Sass & Serendipity

by Ziegler, Jennifer

  It suddenly occurred to her that this could be one of Fate’s harsh trials: seeing whether she could withstand Luke’s courting her at a nineteenth-century pace. Of course! That had to be it.

  She glanced over at the front counter, where Luke was retrieving his green-and-white-striped basketball shoes, and smiled to herself. She could endure this. She’d always wanted her handsome prince, and she’d finally found him. Now she just needed to stop blaming him for acting princely.

  She could wait, just like all those women whose lovers were sent off to war. She could be patient and strong and martyrlike. And then, when Luke finally took their relationship to the next level, it would be that much sweeter.

  It would be epic.

  Daphne had it so easy. She could whine and stomp and sniffle and get to do whatever she wanted, all the time.

  It was only days until the dreaded move, and Gabby couldn’t help thinking of this time as a long pause or an ellipsis—or a stay on death row before execution. And most of it was being spent packing, cleaning, and working at the theater. So here it was, one of the few hours Gabby had open, and what did she get to do? Deliver the signed rental agreement to the snooty Applewhites.

  She understood that her mom couldn’t do it. Gabby had already dropped her off at Anderson’s Hardware so she could get a few necessary home repair items and maybe track down some more empty boxes. But since when had bowling become a priority? It was as though Daphne was taking advantage of their mother’s distracted state to get her way.

  Feeling that it would be presumptuous to take a spot in the carport, Gabby parked the Jetta on a worn grassy area and climbed out into the warm, rose-scented air. The estate was at least two acres, probably more, and she had to stand in the middle of the curved gravel driveway just to fully take in the surroundings.

  Next to the covered parking area stood what was most likely the rental home, a tidy yellow cottage with white shutters and a railed-in front porch. It seemed nice enough, but Gabby refused to like it. Besides, who knew what it was like on the inside? It could be full of radon and termites and the ghosts of murdered tenants.

  She abruptly turned away and headed for the main house, a beautifully maintained white Victorian with a wraparound front porch, transom windows, and so many staggered roofs, it reminded her of a tiered wedding cake. Gabby hated it on sight. She hated the way it sat so smugly on the hill, looking down on everything around it. She hated the way the scroll-ornamented eaves of the gables hung down over the windows, giving them a heavily lidded, haughty appearance. But mostly she hated it because Prentiss lived there, all safe and spoiled.

  In fact, the house was just like him—striking, but in a way that made those who beheld it feel inferior.

  Gabby blew out her breath and trudged up the drive, turning onto a paved walkway. Meanwhile, the majestic home loomed in the distance like the Death Star. It was so big, in fact, that it took longer to make it to the front door than she had anticipated. The place was much larger up close. Even the hedges were taller than she was. She felt like a trespassing bug.

  She rang the doorbell and stepped back—either to allow a respectful distance or because she half expected a giant to step out. Several seconds passed and no one replied. So she rang again. Then a third time.

  Finally the door opened and a woman stood on the threshold. She was tall and slender, with Prentiss’s light blue eyes and blond hair cut in a sassy bob.

  “Mrs. Applewhite?” Gabby guessed.

  The woman nodded. “Are you Gabriella?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry if you had to ring several times.” She glanced down at a diamond-studded wristwatch. “You’re a little late.”

  “Um, yes. Well, we only have one car and …” Gabby stopped. No reason to tell their life story. “Sorry about that.”

  Mrs. Applewhite smiled and genuine-looking warmth crept into her face. “No matter. Please come in.” She stepped back, pulling the door with her, and Gabby crossed into the hardwood foyer. A wooden staircase sat at the rear and a chandelier hung over their heads. Double doors stood on either side, one pair hanging open.

  “Prentiss was expecting you, but he had to go run an errand,” she went on. “Typically he answers the door. Our quarters are in the back part of the house, and sometimes we can’t hear the bell. But he’s usually in the den”—she gestured to an elaborate living room off to her right, faintly visible through the open, curtained doors—“and his bedroom is close by”—she pointed above her—“so we’ve come to rely on him to greet visitors.”

