The Night the Lights Went Out

by Karen White

  She hadn’t meant to, but she eagerly accepted it, allowing herself to enjoy the little sparks of heat as his skin touched hers, and let him lead her down the steps. It was cooler down there and smelled of dirt and dust and old air. Merilee took an involuntary step backward, bumping into a solid chest that had the opposite effect from calming her down.

  He aimed the flashlight’s beam upward. “Pull on the chain—let’s see if the lightbulb works.”

  She gave it a tug and nothing happened.

  “Remind me to bring a supply of lightbulbs, too—in case the electricity doesn’t go off in a storm.”

  Wade put his hand on her arm and aimed the flashlight around the space, illuminating several pieces of broken furniture, a small table with a metal box of candles sitting on it next to a rusted bread box. He’d examined the perimeter of the room, and was turning back to her to speak, when she noticed something on the far wall, a dark rectangular shape crouched against the floor.

  “Shine it over there,” Merilee said, guiding his hand to the shape. She was eager to leave this dark place, but his nearby presence gave her enough courage to look around and even be a little curious.

  “I sure hope that’s not a coffin,” Wade said as he moved forward.

  Merilee frowned, temporarily aware of the darkness around them. “If you’re trying to reassure me, it’s not working.”

  Up close, with the flashlight trained on the object, she could tell whatever was underneath was covered by several heavy blankets, and she was relieved when Wade started removing them without asking her to help. He pulled off four of them, piling them on the ground, eventually revealing what appeared to be an army footlocker.

  Wade moved closer to the trunk and stared at it for a moment, contemplating. “It might not be a coffin, but a body could definitely fit in there.”

  Merilee was ashamed to admit that the thought had crossed her mind. “We should go. Maybe Sugar knows what’s in there.”

  “Hang on,” he said, handing her the flashlight. “I doubt she knows or would remember, and we can answer that question right now.” He popped open the two latches on the front, then paused, a locked padlock barring access.

  “Well, this dog won’t hunt.” He gave a strong tug on the lock, then leaned over the lid. “Shine the flashlight on top. This looks like an army trunk, which might give us an idea who it belonged to. Maybe jar Sugar’s memory.”

  She moved the flashlight, the yellow circle of light catching on what remained of the tips of white stenciled letters that had at some point been scratched out with a sharp object. “They’re unreadable,” she said, her need to state the obvious something she’d acquired since becoming the mother of two young children.

  “Sugar might know where the key is. If not, I can break the lock. Aside from curiosity, I’d like to make sure there’s nothing dangerous in there—like ammo or rifles or anything curious kids shouldn’t be messing with.”

  Merilee nodded, looking around her and suddenly recalling where she was. “Can we just go now? I think I’ve seen all I need to.” The flashlight flickered, then dimmed. She grabbed his arm.

  He put his hand over hers. “I’ll make sure there’s a good stock of batteries and some camping lights down here in case of emergencies.” He looked down at her for a long moment, giving her the chance to explain.

  “Thank you,” she managed, quickly turning and heading for the steps.

  Once they’d emerged into the warm sunshine, Merilee felt her equilibrium return and led the way back into the house. She poured them both glasses of sweet tea and handed him one, which he accepted gratefully.

  “So, were you really engaged to Heather?” She hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but she was trying to clear her head of the damp, still air from the cellar and it was the first thing that crossed her mind. It had been plaguing her more and more since she’d found out and was one of those things that her mind rested on when she woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t go back to sleep.

  The light in his eyes seemed to dim. “Yeah. We were. But a long time ago. Back when she wasn’t even a blonde.”

  “Hard to imagine Heather without blond hair.”

  “True. Not that she will ever admit that it’s not natural. She used to look a lot different. Personality kind of changed, too. It’s like she was happy just being herself until she found out she could be someone else, someone she considered better, and she jumped at it. Kind of left me in the dust. Or at the altar, as Sugar likes to say, although it wasn’t that bad. Only the invitations had been sent out.”

