"The chairwoman is more of a titular role. She acts mostly as a moderator and spokesperson for the Society. The board votes on everything," Melissa explained. "If the chairwoman loses a confidence vote from the board, which can be called by at least two members, she will be replaced through an election."
"Um, in case it wasn't that obvious from the tea party, the board hates me," I said, grimacing. "I doubt they'd want to impeach Layla just because she doesn't feel the warm fuzzies for me."
Melissa's expression turned into smug amusement. "Well, they'll feel the warm fuzzies for you if they don't want me to pull Clifton House from under them. It's deeded to me. It's got government protection as a heritage home but it stayed in the family and my grandmother left it in my name. It won't be hard to convince the board to take my side. Without the Clifton House and my family's backing, the Championettes pretty much lose a leg and no one wants to hobble around."
"What about Simone?" I asked. "It’s not going to be easy to convince her to throw her best friend under the bus should the need arise."
"She's currently just a member but we've invited her to join the board," Melissa answered warily. "I understand that this will be uncomfortable for you, because apparently she and Brandon used to date, which we only found out that day of the tea party, but we've had our eye on her for about a year now especially since a lot of her philanthropic work had taken off. I hope that isn't going to be a deal-breaker for you."
As much as I hate seeing the woman my husband had slept with in the past, all of that happened before we met. It's neither their fault. And just because Simone doesn't have the stiffest backbone, doesn't mean that she can't do a stellar job of helping others who are in more dire need of it than I am.
I sighed and shook my head. "The Championettes' cause isn't for me. I have no real quarrel with Simone. I'm not going to turn away a volunteer who can be of immense value just because I don't approve of her or because she doesn't bow to my feet."
Melissa smiled. "That's the spirit, Char. Despite your crazy, bold streak, you're actually quite sensible."
I gave her a pained smile. "I know, which is why I'm going to be sensible again and say no. I don't want to coerce anybody into accepting me. I don't want to strain relationships and cause problems in the Society's efforts to do something good for others. I may not like the people there but the point is that they do go out and help, and I'm not going to stand in the way of that just to spite them."
When Melissa started to frown, I patted her arm. "I also don't want you to have to compromise your integrity and allow you to resort to blackmail for my sake. I can’t let you do that, Melissa. Not for me. I’m not worth your peace.”
Her confused expression cleared up and she smiled and shook her head. “While I won’t deny that I like you as a person and would just want you to join us for the hell of it, I’m doing this to also start a change that I believe the Society really needs. It’s time we had some fresh, new blood who will bring more to the table than some of the current members there who are stuck in their ways.”
I snorted. “No kidding.”
“I think you'll agree with me when I say that the Society had been a bit archaic in a lot of its practices, which don’t even work in today’s world the same way,” she added, her face and gestures animated that I couldn’t help but hang on to her every word and nod in assent. “I love my grandmother, don’t get me wrong, but she was from a generation with ideas that are too old to survive in this day and age. It’s a world of open global trade and social media, and where no one cares what kind of spoon you were born with.”
“Anyone can make a difference,” I agreed, remembering something Martin once said. “We live in a world where opportunity is available for those who take chances—and not just those who are highborn or highly educated or highly prospering.”
Melissa nodded. “To be honest, this generation respects the self-made man more than the trust-fund baby. It’s a complete reverse from the older mentality of the blue bloods who thumbed their noses at the tradesmen who had livelihoods.”
If Melissa was working the angle of my belief that the ordinary man was no lesser than a man of extraordinary means, she was succeeding.
“I think that having someone who believes in this new vision will help make it happen and that’s why I think you’d be a great fit for the transitioning Championettes,” she continued. “You can make a real difference, Char. The opportunity is there. You just have to seize it.”
I pursed my lips in indecision. “I know—but I can’t do it at the price of both our integrity.”
Melissa arched a brow. “Are the sensitive feelings of a few women who could use some good dousing worth the potential evolution of the Society who in turn can do more good to those who need it?”
