A Hickey for Harriet & a Cradle for Caroline

by Nancy Warren

  “Now what? You tell Caro she needs to haul a case of champagne?”

  She shot him a withering glance, glad she could tell him about her stroke of genius. “I enlisted Fanny. When Harriet gives Jon the message, that’s Fanny’s cue to send Caro on some errand to the wine cellar. Did you remember to set up the table and chairs and put the bottle of wine and two glasses in there?”

  “Of course.”

  “Oh, good. I’m so excited. If we can get Jon and Caro back together, it will be the best birthday present Fanny could have.”

  “I can think of a few ways we could celebrate, too, as soon as that wine cellar’s free.”

  As she made some laughing comment back to him, she noticed he was looking past her. “Oh, no.” An expression of horror crossed his face.

  “What is—”

  “Emergency. Mayday, Mayday. Trouble’s coming through the door.”

  Tess turned to look and gasped. “I can’t believe this!” Lori Gerhardt had just walked in.

  “How did she get in?”

  “I don’t know,” Mike said grimly, already striding for the door, “but I know how she’s getting out.”

  “And I’m pulling the plug on the wine cellar gig,” she said, seeing how easily her innocently devised plan could be misinterpreted. If Caro found out Lori had been here while she’d been locked in the wine cellar…Tess shuddered.

  The first thing she had to do was to stop Jonathon from going down there. She searched for him, and, as though in a nightmare, she watched him work his way through the crowd, obviously on his way to the wine cellar.

  Lori Gerhardt, her gaze fixed on Jon’s back like a stealth bomber locked on to its target, followed him. Tess raced through the crowd, barging into bodies as she tried to cross the room to cut Lori off, but the other woman was much closer to Jonathon than she. Lori’s dyed and teased blond head disappeared through the side door moments after Jonathon, before Tess was halfway across the busy bar.

  She shot an anguished glance at Mike, who was only a few feet ahead of her. Doggedly, he kept moving for the door.

  Tess decided to leave Lori to Mike. Her best bet now was to stop Caro. She searched for Fanny, and was in time to see her talking to Caro, who had her head bent, listening and nodding. Then Caro headed for the side door, which led to the wine cellar. The one Jon and Lori had just passed through.

  Tess started to sweat as she shoved and pushed through. She had to get to Caro.

  JON WHISTLED as he entered his mother’s wine cellar. In fairness, it was his father’s wine cellar, and for a moment the sight of all those bottles his father had lovingly collected during his lifetime brought back poignant memories.

  Their house in town hadn’t met with Hector Kushner’s rigid rules of perfect wine storage, but the huge cellar beneath Fanny’s Roadhouse was perfect. She’d complained that he took all the room, not leaving her enough space for a decent beer locker, but her grousing hadn’t had any heat behind it, and his dad had gone ahead.

  Built into rock, it was consistently cool, but never cold, in winter and summer, and the racks of vintage wine lay in their custom-made bins, quietly aging and mostly undisturbed.

  As they gained complexity and flavor, they also gained value. There was a fortune here, Jon thought, shaking his head. He and his brothers occasionally lightened it by a few bottles, but they also added newer vintages to keep the collection going.

  Fanny wasn’t a big wine drinker and even though she’d threatened a few times to serve the rare bottles as house wine, he had a feeling she took comfort in here remembering her husband, just as he did.

  He shook off his memories, along with the sadness that he’d likely never have a son to pass the legacy on to, and bent to fetch another case of the champagne Fanny insisted on having.

  It had appeared to him that there was plenty of champagne already upstairs, but this was her business and she had a sense of these things. Besides, she was his mother and he did what he was told.

  “Jon, we have to talk.”

  He almost dropped the heavy case of champagne when he heard those words.

  For an instant, hope leaped in his chest as the woman’s voice echoed against the stone walls. But, even distorted, he quickly realized the voice wasn’t Caro’s.

  She didn’t want to talk. As far as he could tell, Caro wanted to fry up his liver with onions and bacon.

