by Caryl McAdoo
But that wasn’t going to happen, and she knew it. She’d be heading home the minute they returned from Jefferson. Stephanie would be standing by for a call when they started back from the trip Sunday morning, and Marge could leave before he counted scores and had a chance to send her packing.
The sound of leather soles treading flagstone brought her back from her mental re-assurances. Preston, in the silk suit Audrey bought him in Dallas, backed around the corner pulling a metal clothes rack full of shimmery and shiny garments.
Audrey jumped to her feet and ran to help him guide the rack into the kitchen. He stopped, grabbed one of the hangers and held out a lovely emerald green one. “Capes for my ladies. There’s all different colors.” He handed the one he held to Marge. “Think this will work? I didn’t know what would match, so I had them all delivered. Hope you like them.”
Vicki fingered the satin material. Her fingers glided over the silky smoothness like a feather floating on a summer’s breeze. “Oh, I love it! And this shade of blue is perfect.” She twirled it over her shoulders. “We are going to have so much fun.”
He took the red one off its hanger and extended it toward Audrey. “I hope so.”
“Why don’t you come with us?”
“Not this time.”
She slipped the cape’s one gold button into its golden loop, curtsied, then held out her hand. “May I say you look supreme. I’d like to dance, sir, if you will?”
He bowed then stepped into Betty Crocker’s outstretched arms. “Of course.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Journal entry - June 28th
Love it when she uses my basket name, but something’s bugging her.
Twice Thursday night, and once more early Friday morning, Marge dialed her daughter’s number only to stop before she keyed the last digit. It hadn’t been so much the way he danced with her, but the way he held the other ladies that warmed her heart and made her regret her decision to leave.
Even though obvious to everyone except Natalie, the girl’s costume—or lack thereof—made him uncomfortable, but he still didn’t play favorites. Danced with everyone, even the scantily clad Hawaiian princess though he held her away an extra six inches. But he didn’t dance with any of them the way he danced with Marge.
Why had she ever called Stephanie? Then again, why was he still playing the game? The answer to the first question, she knew. Calling her daughter meant she couldn’t back out as easily on her decision. Logic still told her she had to be done with all this once and for all—even if it meant losing him.
She zipped her suitcase shut, rolled it to the door, then turned around and studied her room. It hurt her heart that she’d never spend another night there. For a second, she toyed with one more call to Stephie to tell her to forget coming at all. But she chased the thought away.
“Listen to me, you silly old woman. You cannot have a relationship based on luck.” She chided herself in a whisper, stepped into the hall, and closed the door behind her. She rolled her luggage down the hall scolding herself for being such a baby. She needed to forget about him. She could and she would. If all he wanted was a good-luck girl, he wanted someone else.
At the door leading out to the patio, she felt for the light switch, then decided to leave it off, might wake Preston. After all, it wasn’t even four yet. She stepped through into the dry heat and checked the thermometer. Almost ninety degrees in the dead of night. This heat wave, she could do without.
“Good morning.”
She jumped. The sound of his bass pulled her to the right. He sat in the far patio chair. She smiled. “Actually it’s the middle of the night.”
“That it is.” He held his mug out, the one she’d bought for him in Dallas. “There’s more.”
She followed him back inside, poured the fresh pot into a carafe then joined him at the kitchen table. “Well, Buck, how’s it going?”
“Almost perfect.” He smiled, but not his usual grin. He opened his mouth a bit more than normal and his eyes sparkled extra bright. He looked into her eyes. She forgot to breathe. He leaned closer. She wanted to kiss him, hold and be held by him, but instead, she tore her gaze away and studied a scuffed spot on the stone floor.
“What’s the matter?”
She shook her head. Now wasn’t the time. “Nothing.”
He put his hand on hers. Why did he have to be so discerning? She should’ve stayed in her room.
“But I thought you were excited about going to Jefferson.”
She looked up. The moment had passed, or he had quit smiling. Maybe both.
“Oh, I am. We’ll have a ball.” She nodded. “Thank you very much for the trip. No doubt it will be delightful.”
“You’re welcome.”
She stared into those baby blues, and his smile returned. Oh how she wanted to smile back, but refrained. She wanted so badly to stay with him, never leave his side, but not bad enough to be governed by his stupid rules and always the threat of being sent away.
If only he was a control freak or pathological liar, then it would be easier to walk away. But the opposite was true, except for the game. Why did he have to put so much stock in luck? She didn’t even believe in it, all blessings came from God, that’s what scripture said. Not any mythical Lady Luck.
He touched her arm. “Penny for your thoughts.”
She focused on him. “You don’t really want to know.”
He chuckled. “Sure I do.”
She turned her head and studied her spot again. “No, believe me, you do not.” She grabbed the carafe. “More coffee?”
“Sure.” He held out his cup and leaned even closer, his shoulder touched hers. “What’s the matter, Marge? What’s got you upset?”
“You. Your game. I wish things were different.”
“They will be.”
She nodded. Yes, indeed they would. “So, we cooking breakfast?”
