If anything, Lydia had been worried Cam was going to ruin this chance for her. That Cam would be the one to make the whole thing fall down. But he was playing his role exceptionally well. Too well almost. It was as if he honestly…cared.
And wasn’t that just like him? Always trying to take care of her. Sometimes she wished he would just stop trying, and the thought made her sad.
“Well, I for one am glad you popped in on a chance.” Mrs. Hatfield clutched his upper arm and winked at him.
Lydia wanted to roll her eyes, but Cam’s smile only got broader if possible. Lydia thought Mrs. Hatfield would swoon from the attention.
“Dude,” Tabitha piped up. “You must be Lydia’s Scottish hottie.”
The younger Hatfield slouched forward in her seat, extending a fisted hand inviting Cam for a bump. Cam obliged with a smirk.
“My secret’s out then, I guess,” he said, and Tabitha laughed, sinking back in her chair.
“Cam, dear, you’re coming to my birthday party out in the Berkshires with your amazing wife here, aren’t you?” Mrs. Hatfield said without segue, and Lydia covered her mouth to hide her smile. She turned the movement into a casual brush as if she were wiping something from her face.
Cam looked at her now, and she knew that he knew she was trying hard to keep it together. The poor woman was besotted. Lydia could relate.
She bent and picked up the discarded pomegranate flower girl’s dress and stepped up on the dais to hang it back on the rack.
“You and your lovely gaggle of lasses wouldn’t care to join us for dinner, would you?”
Lydia quickly turned back from the rack of dresses to eye Mrs. Hatfield. And sure enough, it looked as if the woman was about to have a coronary.
“Oh, Mr. McCray, you little devil, what a—”
“Mumba Bebumba,” this from Tabitha who was now lounging in her chair with her feet hooked over one arm. “We’re supposed to meet Dad for that thing out in Newton.”
Evelyn Hatfield slapped a palm to her forehead in exaggerated frustration. Although perhaps in terms of Mrs. Hatfield’s mannerisms, it was not exaggerated.
“I had completely forgotten. Cam,” she said this as she laid a hand on his arm and stared up the two feet to where his face was, “I hope you can pardon my forgetfulness. My husband keeps my social calendar rather full.”
Cam bowed theatrically, earning a coo from Mrs. Hatfield.
“My lady, I am always at your disposable. You only need to call.” His brogue was thick, and Lydia wanted to rearrange the dresses she had already arranged if only to stop wondering why he never used that voice on her.
Mrs. Hatfield was not saying anything, Lydia realized. She just stood there staring.
“Mumbino,” this was Tabitha again.
Mrs. Hatfield shook her head as if to dislodge something and turned away from Cam and back towards her daughters.
“Yes, we need to go. Wait,” she looked at the worn leather watch on her left wrist, “Yes, we need to go.”
The daughters all stood, gathering handbags, except for Rebecca who stood and stared at the floor morosely.
It took a moment for Lydia to realize Cam was watching Rebecca. And then another moment for her to realize she was wondering why.
Mrs. Hatfield suddenly grabbed her arm.
“My dear Lydia, can we reschedule? I would love to come to an agreement on peach or elderberry.”
Lydia had no idea which dress was the elderberry, but she nodded.
“Of course, Mrs. Hatfield. I’ll have my assistant, Shelly, call you to set up another fitting.”
“Splendid!” Mrs. Hatfield said, and Lydia had to take a step back to avoid her flailing, excited hands.
“If I may offer an opinion.”
The room stilled as all the women within earshot turned to look at Cam. He stood, hands in the pockets of his wrinkled slacks, rocking back on his heels.
“I think a woman of Rebecca’s stature and grace should not be undercut by bridesmaids in stunning colors such as those.” He indicated the pomegranate and mango fiesta dresses, and Lydia held her breath. Part of her didn’t want Cam’s help, didn’t want him to ruin everything, and another secret, traitorous part of her trusted him to keep going. “This is Rebecca’s day to be something unlike anything she has ever been before. She should be given the opportunity to fill every corner of it with her exquisiteness.”