I laughed and rolled my eyes. “Wow. You just completely destroyed my defense there. You would make a great political leader, Mel. Really.”
She flashed a self-satisfied smirk. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment. Last I heard, true political leaders are artificially charming, outright manipulative and practiced prevaricators.”
I smiled, my cheeks burning up. “You know I was just referring to the bad apples.”
Melissa grinned. “I know. It’s just that I’ve never seen a more superbly eloquent bitch-slapping than that.”
My eyes widened at Melissa’s bad word and we both laughed out loud. “I don’t know about that being so eloquent. I’m sure I mentioned something about fish intestines.”
Melissa dabbed some of the tears that leaked from the corners of her eyes. “Oh, you did. I thought Patricia was going to have a coronary right then. I’ve never felt so alive and awake in a Championette meeting than I did that last tea party.”
I narrowed my eyes at Melissa in mock-suspicion. “I have a feeling you’re recruiting me simply for my amusement value.”
“I’m recruiting you because you’re fun, Charlotte, and good-hearted,” she said, subsiding into a smile. “You don’t have to give me an answer right away. The induction ceremony will be a brunch this coming Wednesday. Let me know what you’ve decided on when you come back from your weekend trip.”
“Alright.” I glanced down at the invitation in my hand and the business card Melissa slipped on top of it, and exhaled sharply. “I’ll think about it. I’ll call you when I get back.”
Melissa touched my shoulder. “Thank you, Charlotte. I would love to have you on board with us. For once, I’m actually interested in actively taking part this time. I feel like we’re finally on to something here, you know?”
I gave her a weak smile. “Thank you for having faith and trusting me with this opportunity. It already feels difficult thinking of disappointing you.”
She beamed as we both rose from our seats. “I’m counting on that to motivate you to say yes to my offer. But don’t spoil your trip with it, Charlotte. You’re young and in love and you should enjoy every moment.”
As if her words were prophetic, Brandon stepped back out into the living room, smiling at us. “Anyone wants something to nibble on? We’ve got some chips and trail mix and pepperoni.”
When Melissa glanced at me slightly in confusion, I smiled. “We’re going camping and Brandon just cleared out the grocery for snacks. My money is still on a zombie apocalypse but he insists I’m wrong.”
Brandon winked as he came over and put an arm around my shoulders. “She’s just not willing to admit that I want to lure her out of town simply because I want her all to myself. My wife doesn’t exactly think she’s a big deal but she is, you know?”
I flushed at his playful but tenderly uttered words and I gave him a light jab on his side. “Brandon!”
Melissa laughed, her green eyes twinkling. “She is but I think the fact that she doesn’t believe it makes her all the more special.”
“That she is,” Brandon agreed, pressing a kiss on my cheek.
“Alright, I’ll leave you two so you can finish preparing for your trip,” Melissa announced as she st
arted for the door. “Thank you for sparing me a few minutes of your time.”
“Thank you for coming to see me, Mel,” I told her as Brandon and I walked with her to the door. “And for the conversation we had.”
She surprised me by leaning in and giving me a light hug. “I have a good feeling about this, Char, and do you know when was the last time I had a good feeling about anything we did at the Championetttes?”
“No. When?”
“Never.” She grinned and waved goodbye. “Have a good trip. Call me when you’ve decided, Charlotte. Enjoy your evening!”
“You too, Melissa,” Brandon called after her as we both stood by the door, watching her walk to the elevator at the end of the private foyer.
“Don’t let the zombies get you!” she said with a wink before stepping into the elevator.
When she was gone, I turned to Brandon. “She's actually quite fun. And very nice.”
Brandon smiled. “I’m glad you got along. I’ve never really spent a lot of time talking to her before but she always seemed very pleasant and down-to-earth. Her husband and I occasionally go golfing together. Tom talks a lot about his wife and his young son. I think his name’s Sander. I’ve seen him with them once or twice. The boy looks like his mother—red hair and green eyes.”
