Ain’t She Sweet?

“When are you going to end this folly?”

GEORGETTE HEYER, These Old Shades

The apartment above Yesterday’s Treasures was cramped and dingy, filled with furniture that either hadn’t sold or hadn’t yet made its way downstairs. The living area had an exposed brick wall, two tall windows that looked down over the main street, and a sleeper sofa. A plastic shower stall occupied the corner of the old-fashioned bathroom, while the kitchen nook offered up an ancient refrigerator, a modern microwave, and an apartment-size harvest gold gas stove from the 1970s. The apartment couldn’t have been more different from Winnie’s house, and although she wasn’t exactly happy here, she wasn’t entirely unhappy, either.

She carried a cup of Sleepytime tea to the French café table she’d pulled from the display window so she’d have a place to eat, and gazed down on the dark, empty street below. It was nearly eleven, and the stores had closed long ago. The red neon sign for Covner’s Dry Cleaning blinked in the light drizzle that had begun to fall, and a passing headlight reflected off the window of Jewel’s bookstore. Winnie was thirty-two years old and living alone for the first time. Not that she’d been alone for long. It was only her second night.

“This is so dumb!” Gigi had exclaimed when she’d stormed into the shop after school today. “Last night Dad made me do everything. I had to clean up the kitchen after we had pizza, and then I had to take the garbage cans out. He didn’t even help; he just went in the study and shut the door. When are you coming home?”

Winnie had been so taken aback by Gigi’s black outfit and eye makeup that she hadn’t responded right away. Her baby! As much as Winnie had yearned to see the end of her baggy Salvation Army clothes, she hadn’t expected this. What would be next? Tattoos and tongue piercing?

She took a sip of tea. Not even the Seawillows knew she’d moved out, although Donna Grimley, the woman Winnie had hired as her new assistant, was getting suspicious.

On the street below, the traffic light flashed red, and the lone figure of a man came around the corner. He was tall, broad-shouldered, jacket collar turned up against the drizzle. It was Ryan, and her pulses quickened just as they used to when she was a girl. She felt a rush of sexual awareness she hadn’t experienced in a long time and rose from the table so she could get closer to the window.

His steps slowed at the curb. He saw her looking down at him and tilted his head back to gaze up at her. She rested her cheek against the dirty glass and pressed the warm cup of tea between her breasts.

He made a sharp, upward gesture with his thumb. Open the door, damn it, and let me in.

Her breath made a cloudy circle on the window. Once, she would have drawn his initials inside that circle. Now, she pulled back just far enough to shake her head.

His anger spiraled up at her, the anger of an ill-used husband saddled with an ungrateful, hysterical wife. He made another jab with that furious thumb.

She shook her head again. At home, a spare key hung on the rack. Either he’d never noticed or it hadn’t occurred to him he’d need it. Rain glistened in his hair, and his posture grew rigid. He stalked away, his angry strides devouring the wet pavement.

Long after she’d lost sight of him, she continued to stand at the window, cradling her teacup and waiting for the tears to come.

They didn’t.

Sugar Beth overslept the next morning. Cubby and his cronies had shown up again last night—two nights in a row—and kept her awake with their hooting.

“Sugar . . . Sugar . . . Sugar . . .”

She hurried to dress, and when she arrived at Frenchman’s Bride, she found a note from Colin saying he had business in Memphis and wouldn’t be back until evening. At the end, he’d written, I’ve made a dinner reservation for us tonight at the Parrish Inn. I’ll pick you up at seven.

Of all the dimwitted notions . . . He had a death wish. Why else would he want to do something so lamebrained? It was one thing for her to work for him—people liked that—but quite another for them to be seen together socially. She’d be leaving Parrish soon, but he’d planted roots here. And no matter how famous he’d become, he was still an outsider. If people realized he’d stopped dedicating himself to making her miserable, he’d lose all their hard-won respect.