  A bad feeling prickled the back of his neck as he turned slowly, only to have his worst nightmare confirmed.

  “I thought you were in Houston,” he said to Lori, forcing himself to remember that it wasn’t okay to hit girls.

  “I came back. Heard you’re living all alone now.”

  Anger at this woman for her contribution to his messed-up marriage consumed him. “This is a private party and you aren’t invited,” he said as calmly as he could. Any woman who went after married men had to have a couple of screws loose. He tried to remember that.

  “A private party is exactly what I had in mind,” she said.

  He stared at her, wondering how she could possibly think he had the slightest interest in her. Since she wasn’t getting the message, he decided to take his champagne upstairs to the safety of the crowd and get somebody else to deal with Lori. If Caro saw them together…

  He took a step toward the doorway with the case of champagne heavy in his arms before he noticed the slight movement behind the door.

  “Hold the door,” he yelled, but he was too late. He heard the heavy door shut before he could stop it, and then he heard the clicking sound as it was locked from the outside.

  He felt as if he’d stumbled into a horror movie. He was trapped in the wine cellar with the woman who’d wrecked his marriage. And Caro was out there somewhere.

  “Are you behind this?” he all but shouted as he placed the crate on the floor and stomped to the door. As he’d feared, it was locked.

  He banged on the door furiously, but there was no reply.

  “We were interrupted last time,” the woman behind him cooed in what he assumed was supposed to be a seductive whisper but only set his teeth on edge.

  He could rant and rail at Lori, but what was the point?

  He needed to get out of here and fast. Maybe if he was very, very lucky, he could be behind the bar fast enough that Caro wouldn’t know he’d left.

  He reached for his cell phone, then realized with a groan that he’d taken off his jacket to tend bar.

  Until someone heard him banging on the door, he was stuck here, locked in the wine cellar with Lori.

  He didn’t think a worse disaster could befall him.

  He was wrong.

  “Jonathon,” Lori said.

  He turned around to see her standing there, her dress lying on the floor. All she had on was a see-through black bra and wispy lace thong, thigh-high black stockings and shiny black heels.

  8

  WHAT WAS SHE doing torturing herself? Caro wondered. She should go home and try to balance her checkbook if she wanted more pain. At least she’d have something useful to show for her time.

  “Care for an appetizer?” a waiter said, holding out a tray.

  She should stop eating, but the little dainties were so good she was making a pig of herself. She reached automatically for a prawn because she loved seafood, but at the last second her stomach said no and she took a baby asparagus spear instead. Her stomach was acting so strange lately. It was amazing what stress could do to a person.

  She wondered how long she’d have to remain at the party feeling miserable, when Fanny interrupted her thoughts. “Thank you for talking Jon out of that stuffed-shirt surprise party. I’m having a ball here in my own place.”

  “You are the prettiest eighty-year-old I’ve ever seen,” Caro said, kissing Fanny’s flushed cheek.

  “I’m having more fun than a linebacker at a Friday night buffet.”

  “I’m glad.” And she was. She had to stop thinking about herself and start enjoying Fanny’s happiness.

>   “Look,” the older woman said. “Jon’s got some kind of fancy cake hiding in the big fridge in the kitchen. I think this is the perfect opportunity to drink some of his dad’s frou-frou dessert wine.” She handed Caro a slip of paper. “You’ll find it in the wine cellar. Bring up two bottles, will you? I wrote the name on there and that’s a map of where to find it in the cellar.”

  “But shouldn’t Jon or one of his brothers…?”

  Fanny shook her head. “I love those boys, but they fuss more than peacocks in a rainstorm. The stuff’s worth a fortune, but their dad would want me to do this.”

  “All right.”

  Excusing herself, Caro headed for the cellar stairs.

  She’d almost reached them when Tess grabbed her arm. “Caro, thank goodness I found you.”

  Tess sounded out of breath and one of the shoulder straps on her dress had slipped down her arm. Behind Tess she saw Mike, also breathing heavily, a sheen of sweat on his brow. They must have been on the dance floor.

