“You cheated,” she exclaimed. “And maybe I could have gotten past that, if you’d just told me the truth.”
“I did tell the truth,” Mason said through gritted teeth. “I never, ever cheated on you. You talk about honesty, but if you were honest with yourself, you’d admit you had some responsibility, too, for our breakup. The first time things didn’t go your way, you just took off and ran home to your mama. Who I’m sure helped you figure out what a crappy husband I was. Marriage is a two-way street, you know. You talk about trust, but you never did trust me.”
The headlights of an oncoming car lit up Mason’s face—his jaw was clenched, his eyes unblinking. She’d seen that look before, and it harkened back to the bad old days when their marriage had come unraveled. What had she been thinking? The answer, of course, was that she’d done just what he’d urged her to do—she hadn’t thought at all.
“You’re right,” she said finally. “It wasn’t all you. There’s a reason we’re not together anymore. We were just too different then. And now the gulf has only widened. It’s idiotic to think we could make it work again. It’s just too late. I’m sorry, Mason. For everything. Then and now.”
“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “All this fuss over a damned kiss.”
The silence was overwhelming. He punched the button on the tape deck, forgetting what they’d been listening to earlier in the evening. When their song came on, he silently cursed and punched the stop button.
The ride back to town was interminable.
Finally, Mason pulled the car up to the curb in front of her loft. He left the motor running and didn’t bother to come around and open her door. She’d barely closed the door before he gunned the Chevelle’s engine and screeched away down the dark street.
20
Celia dropped her bag and water bottle on the bench outside the tennis court. She sat down and squinted up at the Monday morning sky. Puffy white clouds floated overhead, and the temperature was already warming up. She unzipped her hot pink Nike jacket and bent down to retie one of her shoes. What with all the wedding planning and hoopla, she hadn’t played tennis in weeks. It would feel good to get out on the courts and work up a sweat.
“Well, Celia!” Bonnie Kelsey dropped down beside her on the bench. She cocked her head to the side and gave her an odd look. Bonnie swiveled her legs until their knees were touching, and she took Celia’s hand and squeezed it.
“Are you all right?” she whispered, looking around to make sure they couldn’t be overheard. They were early though, and DeeDee and Jenn, their opponents, hadn’t yet shown up.
“I’m fine,” Celia said. “Sophie’s fine, too. They may even let her come home today.”
“Oh yes, well that’s a blessing,” Bonnie said. “But, well, I meant, how are you? I’m actually surprised you came this morning. You can talk to me, you know. I’m totally discreet.”
“Why would I cancel our doubles match?” Celia asked, puzzled.
“Oh, no reason,” Bonnie said. She patted Celia’s knee. “You’re such a trouper. That’s what I love about you, Celia. Such a positive outlook on life.”
“Bonnie,” Celia said, a note of warning coming into her voice. “I have no idea what you’re getting at. So you might just as well tell me.”
Her tennis partner had the grace to blush and look away. “I’m not one to spread gossip,” she said, fiddling with the clasp of her tennis bracelet.
As if, Celia thought. She’d met Bonnie Kelsey and her dippy husband, Matthew, at a cocktail party at the country club the week after she’d arrived in Passcoe, and after three margaritas and two trips to the lady’s room in the space of three hours, she’d gotten filled in on the sexual and social history of every single person in the room. Sex, lies, and innuendo were the coin of the realm in the small world of Bonnie Kelsey.
“I know that,” Celia said, trying to sound reassuring. “But if it’s something that concerns me, don’t you think I should be made aware of it?”
Bonnie bit her lip as though trying to make up her mind.
Tell it, sister, Celia thought. Before I have to choke it out of you.
“I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for all of this,” Bonnie started. “Or maybe the person who told it to me got the names mixed up. Although usually, this person is pretty reliable. And the parties involved do have a history…”
“Please just tell me, for God’s sake,” Celia said through clenched teeth.
“And you’re sure you won’t get upset?” Bonnie asked.
