“No, because Grace isn’t feeling left out,” Grace said testily, her touchiness belying her claim. “Besides, you and Charles aren’t having any guests, so there won’t be anyone to fuss over you.”
Now it was Susan’s turn to shrug. “I’ve already done the big wedding thing. I would have done it again if that’s what Charles wanted to, but he’s not interested. After all, we’re a mature couple getting married.” With a panicked look Pat’s way, she hastily added, “Of course, if we were having a ceremony and guests, it would be small and elegant, like this.”
Pat knew Susan hadn’t meant anything by the slight blunder. Instead she looked at herself in the three-part full-length mirror. The soft fabric of her gown created a natural draped neckline, and it also hugged her curves, which had been streamlined since taking up a regular exercise regimen. She hadn’t looked this good at forty. “I can’t believe I’m actually getting married for the first time at fifty.”
“And I can’t believe we’re getting to be bridesmaids again,” Grace replied. “It’s been a long time between turns.” When Elyse married Franklin twenty-seven years ago, they had all been bridesmaids, with one of Elyse’s cousins serving as maid of honor. “But I guess that’s what happens when your lives turn out something less than traditional.”
“Oh, getting married at my age is definitely not traditional,” Pat said. “That’s why I just wanted the three of you as bridesmaids with no honor attendant, and why I wanted you to pick out your own dresses . . . as long as they were peach.”
“I still think you should have gone with yellow,” Grace said with a frown.
“No, Grace, because yellow makes me look all washed-out,” Susan protested. “Why should I wear an unflattering color just because it looks nice with your complexion?”
“I like peach better on me, too,” Elyse added.
Grace rolled her eyes.
Elyse dismissed Grace’s complaint with a wave of her hand. “You’ve got yourself a wonderful man, Pat,” she said. “You mark my words. You and Andy are going to be happy together the rest of your lives. June is a wonderful month for weddings. Franklin and I were married in June.”
“I know, hon.” Pat walked over to give Elyse a careful hug, barely pressing her cheek with her own for fear of mussing her makeup. Then she pulled back and clasped her friend’s upper arms. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Oh yes, I’m fine. But I do miss Franklin terribly. I’ll always wish that things could have been better between us those last few months, but at least he died making sure I knew he loved me and he didn’t really mean those terrible things he said.”
“I heard what happened to Kevin,” Susan said. “That’s really too bad. Pat told me about it the other day.”
Kevin had been arrested and charged with grand larceny, on suspicion of masterminding a burglary ring at the homes of some his former employer’s clients. The police figured out that he had been in each home to handle ants, termites, and other pests before they were robbed of plasma televisions and other expensive items that were out in plain sight. He was being held at the Cook County Jail because his bond hadn’t been paid. The senior Nashes clearly had their own reasons for not paying to have him sprung.
“Yes, I thought so, too,” Elyse replied in a small voice. “He was desperate to raise the cash to make his dream come true. He even came to me after Franklin died for a loan.”
“I knew it!” Grace slammed her hand down on the makeup table for emphasis. “What’d you do, Elyse?”
“I walked out of the restaurant and never looked back.”
“Well, your new doctor friend seems very nice,” Susan said graciously.
Elyse nodded. “He lost his wife nearly two years ago, so he knows how I feel.”
“Have you two been seeing each other long?” Grace asked.
“Not long. He called me several weeks ago, just to inquire how I was doing. Then he called again a couple of weeks later and kind of tentatively suggested that maybe we could have brunch together one Sunday. We’ve been out a few times. I guess you can say we’re friends.” She looked pointedly at Grace. “And no, we haven’t slept together. I’m not ready for that yet, and Isaac knows it. He’s acknowledged that he’s not going to try to push me into anything.”
“How do Todd and Brontë feel about your dating?” Susan asked.
Pat knew Susan was thinking about her own situation. Her youngsters were having difficulty coping with both the divorce and seeing their parents with new partners.
