New Uses For Old Boyfriends

by Beth Kendrick

  Daphne didn’t hug her back. Instead, she pulled out of Lila’s embrace, got to her feet, and planted her hands on her hips.

  “How did this happen, young lady?”

  Lila could still smell traces of acrid smoke in her hair. “Well . . .”

  “Deputy Sanderson said that ridiculous SUV of yours just burst into flames?”

  “I don’t understand it, either.” Lila recounted what the firefighters had said about the FUV. “The electrical system was always wonky. Ben kept telling me to get it checked, and I meant to get around to it, but—”

  “But you were too busy taking care of the house and the store.” Daphne wrapped one hand around the porch railing. “And me.”

  Lila hung her head in shame. “I was also too busy to make sure we had inventory insurance.” She didn’t dare look up at her mother. “Everything’s gone and it’s my fault.” She remembered the note of pride in her father’s voice when he spoke of this house, the palace by the sea he’d built for his wife and daughter.

  She could hear her mother sniffling, and sure enough, when she finally glanced up, tears were streaming down Daphne’s face.

  “Well, that’s it, then,” Daphne murmured, her body sagging against a support post. “It’s over. It’s done. This house is as good as gone.” She gave herself a little shake, straightened up, and turned back toward the door.

  “Wh-where are you going?” Lila trailed after her.

  Daphne’s stride barely slowed as she pushed open the front door. Then she stopped in the front hall to check her reflection in the antique Italian glass mirror. She smoothed back her hair, she pinched her cheeks, and then she announced, “I’m going to take a long, hot bath. I’m going to go to bed. And tomorrow morning, I’m going to call that Realtor and have her list the house for sale.”

  Her mother’s sudden segue into brisk efficiency alarmed Lila more than tears and hysterics ever could. “Maybe there’s still a way to save it,” Lila said. “Give me a day or two to figure this out. There has to be some other option, something we haven’t thought of yet.”

  “I spent thirty-three years decorating and redecorating these rooms.” Daphne glanced around the darkened foyer, her expression unreadable. “Thirty-three years.”

  “I know.” Lila’s chest tightened as a whole new level of guilt and regret set in. “You poured your heart and soul into it.”

  “Wrong.” Daphne cut her off with a swift chopping motion. “This is—was—my house, Lila. Wood and metal and plaster. Not my heart. Not my soul.”

  “But you love it,” Lila said.

  Daphne’s expression slackened as she stopped looking at the artwork and furniture and looked down at her hands. “I loved the people who lived here. But your father’s gone and you’ve grown up, and I’m, well . . . I’m not exactly sure who I am these days. But I can’t go back to who I was before I got married, and I can’t stay here and pretend nothing’s changed. This”—Daphne gestured to Lila’s disheveled, soot-stained clothing—“is a sign.”

  “A sign?”

  “A sign that it’s time for me to move on.”

  “Move on to where?” Lila could hear the panic in her own voice.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking about that.” Daphne adopted the cool, calculating mannerisms she displayed when wearing her glasses. “And I think I’m going to call Cedric and ask if he knows of any vintage clothing dealers who need a buyer. Remember Tara, that woman I almost had to assault for the monokini? I could do her job.”

  “But she travels, Mom. Constantly. By herself. To, like, London and Shanghai and Dubai.”

  “I’m not afraid to go to Dubai by myself.” Daphne hesitated. “All right, maybe I am, but I’ll just have to deal with it. I traveled for work once upon a time and I’ll learn to do it again. Because this house . . .” Her voice, her eyes, her whole body seemed lighter. “Is gone.” She breathed in slowly and exhaled with evident relief. “We’ll call Whitney tomorrow. She can fax me whatever I need to sign.”

  “Nobody faxes anything these days, Mom. We’ll have to scan it.”

  “Whatever you think is best.” Daphne turned to her daughter with a mix of fear and hope in her eyes. “Or do you think it’s too late? Maybe I am too old to start over.”

  “You’re not,” Lila said firmly.

  “You really think I can do it?”

