”
“I don’t want to talk about Cash Aiken and his pole-humping hussy. I am tired and smell like jet fuel. I just want to crawl into a hot tub and wash the stink off me.”
“You smell like sunshine”—I clasp her hand hard and blink my eyelashes—“and you look like pine needles!”
She laughs at my intentional butchering of a funny line from the movie Bridesmaids. Lex loves that movie. Her laugh is a sad, broken little laugh, but I will take it.
“How long are you staying?”
She shrugs.
“Forever?”
“Deal!”
I hold up my pinkie so we can make a pinkie pact.
“Forever and ever, amen!” I say.
“Amen,” she says, linking her pinkie through mine. “Now, you know what I really want?”
“A tub full of hot water and a bottle of Flowerbomb foaming bubble bath?”
“I could kill a venti vanilla soy latte with double Splenda,” she says, handing me the handkerchief back. “Is there a Starbucks nearby?”
“No Starbucks,” I say, laughing. “There is a fab little tea shop in town. We could walk there, if you are feeling up to it.”
“Give me a few minutes to fix my face and brush my teeth.” She stands and grabs her suitcase. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“All of the bedrooms are en suite,” I say, gesturing toward the hallway. “Take your pick. You can have any room you want. You want to know why?”
“Why?”
“Because you are exactly what I am looking for, Alexandria Armistead. Don’t ever forget it.”
“Never.”
Lexi chooses the bedroom beside mine—the one with the twin beds and pale pink cabbage rose wallpaper. While she is unpacking and freshening up, I get dressed and pull my hair into a high pony. I take Nether Westcote to the garden, so she can do her business. I can’t wait for the day when she can walk into town with me—I even ordered her a shiny red raincoat and matching boots—but her little legs aren’t strong enough to make the trek, so I pop her into the kennel Hayley gave me as a gift, promising her a belly rub when I return.
We walk to the tea shop and drink three cups of I Love You Oolong Time—four sugar cubes for me, a splash of vanilla soy milk and two packs of sweetener for Lex—and Lexi tells me the story all over, about how Cash returned from Pigeon Forge with a skanky wife in tow, about how he stood on the porch at his momma and daddy’s house and told her he did not love her. She tells me how her momma and Cash’s momma got into an ugly crying and hollering match. When Mrs. Armistead threatened litigation for breach of contract, Lexi packed her suitcase, took the keys to Cash’s truck, and drove herself all the way to the Atlanta airport, then boarded the first plane to London.
“Why Atlanta? Charleston is an international airport.”
“The flight out of Charleston didn’t leave for five hours and I didn’t want to risk the chance of someone showing up and trying to talk me out of leaving. Besides, I liked the idea of Cash having to get a ride all the way to Atlanta to get his truck back.”
“Lexi!” I laugh.
“Bitch move?”
“Jilted fiancée move. It’s better than taking a golf club to the hood of his car or burning his clothes.”
“Tay-Tay did that in her ‘Blank Space’ video!”
“Let’s not look to Taylor Swift as a model for how to behave in a relationship, dear.” I mimic Taylor in the video, raising my arm and pretending to stab the air, eyes creepy wide. “She scares me.”
We finish our tea, and I take her on a tour of the village. I decide to begin at the candy shop because I am eager for her to meet Deidre, because we will all be sharing a cottage soon. Along the way, I tell Lexi about Deidre and the delicate case of Mrs. Waites.
“Aw,” Lexi coos. “The poor woman sounds sad and lonely. Imagine losing your husband after all those years together, building a business, a life? I am heartbroken, and I was only with Cash for two years.”
“I am sorry, Lex.”
Deidre must have reached into the bonbon box that is her closet and pulled out the nuttiest piece she could find. From the waist down, she appears normal in a swingy pink miniskirt, pink tights, and granny boots laced to the ankles. Above the waist? That is a different story. All the craziness is happening above the waist. She is wearing a cardigan over an ivory T-shirt with the silhouette of a crawling baby and the quote, An ugly baby is a very nasty object. Fastened to her sweater is a pin
resembling the face of a porcelain Victorian baby doll, wide, unseeing eyes, round cheeks, and bow lips. She is wearing earrings that match. Victorian dolls are scarier than a haint, y’all. They do not become less frightening when worn as jewelry. Lexi and Deidre hit it off right away, but the truelove connection happens when Mrs. Waites shuffles into the room, squinting and waving her hands through the air in front of her face. The moment Mrs. Waites realizes there is a stranger in the shop—a stranger who is monopolizing her daughter’s attention—she starts complaining about the challenges of living with a degenerative eye disease, the feelings of hopelessness, uselessness, and isolation. Lexi listens with the patience and compassion of a true nurse. She validates the woman’s suffering and then asks her if she would consider holistic alternatives to treat her condition. By the time we leave the shop, Lexi has promised to pop round to take Mrs. Waites on a daily stroll to the park, to improve her self-sufficiency. That’s Lex. She has only been in Northam-on-the-Water for two hours and she has already made a friend and offered comfort to a blind woman.
