Poor Jim. The thirty-year-old doctor was still mourning the death of his fiancée and hadn’t even looked at another woman in months. Now he’d been attacked by two sirens dressed in hip huggers. But that was exactly what Frederick had hoped for. Whether Jim was ready or not, or interested or not, Frederick was playing matchmaker. And he prayed that Louise would target her nurturing tendencies toward Jim and no longer him.
“Allie, you just met Jim last night,” Frederick said.
“Nice to see you again, Jim.” Allie extended her hand for a brief shake. Her soft greeting and encouraging smile was met with a relieved sagging of Jim’s shoulders.
He latched on to Allie’s hand and held on a little too long for Frederick’s peace of mind. While the dull depression never left Jim’s eyes, his face relaxed and he fell in beside Allie as the group moved toward the back of the house with the Groves in the lead.
Frederick frowned. As he had last night, Frederick brought Jim as a therapeutic measure, but he hadn’t envisioned Allie being the one to give the therapy. Frederick decided to try to run interference on what looked like swift bonding before it went too far. In his estimation, Jim needed someone lively and young and unpredictable. That someone was Louise Grove. If Jim did go for lively and young and unpredictable, that would get Louise out of Frederick’s hair. So while his motives weren’t pure, they did involve his concern for his friend’s well-being.
Jim’s latest diagnosis was clinical depression. Since Felicity’s death, the guy had worked only part-time, had barely eaten, and Frederick had to insist that he iron his shorts and polo shirt tonight. Even though Jim resisted coming to the party to the point of nearly kicking and screaming, Frederick had stayed determined. He’d even texted Louise this morning and encouraged her to give “poor Jim” extra attention.
Frederick had then embarked upon a fervent fit of prayer that Louise would begin to genuinely experience feelings for “poor Jim.” While she looked nothing like the doctor’s former fiancée, she certainly had Felicity’s sanguine personality type, which perfectly complemented Jim’s melancholic–phlegmatic tendencies.
“Macy and Charlie Jr. are already out back,” Martha called over her shoulder as she opened the French doors leading to the huge backyard.
“We promised the twins we’d play football with them,” Helena admitted. The two sisters erupted onto the deck and bounded away.
“Hey, guys!” Louise hollered. “Where’s your football?”
Frederick exited the house last and closed the door behind him as the evening air cooled his face and arms. In the distance, whippoorwills serenaded the countryside and predicted the nearing night. While their calls usually held a cheerful resonance, their singing stroked a despondent chord within Frederick. The jovial conversation floating from the grill and the delightful shrieks from the football game did nothing to lift his sinking spirits.
This whole “Jim plan” was backfiring.
In silent desperation, Frederick watched as Jim gravitated toward Allie, who showed every sign of being completely tuned in to the man. The force of their instant kinship was so great, Frederick was nearly knocked over by it. Their bond must have started last night at the restaurant.
How did I miss it? Frederick pondered and recalled Jim’s talking more to Allie’s doctor friend, Sarah, than he had to Allie.
While Charlie Jr., Darren, and Sophia joined the Groves in preparing the burgers and hot dogs, Frederick plopped into a lawn chair beside Macy and blindly stared across the acres of rolling Georgia hills.
The smell of grilling meat lost appeal. Frederick gripped the chair’s armrests and considered yanking himself bald.
“I could really use another soda,” Macy hinted.
Frederick gazed at her for three seconds before her words penetrated his desperation. He’d noticed early in his relationship with the Grove clan that no one expected much of Macy. Occasionally he had detected a thread of frustration in Allie’s eyes over the issue, especially when Macy assumed her sister should take more responsibility with her sons.
“Do you want one?” She raised her brows and lifted her hair off her neck.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do,” Frederick said and was pleasantly surprised at Macy’s offer. “My blood turned into Coca-Cola years ago. I have to keep it up now or I’ll die,” he joked.
“Good,” Macy said with a weak smile. “That’s the way I feel about Diet Dr Pepper. When you get your Coke, would you bring me back a Diet Dr Pepper?” She gestured toward the outdoor service bar that featured a refrigerator, ice machine, and microwave. A roof shielded the open-walled structure from the elements.