  Quarters? A house so big you couldn’t hear the doorbell from certain rooms? Gabby was suddenly all too aware of her clearance-rack clothes and worn tennis shoes.

  “Please, won’t you come sit down?” Mrs. Applewhite made a sweeping gesture toward the living room, and Gabby automatically obeyed.

  The room was big—almost as large as their current two-bedroom bungalow—and although it wasn’t exactly opulent, it was tastefully furnished with Asian rugs and antique furniture. Gabby headed for a linen-covered parlor chair and suddenly halted.

  There, staring back at her from the mahogany sofa console, was an eight-by-ten photo of Sonny.

  Something wedged in Gabby’s throat, trapping her breath and sending wetness into the corners of her eyes. She’d forgotten the connection. It seemed strange, since that was why she’d opposed the rental agreement in the first place, but lately she’d been so consumed with tasks and family hassles. Besides, she hadn’t expected to see Sonny’s picture on display. One would think it would be especially hard for the Applewhites to see his face, considering their own son was responsible for his death—not to mention that they’d taken advantage of rumors in a desperate PR attempt to clear his name. Did these people have no shame? Or did they exist in constant denial?

  She studied Sonny’s smiling face, frozen in the polished silver frame. He looked so young. Fifteen. She was older than him now.

  “That’s our Sonny,” came Mrs. Applewhite’s voice from behind her. “Poor dear. He was my brother’s eldest child. Did you know him?”

  Gabby hesitated. “No. But I … knew who he was.”

  “Such a beautiful boy.” She stepped forward and lifted the photograph, shaking her head sadly.

  For several seconds, neither of them spoke. The sudden somber mood seemed to thicken the air. Gabby tried to calculate whether the joy of screaming in the home of one of Barton’s most powerful residents would be worth her mother’s wrath, her sister’s hysterics, and a move to a seedy apartment.

  “Please,” Mrs. Applewhite repeated, nodding toward the seating area. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  Gabby decided to continue playing the part of the appropriately awestruck townsperson. “Thanks,” she said, and resumed her walk toward the parlor chair. The upholstery was so crisp and white, Gabby instinctively swiped the seat of her blue jeans before sitting down. “I brought the lease. It’s signed,” she said. She pulled an envelope out of her bag and tapped it against her knees.

  “Yes. Thank you.” Mrs. Applewhite replaced Sonny’s photo and took the envelope from Gabby. “So,” she said, settling onto the curvy patterned sofa, “Prentiss tells me you work at the theater.”

  Prentiss had been talking about her? “Um, yes. I do.”

  “You must be very responsible. And what about your sister? What does she do?”

  Gabby pursed her lips. Let’s see, lie around daydreaming and chase brainless boys? “She’s into cheerleading and stuff,” she said. “She’s always been more … athletic than me.”

  Mrs. Applewhite nodded. “I was a cheerleader myself in high school. Seems like ages ago.” She stared dreamily up at the ceiling. “Well then. I do appreciate your family’s cooperation. The paper is such a silly formality, but our lawyer makes us do them.”

  “I understand.” Knowing their son, it wasn’t hard to imagine they had a team of lawyers available at all hours of the day.

  “Really, I have no d
oubt that everything will be fine.”

  “Thanks. We”—Gabby swallowed—“we’re glad to be here.”

  “I’m glad, too,” Mrs. Applewhite said with a light laugh. “If you need anything, just talk to Prentiss. Henry and I are so busy with the library fund-raiser, we aren’t home all that much. We’ve come to depend on him quite a bit. But not to worry. I’m sure you’ll find he’s very responsible and easy to deal with.”

  Gabby froze her smile to prevent a grimace.

  “Well then …” Mrs. Applewhite rose to her feet and gestured back toward the foyer. “Welcome to the property. We hope you like your new home.”

  “Thanks,” Gabby said, following her to the front door. She felt a little rushed but also relieved that her task was done. She tried to glance back at Sonny’s picture, but Mrs. Applewhite had turned it to face the other direction when she’d set it down.

