by Beth Flynn
I laughed and told her I agreed. She excused herself while I got dressed. I was gathering my things when there was a light knock at the door and she returned with a pained expression on her face.
“Is something wrong?” I questioned, feeling the slight head rush of someone who’s about to get bad news. The last time I felt like this was when Richard sat me down for “the talk.”
“Yes and no. It’s your sister, Frenita. I hadn’t realized that she was here being seen by my associate. She left about five minutes ago.”
I wasn’t surprised that Fancy was here even though it was highly coincidental that we showed up on the same day. More than a year ago, I’d recommended this practice and insisted she visit a doctor when she first moved in with Richard and me. I’d been appalled when she admitted to not having regular gynecological checkups.
“Is she okay? Is something wrong with her?” My heart skipped a beat. I may have had issues with my younger sister, but I didn’t want anything bad to happen to her.
“No, Barbie, nothing is wrong with her. I’m afraid she pulled a bit of a scam on the new girl we have in reception.”
I raised an eyebrow and pulled my purse tightly against my body. It was an automatic reaction when it came to Fancy. Protect what’s yours, or she’ll wrestle it away from you.
“Apparently, she called the office a few weeks back and asked when your next appointment was. She sweet-talked the girl into telling her, and she made an appointment for a half an hour earlier than you.”
“Okay, well, I can see why the girl told her. Frenita can be very persuasive. But you said she left five minutes ago. I don’t have the best relationship with her, but no harm done since I’ve obviously missed her.”
Natalie’s expression told me she knew why I had an issue with Fancy and that she didn’t blame me. It also told me she had more to say.
“I’m sorry, Barbie. She skipped out on the payment, telling our billing clerk that it was on your tab.”
I almost laughed. Of course she did. I didn’t even have the wherewithal to be embarrassed. It was typical Fancy. I told Dr. Hoskins not to worry and that I would cover the office visit.
“No, we don’t expect you to pay for it. We’re going to write it off. I’m letting you know that we won’t see her again. She’s banned from the office. I feel bad doing this since you’re a colleague, but…”
I held up my hand. “Don’t feel bad. If anything I should be apologizing to you for recommending this office to her in the first place. I’m sorry, Natalie.”
A few minutes later, I made my way out of the medical complex and started walking toward my car. I stopped short when I saw a familiar face. It was Jake. He was casually leaning against the hood of a car that was backed in next to my Jeep. As I got closer, I noticed he was wearing scrubs. He must be here in some official capacity, I thought. I know my face registered concern because, as I got closer, he pushed off the car and said, “Nothing’s wrong. I’m here with the Leavitts.” He gestured toward the building I’d just exited. Stan Leavitt was a resident at the Hampton House. Instead of taking the facility’s official van for his cardiologist appointments, Mrs. Leavitt insisted that someone trustworthy drive her and Stan down to Greenville in their car. I’d never ridden in one but figured a Jaguar was a lot more comfortable than the van.
I nodded my understanding when he asked, “Are you okay?” He motioned toward the building that had offices for a multitude of medical professionals.
“Oh yeah, just a yearly checkup.” I realized that I hadn’t seen or spoken to him for a few days, and the last time was when he commented on my skirt. He’d been right, and after he rode off on his bike, I’d left Dustin waiting in his truck while I ran back into the house to change into jeans.
“How was your date?” As he walked toward me, I thought I detected a change in his attitude. It was like the air between us crackled with tension. I was getting ready to tell him it wasn’t a date or any of his business when a vehicle drove up behind us. Not caring that she wasn’t in a parking spot, Fancy got out of her car and approached us.
“I thought that was your car, Barbara Jean,” she said with an exaggerated Southern drawl. As she got closer, I noticed her pupils were dilated. She was poised to jump into full-blown seduction mode. She was practically licking her lips as she sauntered toward Jake. “I was getting into my car across the way when I saw this handsome doctor changing the tire on your Jeep.”
“I’m not a—” Jake started to say when I interrupted him.
“My car had a flat?” I looked from Fancy to Jake.
She didn’t give him a chance to answer when she said, “Yes, it did. And he was flinging your tire around like it was a powder puff. You never told me you knew such a strong, successful doctor.”
She walked toward the car and started touching the Jaguar emblem. I couldn’t believe it. She was actually stroking the hood ornament. Oh, Fancy.
I rolled my eyes and looked back at Jake. “Is it true? My car had a flat and you changed it for me?”
He shrugged. “Didn’t take me long. It was nothing.”
She turned around and pressed her backside up against the front of the car. I recognized the same posture she’d used to steal my husband and it included the lowered chin and the subtle chewing of her bottom lip. Her forced puppy dog eyes were batting ridiculously huge lash extensions when she triumphantly announced, “I’m glad you aren’t completely devoid of decent taste in clothes. I see you’re wearing the scarf I gave you, Barbie.”
Fancy acted like I selected my wardrobe from a dumpster. Just because I didn’t drop twelve hundred dollars on a designer blouse didn’t mean I didn’t have nice clothes. I’d had enough of my sister, and decided to thank Jake and be on my way when Fancy cooed, “Since my sister is so rude, let me introduce myself. I’m Fancy, Barbie’s much younger sister, and you are?”