  “I’m sorry,” Merilee said, meaning it. “At least she saved you the trauma of a divorce. And being stuck with a whole bunch of monogrammed towels you can’t use.”

  “I guess you’d know.” He spoke softly, and he was so close that without having to lean very far she could stand on her tippy-toes and press her lips against his. And when she looked in his eyes, she could see that his thoughts were probably running in tandem with hers.

  But she held back. He wasn’t Michael. He didn’t look like Michael or smell like Michael. He wasn’t the father of her children. He also hadn’t broken her heart. Maybe because he’d admitted to suffering from the same affliction, she imagined there was something between them. Some unspoken agreement that their scar patterns might fit together like pieces to a puzzle. But he still wasn’t Michael. She stepped back and imagined she heard them both exhale a sigh of regret.

  He cleared his throat. “I’ll just finish that last cabinet in the kitchen, then help you with the books, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” she said, like she really did want him to leave. One thing she did know for sure was that she didn’t want him there when Heather returned with the children. She remembered the questioning looks she’d received from Heather and the other committee members the night of the gala meeting, and she wasn’t interested in repeating the ordeal of unasked questions and innuendos.

  “I’ll get started with the books,” she said before leaving the room, hanging on to her empty glass so she wouldn’t have to brush by him to put it in the sink.

  • • •

  Merilee sat in the back of Dan’s Mercedes next to Heather, a mimosa in her hand, while Claire sat in the driver’s seat, acting as their chauffeur for the day.

  “I told you this would be fun,” Heather almost squealed as they headed toward Buckhead, with its high-end boutiques and the luxury shopping meccas of Phipps Plaza and Lenox Square.

  Merilee smiled and took a sip from her glass, self-consciously tucking her feet out of sight. When Heather had mentioned going shopping, Merilee hadn’t thought it was something one would need to dress up for. She hadn’t realized her error until she’d seen Heather in head-to-toe couture, right down to the red soles of her Louboutins. She had pointedly ignored Merilee’s khaki shorts, Jack Rogers sandals, and oversized Ann Taylor blouse, which was a lot roomier on her now than it had been when she’d bought it four years before.

  “There’s a designer consignment shop I found online,” Merilee said. “I really don’t have a lot of money in the budget for a ball gown, so I was thinking that would be a great place to start . . .”

  “Oh, don’t be silly,” Heather said, opening up a thermos and topping off Merilee’s glass. “You can’t wear something somebody else has already worn! It could be from someone else at the gala, and as your friend I couldn’t bear to see you embarrassed like that if someone recognized the dress.” She looked very serious, and for a moment, Merilee tried to picture her as the “before,” the brunette with hidden ambitions Sugar had spoken of. But with Heather’s expertly highlighted and colored hair, bronzed and glowing skin, and perfect makeup, Merilee couldn’t imagine her being anything other than the beautiful and wealthy pampered suburban wife and mother she was. Still, she wondered if the before or the after was the “real” Heather, and if
Heather ever missed the girl she’d been when she was engaged to Wade.

  The champagne was beginning to muddle her brain a bit, but she knew she needed to have this conversation before she did something she’d regret, like squander her children’s college educations for the perfect ball gown she’d only ever wear once.

  “That’s just a chance I’ll have to take,” Merilee continued. “I really don’t have any room for anything extravagant in the budget—remember, I’m a single mom, and even though my ex is very generous with child support, I still have to provide food and shelter for myself from what I can earn. I don’t want to be in debt.”

  Heather waved her hand in dismissal. “I know, and I so respect you for all that. Which is why I want to reward your hard work and sacrifice by, shall we say, subsidizing a dress. The mothers on my committee have to look the part. If we want people at the auction to bid big money, we need to be front and center looking like big money.” She pressed her hand to her heart and shook her head. “I know it sounds contradictory, but it’s true. Money begets money. If we look like we don’t need the money, the bids will come in higher than if we were wearing khakis and old blouses.”

