by Lori Wilde
From noon until five P.M. they would work on renovating the Victorian. Each day, they’d take turns cooking dinner, one of them breaking off from the renovations at four for food prep. Then, from 5:30 to 10:30 P.M. they would all quilt.
Shelley added her own personal time to the schedule, sleeping only six hours and getting up at 4:30 A.M. as she had at Cobalt Soul for yoga, meditation, and a run on the beach. Maintaining her daily practice kept Shelley grounded and sane. Especially in the face of Madison’s control-freakishness.
On Thursday, May 21, three days after she’d come home, Shelley slipped into her grandmother’s hospital room with ten different colors of fingernail polish tucked in her tote. When she was small, she loved playing beauty shop, and Grammy had good-naturedly been Shelley’s guinea pig.
“Look what I brought, Gram-Gram,” Shelley said, calling her by the nickname only she used.
She fished the bottles of nail polish from her tote and settled them on the blanket at Grammy’s feet. Once upon a time she had rocked mani-pedis, going for interesting colors and intricate designs, back before The Incident with Raoul and that whole shit show.
Which was why she was in possession of so many bottles of polish. She’d found them where she’d left them, stored far back in the extra fridge Grammy kept in the garage.
“All the colors of the rainbow. Let’s hope some of them are still good. I brought polish remover to thin them down, if need be, to get them flowing again.”
She grabbed the chair, recently vacated by one of the Quilting Divas who’d spent the night—those Divas were the bomb-diggity—moving it from the side of the bed to the foot. Shelley plopped down and folded the covers back to expose Grammy’s toes. Clicked her tongue, tsk, tsk.
“Girlfriend, you are in serious need of a pedi.” Shelley put a pillow under her grandmother’s right foot to elevate it, then got out cotton balls to wedge between Grammy’s stiff toes.
“Not that I can talk.” Shelley stared down at her own bare fingernails. “But don’t worry. I’ve got you covered.” She picked up a bright red polish, Essie, Forever Yummy. “What an optimistic name. Me likey. Let’s use that for your big toes.”
Holding the bottle by the neck, she whacked it against her palm to mix the stagnant polish, then rotated it in her hands to warm it. Painstakingly, she leaned over the end of the bed and carefully painted the big toe of Grammy’s right foot.
When she finished, she reached for a bottle of yellow polish. Grabbed OPI, Sun, Sea, and Sand in My Pants.
Laughing, Shelley said, “The name sums up my entire life.”
Nothing from Grammy.
“Where are you?” Shelley raised her head, studied her inert grandmother’s empty face below the bandages swaddling her head. “Where are you? Where did you go?”
Only the ventilator keeping her grandmother alive answered with a soft, rhythmic whooshing. The room clogged with the astringent smell of nail polish, mingling with the generalized hospital funk of citrusy disinfectant, mushy oatmeal, and stark mortality.
Tears threatened but Shelley sniffled them back, not wanting to water down the pedicure. She finished up with the yellow polish, reached for a gentle purple-tinged blue color. Picked up the bottle but froze when she recognized the brand and saw the polish name.
Smith & Cult. Exit the Void.
Eep! Goose bumps popped up all over her arms.
“No, no, no, definitely not that one.” She tossed the bottle over her shoulder and into the trash.
Shivered.
What could she say? She’d screwed up royally. In more than one way. Idiot adjacent. That was her. Idiot adjacent? That’s kind. Face it, you were just plain idiotic.
Studying her grandmother’s slack features, guilt swamped her. A hurricane of remorse and regret and sadness. She hadn’t spoken to her grandmother in five years. Grammy had taken Madison’s side in The Incident with Raoul and Shelley had been hurt to the quick.
But that was ego and pride. She should have stopped nursing her hurt sooner. It had been wrong. She’d been wrong. She should have forgiven her grandmother, even if Grammy couldn’t forgive her.
The truth would have set her free, but telling the story of what had motivated her would cripple someone else, so Shelley had shouldered the blame in silence. It was okay. She’d go to her grave keeping that secret. In the meantime, she had to live up to her hussy persona. Embrace it even.