“Jake Chambers,” he stated, as he discreetly stepped to my side. He didn’t extend a hand in friendship or say it was nice to meet her. He barely acknowledged her as he stood next to me and told me he would stop by my house later to retrieve the flat tire from my trunk and pick me up a new one.
I knew the instant Fancy realized she was being dismissed. She tossed her hair and narrowed her eyes at me. With a menacing upward tilt of her chin, she stood up straighter and asked, “So, Barbie, are your lady parts all in working order? I’m sure you had more mature things to discuss with your gyno than I did.”
I was getting ready to blast her about running out on the payment when she looked at Jake and said, “You know, the things that are a concern for women Barbie’s age. I’ve got it right, don’t I?” She cocked her head to one side. “The dreaded menopausal symptoms that make you miserable. Or are you already past that?”
Were we really doing this? Was she so outraged that Jake wasn’t falling at her feet that she had to stoop as low as slinging insults about menopause? Before I could share that if she hadn’t already she was getting ready to turn that same corner, Jake wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me toward him. Without looking at my sister, he tugged the scarf down and buried his face in my neck. “I don’t care what your older sister thinks, Barbie.” I knew he was deliberately goading her with the older sister comment. I heard her gasp and knew he saw it as an opportunity to lay it on thicker. “Mmm…you smell delicious, baby. I can never get enough of you.” I felt the scratch of his whiskers on my neck and had to stop myself from closing my eyes. “What’s for dinner tonight, darling?” he teased.
I don’t know who was more stunned, Fancy or me. She was used to getting all of the attention and Jake was completely snubbing her. I was ignoring her too, but not deliberately. I practically melted against him. His mouth was warm against my neck, his body hard against my side. And his smell. If sizzling whiskey poured over ice gave off an aroma, that’s how Jake smelled. Hot and masculine, but sharp and clean. I was close to losing myself in the fictional encounter when Fancy’s voice broke the spell.
> “And everybody knows that no periods mean no children. Then again, that was never in the cards for you anyway, was it, Sister?”
“Frenita, this is not the time or the place,” I growled as I reluctantly disengaged myself from Jake and walked toward her. “You have some nerve…”
“I have some nerve for what? For telling your boyfriend”—she paused for dramatic effect and fluttered her eyelashes one more time—“the pathetic details about your doctor visit, or how I rescued Richard from a dull and sexless marriage?”
I couldn’t believe she was doing this, but I knew why. What I didn’t know was why he felt the need to let her think we were a couple, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit it gave me satisfaction to watch her get shut down. That’s when it occurred to me why he’d done it. He wasn’t interested in her and thought it would be easier to pretend we were together than to have to turn her down. All of a sudden, I felt very sorry for my sister.
“Look, Fancy. I know things are probably hard for you right now, so why don’t we—”
“Hard for me? Things aren’t hard for me, Barbara Jean. Things couldn’t be better.” She motioned to the car behind her. It wasn’t the fire-engine red Mercedes she’d shown up with several weeks ago, but what looked like a brand-new white BMW. “I don’t need your pity, big sister. If anything, you’re the one to be pitied.”
She was visibly upset and talking nonsense. Where had pity introduced itself into the conversation? “Fancy, you’re not making sense. Let’s not do this now, okay?”
“Do what? Talk about who deserves pity? That’s you, Barbie.” She tilted her head to one side, and with a malevolent gleam in her eyes, she seethed, “You know Richard could’ve had children?”
I didn’t know where she was going with this, but I did know she was wrong about that. “No, he couldn’t, Fancy.”
She laughed. “Right. He told you about how he’d contracted mumps when he was a boy and it made him sterile.”
“Yes, that’s exactly right. It’s rare, but it does happen.” I brushed my hand through my hair and returned it to the pocket of my jacket.
“Richard lied to you. He’d had a vasectomy before he met you. He never wanted kids. I believed him too until I found the scar. But I guess you were never down there enough to notice it.” She produced a winning smile that conveyed she thought she’d hit the lottery.
It was as if she’d pulled a rug out from under me. She started going on about how he’d planned to have it reversed for her, but I barely heard her. There was a freight train pounding through my head, muting her voice. I knew Jake exchanged some words with her, but I didn’t even hear them. It wasn’t until she got in her car and left that I heard Jake ask, “Are you okay, Barbie?”
I shook it off and turned to face him. “Of course. I’m fine. That’s my sister doing what she does best.”
“Being a total shrew?” he asked.
“Yeah. That and more,” I said with a heavy sigh.
He looked at his watch. “I need to go inside and get the Leavitts.”
“Of course, go, go,” I said, shooing him away with my hands in the direction of the building.
“What time should I come by?” he asked.
“Come by for what?” I started walking toward my car.
“To get your flat tire. And dinner.”
“You were serious about dinner?” I spun around and stared, slack-jawed.
“You weren’t?” he countered.
I didn’t answer, and he headed for the building, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll see you at seven, Barbie doll.”
Chapter 14
Would You Like to Meet My Ex-Husband?