“I’d do it myself,” Macy touched her temple, “but I haven’t felt well today. One of my headaches, you know.”
“Sure,” Frederick said through a chuckle. I guess I fell for that one, didn’t I? he thought. As he stood, Frederick glanced over the designer dress Macy bought last week on an eight-hour shopping spree. He’d been around that evening, and Macy had bragged to the rafters about all her purchases. Too bad she can’t get that enthusiastic about anything else—like parenting her own sons, for instance.
He walked toward the refrigerator laden with sodas and eyed the touch football game underway on the lawn. The football had splashed into the Olympic-sized pool, and the boys’ father had just been drafted to retrieve the ball with a net on a pole. Then Charlie Jr. joined the game. When Louise spotted Frederick looking their way, she bounded toward him. Knowing what was coming, Frederick made swift work of retrieving the sodas. He gave Macy hers and was guzzling his Coke by the time Louise was dragging him toward the other players.
“We need another guy to even out the teams,” Louise chattered.
“I’m no good!” Frederick protested. “I’m in cowboy boots.”
“So take them off!” Louise insisted. She lifted her bare toes and pointed toward a pair of spike heels lying near the deck. “We did.”
“But what about my back?” Frederick yowled.
“We’ll let you be quarterback. You don’t even have to run. Besides, it’s just touch football.” She winked and slung her hair over her shoulder in a gesture more suited for a seductive model than a backyard football maven. And Frederick decided the “big brother” lecture must come soon. Maybe tonight. And maybe if he started acting more like a big brother or a father figure with Louise, she’d quit thinking of him so romantically.
Nevertheless, Frederick determined to use this opportunity to hopefully divert Allie’s attention from Jim. “Help!” he playfully called toward the group near the grill. “I’m being kidnapped.”
“Ah, poor baby,” Sophia crooned while the rest of the group knowingly laughed.
Frederick darted a glance toward Allie in hopes that his teasing might stir at least a hint of jealousy, but she was so intent upon what “poor Jim” was saying, she never even registered Frederick’s antics.
Sixteen
Five minutes later, Jim dismissed himself for a trip to the men’s room, and Allie retrieved a bottled water from the fridge. When she raised from the task, she smelled a familiar perfume—the same fragrance she’d smelled on Sophia when she greeted her earlier. For some reason, the scent was strangely familiar and troubled Allie somewhat. Thoughtfully, Allie turned and nearly bumped into Sophia Cosby.
“Oh, excuse me,” Sophia oozed and gripped Allie’s hand. “I came in here to chat with you for a few minutes.” She glanced over her shoulder and then looked Allie square in the eyes. “I know we haven’t known each other that long, but I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate . . .”
As she began to talk, Allie was so distracted by the combination of her perfume and her full, red lips she barely registered what Sophia was saying . . . something to do with Jim Bennington and how grateful she was for Allie’s taking an interest in him. Not long into Sophia’s spiel, Allie fully recalled what perfume the redhead wore and where she’d smelled the scent before.
It was Giorgio.
It was in Frederick’s jacket.
And it was accompanied by that tube of red lipstick—the exact shade of Sophia’s lips now.
There had also been a fragrant note saying how much the writer enjoyed the previous evening.
But Sophia is Frederick’s sister! Allie thought and tried to collect her thoughts in the whirl of confusion that followed.
“Here you are, Annie dear,” Darren said as he slipped into the service bar and draped a familiar jacket across his wife’s shoulders.
“Oh, thanks so much,” Sophia said while her husband pecked her cheek and patted her shoulders. “I don’t know what I was thinking when I wore this sundress. It was perfect earlier today, but now with the night coming on, it’s getting too cool.”
“Can’t have my lady cool,” Darren crooned.
Sophia’s deep-throated chuckle hinted at marital bliss, and Darren headed back to the grill with a sassy wink for his wife.