  “I know you can.” Lila swallowed. But what about me?

  As if she’d spoken aloud, her mother turned to her and cupped her cheeks. “I’ll get to go back to the world I always loved. And you’ll be free, sweet pea. You won’t have to worry about me all the time.”

  Lila ruined the perfect mother-daughter moment by laughing. “Sorry, I know this is serious, but you smell like a tequila distillery.”

  Daphne burst out laughing, too. “We had such a good time at the Whinery. If I had known what it was like in there, I would have been going for margaritas every weekend!”

  “Oh boy.”

  “I’ve been a well-behaved wife and mother for a very long time.” Daphne managed an off-balance little twirl. “I have a lot of time to make up for.”

  Lila rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand. “I’m not sure how I feel about letting you loose in London and New York and Brussels.”

  “Feel however you want about it—I’m the mother, so it’s my decision.” Daphne’s laugh turned into a diabolical little cackle. “Don’t worry; I’ll call you every day. Maybe I’ll even text. Who knows what I’ll do?” She was looking younger and more energized by the moment.

  Lila, however, felt suddenly exhausted. “One thing at a time. Let’s get cleaned up and go to bed. You can sleep on all this and reevaluate in the morning.”

  “There’s nothing to reevaluate,” Daphne declared. “My house, my boutique, my clothes—I know this was never your dream. It was mine. You put your life on hold to help me, but now it’s your turn. You’re free.” Daphne patted Lila’s cheek, then turned toward the staircase.

  Lila glanced back toward the driveway, where Malcolm was waiting for her. “So . . . does this mean I can go spend the night at my boyfriend’s house?”

  Daphne looked over her shoulder and followed Lila’s gaze. “Oh, it’s official? The delectable marine has been promoted to boyfriend?”

  “He’s very persuasive.” Lila hugged her mother again and this time, Daphne hugged back. “I am really and truly sorry I burned up all your vintage couture.”

  “Well, look on the bright side: Neither one of us will ever have to tell Mimi Sinclair that her husband buys her fake handbags.”

  chapter 31

  The remains of the FUV looked even more stark and soulless in the cold light of day. The molten metal frame had collapsed in on itself and the fire department had ripped off the hood and the doors in their efforts to determine the cause of the blaze. Most of the boutique’s wooden framework had been consumed by the fire, but part of the exterior south wall still stood, and a snarl of pipes and wires jutted from the ground.

  Emergency crew workers were shoveling mounds of soot and debris, and Lila felt a pang as she considered that, just yesterday, this pile of rubble had been painstakingly preserved cocktail dresses and evening gowns and pantsuits.

  One of the workers noticed her and waved her over. He tucked his helmet under his arm as he approached. “Are you the vehicle owner?”

  Lila nodded.

  “Tell me you have auto insurance.”

  “I have auto insurance,” she confirmed. “The car dealership wouldn’t let me drive off the lot without it.”

  “Call your insurance company and tell them it’s a total loss,” he said. “You’ll have to check your coverage, but they’ll probably replace your vehicle with one just like it.”

  Lila exhaled suddenly, almost choking on her laugh. “God forbid.”

  The man gave her a
wary look, then stepped aside as two firefighters approached, lugging a rectangular container that was burned and blackened but still intact. “You’re the vehicle owner? Here you go. Everything in the front seat was destroyed, but we did manage to salvage this from the back.”

  “Is that . . .” Lila tried to tamp down the excitement swirling up, warning herself not to hope. “Is that the Goyard?”

  With the workers’ help, she moved the trunk to a bare patch of asphalt on the far side of the alley. The hinges and latch had been welded shut by the heat, but someone produced a crowbar and pried off the lid. The exterior of the priceless antique trunk was scorched beyond repair, but inside . . .

  “It survived.” Lila pulled out the delicate black and lavender lace gown. “It’s still perfect.” She gazed at the airy, delicate tulle. Not so much as a single smudge. “I can’t believe it.”

  “I can’t believe it, either.” One of the firefighters examined the construction of the trunk. “That thing must be lined in asbestos or something.”