“Pretty good, actually. I worried they might not like the fact that Isaac had been their father’s doctor, but they said it was okay. Although Todd did call me at midnight when I was out with Isaac to make sure I’d gotten in safely.” She laughed at the memory. “I’m surprised he didn’t make that long drive up from Champaign just to check him out.”
“Well, you’re looking great these days,” Pat said. “That weight loss looks great on you. You must have dropped a good twenty-five pounds.”
“Yes, twenty-eight, to be exact.”
Grace had been following the conversation eagerly and now spoke up. “Susan, how are your kids coping with the divorce and the remarriage plans?”
“I think they’re baffled by it all. They really don’t understand why their mommy and daddy don’t live together anymore, why we’ve taken up with other people. We thought it was a good thing that we hadn’t had any arguments in front of them. Now I’m not so sure. I’m afraid they might be left with security issues.” She sighed. “Bruce and I have been trying to work it out. And they do like Charles.”
“Well, I’m sorry I won’t be there to watch you and Charles finally make it legal,” Elyse said, “but know that I’ll be thinking about you down there in Jamaica. I’m really happy for you both.”
“I know you are. Thanks so much.”
“I’m glad everything worked out for you, too, Susan,” Grace said, and Susan knew she meant it. “I think the whole thing is very romantic, reuniting with your first love after so many years. And it was really sweet of Charles to agree to leave Chicago and move up to Kenosha.”
“Well, houses are cheaper up there, and the kids will be closer to Bruce and both grandmothers. Hopefully, Charles will find a teaching job in Kenosha soon so he won’t have to make the commute for long, and of course, I’ll be able to stay where I am.” Susan had gotten a full-time accounting position at one of Kenosha’s largest employers.
Someone knocked at the door.
“It’s probably the photographer,” Pat said.
“I’m ready for my close-up,” Grace quipped.
The women walked down the aisle in height order. Elyse went first, holding her bouquet tightly and looking straight ahead. Unlike Grace, she disliked knowing that people were looking at her. But the looks were all admiring, not critical. She did look good these days. The dress she’d chosen, with a lacy fitted bodice and a full skirt ending just above her ankles, showed off her slimmed-down figure to best advantage.
She allowed her gaze to go to the left, where she knew Isaac would be sitting. He winked at her, and she winked back, breaking into a beauty-contestant smile.
Her heart still belonged to Franklin, and part of it probably always would, but nevertheless, life was good.
Grace moved easily to the music, moving her head from left to right and smiling at the eighty guests. She knew that she could easily have been sitting in one of the rows of chairs, or that she didn’t have to be here at all. She felt grateful that Pat had forgiven her completely for having that affair with Ricky. If she hadn’t confessed, would Pat and Andy even be getting married?
She caught sight of Glenn staring at her from his seat. He stood out in a crowd, with his six-feet-three height and his still-broad build. The look in his eyes suggested that he’d like to slip away to some quiet place and make love to her at the first opportunity. Her vaginal muscles twitched just thinking about it. Although yellow was a better color for her than peach, she’d n
onetheless found a flattering dress, which bared her shoulders just slightly and dipped to a wide V-neck in front. The bodice fit snugly, and, like Elyse’s dress, the skirt flared to tea-length. She’d had her hair styled in an upsweep, with curls across the entire width of her head to balance her chin. She hated the way her chin came to a point but had long since learned the best styles for her. The smiles she received from the guests told her she’d been successful.
Grace vowed to be the one to catch Pat’s bridal bouquet. She liked the idea of getting married at a trendy boutique hotel like the W. If she played her cards right with Glenn, maybe she’d get the chance.
In the meantime, they were having fun and plenty of great sex.
Who could ask for anything more?
Susan serenely strolled down the aisle. She’d chosen a dress with a nautical look, with an oversized collar and double-breasted buttons in matching fabric running from her breastbone to her waist. She’d thought about cutting her hair, but Charles said he liked it longer, so she’d pinned it into a French roll.