Misery tugged at her. Would she ever be able to make amends?
Shaking off the heebie-jeebies, she grabbed another polish and went to work. A few minutes later, she’d finished the second coat, each toe a different vivid color.
“Look, Grammy, coma toes!”
Staring at the cheerful, lively colors got to her. A rush of tears came then, sliding down her cheeks in a slick mess. She buried her face in an extra pillow, crinkly and stiff from the plastic protector.
“Oh, Grammy, I took it for granted that you would always be here. I thought we had all the time in the world.”
A soft hand settled on her shoulder.
Shelley jumped, whipped her head around, convinced for a moment that it was Grammy who’d reached out and touched her.
Instead, she saw a sturdy-looking nursing assistant in scrubs and a badge identifying her as May June Barton.
“Are you okay?” May June had a whisper like a purring Pyewacket, rumbly, low, and lazy.
Shelley smiled, nodded, and swiped her tears away with two fingers.
“You did a great job on her toenails.” May June admired Shelley’s handiwork. “When she wakes up, she’ll see rainbows.”
“That’s what I thought,” Shelley said.
“Good choice. Rainbows are a reminder of what awaits us after we’ve weathered a storm.” May June dropped her hand. “Like God’s promise to Noah after that forty days and forty nights flood.”
Shelley crossed the fingers of both hands. “Here’s hoping for many more rainbows in her future.”
May June nodded but looked as if she didn’t believe it even as she fingered the cross at her throat. “I just came in to check on her.”
“Thanks.”
May June leaned over the bed, readjusting the covers and plumping Grammy’s pillow. As she stepped back, she glanced into the trash basket. “Dried-up bottle?”
“Huh, oh, the polish? No. It just wasn’t the right color.” She wasn’t about to get into the knee-jerk reason she’d thrown out the polish.
“Smith & Cult is really chic . . . and expensive.” May June fished the bottle from the trash. “May I have it?”
“Sure.”
May June closed her hand around the polish, looking as if she’d just won the Powerball lottery. Geeza Louisa, it’s just nail polish. The woman paused.
“Yes?” Shelley prompted, sensing there was something May June wanted to say.
“You Moonglow sisters”—May June slipped the polish into her pocket—“throw away some valuable things.”
One of her sisters had thrown something important away? Shelley slanted her head and studied the nursing assistant. “What do you mean?”
“The other day. Your sister . . .”
“Gia?”
“Madison.”
“What did Maddie throw away?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.” May June buttoned up her lips.
Ah come on. Don’t be coy, May June. “You gotta tell me now. My curiosity is begging on hind legs.”
“Huh?”
Shelley waved a hand. “Never mind.”
“Oh, I get it. Like a puppy. Cute.” May June scratched her temple as if trying to work something out internally. “Maybe I shouldn’t have taken it out of the trash, but Madison’s a big wheel, and paparazzi are hound dogs and I wanted to protect her. One of the paparazzi already made it to the ICU nurses’ station last night—although granted, it was just Jimmy Littlejohn from the Cove Chronicle and he’s not exactly TMZ material. But the MCM security? Let’s just say it’s less than st
ellar.”
Shelley had no idea her sister was so well known there were people willing to go through their ailing grandmother’s hospital trash to get gossip on Maddie. “Um, okay.”
“Maybe you should give it back to her.” May June scratched her elbow.
“What’s that?”
“Hang on, BRB.” May June raised a finger and bebopped out of the room.
TMZ, MCM, BRB? Shelley felt woefully out of step with the acronym culture the US had evolved into the five years she’d been out of the country. It seemed no one spoke in full words anymore, and forget complete sentences.
“Is she playing with a full deck?” Shelley asked Grammy. “You don’t have to answer. It’s rhetorical.” Leaning over, she picked up the polish bottles and stowed them in her tote while she waited on May June’s return.
The nursing assistant hurried back into the room holding a picture frame. She thrust it at Shelley.
Shelley stared down at the photograph of a sonogram. It had been torn in half four times and scrupulously taped back together so that all the edges lined up perfectly. The baby was a girl. Four months along. The date was the past November and the name at the top said Madison Clark.