Celia’s hand was just itching to reach out and yank the bitch’s ponytail as hard as she could.
“I’ll be fine,” Celia said, trying to sound soothing. “It’s always better to know than wonder, right?”
“Riiight,” Bonnie said.
“The way I heard it,” she said hurriedly, “was that Grady Witherspoon—I guess you don’t know him—he doesn’t really run in our circles? Anyway, he’s retired from the service, the navy, I think, and moved back to town and he’s renting Miss Sallie’s daddy’s farm. He and Gail have fixed up the old homeplace really cute, I hear…”
“Bonnie?” Celia said, about out of patience. “How does this affect me?”
“Right. As I was saying, apparently Grady and Gail were watching television last night; it was after dark, and they heard music coming from the field down by the old corncrib. And he’s had a lot of trouble with the local kids going down there and doing drugs and vandalizing things and so forth. So he got his shotgun and a flashlight and walked down there to check it out. And when he got down there he saw this big old shiny red convertible, and there were two people in it, and they were, uh, well…”
Shiny red convertible? As in that horrible old car of Mason’s? The one Sophie called his fun car? What was it, a Camaro, or a Mustang, something like that?
Celia tried to keep her composure. “What were the couple doing, Bonnie? And who were they?”
Bonnie clutched both Celia’s hands in hers. “Oh honey,” she said, her pale blue eyes brimming with tears. “It was Mason. And Annajane Hudgens. And according to Grady, who I believe, because he is a decorated veteran after all, he caught the two of them. In the act.”
“In the act?” Celia needed to be absolutely sure she understood exactly what Bonnie considered the act to be.
Bonnie nodded her head vigorously.
“As in?” Celia prompted, wishing Bonnie would let go of her hands.
“You know,” Bonnie whispered. “It. They were naked and they were doing it.” She lowered her voice again, just to make sure Celia comprehended. “F-U-C-K-I-N-G.”
* * *
Somehow, Celia managed to keep her composure. But her mind was whirling, going a thousand miles an hour.
The son of a bitch! She should have known something was up between him and Annajane. She’d seen his face at the wedding—just for a moment—right before Sophie got sick—he’d had that awful deer-in-the-headlights look. She’d chalked it up to nerves at the time. But then afterward, when Annajane had commandeered her spot in the ambulance, conned Mason into driving her home from the hospital, Celia should have put a stop to things right then and there. She should have seen that Annajane was still carrying a pathetic torch for Mason.
But she’d had no reason to doubt Mason’s faithfulness. He was honest to a fault, disgustingly loyal. Look at the way he kept resisting Jerry Kelso’s perfectly acceptable offers for Quixie. The man just loved a lost cause. She would have to do something about Annajane Hudgens, and she would have to work fast. In the meantime, she needed to throw some water on this particularly volatile piece of gossip.
“Mason and Annajane?” she heard herself say, with a careless laugh. “Are you serious, Bonnie?”
Bonnie looked at her as if she’d just sprouted another head.
“That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard,” Celia said. “I don’t know this Grady person, Bonnie, but I can tell you right now he needs to get himself some new glasses. Mas
on positively could not have been out in some cornfield doing the deed with Annajane last night. Because he was right there at home with me last night, and I don’t like to be indelicate, but honey, for all intents and purposes, it was our wedding night. I fixed the two of us an intimate little dinner, and then I modeled that little black lace number—you remember the one Jessica Satterthwaite gave me at the lingerie shower?”
Bonnie, the stupid cow, just nodded her head, wanting desperately to believe her story.
Celia rolled her eyes heavenward. “Well, I hate to think what she spent on it, because Mason took one look at that thing and he was like a man possessed.” She gave a self-conscious little giggle.
“I made the mistake of modeling it in the kitchen.” She rubbed her backside for effect. “All I can say is, thank heaven for throw rugs.”
Bonnie’s eyes widened. “You did it on the kitchen floor?”
“The kitchen floor, the living room sofa, the recliner in his study,” she giggled again. “I think we figured out a new position that La-Z-Boy definitely wouldn’t approve of. And that was just the first floor.”