  She looked Merilee directly in the eye, and it was all Merilee could do to not hold her hands across her chest as if she’d just been discovered buck naked in public.

  Heather continued. “I like you a lot. I think we have so much in common, and I just know we will be great friends. Which is why I have chosen you as my ‘project.’ Not that you need more than a spit and shine, but I think it’s been a while since you’ve really taken care of yourself—and you deserve to be pampered. I mean, look how hard you work, and without help! It would be my absolute joy to do whatever it takes to get you up to speed. That includes a trip to my hair salon, the Saks cosmetics counter, and my favorite boutique to find you a suitable gown. My treat. If you’d like to pay what you think you can afford, then that’s fine. But what is having money if I can’t use it for good and to spoil my friends?”

  Merilee fervently wished they’d had this conversation when she was still stone-cold sober. Or even way before that, before the divorce, when she still had a modicum of self-confidence and wasn’t so desperate to be valued again. The old Merilee might even have been annoyed to be considered anybody’s “project.” Because she now found herself on the verge of saying yes. She grasped frantically for her last thread of self-respect. “No, I couldn’t possibly—”

  Heather tucked in her chin. “I know. I understand. You’re a strong woman and it’s hard for you to accept help.”

  Merilee sat back, relieved that Heather did understand. It had been too long since anybody had even tried.

  Heather continued. “But maybe . . .” She tapped her finger on her chin, thinking, and eventually a slow smile spread over her face. “But maybe you’d feel better about it if I let you do something for me, too.”

  Merilee found herself nodding eagerly while trying to figure out what she could do for Heather. “Of course. Anything.”

  “Well, as luck would have it, my wedding anniversary is on the night of the gala. And since you work at the most fabulous jeweler in Atlanta, maybe you could help Daniel choose something wonderful for me. He and I don’t have the same . . . taste in jewelry. He thinks a small knickknack is sufficient to show his love, but I disagree.” She threw her head back and laughed, revealing a diamond pendant necklace that had to be at least four carats. “I know you will be able to better direct him to something more my taste. Something big and shiny.”

  “I’m not really a salesperson—”

  “Oh, honey, I know that. You’re the marketing genius behind their advertising. But you’re there every day and know what they’ve got. And Daniel will trust your judgment. I promise you it will be a big-ticket item and earn you a lot of respect from your employers.” She smiled broadly, her teeth white and perfect. “See? It would be a win-win. I scratch your back, and you scratch mine. And everybody’s happy!”

  Heather tilted her slim neck back and downed the rest of her mimosa, the diamond winking against her tanned skin, and Merilee followed suit, making a promise in her fuzzy brain that she would choose the cheapest dress she could find even if it looked like a burlap sack.

  Twenty minutes later, Merilee was ushered into the private dressing room of Fruition, a store she wouldn’t have known existed if she hadn’t been with Heather. There were no signs outside the nondescript midcentury brick one-story building, just a single doorbell that Heather had pushed with an elegantly manicured finger. It was opened immediately by a very tall, very thin, very blond woman who ushered them in with a secret smile.

  Merilee found herself in what could have been a chic apartment’s living room, with low, white leather couches, glass-and-steel tables, and a dais in the middle of the room, three sides of it bordered by gilt-edged mirrors. “Merilee, this is Yvette—a woman of exquisite taste and knowledge of fashion who also happens to be brutally honest. She will be in charge of finding you the perfect gown.”

  “Nice to meet you, Yvette.” Merilee glanced around, wondering where the dresses were so she could shop by looking at price tags first. “If you’ll just lead me to the racks so I can browse, I’m happy to let Heather go first.”

  “Oh, I’ve already got my gown,” Heather said with a dismissive wave before opening her purse to pull out a tube of lipstick. “This visit is all about you. When we’ve decided, then we’ll head to La Perla and Louboutin to accessorize. I promise to buy things for me, too, because I also have to look the part.”