She rose and tossed the note in the kitchen trash where it belonged, then gazed down at Gordon who’d just finished his breakfast. “I’ve been doing a con job on myself, haven’t I? Nothing about this affair is going to work.”

He paused in his postmeal stretch to give her his I-told-you-so look.

She grabbed a sponge and attacked the counter. Colin would refuse to sneak around like any sensible person. From his permanent mount on that moral high horse, he’d view the concept of seeing her only for sex as sordid. But who said sordid was always a bad thing? Sometimes sordid was simply practical.

She worked feverishly all day—stocking up on his groceries, cleaning out the refrigerator, straightening the closets. As she went into his office to sort through the household mail, she wished she’d told him yesterday that she’d taken a job with Jewel.

She also wished she’d been able to find a manuscript of Reflections. When she’d asked him if she could read it, he’d told her he didn’t have a fresh copy. She’d said any old copy would do, but he’d put her off until she’d finally told him straight out that attacking Diddie after she was dead wasn’t her idea of fair play. He’d ignored her, and all her snooping since then hadn’t unearthed the manuscript, not even in his computer files. She spotted a printout of the first few chapters of his new book sitting on top of his desk. The red ink staining the pages reminded her of her senior year when that same critical handwriting had streaked the margins of every paper she’d written for him.

She returned to the kitchen and began making casseroles to freeze, just like all the other smitten single ladies in Parrish had done. Finally, she couldn’t postpone it any longer, and she punched in the number of his cell phone.

“Frances Elizabeth here,” she said when he answered.

“I did not know that was your name.”

“Tell it to your shrink.” She settled next to Gordon on the sunroom couch. “Where are you?”

“Almost home. How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Why?”

“Your cramps?”

“Uh . . . all gone.”

But he’d heard the hesitation, and he was smarter than the average bear. “You lied to me! You didn’t have cramps at all. I won’t have it, do you hear me?” He sounded deliciously pompous and decidedly miffed.

“Sorry,” she said, “I was tired last night, and I didn’t want to bruise your ego by rejecting you. Men can be so sensitive. And don’t forget that I have a long history of taking the easy way out.”

“Why am I becoming increasingly apprehensive about this phone call?”

It was hard to put one over on Yogi Bear. “As a matter of fact, I do have a little news to share. But it’s good news so don’t worry. You might even want to pull over to the side of the road so you can do a happy dance.” She stroked Gordon’s fur, not feeling much like doing a happy dance herself. “As of tomorrow morning, I’m not working for you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jewel hired me. She doesn’t pay much, but neither do you, so the money’s pretty much a wash. Not that I’ve forgotten about that two-thousand-dollar guilt check you wrote me, which, by the way, I tore up.”

She waited for the explosion. It wasn’t long in coming.

“This is completely unacceptable!”

“Why? You fired me, remember?”

“We renegotiated.”

“When?”

“You know very well what I’m talking about.”

“Don’t tell me that you regard what we did in bed on Sunday morning as a labor negotiation.”

“Stop being obstinate. Working at the bookstore will make you vulnerable to whoever walks in the door. You’ll have no way of protecting yourself against whatever nastiness your old enemies decide to unleash on you. Jewel should have more sense.”

“Quit it, Daddy, you’re scaring me.”

“Mock all you like. As long as you’re working at Frenchman’s Bride, you’re protected. At the bookstore, you’ll be a sitting target.”

“I’ve known some unreasonable men in my time, but you just shot to the head of the cafeteria line. You want to get rid of me, remember?”

Predictably, he ignored her. “Why didn’t you discuss this with me?”

“No time. She didn’t offer me the job until yesterday morning.”

The slow, ominous monotone that rumbled over the phone line told her she’d made a strategic mistake. “You’ve known this since yesterday, and you’re just getting around to mentioning it?”

“I had some distractions. Thanks, by the way, for being so nice in the attic. I should have thanked you yesterday, but you might have noticed I have a problem expressing gratitude.”

“You have no problem at all expressing gratitude. And I’d very much appreciate it if you’d stop trying to control every conversation that makes you in the slightest bit uncomfortable by throwing out your imaginary character flaws.”