  “We arrived together,” she said, wondering what had put the panic on her friend’s face. “Where did you think I was?”

  Tess laughed a little wildly and glanced at Mike. He started to laugh, too.

  Seemed they’d been drinking more than sparkling water. It looked as if she’d be driving them all home. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go get something for Fanny.”

  “I’ll get it!” said Mike. “You stay here and talk to Tess.” He bolted through the door, almost slamming it in her face.

  Caro’s eyes narrowed. “He doesn’t know what Fanny asked me to get.”

  Tess’s laugh approached maniacal. “He’ll assume it’s more beer. Let me know what she asked for and I’ll go and tell Mike.”

  Caro wasn’t a suspicious person by nature, but she wasn’t a moron, either. Then Harriet appeared, looking pale and nervous. “Caro, I was looking everywhere for you. I need to ask you something.” She glanced at Tess as though for inspiration. “In, um…in private. Can we go to the washroom?”

  “Okay,” Caro said, folding her arms. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” said Tess.

  “I’ll tell you in the bathroom,” said Harriet and, grabbing Caro, began to tug.

  Harriet was an amateur athlete who could do back flips and one-handed cartwheels and Lord knew what else, while Caro was willow-slender and excelled in flexibility rather than strength.

  It would be no great feat for Harriet to simply drag her to the washroom against her will.

  Caro did, however, have a weapon. “Harriet,” she said sternly, “I’m wearing my Blahniks with the skinny heels. I will step on your foot and bring you to your knees if you don’t stop dragging me.”

  Harriet dropped her arm and blushed. “Sorry,” she said, looking sheepish.

  “Tess. Move away from that door,” Caro said to her best friend, who was leaning against the door.

  Tess’s shoulders slumped in defeat and she stepped away. “Caro, please don’t go down there.”

  Caro pulled open the door and stepped through.

  “Look,” said Tess from behind her, “whatever happens, it wasn’t Jon’s fault. It’s mine.”

  What on earth was going on? She’d never seen her friends act so strange. Not all at once, anyway. As Caro walked down the stairs into the dimness she heard banging—like a fist on a door.

  Something very strange was going on and for some reason nobody wanted her to know what.

  Her shoes clacked on the cement as she followed Fanny’s instructions and made her way down the steps. The banging was louder as she turned left. In fact, the pounding was coming from inside the wine cellar.

  Next to the door, Mike and Steve were on their hands and knees, peering at the ground.

  “Is that a spectator sport or can anyone play?” Caro asked, feeling amusement curl her stomach.

  Mike shot her an anguished glance and rose, as did Steve, who appeared harassed and red-faced.

  Mike threw his hands in the air and jerked his head toward the shamefaced Steve. “Guy’s got a hundred-and-eighty IQ and he loses the key to the wine cellar. After locking in the wrong woman.” His tone had risen with each word and ended on a ferocious shout.

  Fanny had a spare key and Caro was about to mention it when she looked more closely at Steve. “Check your shirt pocket,” she said. One side was hanging lower, she always noticed details like that.

  “What happened? Did the party move down here?” Fanny said, coming around the corner, her own high heels clattering.

  With a glare at Steve, Mike grabbed the key out of his hand and yelled, “Okay, Jon. We’re getting you out.”

  “Caro, why don’t you—”

  “Don’t even think about it,” she said, overcome by curiosity, angling herself so she’d have a great view when the door opened.

  Mike shrugged, shot an anguished glance at Tess, who was all but wringing her hands behind Caro. “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault,” she said.

  Mike unlocked the door. It opened wide and Caro saw her husband’s furious face first, and behind him, Lori Gerhardt nonchalantly snapping the front closure of a black bra which left nothing to the imagination.

  The woman shot a big-eyed glance at Caro, bit down on her plump bottom lip and said, “Oops, looks like we got interrupted again, honey.”

  Jon took a step toward Caro and stopped.

  Silence reigned for a good ten seconds.