  “That’s how they made ’em back in the day,” the other one replied.

  “It’s a miracle,” Lila breathed. Her mother’s words echoed in her mind: You put your dreams on hold, but now it’s your turn. You’re free.

  Here was her chance to start fresh, without guilt or expectations. She could go anywhere, do anything.

  But she found she didn’t want to let go of her past and chase new dreams.

  She wanted to stay here and finish what she’d started.

  “Check it out—you made the front page of the Black Dog Bay Bulletin.” Jenna waved from the other side of the wreckage, then made her way over to Lila. She had the local newspaper tucked under her arm and a stainless steel travel mug in her hand. “How’re you holding up?”

  Lila surveyed the destruction spread out before them. “I’m still in denial, which is working out pretty well for me.”

  “How’s your mom?” Jenna asked.

  “She’s taking it in stride.” Lila nibbled her lip, relieved to be able to share her concerns with someone. “Says she’s going to sell the house, go hole up with her fashion icon ex-boyfriend in Belgium for the summer, and try to get back into the vintage clothing business.”

  “Wow. Talk about bouncing back.”

  “Yeah. I thought she’d be devastated, but I think she’s handling this better than I am, to be honest.”

  Jenna sighed, then sipped her coffee. “Maybe a fresh start is just what she needs.”

  “Maybe.” Lila accepted the newspaper Jenna offered and skimmed the front-page article. “But she was invested in that house. Hours and hours and I don’t want to even think how many thousands of dollars . . .”

  Jenna took another slow sip of coffee. “Sometimes your biggest investments become burdens.”

  Lila glanced over at the bar owner. “Oh yeah?”

  Jenna straightened her shoulders and put on a smile. “Don’t listen to me—I’m just cranky and bitter because I haven’t had enough caffeine yet. And I’m on my way to the Whinery to meet a plumber.”

  “That’s never good.”

  Jenna rolled her eyes. “Everyone got a little carried away at karaoke last night, and a bunch of women stormed the ladies’ room and held a mass burial at sea for some of the stuff their exes had given them.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Yeah. Watches and bracelets and an opera-length string of pearls and who knows what else. Well, I guess the plumber will know if he can ever fish it all out of the pipes.”

  Lila wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”

  “Yeah. And plumbers are expensive.” Jenna scowled. “You know what else is expensive? Gold and silver and diamonds. Those crazy broads basically flushed money down the toilet!”

  “Not as much as you might think.” Lila recounted her experience with the estate jeweler in Philadelphia.

  “Well, with the number of freshly divorced women trying to unload their wedding rings around here, you’d think someone would have filled that market niche by now.” Jenna folded the newspaper up and marched off to meet the plumber.

  “Yes,” Lila said slowly. “You’d think.”

  chapter 32

  Six weeks later

  Summer Benson lifted up the layers of black and lavender tulle and let them fall back over her knees. “Rowr. I feel like I should be dancing the cancan in old-timey Paris.”

  “Isn’t that the goal of every bride on her big day?” Lila fluffed the sides of the skirt and sat down on the bed of the Jansens’ guest room.

  Summer and Dutch had set the date for a Saturday evening in late June. Well, to be precise, Ingrid set the date for a Saturday evening in June. Ingrid also chose the bouquets, the menu, and the invitations. Summer’s only stipulation was that she would wear the black and lavender Bob Mackie gown—and Dutch would wear a lavender rose boutonniere.

  Lila smiled at Ingrid, who was loitering in the doorway with a Virginia Woolf novel in one hand and Bridal Guide magazine in the other. “Please tell me you didn’t skimp on the photographer, because you need this preserved for all eternity.”

  Summer swept back her platinum hair, experimenting with different styles. “Don’t worry; your mom hooked us up with some fancy-pants fashion photographer who worked for Vogue back in the day, and he really seems to know what he’s doing. And when I asked him how much it would cost, he just laughed and said he still owed your mother for sweet-talking the police out of pressing charges for some foolery that went down at CBGB back in the eighties.”