He was a dangerous man, and she quickly changed the subject. “Don’t you think it’s about time you did that happy dance?”

“One of us has to look out for your best interests. Call Jewel immediately and tell her you’ve reconsidered.”

“No.”

“We have an agreement. I don’t plan to let you back out.”

“Hold it right there. The only agreement we ever had was that you intended to make me as miserable as possible, and I intended to courageously make the best of an intolerable situation like valiant Southern women have always done.”

“We’ll talk about this over dinner,” he snapped, clearly reaching the end of a very short rope.

“As to that—”

He broke the connection before she could say more.

Colin was in a foul mood that night as he got dressed to take Sugar Beth to dinner. In her typically reckless fashion, she’d only made her life more difficult. By accepting the job at the bookstore, she’d be at the mercy of everybody who still held a grudge against her. He slipped his watch on. Her yowling admirers had shown up again last night. He’d been reading in the second-floor study, so he hadn’t heard them right away, and by the time he’d gotten downstairs, they’d driven off, robbing him of the satisfaction of driving them off himself.

He gazed around at his bedroom. She’d made sure he had clean laundry, fresh sheets, and a supply of his favorite toiletries. He’d started to get used to having someone looking out for his comfort, even though he was perfectly capable of doing it himself. Still, the smaller touches tended to escape him, like the polished red apple resting on a white cloth napkin next to his bed. One apple. Maddening woman. He frowned and shot his cuffs.

As he made his way to the carriage house, he chastised himself for not specifically telling her she’d been rehired, but he doubted it would have made a difference. Sugar Beth liked to muck about with things. She’d been on his mind all day—the way she’d looked when they’d made love, her sharp edges smoothed out, those silvery eyes slumberous and utterly beguiling. Afterward, she’d snuggled in his arms and entertained him with her sass. The thing of it was, he’d never been a lighthearted person, but when he was with her, he at least felt the possibility of lightheartedness. Too late, he wished he’d thought to bring her flowers, something intrinsically Southern, full of spice. Something beautiful, complex, and as elusive as she was.

He approached the carriage house porch. Just the thought of seeing her again lifted the dark mood he’d been carrying around all day. And then he spotted the note taped to the door.

More cramps.

Sugar Beth nibbled on a sweet potato french fry and gazed through the Lakehouse windows. Beyond the docks, the water lay dark and mysterious, waiting for the Jet Skis and swimmers to return. In high school, they’d hung out at Allister’s Point, where they’d drunk illegal beer, told dirty jokes, and made out. She wondered if Colin had ever made out on a beach blanket that smelled like beer and suntan lotion. She couldn’t imagine it.

She pushed aside the uneaten half of her barbecue, a Lakehouse specialty, along with tamales, corn bread, and fried dill pickles. The weeknight crowd was sparse, but she’d still opted for the far corner table in the dining room, and even then she’d had to fight off Jeffie Stevens.

She’d been drawn to the Lakehouse tonight by nostalgia, along with a taste for the barbecue she’d grown up on. The rustic riverboat decor still looked much as she remembered: brass light fixtures with green glass shades, plank walls, gingerbread trim, wooden captain’s chairs with vinyl cushions to protect against the wet swimsuits that were prohibited in the dining area—a rule that was conveniently forgotten from May into October, when the Lakehouse did most of its business. In the old days, green velour valances had topped the big windows that looked out over the water. Now the valances were red with gold ball fringe, and the wooden floor held a fresh coat of steel gray paint. A jukebox sat in the corner next to a tiny dance floor conveniently located by the doorway that led to the bar.

She reached for her Coke, then nearly knocked it over as Ryan stepped up to that very same bar. Just her luck. She’d come here to avoid being seen in public with Colin, and now she’d run into Ryan. Maybe he wouldn’t spot her. But a long mirror ran along the wall in front of him, and as the bartender passed over his beer, Ryan’s head came up.