  No one moved.

  “Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit. Look who fell out of the floozy tree and hit every branch on the way down,” Fanny said behind Caro.

  9

  “YOU TOOK my exact measurements,” Caro said. “How did this dress end up so tight?” She shifted uncomfortably in her bridesmaid dress, which she and Tess had chosen together. It was a simple and elegant pale green silk with no flounces, ribbons, trains or lace.

  But, because of the gown’s simplicity, fit was important. The woman had obviously measured wrong since the resulting dress was too tight in the waist and bust.

  “You must have put on weight,” the fitter said with more honesty than tact.

  Caro, who had been wolfing food some days and unaccountably picky on others, supposed it was possible. But she’d spent too many years in modeling to be happy with a less than perfect fit.

  “Perhaps you could let it out,” she said. The dressmaker grunted around a mouthful of pins. “I can only do this once.”

  Did she think Caro was planning to go from a size six to sixteen in a couple of weeks?

  Of course, given the way her life had been going lately, she wouldn’t be surprised.

  She still hadn’t recovered from Fanny’s birthday bash, but then she wondered if anyone who’d been in the cellar when the door opened would ever recover.

  Caro hadn’t known whether to laugh, cry or throw herself to the ground and drum her heels on the floor that night. Since her emotions had overwhelmed her, she’d done what she always did when she felt as if she was losing control.

  She’d left.

  Jon hadn’t chased her, as she’d half thought he would. He hadn’t called her the next day, either.

  Almost a week had gone by and he still hadn’t called.

  He was the only one who hadn’t. She’d received apologies and explanations from Tess, Harriet, Steve, even Mike. Fanny had called to see how she was.

  “Fine. I’m fine,” she’d said to Fanny as she’d said to them all.

  “Jon saw the party through, but I tell you that boy looked like he was rode hard and put away wet.”

  Fortunately, Tess hadn’t been so cryptic. “After you left, Jon tore a strip off Lori Gerhardt and she stomped away so fast she didn’t have time to zip her dress.” She’d paused. “I know this isn’t my business, but I really don’t think—”

  “You’re right. It’s not your business.” They’d never mentioned it since.

  Caro didn’t think Lori Gerhardt could have done her a bigger favor. Seeing
her once more half-naked in Jon’s vicinity, the blinders had fallen from Caro’s eyes. If she knew anything about Jon it was that he wouldn’t mess with a woman in his mother’s wine cellar. And if he wouldn’t do that, why would he take that same woman to his wife’s bed?

  He wouldn’t.

  Maybe some of those self-help books were getting through to her because she was beginning to accept that part of her despair—and her willingness to run at the first hint of trouble in her marriage—was because of her empty womb.

  Had she become so insecure that she believed her husband would cheat on her because she couldn’t conceive? It had been easier to run than to face the fact that there were cracks in her once-perfect marriage.

  Why couldn’t love be enough?

  But she was beginning to see that it wasn’t enough. It was the foundation on which everything else rested, but they needed ways to work out problems. She had to start facing trouble instead of pretending it didn’t exist or running from it, and Jon needed to accept that he couldn’t fix everything.

  Wouldn’t it be wonderful if they could make a new start? Maybe get some counseling, as Jon had suggested. And she must accept that not being perfect was okay. Perhaps they could adopt a child, or take in needy kids.

  She sniffed and blew her nose.

  When he called, she’d suggest they meet and she’d share with him some of her feelings. It scared her to her bones to think of baring her soul like that, but she knew she had to trust him with her insecurities just as she’d trusted him with her heart.

  As soon as he phoned, she’d be ready.

  She remembered the image of Lori nearly naked and Jon so mad he looked ready to combust, and she was determined to go easy on him.

  He still had to grovel a bit, though. He’d embarrassed and humiliated her all over town, although she had to admit it wasn’t entirely his fault. When he called, she’d forgive him.

  But every day, her eager anticipation ended in frustration. Her calls were work-related, friend-related, charity-work-related. None was Jon-related.