“But,” Bonnie sputtered. “That red convertible. The old Chevelle. There’s no mistaking it. Everybody in town knows that car. Mason’s daddy gave it to him for his twenty-first birthday.”
“Well that explains it,” Celia said. “Mason keeps the convertible in the garage at the plant, and he leaves the keys under the floor mat. Anybody who works at the plant could have decided to borrow it. Anybody at all. Who knows, maybe your farmer friend mistook Davis for Mason?” She raised an eyebrow, daring Bonnie to contradict her. “Everybody knows what a wild hare Davis is.”
“That’s true,” Bonnie agreed. “Davis does have a reputation.”
Celia spotted their doubles opponents walking toward them, racquets slung over their shoulders. “Here come the girls,” she said. “Let’s forget all this nonsense and play some tennis, all right?”
DeeDee and Jenn never knew what hit them. Celia’s typically restrained brand of country club tennis was abandoned. She proceeded to mop up the courts with the other two women with an unexpected combination of killer serves and slashing backhands. She made suicide dives for impossible shots, played the net, and roamed the back court, rifling volleys right back in the other women’s teeth. The final score was brutal: six-one, six-love.
* * *
The putting green at the club was deserted this early on a weekday morning, which was good, because he was in no mood for company. He had a lot to think about. Mason heard the muted toot on his cell phone, letting him know he had an incoming text message. He laid his putter down on the green, took the phone from the pocket of his golf slacks, glanced down at the readout panel, and saw that the text was from Celia.
WE NEED TO TALK. NOW!!!
He felt his gut twist with dread. So she’d heard already. He shouldn’t have been surprised. He looked down at the cell, knowing that modern etiquette, not to mention common decency, decried the idea of breaking an engagement with a text, but secretly wishing the deed could be done with just a few taps of the keyboard on his BlackBerry. He knew better, of course.
He removed his golf glove and tapped his reply.
I’LL BE HOME IN AN HOUR.
* * *
Mason let himself in the kitchen door, warily peering around the corner to see if the coast was clear. His heart sank at the sight of Celia, seated at the kitchen island. Her face was pale and tear-streaked, her eyes red-rimmed.
“Hi,” he said, setting his golf bag down in a corner. He was looking for a neutral opener, an icebreaker. What he came up with was admittedly lame. “How’s your aunt feeling?”
“My aunt?” She raised one eyebrow. “You’re telling me you care how my aunt is feeling? How about me? How do you think I’m feeling?” Her voice rose to something approaching a shriek, or the closest he’d ever heard Celia come to a shriek.
“Celia, look … I’m sorry…”
“Do you realize that you have humiliated me in front of this entire town?” she asked, her voice just barely above a whisper now. “I showed up at the club this morning for my doubles match with Bonnie Kelsey, and I’d hardly gotten my racket out of my bag before she pulled me aside, and with this look of pity on her face, which I will never forget, actually suggested that, considering the emotional pain I must be in, we might want to forfeit the match.”
So, Mason thought dully, it had been Bonnie. He might have guessed the delight she would have taken in sharing the news with Celia.
“I don’t know what to say…”
She opened her eyes wide. “Tell me it’s not true. Tell me you were not with Annajane last night. In a cornfield. Tell me it’s all just a hideous lie.” Her lower lip trembled and her huge eyes filled with tears. “Please tell me that, Mason. Please?”
“Christ,” he swore quietly. “It’s not true. Well, not exactly.”
She held out her hand, like a school traffic-crossing guard. “Stop!” she cried. “Whatever is going on between you and Annajane, if you love me, you’ll stop seeing her. For God’s sake, Mason, last night was supposed to be our wedding night. What were you thinking?”
He said the first thing that came to mind. The truth. “I guess I wasn’t thinking at all. After you left, I went out for a drive in the Chevelle, and things just kind of happened.”