The combination of the bottled water’s chilling her fingers and the wisp of a spring breeze sent a shiver through Allie. She stared at the familiar jacket. “I thought that was Frederick’s jacket,” she blurted.
“Oh no. It’s Darren’s.” Sophia waved her hand, and her fingers sparkled five carats’ worth.
Allie set her bottled water on the counter, crossed her arms, and hunched her shoulders against a stronger puff of wind. The seashell windchimes hanging nearby merrily clanked, and Allie wished she could feel as cheerful about some of the assumptions she’d made about Frederick.
“Did Darren just call you Annie?” she questioned while her heart sank.
“Yes.” Sophia nodded and slipped her arms into the jacket. “Anne’s my middle name. He’s called me Annie since our honeymoon. Just one of those married people things, ya know,” she said with a secretive grin while tugging the jacket tighter around her.
“Oh.” Allie gripped the counter and silently stared at Frederick’s sister. If the jacket belonged to Darren, then the note and the perfume and the Hot Lips Red all must have been Sophia’s. Frederick had told her the note was from his sister to her husband.
And I didn’t believe him! Allie admonished herself and had never felt so judgmental in her life. Sarah was right! Frederick’s not a womanizer!
“Are you okay?” Sophia questioned and leaned closer.
“Uh, yes. Yes, I’m fine. Just fine,” Allie replied. She picked up the bottled water, unscrewed the lid, and gulped the liquid until the back of her throat ached and her stomach felt full of ice.
When she lowered the bottle, she couldn’t stop the glance toward Frederick. Helena had grabbed him around the midsection in a bear hug that Allie suspected was supposed to be a football move. But it didn’t take Einstein to see that Helena was blatantly taking advantage of the situation. Frederick first raised his hands, then tried to disentangle himself from the nineteen-year-old. Just about the time he broke free, Louise made a move and didn’t let him go until she’d slipped in a kiss on his cheek. Interestingly enough, Louise and Frederick were on the same team.
Allie expected Frederick to frown or discourage her as he had Helena. He didn’t. He just laughed and threw the ball to Barry. Allie looked down at a potted fern and was hit with the force of the situation. Even if Frederick wasn’t a lying womanizer, he showed signs of immensely enjoying Louise’s company.
But what single man wouldn’t? Allie thought. She’s beautiful, vivacious, and very available. Furthermore, past and present society was full of men who had married younger women. If Frederick fell in love with Louise, he wouldn’t be the first man who’d been snared by a gal fifteen years his junior.
“Allie?” Sophia laid her hand on Allie’s arm.
She looked up into a pair of discerning brown eyes that suggested Sophia had already sensed too much.
“Did you and Frederick . . . did you know Frederick before—when he worked at Elton Mansion?”
Allie stiffened and did her best to appear casual. “Of course,” she said and didn’t even allow herself a blink. “We all did. He was our yard manager.”
“Oh.” Sophia’s gaze faltered and a veil of confusion played on her features.
Allie relaxed and hoped her act had been good enough for long-term convincing. No telling what her expression had shown when she was looking at Frederick.
She groped for a means to change the conversation and Sophia’s train of thought and recalled that tube of lipstick in her purse. Now she knew why she’d felt prompted to drop the tube in her bag. “I’ve got something I think belongs to you,” Allie said and hurried toward her leather handbag, sitting next to her chair. When she raised up from digging the Hot Lips Red from her purse, Jim was reclaiming his former seat next to hers.
“Want a bottle of water or something?” Allie asked and held up her bottle before setting it beside her purse.
“Sure.” Jim’s sad smile spoke of loss and survival.
“Okay. I’ll be back shortly,” Allie said and hurried toward Sophia as quickly as the high heels would allow. After stepping into the service bar, she held up the tube of lipstick and said, “Recognize this?”
“My lipstick!” Sophia exclaimed. She looked at the label on the bottom, removed the lid, and twisted up the tube. “Yes. It’s mine! I’ve been missing this for weeks. How did you know it was mine, and where’d you find it?”
“It was . . . uh . . .” Allie hedged and tried to decide how best to relate the story without lying, but no matter how she approached the truth, it incriminated her.