Darkness invaded the edges of her vision, and Lydia forced herself to draw a small breath. And then the strangest thing happened. Rebecca Hatfield looked up from the floor, her face relaxing, her eyes focusing for the first time since Lydia had met the girl.
Cam smiled, and Rebecca nearly returned the expression.
But Tabitha ruined it all by singing, “Mama Bama,” and tugging on Evelyn Hatfield’s arm. “We need to pick up Stacy before we head out to Newton.”
“Oh, I must agree with you, sir,” Mrs. Hatfield said to Cam. “All right, we’re going!” she cried.
In a breath, the Hatfield women were gone along with Lydia’s chance at getting a signed contract.
Lydia turned to move the rack of dresses off the dais but found she had no energy. It was late. After six. And she was exhausted.
So she sat down. Right there on the edge of the dais with its thick cream carpet. She kept her back straight, her posture perfect, until Cam sat down beside her.
He smelled like soap and deodorant. A good clean smell that never irritated her the way cologne did. He had always smelled good.
“Thank you,” she said when Cam settled beside her.
“You’re welcome,” he said. “I would have come earlier had I known, but I only just rang Shelly an hour ago. She said you were in with the Hatfields, and I came as soon as the traffic allowed.”
Lydia looked at him. “You rang Shelly?”
Cam nodded. “Thought you might want to grab dinner out tonight instead of take away.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Be bold and change it up a bit.”
Lydia looked around her at the discarded dresses from her session with the Hatfields, and the weight of the day crashed around her.
“I think that would be good.” She let Cam help her up.
“Are you two headed off somewhere?”
Lydia turned at the sound of her mother’s voice to find her standing by the shelves of bridal shoes, her eyes blinking furiously and her mouth screwed up in a strange expression. Lydia could imagine all of the things her mother was contemplating, but Lydia was too tired to hear any recriminations.
“We’re just grabbing something to eat, Annette,” Lydia said.
Annette stepped forward, brushing at the sleeve of Lydia’s dress. Lydia shook off the tidying gesture.
“It’s just so unusual to see Cam in the shop again,” her mother insisted.
“Annette,” Lydia said, her tone carefully controlled. “It’s just dinner. Everyone needs to eat.”
Her mother’s expression turned sour, and Lydia spun away before the woman could say anything more.
“I’m in the mood for some good Italian. How about you?” She marched away from her mother and the disaster that was the Hatfields.
“Cam.”
He heard the note of reproach in Lydia’s voice but chose to ignore it. Instead, he smiled at the waitress as she came up to their table, two laminated menus in her hand.
“Hey there,” the woman said, showing crooked teeth. “What y’all having tonight?”
“I could really use a whiskey, neat,” Cam said.
He looked over at Lydia to hand her one of the menus when the waitress passed them to him.
“Chardonnay,” Lydia said, her eyes not leaving his.
He smiled, and the waitress sauntered off, her rounded backside swishing between the tables of the crowded floor.
“Cam,” Lydia said again, and again, he ignored her, perusing the selection of food on the menu.
“This is a bar,” Lydia said.
Cam looked up at this. “You saw t
hat, eh?” he asked and dropped his gaze back to the menu.
“I thought we were having dinner,” Lydia said, and he picked up on the slightest strain that now tightened her voice.
He finally looked up from the large variety of burgers the menu offered to look at his wife.
“I did, and we are.” He pointed to the menu to which she had not given a glance. “There are food choices on that plastic thing in your hand. You can pick whatever you’d like to eat, and these nice people just bring it out to you.”
He smiled again and looked casually about them. It was a rather run down establishment, but he wasn’t here for the scenery. He had other plans in his head. Plans that involved releasing the tension he had seen in his wife’s shoulders the moment he had spotted her in the shop. Lydia Baxter was always a little tense, but he couldn’t just stand there when he knew he could do something about it. Which was what he was doing. Helping her release tension and stress. He had witnessed the appointment with the Hatfields going anywhere but where Lydia wanted it to, and he knew that must be weighing on Lydia like a dog on a rug.