“I bet he’d be a heartbreaker like his Mom,” I said with a crooked grin as I leaned in closer to Brandon, slipping my arms around his neck. “I think I’d be pretty with red hair and green eyes. Anyone who looks that unique is just stunning. I’m a pretty generic blonde.”
Brandon put his arms around me and kissed the tip of my nose, chuckling softly. “I think generic is the last thing I will ever call you, babe. You’re perfectly beautiful to me.”
And I’m perfectly in love with you. There’s something to be said about falling in love—it’s the only kind of falling where it sort of hurts and feels good at the same time.
I beamed at him and pushed myself up on my toes to give him a slow kiss on the lips.
“Now, let’s get back to work,” I said as I pulled away and gave him a playful shove on the chest. “I want to get this show on the road.”
Chapter Seventeen: Love and Thunderstorms
“Don’t honk at the old lady!”
Brandon paused from glaring at the old Volvo in front of us and turned my way. “How do you know it’s an old lady?”
It was late next morning and Brandon was driving his shiny new SUV down Route 3 South. I’d asked him why he just didn’t decide to go with an RV since he was already blowing money on a new vehicle anyway, and he told me that he wanted us to go tent camping so that I got the full experience, sleeping bags and all.
When he’d shown me the car, he went to showcase every award-winning safety feature in it—including the straps and hooks for child car seats that he insisted were top-notch in reliability. I didn’t say anything as he went on to say that this was more practical if we needed a bigger car running about town because it had room in the back for a cooler chest, expandable seating, as well as compartments for kids’ sports gears and such. I almost blurted out why he didn’t just get a minivan along with half a dozen children since he seemed to be investing in this car as if we were going to have a mini soccer team for a brood. After our tiff at the parking lot yesterday afternoon though, I learned to be more sensitive about Brandon’s feelings. Despite our constant banter, I didn’t want to truly hurt him. If the idea of being a soccer Dad made him smile, I wasn’t going to say anything about it.
I lowered the digital camera I’d been fiddling with and gestured toward the Volvo that was slowly crawling along the road in front of us. “Just look at the bumper sticker. It says ‘Drive safe. Don’t make me call your mother.’ No frat boy would say that to you.”
“Well, she’s not driving safely herself if she’s driving ten miles below the speed limit,” Brandon grumbled as he shoulder-checked before pulling out to the left lane and passing the car quickly.
I peered through the window just as the old woman with gleaming silver hair looked up while our car sped up past hers. Even loaded practically to the ceiling with a large cooler chest and camping gear, Brandon’s monster SUV had a lot of power.
I smiled and waved at the woman before turning back to Brandon. “She’s not that bad. At least she’s driving on the right lane. Besides, I love old ladies.”
“Why?” Brandon snorted as he steered the car back into the right lane once we passed the Volvo.
I picked up the camera again and grinned at Brandon. “Because they’re old and outrageous most of the time. They can get away with anything. They could be snarky and sweet.”
Suddenly, a honk blared from behind us and we both looked up at the rearview mirror to find the old lady shaking her hand at us, flipping us the bird.
Brandon choked in disbelief. “You’ve got snarky right. And nasty too.”
We burst out laughing as we cruised away, the Volvo disappearing from our rearview mirror.
It was truly a perfect day.
The sun was hot and high up in the clear blue skies, the leaves glistening green against its light. The mostly scenic drive toward Cape Cod, where Brandon had booked us in the campgrounds of a state reservation, was only a little over an hour and we were about halfway through.
We’d left late in the morning after having some trouble packing everything in the car but Brandon didn’t worry because we weren’t going that far out of Boston. It was in the middle of summer and daylight lasted all the way to late evening. He was confident that we could get there with enough time to check in, set up camp and roast a few smokies and marshmallows in the fire before going for a walk around the beach. Since I’ve never put a tent together, I didn’t really know the difficulty of the task so I left it to him to figure out how to get us there on time.