“Oh well, what does it matter?” Sophia said and fished inside the jacket until she unzipped the hidden pocket. “I’m just thrilled to have it back.” She dropped the lipstick into the pocket and rezipped it. “This was a seasonal color that’s been discontinued. I bought two identical tubes and thought I’d lost this one forever.”
“I’m glad I could help,” Allie said with a grin she hoped reflected the genuine affection she was beginning to feel for Frederick’s sister. “I just promised Jim a bottle of water, so I guess I’d better deliver.” Allie opened the refrigerator and retrieved another bottle. As she shut the refrigerator door, the grill sizzled and snapped with the promise of culinary masterpieces. Whether you could call hamburger patties and grilled wienies masterpieces, they were certainly starting to smell like works of art.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to poor Jim,” Sophia said and patted Allie’s arm. “Like I said, I’m so glad you’re taking an interest in him. He’s been a family friend for years. He’s like a brother to Frederick and me. His parents were older when he was born. They’d been married years and didn’t think they could have any children, then boom—there Jim was. Now both his parents are dead. So we’re really all the family he’s got, and we haven’t been able to pull him out of this terrible depression.”
“He told me his fiancée passed away nine months ago,” Allie said. She had immediately felt a kindred spirit with Jim because she could well relate to the loss of a fiancé, even if it wasn’t to death. Allie stole another glimpse of Frederick.
“Yes.” Sophia nodded, and her feathery, auburn hair shifted with every move. “That’s what started the depression. All he wants to do is sleep and read poetry.” Sophia grimaced and Allie hid a grin.
She and Jim had already been comparing notes on some poetry. The two of them had much in common, including their love of Robert Frost.
“Macy, come quick!” Helena’s breathless exclamation floated from near the deck.
All chatter on the deck ceased. Allie and Sophia turned toward Helena.
Macy sat straight up in her chair.
“It’s Barry! He’s throwing up!” Helena exclaimed.
The child’s father beat Macy off the deck, but she was close behind. Allie plopped the water on the counter, hustled out of the service bar, and arrived at Barry’s side shortly after Macy and Jim Bennington. The next few minutes turned into the bustle and upheaval of getting the skinny preteen into the house, where he was stretched onto the
couch and pampered more than any lapdog could ever claim.
But despite Barry’s mom, dad, aunt, and grandmother giving him 7 Up, a cold compress, and plenty of encouragement, the boy was ashen. His pulse was racing. And he wanted to go home.
“Probably a virus,” Jim said and touched Barry’s reddened cheeks. “I’ve seen several patients this week with the same symptoms. In a matter of minutes, they go from being normal to throwing up and feeling like death warmed over.”
“I feel awful.” Barry covered his eyes and restlessly stirred.
Allie and Martha exchanged a resigned glance, and Martha stepped aside to place the can of 7 Up on the end table while Allie knelt to Barry’s side. She stroked his fair hair. How the twins ranked blond hair and blue eyes when both their parents had dark hair and eyes had always been a source of mystery to Allie and the rest of the family.
“Please take me home,” Barry whimpered again.
“That’s the best thing, I think,” Jim said and stepped near Martha.
“Well, okay,” Charlie hesitantly said and looked toward Macy, who sat at her son’s feet.
“What are you looking at me for?” Macy snapped.
“He says he wants to go home,” Charlie replied and stretched to his full six two height.
“Are you implying I’m the one who should take him?” Macy retorted without ever acknowledging her husband’s power move. “Why not you?”
“You know he’s going to want you.” Charlie crossed his arms, and his knit shirt stretched tightly across broad shoulders. “They always do when they’re sick.”
“So I get to leave the party while you have a high old time. Is that it?” Macy stood up, doubled her fists, and glared at her husband.
Jim cleared his throat. Allie winced and turned her attention to her shorts-clad nephew. Everything with those two was a power struggle that apparently didn’t stop even when their children’s welfare was in question.
Possibilities: A Contemporary Retelling of Persuasion Page 12