She turned to gaze out the window, pretending not to notice him, but he was coming right toward her. He wore a gray suit, white shirt, and a tie loosened at the neck. Every eye in the dining room swung in their direction. She gazed down at her plate, spoke through tight lips. “You know better than this. Go away.”

He kicked out the chair across from her and sank into it, beer bottle in hand. “I don’t feel like it.”

The teenage boy she remembered would never have taken a seat without being invited, but that boy had been a lot more polite than this hard-eyed captain of industry. She wanted her dog.

“I mean it, Ryan. Everybody’s going to say I lured you out here, and frankly, I’m getting a little tired of being held responsible for the fall of all mankind.”

His hair wasn’t deliberately rumpled like Colin’s. Instead, it looked as though he’d shoved his hand through it a few too many times, and the lines in his face seemed deeper-etched than they’d been four nights ago. His suit coat fell open as he stretched his legs and gestured toward her plate with his bottle. “Are you going to eat the rest of that sandwich?”

“Yes.”

But he’d already pulled her plate toward him. As he picked up her untouched half, the past rushed at her so fast she felt dizzy. How many meals had he finished for her when they were in high school? She’d been a picky eater, more interested in fun and flirting than food, and he’d had a teenage boy’s gargantuan appetite. Suddenly, she wanted it all back: the opportunities she’d squandered, the self-confidence she lost, the blissful arrogance that had made her believe nothing could ever harm her. She wanted her mother. The Seawillows. Most of all, she wanted the life she’d have lived if she’d stayed with her first lover, even though she hadn’t loved him for a very long time.

The boy most likely to succeed polished off her sandwich and took a swig of beer. “Did you think about Parrish after you left?”

“I tried my best not to.”

“Remember how we were going to leave here? Go to the big city and make our mark?”

“You were going to make your mark. I was mainly going to shop.”

Colin would have enjoyed that, but Ryan barely seemed to hear her. Even as kids, they hadn’t shared the same sense of humor. His had always been more literal. Like Winnie’s. He peeled up the edge of the beer label with his thumb. “Did you ever think about me?”

Weariness from a long day caught up with her, and she sighed. “Go home, Ryan. Better yet, I’ll go.”

She tossed down her napkin and started to rise, but his hand shot across the table and grabbed her wrist. “Did you?” he said fiercely.

She was in no mood for this, and as she fell back in her chair, she jerked her hand away. “I thought about you all the time,” she retorted. “When Darren Tharp slapped me across the room, I thought of you. When he screwed around on me, I thought of you. And the night I staggered into a Vegas wedding chapel with Cy, both of us so drunk we could barely say our vows, I thought of you then, too. One morning— And this happened after my divorce, mind you, because, unlike my loser husbands, I didn’t screw around. One morning I woke up in a seedy motel with a man I could have sworn I’d never seen before, and, baby, you’d better believe I thought of you then.”

A mixture of emotions played across his face: shock, pity, and the faintest trace of satisfaction that came from knowing she’d been punished for what she’d done to him. His all-too-human reaction quenched her anger, and she gave him a rueful smile. “Before you get too smug, I’d better tell you that I stopped thinking about you the day I met Emmett Hooper. I loved that man from the bottom of my heart.”

Ryan’s satisfaction faded, and she knew what was coming next. She held out her hand to put a stop it. “Don’t bother jumpin’ on the pity train for me. Emmett and I had more happiness in our short marriage than most couples have in a lifetime. I was very lucky.”

He surprised her by going all starchy. “Winnie and I’ve been very happy.”

“I wasn’t making comparisons.”

“All couples hit rough patches now and then.”

She and Emmett hadn’t. He’d died too soon.

“Anything I can get you, Mr. Galantine?” The waitress’s eyes were bright with curiosity as she sidled up to the table. “Anything else, miss?”

“I’ll have another beer,” Ryan said, “and bring her some of that chocolate pie.”

“Just my check,” Sugar Beth said.

“Make it two pies,” he said.