  Lila smiled like the proud daughter she was. “Some people read celebrity tabloids for juicy drama; other people watch reality TV. I have my mother.”

  “Do you miss her?” Summer asked.

  “Every day. But she’s much happier since she left for Europe, and she’s got two vintage clothes dealers fighting over who will get to hire her.”

  “So basically, she’s putting all of us twenty- and thirty-somethings to shame.” Summer dropped her hands, bored of preening in the mirror. “Ingrid, do you want to pick out my hairstyle, too?”

  “I’m on it.” Ingrid scribbled a few notes onto the back cover of Bridal Guide. “I’ll ask Shannon next time I see her. She gave Mia a brow-shaping lesson, and they’re meeting for pageant boot camp every single day, and guess what they’re prepping for the talent portion?” Too impatient to field any guesses, Ingrid kept right on talking. “Mia’s going to play the banjo and sing a song about the periodic table by some guy from the sixties called Tom Lehrer.”

  “Never heard of him,” Lila said.

  “Me, neither, but the song’s hilarious and Shannon says it’s really offbeat and retro and the judges will love it.”

  “When’s the big day?” Summer asked.

  “Next Saturday.” Ingrid dropped the magazine and held up crossed fingers. “As soon as we’re done with the wedding, I have to switch into pageant mode.”

  “You need a hobby,” Summer said.

  “I have one,” Ingrid shot back. “It’s called running other people’s lives. Which reminds me: I heard a rumor that Jake Sorensen’s back in town. I heard he was spotted by the boardwalk yesterday.”

  “All those women at the Whinery aren’t going to rebound by themselves, you know.” Summer glanced at her phone as her text alert beeped. “And of course he’s coming to the wedding. I mean, it is the social event of the season.”

  “Ugh. That reminds me: Why’d you invite Mimi Sinclair?” Ingrid demanded.

  Lila gaped at Summer. “You invited Mimi Sinclair? Why?”

  Summer didn’t even look up from her phone. “Because an invite to the social event of the season comes at a price, and the price for Mimi Sinclair is forgetting that her old handbags ever existed.”

  And suddenly, it all made sense. “Is that why she stopped calling me eight times a day like a bloodthirsty bill co
llector?” Lila asked. “Summer, you didn’t have to do that.”

  “Yeah, now we’ll all have to suffer at the wedding.” Ingrid sulked.

  “I figured that whatever money you have left could be better spent on, well, anything,” Summer said to Lila. Then she addressed Ingrid. “And this wedding was your idea, so try to focus on the positive.”

  “Fine. If Jake Sorensen’s coming, I’m going to make a few changes to the seating chart for the reception.” Ingrid looked giddy at the prospect. “Forget the head table; I’m sitting next to him.”

  Summer put down her phone. “No.”

  “What?!”

  “I’m sorry—I misspoke. What I meant to say is, hell no.”

  “So you’re allowed to hang out with him, but I’m not?” Ingrid cried.

  “Correct.”

  “That’s such a double standard.”

  “My wedding, my rules. Deal with it.”

  “Oh my God, you’re doing it.” Ingrid gasped. “You’re turning into a double-standard-having, curfew-setting, patriarchy-supporting evil stepmother.”

  Summer nodded. “And you planned the whole wedding and picked out the centerpieces. Oh, the irony.”

  “Don’t worry,” Lila told Ingrid. “We’ll find you a cute high school senior at the reception you can flirt with.”

  “Don’t patronize me.” Ingrid set her jaw, glared at both women, then flounced out of the room in a huff.

  Lila managed to hold in her laughter until Ingrid was out of earshot. “You guys are going to be quite the blended family.”

  “It’ll be fine. I wouldn’t even know what to do with a normal family and a white picket fence. Convention is for suckers.” Summer batted her eyes at her own reflection. “Damn, I make this dress look good.”

  Lila had to agree. The gown fit Summer as if custom-made for her, and Lila couldn’t be positive, but she thought Summer might have teared up a bit when she first tried it on last month. “It’s just allergies,” she had insisted. “I’m allergic to tulle.”