“Happened?” She was weeping again, with her head down on the counter, her petite body jerking with every sob. She raised her head. “You just happened to find yourself in a car in a cornfield with your ex-wife, naked? How does that just happen?”
“Nobody was naked!” he said. The thing of it was, he really couldn’t explain how any of the previous night had happened. In fact, this morning, when he’d thought about it, he couldn’t say with any certainty that it hadn’t all been just a whiskey dream. One thing he did know was, he had to find a way to make things right. With Celia, and with Annajane.
“I still care about Annajane,” he said finally. “I’m sorry. I guess I just never really got over her.”
There. He’d done it. Said it out loud. He felt better. For about five seconds.
Celia’s shoulders slumped and she dropped her chin to her chest, as though somebody had knocked the wind out of her body. “Why did you ask me to marry you in the first place?” she asked, her lower lip starting that trembly thing all over again. “If you still had a crush on her? Didn’t you ever love me? Even a little?”
“I don’t know,” he said miserably. “It just kind of happened. I mean, you and I were spending a lot of time together, business lunches turned into dinners, and we had some fun, and the next thing I know, you’re moving in with me, and then, all of a sudden, we’re engaged.”
“What?” she cried. “Are you saying I railroaded you? That the engagement was all my idea?”
Yes, actually, now that he thought about it, the engagement was definitely her idea.
“No,” he lied. “That’s not what I’m saying at all.”
“Then what are you saying?”
He sighed. This was not going well. He’d turned the whole situation over in his mind on the way back to the house, and he’d mapped out a compassionate, logical discussion with Celia. He would tell her about Annajane, and she would be hurt at first, but then, being the practical, logical girl she was, she would shed a few tears and then allow him a graceful exit from this whole marriage thing. But so far, Celia wasn’t playing fair. She’d turned on the tear tap, full throttle. It was brutal, is what it was.
“I’m just saying,” he started. “Somehow, things spun out of control. I thought I was in love with you. I mean, probably I was. Kind of. At some point, I knew I should man up and tell you how I felt, but then, once you started planning the wedding, it kept getting bigger and more elaborate. And then, there was the country club, and the harpist from Atlanta, and that enormous damned cake, and your aunt was flying in … I just couldn’t … I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
Celia lo
oked like she’d been slapped across the face. “So this is all my fault? Because I wanted a nice wedding day? A day I would have been able to remember my whole life?”
“It’s nobody’s fault,” Mason said wearily. “It just is. Look, I never, ever meant to hurt you, but knowing how I feel about Annajane, how conflicted I am, well, I can understand that you’d want to call off the wedding for good now. Nobody could blame you after the heel I’ve been.”
“Call it off?” Her face crumpled. “For good?”
“It might be for the best,” he said, feeling like more of a heel than ever. “We’re just too different. We want different things. I mean, you hate my car, and you don’t really like living in a small town like Passcoe, and you hate my sister, well, okay, I guess she’s the one who hates you, but you know you never really warmed up to Pokey…”
He was babbling, and he wasn’t normally a babbler. But then he’d never been in a situation like this before, so really, who could blame him?
Mason laid a tender, caring hand on Celia’s arm. “Celia, I know this is pretty rotten right now, but believe me, eventually, you’ll agree it’s all for the best that we didn’t go through with the wedding. It never would have worked out.”
* * *
Celia pushed his hand away and ran from the room. She threw herself onto the sofa in the den, burying her face in the cushions.
Things were happening too fast. She had to step back and regroup. Call off the wedding? Just because she and Mason had a little tiff and he’d gotten sloppy drunk and sentimental and ended up giving his pathetic ex-wife a pity fuck? Oh, no. This was not happening. She would not allow this to happen. Mason was hers, and she would not give him up without a fight. She had a plan, a whole new life plotted for herself, and she’d be damned if she’d give it up now and end up like her wretched, welfare-cheating, coupon-clipping, snot-dripping coven of sisters back in Nebraska. But how to win Mason back, when he was convinced he still carried a torch for somebody else?
Spring Fever Page 19