“Sure enough.”

“I don’t want pie,” Sugar Beth told him, as the waitress left. “I want to go home. And since you’re such a saint, apparently it hasn’t occurred to you that Winnie’s going to hear all about our little tête-à-tête here, and I’m guessing she won’t take it well, so this might not be the best way to patch up your differences.”

“I have nothing to feel guilty about.”

He’d answered too carefully, and Sugar Beth studied him. “You want Winnie to hear about this.”

“Hand me those fries if you’re not going to finish them.”

“I don’t appreciate being used.”

“You owe me.”

“Not after Sunday.”

He studied the ring his bottle left on the table. “You’re talking about Gigi.”

“Still as sharp as ever.”

“I’m not apologizing for being upset.”

“Then you’re an idiot. You and Winnie managed to turn me into forbidden fruit, and you can bet that Gigi’s already figured out a way to see me again.”

Instead of an angry rejoinder, he traced the water ring with his finger. “You’re probably right.”

The waitress returned with the beer, two pieces of pie, and Sugar Beth’s check. As she left, Sugar Beth stirred the last bits of ice in her Coke with her straw. “She’s a great kid, Ryan. Right now, she’s asking the questions that most of us don’t get around to until we’re older.”

“She hasn’t asked me anything.”

She arched an eyebrow.

“We have a great relationship,” he said defensively. “We’ve always talked.”

“Before she turned into a teenager.”

“That shouldn’t make any difference.”

“You sound like you’re ninety. You remember what it was like. I’m not her parent, and I’m also notorious, which makes me an irresistible confidante.”

“What kind of questions is she asking?”

“Privileged information. You’ll have to trust me.”

He gazed at her for a long moment. She waited for him to say she was the last person he’d trust, but he didn’t. “Colin’s right. You have changed.”

She shrugged. He fiddled with his beer bottle again. “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we’d stayed together?”

“We wouldn’t have. My self-destructive streak was a mile wide. If I hadn’t left you for Darren Tharp, I’d have left you for somebody else.”

“I guess you couldn’t help it.”

“Wait a minute. You’re not going to wave the olive branch that easily, are you?”

“Your father was an insensitive son of a bitch. If he’d given you a little affection, maybe you wouldn’t have adopted your scorched-earth policy with men.”

“Girls and their daddies.”

He flinched.

“Ryan, it’s not going to be that way with Gigi. She knows you love her. She’ll come through. Just give her some room to make a few mistakes.”

He switched directions before she could see it coming. “Don’t zero in on Colin, Sugar Beth. He bleeds like the rest of us, and he still has a lot of wounds from his wife’s suicide.”

“Worry about yourself.” She pushed her pie across the table. “And don’t use me again as a pawn in your problems with Winnie.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“Yes.”

He leaned back in his chair, looking her square in the eye. “What if I said I still thought about you?”

“I’d believe you, but I wouldn’t attach any importance to it. There’s not a single spark left between us.”

“You’re still a beautiful woman.”

“And you’re a gorgeous man. Ken and Barbie all grown up. We look real good together, but we don’t have a lot to say to each other.”

That made him smile, and she thought she felt something ease between them. Before it went away, she gathered up her purse and pushed her check across the table. “Thanks for dinner. And good luck explaining this to Winnie.”

The house felt abandoned as Ryan entered. No wife waiting for him with a glass of wine and a smile. No rock music blaring from the upstairs bedroom. He tossed his suit coat over the back of a kitchen chair, on top of the sweater he’d left there yesterday. His Sports Illustrated lay open on the table. The counter held a litter of advertising flyers mixed in with bills and brokerage statements he hadn’t taken the time to sort through. He’d always thought of himself as being well organized, but when he’d gotten dressed this morning, he couldn’t find either his good black belt or his nail clippers. He tried to imagine Winnie’s reaction when she heard he’d been with Sugar Beth. Maybe this would finally shake enough sense into her to bring her home.

The front door banged.

“Dad!”