The waitress brought their drinks, and as Lydia hadn’t bothered to look at the menu, he ordered them both burgers and fries. When the waitress left again, Cam took a swig of his whiskey and looked at Lydia, who still stared at him.
“What?” he finally asked.
“What are you planning?” she asked, and her words had his eyebrows going up.
“Excuse me?” he said.
She leaned forward now, picking up her glass of chardonnay. “You know exactly what I said. This is some attempt by Cameron McCray to take care of yet another soul.” She took a sip of her wine and shook her head. “Sometimes, it’s exhausting being married to you.”
Cam set down his tumbler of whiskey. “Exhausting? We’ve only been married a handful of weeks.”
She pursed her lips at him. “We’ve been married for years.”
“Oh, aye, but we’ve only been in the same room on a regular basis for weeks.”
Her pursed lips turned into a frown at his words, and he saluted her with his whiskey.
“So why did you bring me…”—she paused long enough to look around them—“Here?” she finally finished when she seemed to not find a better word.
“Smeg’s Bars,” Cam supplied the name, leaning back in his chair.
“Bars?” Lydia said, putting emphasis on the s.
Cam nodded. “You’ll see,” he said. “Now about those Hatfields. You convince them that there’s to be a wedding?”
Lydia’s shoulders deflated, and she took another, larger sip of her wine.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “If anything, I think it’s worse.”
Cam saw the tension gather in the creased corner of her eyes at it left her shoulders.
He leaned in. “Perhaps you should try to relate to her.”
Lydia blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”
Cam shrugged. “Relate to her.” He gestured with his hands as if that were further explanation. “You know, talk to her about what girls talk about.”
Lydia frowned again. “Do you even know who I am?” she said. “I don’t talk about girl stuff.”
“You talked about girl stuff at some point in your life, didn’t you?”
She tilted her head, and he winked at her. “I can only imagine what the fearsome threesome has come up with in their lifetime.”
“I do not talk girl stuff with Shannon and Emily,” Lydia said.
Cam laughed. “Sure, call it whatever you’d like, but it still seems to be girl stuff you talk about.” He took a sip of his whiskey. “What was it you were talking about with Emily the other morning?”
Lydia’s face changed, the motion so subtle anyone not familiar with her would have missed it. But Cam saw it, and he knew he’d hit a nerve.
“Were you eavesdropping?”
A laugh burst from his lips before he could stop it. “God, no, woman. I woke up and heard your voice downstairs. I took a whizz, put on my running clothes, and came down the stairs.”
“Then how did you know it was Emily that I was on the phone with?”
He smiled and leaned in, bringing his mouth close to her ear. He enjoyed the way she shivered slightly at his approach, before saying, “Because you reign in your potty mouth when you talk to the sweet, demure Emily.”
Lydia punched him in the arm. “Asshole,” she said, and he laughed.
Their burgers came, and Lydia bit into hers before he could continue their little tete a tete. They chewed in silence for several moments, and Cam turned his chair to face the stage in the far recesses of the bar. He spotted a staff member hauling a speaker into place and adjusting cables. Cam swallowed. “About that morning,” he began, and he heard Lydia swallow uncomfortably beside him.
“We weren’t talking about girl stuff,” she said quickly.
Cam shook his head. “It’s not about that. It’s about what happened after that.”
“If you think seeing me naked in the shower is an invitation—”
“Jesus, Lydia, no. Although I did enjoy seeing you naked in the shower, I’m talking about the singing part. You can really belt it out, Lydia Baxter.”
She frowned at him over her fries. “Yeah, well, anyone sounds good in the shower.”
Cam shook his head. “No, you sounded very good, regardless of the shower.”
Lydia finally set down her food and looked at him. “Why does it matter how I sang in the shower?”
The staff member on stage adjusted a microphone in a stand, tapping the surface for a sound check.
“Because I think it’s time for Lydia Baxter to let off some steam.”