We meet Vicar Parsons on the sidewalk as we are leaving the candy shop. He seems particularly interested in Lexi’s background, asking questions about her people. He invites her to attend a singles prayer group.
We visit the newsstand and chat with the owner, Mr. Egerton. We pop by the market but miss Hayley because she is delivering produce to a farm-to-table gastropub in Little Slaughter.
Our last stop is to Curtis and Sons Apothecary, so I can introduce my bestie to my neighbor. I forgot to tell Lexi about William’s germophobia. I make the introductions and Lexi holds out her hand for William to shake. William hesitates. Lexi notices the hesitation, sticks her hand in her pocket, and asks William if he carries Ayurveda herbs.
“Which ones?” William asks.
“Triphala or Baheda.”
“I am afraid not.” William frowns. “Northam-on-the-Water attracts an unsettling number of visitors, but we are a simple country village. Most of the tourists who wander into the shop have spent too much time in the pubs and require Nurofen or Panadol, over-the-counter tablets for head pain.”
“I see.” Lexi smiles. “Do you know where I could purchase Triphala or Baheda in powder form?”
“I can order any herbal powder you require, but they will take a few days to arrive.”
“Would you mind?”
“Not at all,” he says. “Would you mind if I asked you how you intend to use the powders?”
“I am making an oculus wash for Mrs. Waites. Triphala nourishes the nerves and can reduce the risk of damage from free radicals. Ayurvedic healers have used herbal eye washes to treat a variety of ailments, from glaucoma, myopia, cataracts, and conjunctivitis. So, why not macular degeneration?” Lexi looks up at William. “You think I am crazy?”
“Not at all!” William smiles. “Have you read Lasant Lashaki’s book—”
“—Ancient Ayurveda, Modern World?” she cries. “Lasant Lashaki is brilliant.”
“Bloody brilliant!” William moves out from around his counter. “I just finished reading Divining the Science of Ancient Medicine. Have you read it?”
“No,” Lexi says. “I am reading The Great Influenza: The Story of the Deadliest Pandemic in History by John M. Barry.”
“Fascinating read,” William says. “Frighteningly fascinating. I could hardly put it down.”
“Have you read Germs: The Biological Weapons Outside Your Front Door, Stay Inside, Stay Alive?”
William’s eyes widen. He hurries back around the counter and closes the book lying open beside the register, so Lexi can see the cover. Germs: The Biological Weapons Outside Your Front Door, Stay Inside, Stay Alive.
Lexi giggles.
Giggles!
What is happening? Something is happening here. William’s posture has softened. Lexi is looking through her lashes. Sweet Mother of Pearl! Nurse Lexi and the germophobe are flirting.
My phone rings. William and Lexi look at me as if I just threw a bubonic plague–infested rat corpse at their feet.
“Sorry,” I say.
I pull my iPhone out of my pocket, hit the Mute button, and hurry outside to answer the call, leaving my best friend and my neighbor to discuss oozing pustules.
I do not recognize the number on the screen, so I push the Talk button and say hello.
“Good morning, Miss Maxwell.”
“Knightley!” I gasp. “This is a surprise.”
“Good surprise or bad surprise?”
“Good.” I look through the window into the pharmacy, at William smiling and Lexi twirling her hair around her finger. “Definitely good.”
“You’re sure? Did I ring you at a bad time? You sound . . . distracted.”
“I am definitely distracted! Lexi just arrived.”
“Your best friend?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, I am sorry to interrupt,” he says. “I only wanted to check on how things were progressing with Nether Westcote, make sure she hadn’t piddled on your rugs or chewed your shiny red boots.”
“Perish the thought!” I gasp, glancing at my boots. “Nether is great. My boots are great. The rugs—not so much.”
Knightley chuckles.
“So, it is a match, then, you and Nether?”