Gigi sounded frantic. He dropped the newspaper. She’d eaten dinner tonight with Winnie at the Inn, and as he rushed into the foyer, images of disaster flashed through his head.

She stood just inside the front door, her eyes pools of misery, her chest quivering. She looked so young and forlorn. He pulled her into his arms. “Honey? What’s wrong?”

“Dad?” She shuddered against him. “Dad, Mom’s left us.”

Winnie gripped the steering wheel. She hadn’t been able to keep Gigi in the dark any longer. Maybe she and Ryan should have told her together, but that would have made it seem too serious, and she hadn’t wanted to scare her. Besides, she doubted Ryan would have agreed to talk to Gigi with her. He was too angry.

When she’d spoken with him a few hours ago on the phone, he’d been hostile and sarcastic, playing the long-suffering husband saddled with a crazy wife. And maybe he was right. What sane woman walked out on her husband because he didn’t love her enough? Still, she wasn’t sorry she hadn’t let him come up last night.

Ironically, she and Gigi had been having a good time at dinner once Winnie had gotten over the shock of her daughter’s hair. Not only had she added red streaks, but she’d also chopped chunks in it around her face, cutting too far in on one side. Still, she’d seemed happy with it, so Winnie had managed a compliment. And she hadn’t uttered a word about Gigi’s eye makeup or too-tight black outfit. After some initial awkwardness, Gigi had started to chatter away about how girls gave up their power, a topic that had first reared its ugly head after her clandestine meeting with Sugar Beth.

“. . . like when a girl does something goofy in class just to make some stupid boy she likes laugh. Or when the girls let teachers ignore them, even the women teachers. Mrs. Kirkpatrick calls on the boys a lot more than she calls on the girls because the boys are always jumping out of their seats, and she wants to keep them quiet. Today I raised my hand about six thousand times, but she still wouldn’t call on me. Finally, I jumped out of my seat, too, and started waving my arms until she got the point.”

“I remember getting passed over, too.”

“Because you were quiet.”

Winnie had nodded. “Not by Colin, though. He was the worst teacher in some ways, the best in others.” She’d put on her fake British accent. “Jasper, keep your bum in that bloody chair till I call on you. Winnie, speak up! I was terrified of him.”

Gigi had giggled, and for a few moments, it felt like old times. Then Gigi’s strawberry shortcake had arrived, and Winnie had known she couldn’t postpone telling her any longer.

“There’s something I wanted to mention before you hear it from someone else and get the wrong impression.” She’d made herself smile a little, as if what she was about to announce were no more unpleasant than a dental appointment. “I’ve decided I need a little time to myself. No big deal, and definitely nothing for you to worry about. But I’m going to stay at the store awhile longer.”

At first, Gigi hadn’t understood. “This is so lame! It’s not fair. You’re at the store even more now than before you hired Donna.”

Winnie’d tried again, speaking carefully. “It’s not entirely about work. There are some things I need to sort out. Dad and I got married when we were very young, but as people grow older they change a little. I want to think some things through. A few weeks maybe. A month. It’s nothing serious—I don’t want you to think that—but you’re also getting older, and it’s not fair to keep you in the dark.”

The petulance in her daughter’s expression had been replaced by dawning realization and then horror. Within seconds, Gigi made the leap to the ultimate disaster. “You and Dad are getting a divorce!”

“No! No, sweetheart, nothing like that.” Winnie hoped her own creeping doubts didn’t show. “Dad and I aren’t getting a divorce. I just need some time away, so I can figure a few things out.”

A vulnerable little girl replaced the sullen teenager, and Gigi began to cry. “You’re getting a divorce.”

Winnie knew then that she shouldn’t have chosen the Inn’s dining room to break the news, but she’d thought a public setting would make it seem less important. Once again, she’d been wrong.

“It’s me, isn’t it?” Gigi’s nose had started to run. “Because I’ve been such a bitch.”