Shelley’s mouth dropped as she tried to absorb what she was seeing.
“I’m guessing she lost the baby because otherwise . . .” May June made a wide rounding motion over her belly. “She’d either be out to here by now or already have a baby.”
Madison had lost a child? Apparently, she hadn’t told a soul. Shelley’s heart ached for her older sister. Oh, Maddie, I am so sorry.
She raised her head, met May June’s gaze. Was that kind of snooping grounds for dismissal? Probably not since Grammy, not Madison, was the patient, so technically May June wasn’t violating patient confidentiality. Still, it didn’t seem aboveboard. Then again, they were talking small-town hospital here and May June had believed she was protecting Maddie from paparazzi.
“Are you the one who framed this?” Shelley asked.
May June gave an apologetic shrug. “I am Madison’s number one fan.”
“A little creepy . . .” Shelley chuckled nervously. “But okay.”
“That’s what my husband said.” May June interlaced her fingers. “That’s why I’m giving it to you. It’s too personal for me to hang on to.”
“Thank you for keeping the sonogram out of the hands of Jimmy Littlejohn and his sort. I know Madison appreciates it.” Why had Madison thrown this into the trash at the hospital in the first place?
“You’re welcome.”
“I’ll get the frame back to you,” Shelley said, not really sure what she should do with the sonogram.
“No, no, keep it.” May June flapped her hands like a giant bird trying to take off.
“Um . . . thanks again.”
“Sure. Gotta get back to work.” May June popped out the door.
She left Shelley peering at the torn sonogram in a cheap plastic frame. Madison had gone to the trouble of tearing the sonogram up. Would she want it back? Most likely not. As proud and independent as her sister was, she probably didn’t even want anyone knowing she’d been pregnant.
“You should have burned it, Maddie, not left it in the hospital garbage for May June to dig through.” Shelley held the sonogram up for Grammy to see. “Did you know about it? Yeah, that was another rhetorical question. Don’t rush to answer.”
Feeling lost and more than a little lonely, Shelley stuck the picture in her tote bag and went back to admiring Grammy’s rainbow pedicure.
* * *
WHEN SHELLEY RETURNED to the inn a little after noon, she found her sisters having sandwiches from the Moonglow Bakery on the back porch. Plastic tarps covered the kitchen cabinets, double oven, and counters. Prep on the renovations had begun.
“We got you a veggie sandwich.” Gia waved at the third box on the table. “We didn’t know if you were still quasi-vegan or not.”
“That’s great. Thanks.”
“Eat quick.” Madison glanced at her cell phone. “Mike is picking up the tile for us and he’ll be here any minute. We’ve got to get the kitchen demo started today. With Mike’s help, we should have the floor torn up, cleaned out, and ready to start tiling by tomorrow. Fingers crossed.”
Shelley wolfed down her sandwich—it was delicious—and finished just as Mike came up on the porch with a box of tile in his arms. They all jumped up to help unload his truck. Within thirty minutes, they had hammers, chisels, and scrapers whaling away at the old cracked kitchen tiles.
Pyewacket, disturbed by all the racket, took off upstairs to hide. Most likely her favorite hiding spot under Grammy’s bed. Poor kitty was missing her mistress.
Physical labor was a great outlet. At Cobalt Soul, Shelley had learned that exhausting the body calmed the mind. Quickly, she fell into a routine knocking tiles with the hammer and felt herself mentally zoning out to the mindless work. Hummed “If I Had a Hammer.” Which got on Maddie’s nerves. Shelley could tell by her frown, but her sister didn’t say anything, so she kept humming. Temporarily, she put aside thoughts of the baby sonogram in her tote bag. It was too noisy, and they were too busy, to talk about it anyway.
Besides, what would she say? How would she bring it up? Should she even bring it up? So many questions, but no decent answer.
Shelley glanced over at Madison.
Her older sister, dressed in beige capri pants, a black tank top, and leopard-print Roxy sneakers, made home renovations look stylish enough for TV, but of course, that was Madison’s jam. She was in her element.