  “I’m so happy we could make this happen,” Mrs. Applewhite added with a smile. “I hope things work out well for you all and that you stay for a very long time. We’ll be in touch.”

  Gabby nodded and stepped back out onto the porch.

  She’d wanted to actively hate Prentiss’s mom, but other than being a little erratic, she wasn’t bad to deal with. Gabby had wanted to hate the rental house, too, but it also lacked any obvious exterior flaws. Even the grounds were lovely.

  There was no escape route, no excuse she could find to back out of the deal. Like it or not, she would soon be living under the raised noses of the Applewhites.

  The carpet in the Applewhites’ rental house looked brand-new. It even smelled new, giving off faint chemical fumes that Gabby was fairly sure cooked their inner organs with every breath.

  “Gab, look. Look how it springs back up.” Daphne dug her sneaker into the carpet for a couple of seconds and then stepped back onto the shiny kitchen linoleum. The mushed fibers gradually straightened, like seedlings stretching toward the sun, until her footprint was barely visible.

  “Whup-de-do,” Gabby muttered. Only, Daphne didn’t hear her. She was already skipping off to admire the high-end dishwasher.

  Gabby had to admit the place was nice—for slave quarters. Even the paint job looked professional. When Prentiss said he’d done it himself, he probably meant that he had hired people and paid them all by himself with his mommy’s credit card. She reached forward and brushed her fingers over the orange-peel texture of the dining room wall. The color made her hungry, reminding her of key lime pie. The trim was a milky white.

  “Wow. I can walk into the pantry,” came Daphne’s muffled voice from the kitchen. “It’s bigger than Mom’s closet at the other place.”

  “Joy,” Gabby grumbled.

  She knew she should be happy about the house and the fact that it, amazingly, cost about the same per month as the rundown hovel they’d just vacated. But somehow she wasn’t. For one thing, their furniture looked extrashabby in the Pottery-Barn-catalog setting. And it irked her how Daphne kept racing about, oohing and ahhing over every tiny detail. The carpet stays standing! The cabinets close all the way! You don’t have to wait ten minutes for hot water to come out of the faucet! One would think they’d been holed up in a dirt-floor shack all these years, using an outhouse and bathing in the nearby creek.

  “The top one goes in the bedroom, and the big one stays here in the living room.” Mrs. Rivera stepped into the house right behind Prentiss, who was holding two large boxes in his arms. “Thank you again.”

  “Not a problem, Mrs. R,” Prentiss said, carefully depositing the bottom box onto their stained, scratched coffee table. He flashed Gabby a smile before retreating into the nearby bedroom with the next box.

  That was another thing—probably the worst part of all. Prentiss, for some reason, had decided to help them move in. He’d been there when they arrived that morning and made a big show of presenting each room. “This is the bathroom,” he’d actually said at one point, gesturing to the white subway tiles, the periwinkle walls, and the (also brand-new-looking) toilet, as if they were prizes in a game show. Gabby almost bit her tongue off to keep from saying “Yeah, duh. Think we could have figured that out.”

  It also bothered her that he insisted on carrying in the large boxes from the car. Yes, it was helpful and polite and all that crap, but he was touching their stuff! He was pawing her books and her big outdated computer—and he even carried in a bulging bag full of her jeans!

  Thank god the men they’d rented the truck from had already unloaded the heavy furnishings the day before. Gabby would have melted with humiliation if Prentiss Applewhite had helped bring in their stained, garage-sale-bought mattresses.

  Speaking of which … where the hell were the bed linens?

  Prentiss walked back into the room. “I don’t think there’s much left in the car. Y’all stay and take a breather. I can get it.”

  Gabby’s mom let out a happy sigh and shook her head. “Thank you, Prentiss. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

  Prentiss just stood there, smiling dopily, as if he expected a pat on the head and a Scooby snack. Finally, he gave a nod and ducked out the door.

  “I swear that boy is a savior,” Mrs. Rivera said, staring at the air where Prentiss’s athletic frame had just been.