“No, sweetie. No. This doesn’t have anything to do with you.” She didn’t add that Gigi’s behavior hadn’t helped. Instead, Winnie hustled her into the ladies’ room, where she’d hugged her, cleaned up the smeared eye makeup, and done her best to reassure both of them that this was only temporary.

She was still shaking as she climbed the stairs and let herself into the dingy apartment that had become the living quarters of the richest woman in Parrish, Mississippi. After she’d slipped into a T-shirt and her new blue-and-white-checked pajama bottoms, she settled down to do some paperwork, but she couldn’t concentrate. She picked up Southern Living and thumbed through the recipes, only to realize she had no idea who she might be cooking them for. The phone rang. She knew it would be Ryan. By now, Gigi had told him about their conversation, and he’d be furious. If she ignored his call as she wanted to, she’d only make things worse. “Hello.”

“Winnie, we’re all in the alley.” It wasn’t Ryan, but Merylinn. “Come down right now and unlock this door.”

She’d hoped a few more days would pass before the Seawillows learned that she’d moved out. “I’ll be there in a minute.” As she made her way downstairs, she considered the odds of convincing them she was only staying here so she could get an early start on inventory. Not good at all.

They looked as though they were dressed for a come-as-you-are party: Leeann in faded capris and a man’s work shirt, Merylinn in yellow J-Lo sweatpants with a matching tank and zipper jacket, Heidi in jeans. Amy must have gone to church that evening, because she wore a rose-colored suit with a white shell. They swarmed upstairs, bringing with them the scent of strong perfume and interference.

“We have sustenance.” Merylinn pulled a bottle of vodka from her tropical tote along with a silver cocktail shaker. “Thank God for Amy’s bladder infections. You always know where you can find cranberry juice.”

“I’ve been doing better with them.” Amy took the Ocean Spray from a sack and a couple cans of Coke, because she didn’t drink alcohol.

“If you’d pee right after you and Clint have sex, you wouldn’t get so many.” Heidi headed for the kitchen and began opening the cupboards, looking for glasses.

“I do pee,” Amy retorted. “It doesn’t help.”

Heidi waved a tumbler at her. “Right after? Or do you mess around some more first.”

“Depends.”

“I pee,” Merylinn said, “and I still get ’em sometimes.”

Trying to stop the Seawillows once they’d set themselves in motion was like trying to stop kudzu. Winnie sank down on the room’s saggy couch and let them do their work. Leeann pulled a box of Cocoa Puffs from a Radio Shack sack. “This was the only chocolate I had in the house. The kids got into my Hershey’s.”

The last time there’d been a Seawillows emergency involving vodka, cranberry juice, and chocolate, Leeann had ended up divorced. Winnie crossed her legs. “What’s all this about?”

“Sue Covner, among other people.” Leeann dumped the Cocoa Puffs in the bowl Heidi passed over. Sue was a notorious busybody and the wife of the owner of Covner’s Dry Cleaners across the street from Yesterday’s Treasures.

Merylinn headed for the kitchen. “Don’t anybody say another word till I get our drinks ready.”

The Seawillows were used to working together, and it didn’t take long for them to settle around the couch, glasses in hand, the French café table moved closer to hold the Cocoa Puffs, accompanied by some Skittles Heidi dredged from the bottom of her purse.

“Y’all can tease me if you want,” Amy said, “but this is serious business, and we’re startin’ off in prayer.” She grabbed Winnie’s and Leeann’s hands. “Lord Jesus, we’re here in the spirit of friendship to help Winnie and Ryan in their time of trouble. We ask you to give them forgiving hearts, so they can deal with their problems, whatever they might be. Remind them how much they love each other. And what you’ve joined together, Lord Jesus, don’t let anybody, and we mean anybody, pull apart. We pray in your name. Amen.”

“Amen,” they all replied.