  “Really, Heather, just the gown is fine . . .”

  “Oh, no!” Heather cried out, reaching into her purse and pulling out a man’s wallet. “I forgot to give this back to Daniel. We were at the club last night at a pool party and he had his wallet in his bathing suit pocket. The girls begged him to go swimming with them, so I stuck it in my purse.” She grimaced. “I should call him, but my phone battery is completely dead.” Heather gave Merilee a wink. “I might even use his Amex so he doesn’t see the charges on mine. Not that he minds, but he’s always making comments when the bill comes in. I don’t even think he checks his own!”

  “Here—use my phone,” Merilee said, pulling hers from her purse. “I just programmed the code so I’d remember it—it’s one-one-one-one.”

  “Thanks.” Heather closed her eyes in relief as she held Merilee’s phone. “You really should have a more secure code, you know.”

  “I know, but I can’t remember any of them, so I just decided to use the same code for everything. Maybe when my brain cells recover from this year, I’ll go back and reset everything. But this works for now.”

  Heather nodded sympathetically as she reached over and patted Merilee’s hand. “I understand.”

  “Are you ready?” Yvette asked. “Heather already prepped me prior to your arrival this morning, and I have several selections waiting for you in our dressing area. Let’s go see if any are to your liking, and we’ll try on whichever ones strike your fancy.”

  Merilee tried to think clearly enough to come up with a protest that didn’t sound ungrateful. “Okay, so if I don’t like anything, is there a room with other dresses where I can browse?”

  Heather laughed. “No, Merilee. This is one-of-a-kind couture. Let Yvette do her job, and I promise you won’t be disappointed.” She reached over and gave Merilee a reassuring squeeze on the arm as a man in a tuxedo appeared with a bucket of champagne and two glasses. He immediately filled the two glasses, then handed one to Heather and one to Merilee.

  “Here’s to the perfect evening,” Heather said, raising her glass to clink with Merilee’s.

  Merilee took a sip, needing more sustenance and fortitude for what was becoming a surreal adventure, then turned to follow Yvette. “Hang on,” she said, turning back and handing Heather her purse. “Can you hold this for me? Just stick my phone in it when you’re done.”
>
  “Of course.” Heather smiled. “You go have fun now—and let me see your favorites.”

  By the time the car was headed back toward Sweet Apple, the trunk was stuffed with packages and Merilee’s head was swimming with champagne. She was now the proud owner of a midnight blue silk-and-chiffon concoction that felt like a cloud and showed off more skin than anything she owned—except her bathing suit.

  It was being altered to fit her as if it had been made for her (Yvette’s words), and Merilee had no idea how much it cost and was afraid to even guess. None of the dresses Yvette had selected had either price tags or sizes written anywhere on the gowns or on their padded hangers, which alone probably cost more than everything together in Merilee’s closet. Merilee had used her own money for the matching shoes, spending more than she’d originally planned to spend on the dress. But, as Heather had pointed out, she couldn’t wear Jack Rogers sandals with a couture gown.

  Merilee turned to Heather. “Thank you—for all of this. It was really fun, and I truly can’t express how much I appreciate this.”

  “I just wish you’d let me take you to Spa Sydell. Nothing like a facial and massage after a hard day of shopping.”

  Despite the effects of the champagne, that had been Merilee’s only successful compromise with Heather. “And I do appreciate the offer, but I need to get back. Michael’s bringing home the children at six.”

  Heather tapped an elegant finger against her champagne glass. “Will you be bringing Michael as your escort to the gala?”

  Merilee almost choked on her mouthful of champagne. “Oh, gosh. No. Do I need a date? I was planning on going solo.”

  Heather moved her head from side to side, as if weighing options. “Well, I suppose you could, but you would most likely be the only single woman there. Plus it will make my table lopsided. I’ve decided to put you at the head table with Daniel and me and some other VIPs—but it will look out of place if we have an odd number of chairs.”