Just like his honeymoon plans, Brandon had a lot of ideas and the determination to pull all of them off. As curious as I was, I resisted the temptation to pester him with questions or argue with him about some of his ideas that didn’t seem all that promising to me.
He’s doing this for you. Let him. Let him please you, surprise you, make you happy.
A light, airy love song came through the satellite radio as I stared out through the window and watched the passing scenery of trees. I was mildly surprised when I felt Brandon’s hand reach for mine, our fingers lacing through each other’s.
I glanced at him and saw him smiling at me before he lifted our entwined hands and set it down the right side of his lap.
We had just gone around a soft curve on the highway when an old, mint-green car pulled over on the shoulder ahead came into our view. There was some white smoke coming out from under its hood.
“Looks like someone has some car trouble,” I said as I leaned forward to peer at the figure pacing around the space between the car and the metal railing that bordered the side of the road.
“It’s a woman, Brand, and she’s holding a baby,” I told him as I got a good look. “Looks like she’s trying to hush the baby. I can see it flailing its little arms.”
“Charlotte...” Brandon’s voice trailed off cautiously.
“Pull over, Brand,” I told him. “We have to help her. She’s stuck in the middle of the highway with a wailing baby and a smoking car!”
“Alright. Fine,” Brandon said with a low groan although I already felt him slow the car down way before he agreed. “Give me a sec.”
He swerved the car to the shoulder and stopped a couple of feet away from the car. I turned on the hazard lights and unstrapped my seatbelt.
Brandon and I scrambled out of the car and approached the woman. She looked like she was in her early thirties, dressed simply in jeans and a loose floral blouse. The baby in her arms, probably no more than six months old, was shrieking his head off.
“Hi! Are you and the baby okay?” I asked.
“Y-Yes, I think so,” she answered, glancing back at her car. “The car just started smoking and making this kind
of gurgling noise. I managed to just pull over to the side before it started coughing up and stopped. I don’t know anything about cars. I have no idea what’s wrong with it.”
“I’ll go have a look,” Brandon said as he hurried to the car, which looked like one of those really old and cheap K-cars, and propped up the hood carefully.
I turned my attention back to the woman. “What’s your name?’
“Susan,” she answered, sniffling as she fought her tears. “Susan Campbell and this is my baby boy, Stuart.”
I tried to reassure her with a smile. “My name’s Charlotte and that’s my husband, Brandon. We’re just on our way to go camping but can we help with anything? Do you need to call a tow truck or something?”
Susan’s already pale, distressed expression worsened as the baby started crying harder. “I tried calling my husband but my phone just died. Even if I get to him, it’ll be a while before he can get out here, or anyone for that matter, to come get me because the whole town’s busy with the parade. I was just driving back with the crowns and trophies for the Miss Plympton pageant later today.”
I blinked. “Um...”
“The car’s overheated,” Brandon said as he walked back to us, his face shiny with sweat from the heat the car was probably still emitting. “It could be a number of things though. I don’t see coolant leaking out of it but that’s usually one common reason. I didn’t see any radiator hose or anything obvious under the hood but I couldn’t see or tinker around it very much.”
“We should probably get you a tow truck,” I said as I whipped my cellphone out from the back pocket of my denim shorts. “Do you know where the nearest mechanic around here is?”
“Kingston or Marshfield, probably,” Susan answered. “But most people around this area are probably heading down to Plympton. It’s the town’s summer festival today. It’ll be a good hour, hour and a half, before we can find someone to come out here and I can’t stay here that long. The pageant is in an hour. I need to get these crowns and trophies up on the stage for display before the program starts. We were supposed to have gotten these two days ago if my husband’s secretary hadn’t screwed up the order. My God, he’s going to be so embarrassed!”
The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield Page 42