“Of course. Can’t send my favorite ladies out into the mean old world without feeding you all first.”
Soon he had bacon and sausage slow cooking while she chopped veggies for omelets. Before he finished mixing the biscuit dough, Audrey joined them. As if she had been doing it every day for a year with her Buck and Audrey, she whipped out a breakfast fit for royalty, and without even breaking a sweat.
Then the limo came, and it was all over. Marge would never spend another day under his roof, never get to sip coffee with him in cool of the morning. The driver paused at the entrance before leaving the Apple Orchard Ben and Breakfast, and she asked the Lord to bless her little garden. The bright yellow, red, and peach daisies waved their heads in a breeze as though bidding her fond farewell. With every mile, a hard knot of regret grew like a snowball rolling down a hill, it first clogged her chest then made its way to her throat.
She sucked her lungs full, gasping.
A thousand images of him flashed through her mind. That first day when he stood framed in the front doorway, him working in the apple orchard surrounded by their delicate blossoms, and seated at the head of the table. How could she go on without him? As the East Texas countryside rolled by, she stared out the window and wallowed in what-ifs.
The car turned off the farm-to-market onto the interstate. Once the stretched Cadillac merged into traffic and hit cruising speed, she focused on the here and now. She was going to Jefferson, staying at a great old house, and attending a costume ball, never mind all the other fun stuff planned. It would be great, and she determined not to let her decision ruin the trip. She would enjoy herself. Forget Winston Grant Preston.
Humph.
Someone she used to know.
Her new life started today, and he wasn’t a part of it.
She resolved to hold that thought, and repeatedly denied him mental access all the way to the bed and breakfast. The innkeeper led her and the other ladies upstairs to deposit their luggage. The massive oak staircase turned midway then connected to a rather large hall.
“Each of the seven rooms has a
different theme and color scheme,” the hostess explained as Marge deposited her bags in the closest. Over a hundred hummingbirds decorated its bright garden atmosphere. In no time, she joined the rest and returned downstairs for the rest of the tour. She only had to slam the door on him twenty times or so during the fifteen-minute tour of the Hale House.
She loved everything about the wonderful old Greek Revival home of spinster musician May Belle Hale, and he would, too. Oh, phooey foot, there she went again. He simply refused to be ignored, but still, ignore him she would; pay no attention to his constant intrusions into her memories, into her heart.
The history of the house fascinated her as did Miss Hale’s organ from the early eighteen hundreds. The parlor, dining room, and kitchen furnished with period pieces made it seem like stepping back in time to a more gracious, gentile period.
On the south side, a screened-in porch would be perfect for early morning coffee. The white wicker beckoned thoughts of—No, stop that now. And her guide saved the best for last. The gazebo attached to the north side porch by a covered walk and wore a crown, a lazy ceiling fan that blew a constant breeze in the face of the summer heat.
He crept back into her thoughts as she unpacked, but he wasn’t there. He would never be there with her. Her adventure to Jefferson with three good lady friends did not include him. And her days after the ball wouldn’t either. The sooner she could accept that, for certain, the better off she’d be.
A knock pulled her around. “Hey, Lady Bug.” Her door cracked opened, and Vicki peeked in. “You ready?”
“For what?”
The younger woman’s eyes widened, and she threw her hands up. “Shopping? There’s more than a hundred antique stores within walking distance.”
Marge started to decline. Didn’t really want to, didn’t want any fun to spoil her morose mourning over something that never was even in the beginning. She had every right to be sorry for herself. However, she did want to spend time with Vicki, and she may never have another opportunity. She’d grown to understand and love the misguided young woman. Perhaps Lady Luck would choose her, and Buck would be just what she needed.
“Sure, let’s go.”
* *
Vicki waited while Marge changed into tennis shoes then hurried the older woman out. For the first block of the three or so to downtown, Vicki didn’t say anything. She hoped her friend would spill her guts on her own, but by the second cross street, it became apparent she wouldn’t.
“So.” Vicki started then stepped up onto the curb. “You’re being much too quiet, Lady Bug. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, dear. I’m fine.”
“No, you definitely are not, that is unless aliens have come and sucked out your soul. I know you, Marge. So otherwise, yes, something is wrong, and you know how I am. I won’t let it go until you tell me.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
Marge laughed, not her usual good humor chuckle, more wry. “Am I that transparent?”
“Lady Bug, you always go around unzipped. That’s one of the reasons we all love you so much. You’re so true and passionate. I hate seeing you so discouraged. What is it? Please tell me.”
She smiled. “I love you, too, dear.”
“Then tell me what is it?” She stopped in the shade of a huge tree and took her hand. “Please?”
But Marge kept walking then pointed across the street. “Oh, look! The library. Let’s go have a look.”
Vicki let herself be led astray from her self-appointed rounds at the antique shops, but not for long. Like a good friend, she didn’t pressure Marge to unload while they explored Carnegie’s turn-of-the-century gift to the city, but neither did she completely forget it. Something was wrong, and she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
After the library and half a dozen shops, a possible answer hit her. She mulled it over before giving voice to her suspicions. On the sidewalk out in front of the wonderful old hardware store they’d been cruising, she grabbed Marge’s arm and stopped her. “You’re thinking about leaving aren’t you?” She held her eyes. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
Marge looked away. “I have to.”