Winnie took a sip of the cranberry juicelaced vodka—lots of vodka, very little cranberry juice—and watched as Merylinn sat forward in her seat. “All right, everybody, let’s get down to business.” Her forehead crumpled. She reached over to touch Winnie’s knee. “Honey, Sue Covner called me this afternoon. She said the lights have been on over your store for the past two nights, and that she thinks you’re sleeping here.” She took in Winnie’s sleepwear. “I told her she was surely mistaken, but apparently she was right.”

“Sue Covner should mind her own business,” Winnie retorted.

“She’s too busy minding everybody else’s.” Leeann grabbed a handful of Cocoa Puffs and tucked her feet under her on the couch.

“Deke called Ryan at work today,” Merylinn continued. “He said Ryan sounded awful.”

“Good,” Winnie retorted, surprising herself almost as much as she surprised them.

Heidi cradled her glass and looked at the others. “Y’all know how intuitive I am. I said I thought they might be having problems.”

Over the years, Heidi’s intuition had proved even less reliable than the local weather forecasters, and Winnie wished she could have found another time to get it right. “We’re going through a bumpy patch,” Winnie said carefully. “It’s nothing serious, I don’t want to talk about it, and this is just a waste of good vodka.”

Merylinn gazed at the others, and Winnie felt a stir of uneasiness as she watched some kind of silent communication pass among them. Amy picked up Leeann’s glass and stole a sip. Leeann turned to Winnie. “Honey, we’re thinkin’ it might be more than a bumpy patch. That’s why we’re here.”

“What makes you think that?” Winnie said slowly.

“Sue called me twice, the second time not much more than an hour ago.” Merylinn waved a helpless hand in the air. “Oh, shit, I’m gonna cry.”

Amy patted Merylinn’s arm, but she kept her eyes on Winnie. “Sue’s daughter called her from the Lakehouse.” She fingered her cross, looking like the mother of all sorrows. “Ryan was there. At the Lakehouse.” She took a long, slow breath. “And he was having dinner with Sugar Beth.”

They all began talking at once.

“I’m so mad at him I could spit . . .”

“We had to get here first and warn you . . .”

“You know Ryan would never look at another woman. If it weren’t Sugar Beth, nobody’d even think twice about it.”

“I just hate her. I can’t help it. She’s not going to get away with this.”

Winnie’s first thought was to blame herself. If she hadn’t left home, this wouldn’t have happened. If she’d let Ryan come upstairs last night . . . If she’d been more conciliatory on the phone . . . Acid burned in her stomach. At least they were no longer in limbo. “Ryan’s a big boy,” she heard herself say. “He’s strong enough to fight her off if he wants to.”

“But what if he doesn’t want to?” Leeann blurted out. “What are we going to do then?”

Not you. We. Whether it was vodka or fear, Winnie’s heart filled with love for these women.

They started poking and prodding. What exactly had Ryan done? How long had they been having problems? Who did Sugar Beth think she was? Winnie polished off her drink, told them how much she loved them, and refused to answer a single question.

“We’re your best friends,” Merylinn protested, refilling her own glass. “If you can’t talk to us, who can you talk to?”

“Obviously not that bastard I’m married to.”

The novelty of hearing the Golden Boy of Parrish, Mississippi, called a bastard made Heidi snort, which sent a little vodka up her nose, and they all started to giggle, even Winnie. Eventually, they settled down. Heidi drank a Cocoa Puff that had somehow made its way into her glass. Amy polished off Leeann’s drink. Merylinn refilled the cocktail shaker. Leeann picked at her nail polish. Their friendship enfolded Winnie like a warm blanket.

Leeann slipped back into her shoes, all the laughter gone from her eyes. “Ryan’s a very special man, and the sad fact is . . . if you’re not careful, Sugar Beth’s going to steal him from under your nose.”

“Leeann’s right,” Merylinn said. “Ryan is special. You can’t let her take him away from you. You have to fight for him.”

“I’m special, too,” Winnie heard herself say. “And I think it’s about time Ryan Galantine fought for me.”

They all stared at her, but Winnie was claiming her power, and she didn’t flinch. “As a matter of fact, I think it’s long past time.”