She saw him beaming at her and knew his thoughts mirrored hers . . . that in another month they would be the ones getting married—on a beach in Jamaica. They wouldn’t have to travel to a honeymoon destination, like Pat and Andy, with that long flight to Acapulco in front of them.
When she and Charles got back they would move into their new house. They’d found a spacious Dutch Colonial in Kenosha, with three bedrooms, two baths, and a full finished basement. It was much smaller than what she and the kids were used to, but plenty roomy.
Bruce was building a large house with his girlfriend, soon-to-be wife. Susan hadn’t met Shay yet, but Quentin and Alyssa had. She told them it was all right for them to like her, even love her, the same way it was all right for them to have special feelings for Charles.
It was a complex situation for children to deal with, but Susan felt confident that with time, Quentin and Alyssa would be all right. Best of all, she wouldn’t have to see a lot of either Ann or Douglas down in Chicago. Ann had moved into Charles’s old apartment, and Douglas and his wife and daughter lived upstairs. It was a perfect solution, for Ann had been complaining about the stairs to get to the front door, as well as the inside steps to her upstairs bedroom. And Douglas would have possession of the house he’d paid for.
Charles had taken an apartment in Pleasant Prairie so he could be near her while the divorce became final. The final decree was awarded last month, but Charles gallantly refused to sleep with her in the bed she’d shared with Bruce, in a house where Bruce still paid the mortgage. A purchase bid had been accepted on it, but Susan wanted to delay the closing on both the old and new houses until the weeks just before their trip to Jamaica.
She and Charles would at long last be married, like he’d wanted to do so many years ago.
Her smile got wider.
Pat smiled at her father before the wedding march began playing. She knew it was hard for him to hand her over to a man who wasn’t black, but she was proud of him. That afternoon at Elyse’s he’d quietly told Andy that he didn’t care if he was ninety or even dead, if Andy ever mistreated Pat he would somehow find a way to make him pay for it. Andy understood and took the threat with a grain of salt.
“Ready, Patty-cake?” he asked, patting her hand.
“I’m ready. Let’s go get me married off.”
They moved into another room for the reception. Pat had plenty of pictures taken with her lifelong friends, and at one point she called for their dates to join them. Only Susan had a permanent relationship, but she hoped that whatever happened with Elyse and Isaac and Grace and Glenn, they would look back upon this day with fondness.
When they were all seated, Elyse made an announcement. “I’ve got something you’ve all got to see,” she said, holding something behind her back. Amid cries of, “Let’s see it!” she dramatically unveiled a blown-up photograph.
“Oh, my God! That’s us!” Pat exclaimed.
Andy peered at the photo. “That must have been during the Blizzard of ’67. I don’t remember any other time when there was that much snow on the ground.”
“My dad took a picture of us playing when the snow stopped. We were some of the first kids to get outside, and the snow was still fresh.”
Grace and Susan got up to look at the photo over the shoulders of Pat and Andy. The projects at that time were just ten years old, but the playground had already fallen into disrepair, with broken swings and no netting on the basketball rims. That day, though, it looked like a snow-blanketed paradise. The snow practically came up to their waists. They were all bundled up and barely recognizable, but it was them, nine years old in that January, some forty-one years before.
“Gigi, is that really you?” Grace’s grandson asked her. He’d served as ring bearer and called his grandmother “Gigi,” for “Grandma Grace.”
Grace pointed each of them out with a French-manicured finger. “That’s me, and that’s Aunt Pat, and this is Miss Susan and Miss Elyse.”
“Wow.”
“My mother sent this to me,” Elyse said. “She thought you might enjoy seeing it. I had 8 x 10s made for all of us.”
“That was so thoughtful, Elyse,” Pat said. “Thank you.”
Shavonne appeared, having been brought over by her son to see Grace’s photo. “Y’all were so cute.” Her one-year-old daughter, whom she held, made a cranky cry. “All right, Baby Girl. I’m going to change you now. Maybe then you’ll go to sleep like a good girl.”
“Hasn’t she taken a nap yet?” Pat asked incredulously.