“But why? Don’t give up. It’s almost over.”
“When we get back, that’s when it is over for me.”
Vicki took her hand. “Oh no, you can’t. Lady Bug, don’t. You’ll lose him.”
“I never had him. He belongs to his Lady Luck, and I can’t play his games anymore.” Marge shooed a fly off Vicki. “I can’t and I won’t.”
“But you heard him. Probably no one goes home this month.”
“Maybe so, but what about the next? There are still four of us - five if you count Virginia.”
“Things have changed, Lady Bug. I don’t think he wants – ”
“Oh, I know he’ll hate it. He even got drunk that first time because he could hardly stand to send Dot away, but he did.”
“See? He’s changing his rules, to make it easy on us.”
Marge smiled. “I intend to make it real easy on him. I’m leaving before he counts us up. I couldn’t stand being sent home, yet I don’t want to stay and watch you or Audrey leave. Or even Natalie either. You know how fond I am of you, dear, but it still goes all over me every time he calls you darlin’.”
“No, Marge. He doesn’t mean –”
She held up her hand, her eyes filled with tears. “Stop. Just stop it right now. I don’t want to talk about him or his game anymore. Understood?” She looked both ways then marched across the street leaving Vicki standing with her mouth open. She never heard the older woman sound so harsh.
What could she say to make her friend change her mind? Make her understand about the relationship she had with Preston? The idea of losing and being sent away bugged her, too, but she always rejected it as though she would stay forever.
Wild horses couldn’t drag her away. A life without Preston in it was no life. She hurried to catch up. “I sure hope you’ll change your mind.”
“I can’t. Everything’s already arranged with my daughter.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Journal entry - June 29th
I loved the way the cape wrapped around her when she twirled.
The younger woman kept dropping little openings as they shopped, but Marge never took the bait. She’d already said more than she should. The girl didn’t press it after Marge made herself clear that she didn’t want to talk about it. Forgetting Preston topped her list then she could put it all behind her. She wished above all she’d never seen his stupid newspaper ad.
For the most part, the afternoon proved pleasantly entertaining. The Scarlett O’Hardy’s Gone With The Wind Museum kept her mind occupied for a spell, and she even went in with Vicki and bought a great Shaker table at Three Rivers Antiques. It would fit regally in the big hall next to the French doors. Shame she wouldn’t be there when it arrived, but it was still perfect. He’d love it.
Maybe he would send her a wedding invitation, and she could see it then—if she thought she could stand watching him marry Vicki or Audrey. He surely wouldn’t choose Natalie, she was so wrong for him. But maybe Virginia. He might have left that door open because she had been his first choice all along.
By the time for the mystery folks’ cheese and wine reception, hunger about famished her. Then after a fabulous meal at Auntie Skinner’s, she managed to shove Preston to the back of her thoughts long enough to solve Diamond Bessie’s mysterious murder. It tickled her that none of the other ladies did. He would have, but he wasn’t there.
That night she resolved for the thousandth time to put him out of her mind, but ended up dreaming about skinny dipping with him in the little hidden lake. She kept telling herself she didn’t do it on purpose. The next morning while she sipped coffee and waited for the sun, he haunted her thoughts.
At least a hundred times, she thought to call Stephanie and cancel, but never picked up the phone. She was leaving. Period. Matter of fact, she was already gone, and he just didn’t k
now it yet.
She indulged in incessant chatter through breakfast and kept him off her mind, and the rest of the morning, only thought about him a half dozen times or so. Lunch with the Pulpwood Queens and meeting all those Texas authors thrilled her. She couldn’t remember when she’d laughed more.
The women in their leopard and hot pink designs with their rhinestone tiaras were the funnest, wildest bunch she’d ever met. And the queen of the Queens, Kathy was a pure hoot! And Marge got a signed book from each author. All in all, a very nice diversion.
But the works later at Beauty and the Books lent too much thinking time. Vicki strutting around in her new jacket and tiara helped some, but even the antics of the newest Queen didn’t completely sweep him from her thoughts.
The Queens alone would have fueled several early morning conversations over coffee, but those days were over. She’d never do it again. All because of his irrational, illogical, incomprehensible belief in luck. Well, she’d never considered herself lucky, and never would. She was blessed, yes, not lucky, so that was that. And he was history.
She milked that attitude for the rest of the afternoon then once it neared time to get ready, the idea of attending her first costume ball finally overcame her melancholy. Back at the Hale House while she dressed, she remembered Esther’s dilemma and decided she didn’t have to worry. At least her life wasn’t on the line.
On the surface, that logic—her very life not being at stake—argued a compelling self-debate, but as she compared other Bible stories, it hit her. Her life, or least what she wanted it to be, actually was on the line. But it would never, could never be a life based on luck. By the time she finished the last minute details, she decided to do as Queen Esther and put her trust in God.