Sighing, Shelley glanced down at her own ratty T-shirt, holey jeans, and worn-out sneakers. Once upon a time she’d been such a clotheshorse. And then The Incident with Raoul happened and shoved her on a course of reluctant self-discovery.
Shelley finished demolishing the tile she was whacking on and duckwalked in a crouch to the next tile.
The tile in front of the pantry door.
Ugh.
The pantry where it all went down.
Guilt crawled up against Shelley’s heart as her mind flew back to that fateful day five years ago. The day that ruined everything and changed the Moonglow sisters forever.
A sunny May day, much like this one. Maddie had been in their bedroom upstairs with Grammy, Gia, and Maddie’s two best friends helping her get ready for the wedding.
Shelley had never liked Raoul and after what happened at the Mardi Gras party two months earlier—well, that was something she didn’t want to think about either. She hated that he stared at her when no one else was watching. Or how he’d wink at her and make flirtatious comments. Nothing too overt. Nothing blatantly sexual.
But he would smile that smug smile and rake his gaze over her as if he were imagining her naked. And she just knew that he knew that she knew what a douchebag he really was.
Maddie had sent Shelley to the kitchen for ginger ale to settle her nervous stomach. On her way to the pantry, Shelley had peeked out the kitchen window at the beautiful backyard with the Gulf of Mexico glimmering blue beyond.
Grammy had hired Mike to build an altar in the backyard for the wedding. Raoul was standing beside it with his best man. Satin covers and bows decorated the folding chairs. White rose petals lay strewn over the red carpet rolled out toward the altar. So beautiful.
Guests had started arriving. Ushers guided guests to their seats. Raoul’s family, having just flown in from Paris, huddled together looking uncertain. Raoul had moved to the United States with his parents when he was a small child, because his father, a petroleum engineer, had gotten a job in the oil and gas industry in Houston. When his father retired, his parents had returned to France, but Raoul, a grown man by then, had stayed and gotten his US citizenship.
Raoul moved to speak to them. He murmured something, then looked up and caught Shelley watching him. His eyes narrowed, and his smile said, I’d love to get you naked, and soon he came up the porch stairs headed toward her.
Shelley stepped
back from the door, heart pounding, and scurried to the pantry for the ginger ale. Busying herself with her search, she didn’t turn around when she heard the back door open . . . and close.
It could be anyone after all.
Footsteps came closer.
Shelley went up on tiptoes telling herself she was looking for ginger ale, but she couldn’t see a thing. Her entire body tensed as she recognized the sound of Raoul’s arrogant walk. He was coming after her. She smelled his cloying cologne as he opened the pantry door and stepped inside with her.
“My last day as a free man.” He paused.
Shelley couldn’t look at him.
Her sister was marrying this creep, but Maddie couldn’t seem to see how smarmy he was. Such a cliché with his slicked-back hair and gold nugget bracelet. Yes, he was handsome. Beyond handsome. And rich. He owned two car lots. One in Moonglow Cove, and the latest in Houston.
Was that what appealed to her sister? Good looks, money, power, status? Why couldn’t Madison see through it to the jackhole beneath? Then again, Shelley had secret information about Raoul she didn’t dare share with anyone because it would destroy someone she loved with all her heart and soul.
“This is your last chance.” Raoul flashed those straight, whiter-than-white teeth. “To kiss me.”
Shelley wanted to puke all over his polished Guccis. He closed the pantry door behind him, shutting them in together. They were alone, but people were outside on the lawn. She could scream, and they would come running, but it would be a case of “he said, she said” and she knew her sister. If Shelley claimed Raoul tried to kiss her, Maddie would say Shelley instigated it.
Shelley had to be honest. In the past, she’d done outrageous things to shift attention off her beautiful, successful older sister onto herself. The overlooked middle child.
Besides, there was the whole Mardi Gras thing and the secret Shelley must keep at all costs.
Raoul took the ginger ale from her hand and set it back on the shelf. Then he placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. Outside, she could hear conversations and the guitarist tuning up.