“Are you kidding?” I think of the photo I posted on Instagram this morning, of Nether curled up on my pillow like a furry little bean, and my heart aches. “It is the best match ever! Nether is my soul puppy.”
“I am glad,” he says, laughing.
“Knightley?”
“Yes?”
“You are not going to believe what is happening right now in Northam-on-the-Water.”
“—Deidre Waites is wearing an outlandish outfit?”
“Yes, but—”
“—Vicar Parsons is trying to recruit singles to join his prayer meetings?”
“Yes, but—”
“—William Curtis is—”
“—flirting with my best friend and she is flirting back!”
The line goes quiet.
“I thought you said your best friend was engaged to be married?”
I quickly tell Knightley about Cash’s boys-only trip to Tennessee and his quickie Vegas wedding to a stripper from Pigeon Forge.
“Cash sounds like a tosser,” he says. “Your friend is better off without him.”
“She is,” I agree.
“So, what does it matter if she chats with William Curtis?”
“William Curtis is sweet, but he could never make Lexi happy. She needs someone more dashing, someone who will force her to step out of her shell. Someone like—”
“Cash?”
“Be nice!”
“Forgive me,” he says, adopting a mock-mournful tone. “It is too soon to make light of your first matchmaking disaster. It sounds to me as if you have someone in mind to fill Cash’s unworthy shoes. If not William, who?”
“I don’t know.” I flip through headshots in my brain, mental profile photos, searching for my best friend’s replacement mate. “What about Brandon?”
“My brother?”
“Sure, why not? He climbs mountains and plays polo with a bunch of burly, ex-military guys. He is just the type to pull Lex out of her shell.” I see the sign for Hayley’s market reflected in the window and groan. “Wait! That is not going to work. I have already matched Brandon with Hayley . . . of course, he doesn’t know it yet.”
“Hayley?” Knightley cries. “You mean to match Brandon with Hayley Bartlett?”
“What about Bingley?”
“You want to match Hayley Bartlett with Bingley?”
“No!”
“What about a match between Lexi and Bingley?”
“Emma Lee.” Knightley’s voice is low with concern. “Perhaps it would be best if you focused your attentions on your Weddings at Welldon scheme.”
“You mean, forget about matchmaking?”
“Not entirely,” he says. “There is one match tha
t definitely deserves your attention.”
Chapter Thirty-two
Emma Lee Maxwell’s Facebook Update:
If he is stupid enough to walk away, be smart enough to let him go. You should never have to chase a true love, darlin’. Just sayin’!
Knightley said I should focus my attentions on helping Miss Isabella launch Weddings at Welldon, but I truly believe it is my calling to be a matchmaker. A divinely inspired calling. Patti Stanger said you get credits in heaven for being a matchmaker, and I believe her. I believe her with all my heart. What duty is more divinely inspired than paving the way for two people to be able to travel to the altar together?
Unless a host of heavenly angels suddenly appear in the garden at Wood House and tell me to quit my meddling, I am going to keep on doing God’s work.
I must be doing a few things right, because Vicar Parsons took my suggestion to start hosting single’s mixers, Deidre is superamped to meet Johnny Amor, Hayley has not said another thing about going to the hogs and heifers show with boring old John Barrington, and Brandon has agreed to join the evening of Amor! Now, if only I could find a Russian millionaire for Miss Isabella and a fun guy for my bestie.
Then again . . .
. . . I’m not so sure Lexi is looking for a fun guy. She arrived on my doorstep Tuesday morning. She returned to the cottage Wednesday and Thursday morning after walking with Mrs. Waites, put her pajamas back on, and climbed back into bed.
Friday, I convinced her to ride with me to the Tesco Superstore in Stowe-on-the-Wold. I told her I was terrified to drive by myself and needed dog food for Nether Westcote. We had a blast cruising down the aisles and seeing who could find the most unusual items—brown sauce, salad cream, English roast beef and Yorkshire pudding–flavored potato chips (sorry, crisps), pork scratchings. We both agreed Lexi was the clear winner with Aunty’s Spotted Dick steamed puds. She seemed superhappy when she found a Tesco-brand Zesty & Zingy body wash in Mexican lemon and lime she said smelled like Tara’s Key lime pie and when she found Stem Ginger ice cream made with double Devon cream, but then we got home, and she put her pajamas back on and ate Stem Ginger ice cream out of the bright yellow carton.
Badly Done, Emma Lee Page 24