“No. I think she likes the music, Aunt Pat. She’s afraid she’s going to miss something, so she’s fighting sleep.”
“Try telling her a story,” Pat suggested. “You can start off by saying, ‘Once upon a time, there were four little girls who lived in the projects. . . .’”
Enjoy the following excerpt from Bettye Griffin’s latest novel,
TROUBLE DOWN THE ROAD
In stores May 2010!
Chapter 1
“Aimeriez-vous une autre bière, monsieur?”
Suzanne’s eyes narrowed when her hostess spoke French to her husband. She only knew one French phrase, that Voulez-vous line from a lyric to an old Labelle song. That translated to the rather tacky proposition, “Will you go to bed with me?” Micheline Trent hadn’t said that to Brad, but judging from that broad smile on her face and the soulful look in her eyes, she might as well have. Suzanne had been in the Trent home for less than an hour, but she was ready to shove Micheline’s face into the cheese dip that sat in a bowl on the table.
When Micheline disappeared, returning moments later with a can of Miller Genuine Draft, Suzanne figured out what she’d said to Brad. Nothing wrong with offering to refill a guest’s pilsner, but her eyes narrowed when Micheline leaned over to pour the beer, the right side of her tailored white blouse falling away from her chest enough to reveal a glimpse of unspectacular cleavage in a scalloped white bra that nonetheless seemed to capture Brad’s attention.
Micheline’s demonstration lasted just a few seconds, but every muscle in Suzanne’s body went on alert. To think she’d actually been happy about coming here to watch the Super Bowl. When Brad told her they’d been invited to watch the game at the home of one of the guys from the golf club, she’d been thrilled not to have to spend the evening with their neighbors, Lisa and Darrell Canfield. Suzanne had tried to put a good face on it to appease Brad, but the Canfields ranked among her least favorite people, and she figured anyone’s company would be better than theirs. It looked like she’d been wrong.
Suzanne watched as Micheline returned to sit next to her husband, Errol, cozying up to him in an oversized chair that was more like a small loveseat; two people could fit on it provided they didn’t carry too many pounds between them. Without even realizing it, Suzanne moved her hand to rest on Brad’s thigh, as if staking out her territory . . . or perhaps to try to make up after the words they’d had on the short driv
e over here.
Her gaze shifted from the uninteresting action playing out on the screen of the large plasma television to her hosts. Micheline’s head rested on Errol’s shoulder, and his arm was draped around her. The affection between them seemed genuine enough. Could she have just imagined Micheline’s come-on to Brad? After all, Errol sat right there in the same room, along with five other guests. A person would have to be some kind of idiot to even try to carry on a flirtation with so many witnesses.
Or crafty as hell.
One of the players was running with the football, and everyone in the room either cheered or jeered. Suzanne, who knew nothing about football, took her cue from Brad, who cheered. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Micheline throw her arms around Errol and embrace him. Errol shifted to face her, his hand roaming dangerously high over her thigh, to where the hem of her short denim skirt met her skin. A laughing Micheline playfully smacked it away, with a Hiss of, “Later!”
Suzanne began to feel better. Micheline already had a husband who was good-looking, sexy, and successful. She’d probably just wanted to test her French on someone who understood a little of the language. This was Jacksonville, not New York or New Orleans. How many people here spoke French? Even Brad’s knowledge of it was limited to a few basic phrases he’d learned for a trip to Paris they took a few years back. And as far as the opportunity Brad had to look down Micheline’s blouse, she probably just didn’t realize it had fallen away from her chest when she bent over. So what if Brad got to peek into her cleavage. It was a natural action. Wouldn’t her eyes have lingered if she saw an attractive man pulling off his shirt?
Suzanne chided herself for being so paranoid. The last thing she wanted to become was one of those women who felt that every other member of the species was after her man. It probably had to do with the feeling she’d had lately that she couldn’t shake—the fear that something wasn’t quite right in her marriage. The conversation she and Brad had on the way over here didn’t help any.
Once Upon a Project Page 37