Lydia finally turned her gaze, looking in the same direction as he when the staff member stepped aside to adjust a monitor on the stage.
“Shit, Cam, you didn’t,” she said.
Cam laughed. “Of course, I did, Lydia Baxter. Would you expect anything less from me?”
“You brought me to a karaoke bar?”
Cam turned to face her. “Let’s see how good you are without the shower.”
Seven
Lydia wanted to smack the smile off his face.
“You are fucking ridiculous, Cam.” Her eyes darted from the monitor to the microphone.
“I’m always ridiculous,” he replied. “Isn’t that why you kicked me out oh so many years ago?”
“Among other things.” Her eyes bounced around as the floor seemed to fill with people, which seemed impossible because the bar had been bustling when they’d walked in nearly thirty minutes ago.
She had forgotten about the food in front of her, forgotten about the day she’d had at the shop, her mother’s unspoken accusations, the Hatfields and their wandering daughter. Her mind went completely blank when she’d seen that microphone.
“I’m not going to sing in public, Cam,” she said and looked at him.
He stared blankly back at her. “I’m not going to force you to do this.” Cam gestured toward the stage. “I just thought it would be a good way for you to release some anxiety.”
She pierced him with a glare. “What anxiety?” she snapped. “I’m perfectly fine.”
Cam didn’t have to say anything. She’d heard the bite in her voice. Her eyes went back to the stage. The tables just in front of the platform had filled with people pulling up extra chairs just to sit together as a group. She wanted to pull her dress away from her, get some air flowing around her, but the gesture would have been seen as weak. Cam. Cam would have seen the gesture as weak.
“Even if you don’t stand up there, it’s still fun to watch other folks look like idiots,” Cam said.
Lydia looked back him. “Are you saying I’d look like an idiot if I sang?”
Cam raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t say you were an idiot. Are you thinking about singing?”
“No!” She shoved her plate of food away and took up her wine glass. “Of course, I’m not going to sing.”
The waitress came over then, and Cam ordered another whiskey. The woman had almost walked away when Lydia called out to her.
“I’ll have one, too,” she said.
She ignored Cam’s raised eyebrow. It was then that a member of the staff went up to the mike to announce the opening of karaoke for the evening, gesturing toward a table off stage where you could sign up for a time slot. Cam nudged her.
“I bet the slots will go quickly in this crowd.”
Lydia glared at him again as the waitress returned with their whiskeys. She picked hers up and downed it in one gulp.
“I’m not singing.” She pointed at Cam with her empty tumbler.
He smirked at her. “And I keep telling you that I’m not going to make you sing,” he said.
Their waitress came around another table, and Lydia shot her arm in the air, the one with the empty glass. The waitress caught the gesture and nodded, heading back toward the bar.
“Are you going to get sloshed instead?” Cam asked, and Lydia’s heart nearly stopped.
The last time she had gotten sloshed, as Cam called it, she’d ended up married to a Scot.
“I’m not getting sloshed,” she said. “I’m burning off some steam. Isn’t that what you said we’re here to do?”
Cam smiled, taking a sip from his own whiskey. “Something like that,” he said.
The conversation stopped when a pudgy, middle-aged man in a wrinkled suit and loosened tie bounded up to the microphone.
“Heeeey,” he called into the microphone, and the bar erupted into a cascade of applause and catcalls.
The man spun around and pulling up the back of his suit jacket, shook his butt at the crowd. Another eruption of applause filled the crowded space, and Lydia’s jaw fell open.
“I think he’s a regular,” Cam muttered next to her.
The opening strands of a popular oldie began to pulsate in the air, and the crowd erupted yet again. Lydia looked at Cam.
“I’m not doing this,” she said.
Cam’s face remained expressionless, and in his silence, she heard her own recriminations. It was just karaoke. It wasn’t like she was joining a pub crawl like she’d done so recklessly five years ago. But it wasn’t about being reckless or ridiculous. It was about something. Something that pulled within her. Something that made her doubt the rigidity with which she lived her life. It was just karaoke. Wasn’t it?
When She Falls Page 9