  Gabby rolled her eyes. Lately she couldn’t understand her mom. Usually the two of them thought alike. They were the reasonable ones in the family. The ones who saw the world as it really was. And yet during the past few days she’d sounded more like Daphne with the way she regarded Prentiss as some knight in shining armor. If Gabby believed in storybook magic the way Daffy did, she’d seriously wonder whether her mother had fallen under a powerful spell.

  She supposed she should be happy that Mom was happy. The perpetual line between her mother’s brows had softened, and her eyes didn’t have that sunken look. That was a good thing. And yet Gabby refused to let her guard down and give in to the Prentiss worship. Someone had to stay on alert around him. Someone had to remember his awful past. People didn’t change—not really.

  “Can you believe there are flowers out front?” Mrs. Rivera said as she stared out the living room window. “I sure hope we can keep them alive.” She reached back and grabbed Gabby’s hand, pulling her up beside her. “It’s pretty here, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Gabby lied. Actually, one of the worst things about the new place was its view. If they ever got to feeling too hopeful, too cozy or prosperous, all they had to do was gaze out the front window at Applewhite Manor and their egos would automatically snap back down to their normal, scrawny size.

  “Oh, my god! I love the pool!” Daphne appeared at Gabby’s side, pointing to the glimmer of blue behind the mansion. “Can you imagine being able to swim anytime you want? They must have no stress at all.”

  The three of them stood there for a moment, gawking at all the opulence. Like rabble on the palace grounds.

  “That reminds me,” Mrs. Rivera said, letting go of Gabby. “I need to figure out which bag contains my medicine. I really don’t want to get a migraine today.”

  She headed through a nearby door into her new room. They had already agreed that the girls would take the back bedroom since it had two closets and was large enough to accommodate their twin beds, dresser, and desk, while their mom would take the smaller bedroom since it was, as she put it, “closer to the coffeepot.”

  “This is the last of the big ones.” Prentiss walked back through the front door cradling a massive cardboard box marked Miscellaneous. “Where do y’all want me to put it?”

  Gabby bit her tongue again.

  “Oh, just set it down wherever,” Daphne replied.

  Prentiss turned in a slow circle before carefully lowering the box onto the sofa. Gabby noticed how the muscles of his tanned arms actually rippled, just like those of heroes described in Daphne’s romance novels. Gabby had always thought it was dumb, a way to imply that a man’s power somehow matched that of running water. But there really was a wavy flow to
the movement.

  The rippling stopped and Gabby suddenly realized that Prentiss was looking right at her, smiling that idiotic grin of his.

  “Gonna be a warm day,” Daphne said, gazing through the window at the sky. “Think you might go for a swim later?”

  Oh, no. Gabby knew exactly what her sister was up to. No way was she going to let Daphne bounce about in her bikini in front of Prentiss—invited or not. Prentiss plus deep water could equal a serious safety concern.

  “Ooh, Daff, did you remember to get your prom dress out of the car?” Gabby asked in a worried voice. “It’s going to get all wrinkled.”

  That did it. Daphne stretched up extratall to stare out at the Jetta, looking like a scared prairie dog. Then she pushed past Gabby and trotted out the front door.

  “Y’all are welcome to come swim later,” Prentiss said.

  Ah, the feudal lord extends an invitation to the poor country peasants! How charitable. Gabby stared down at the springy carpet to keep from making a face. “That’s okay,” she said. “We have stuff to do.”

  “Right. Well then …” Prentiss stretched out his arms and Gabby couldn’t help stealing a glance at his muscles. “You girls should keep this door locked. Y’all aren’t all that far from the road. And some of these windows are kind of stuck from the paint. I’ll come back and loosen them up for y’all.”

  “Don’t bother. Really.”

  His eternal smile faltered. Gabby knew it sounded rude, but she had to say it. She had to limit his presence. The others might be gaga over his nice-guy act, but not her. Some things could never be forgiven.

  “We’re not girls,” she added. “We’re totally capable of moving into a place by ourselves.”

  “Sure. I was just saying—”