I drove home in a confused haze of emotions. After getting in the car, I tore off my scarf and shoved it inside one of my shopping bags. What had gotten into my sister? Why was she so hateful all of a sudden? We’d never been close, but her behavior was beyond anything I’d faced before. Yes, she’d stolen my husband, but I didn’t remember experiencing a victorious evil from her. It had been the opposite. She’d gone out of her way to be nice back then because she’d felt guilty. I gave a sidelong glance at the bag that was perched on the passenger seat, remembering the day she took the scarf off her neck and wrapped it around mine, telling me it went better with my coloring. How ironic that today was the first day I’d worn it since that encounter over a year ago.
And Richard. I banged my hand hard against the steering wheel. I thought we’d said everything we needed to say to each other. It was why I harbored no bad feelings toward him. He’d come clean, confessed his guilt and remorse at having hurt me. But he’d never owned up to a vasectomy. Perhaps it wasn’t true. And even if it was, at this point, did I even care? What would it matter?
I got home in record time and checked on my stew—perfection. I cleaned up the mess I’d left in the sink, and wondered if Jake liked wine. I hadn’t realized he was serious about dinner, but since it was already made, I didn’t see the harm in sharing a meal. Besides, I reminded myself, I owed him for fixing my tire.
I stayed busy for the next couple of hours, and at six thirty, thinking he was late, decided that Jake was a no-show. As I washed my face and changed into my Wonder Woman pajamas—a gift from Darlene—I didn’t want to admit that I was disappointed. And I was also no longer in the mood for Brunswick stew. I turned off the slow cooker, poured myself a glass of wine, and headed for the couch. At seven o’clock there was loud banging on my door. Between my closed drapes, the brutal wind outside, and the blare of my TV, I hadn’t been aware that someone was at my house. Clutching my glass, I jumped up and peeked out the curtain. Jake was standing on my porch, albeit an hour late. He saw me and smiled.
I didn’t have time to change back into my clothes, so I did the next best thing. I drained the rest of my wine in one long gulp, hoping the buzz would erase my self-consciousness at getting caught in my PJs. I opened the door and teasingly waved the empty glass in front of my pajamas. “This is what you get when you’re an hour late.”
He gave me a heart-stopping smile and said, “I’m right on time, Barbie doll.”
I stood aside, motioned him past me and told him, “You said six o’clock.”
“I said seven o’clock but I don’t want to waste the night arguing, so if we can agree to disagree, I think it’ll make for a more pleasant evening. What smells so good?”
I knew I should’ve been embarrassed by the earlier over-the-top soap opera performance by Fancy, and my current Wonder Woman display, but for some reason I wasn’t. Jake had seen me without makeup and sweaty the first day he drove down my street. He’d seen me faint at Hampton House. And as he’d pointed out a very short time ago, he could see the outline of my radiant orchid through my sheer skirt. I giggled at the memory and hiccupped. Too much wine a little too quickly. I looked heavenward and silently pleaded to the God I’d lost touch with so many years ago, please don’t let me make a fool of myself.
It was like Jake read my mind and didn’t want me to worry. Taking the glass from my hand he pulled me toward the kitchen asking, “Is there anything I can do to help with dinner?”
“It’s already made. I turned off the Crock-Pot earlier, but it should still be hot.” He parked me in a kitchen chair, threw his jacket on a hook by the kitchen door, and went to work.
I couldn’t help but admire the view. I’d not had an opportunity to really observe Jake, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to myself that he was an impressive specimen, and the total opposite of every man I’d ever been attracted to. I guessed him to be about six foot one, with broad shoulders that showcased a wide but solid upper body. He wore a red flannel shirt over a white tee which stretched taut against his back. He’d rolled up his sleeves exposing heavily tattooed and muscled forearms. He wore dark blue jeans that hugged his rear and thick thighs, and tapered down to dark boots with laces. His close-cropped hair revealed the same streaks of silver that were evident in his beard which was starting to grow in. And his eyes. I had to
make an effort not to sigh out loud. They were brighter than the sky on a cloudless summer day.
I gulped as I watched him rummage through my refrigerator and cabinets, and before too long he’d put together a salad, set the table, and was slicing up and getting ready to toast a stale loaf of ciabatta bread. We made small talk as he effortlessly glided through each task. He seemed to know his way around a kitchen.
It prompted me to ask, “How long have you been a bachelor?”
He stopped and looked up like he was giving it serious thought. Then finally answered with a laugh, “Fifty-five years.”
“You’ve never been married?”
“Nope,” was his casual reply.
“How long has it been since you’ve been in a serious relationship?” I pushed.
Ignoring my question, he asked one of his own. “How long were you married?”
“Too long.” I let out a breath and drummed my fingers on the table.
“Why too long?” I didn’t get the feeling he was being nosy. He seemed genuinely interested. I didn’t know how I’d surmised that from only three words.
I was literally saved by the bell when the oven timer went off. “Bread’s done,” he announced to my relief.
My appetite returned and I felt the slight wine buzz retreating from my brain. We spent the next forty-five minutes enjoying the meal and discussing everything from my Brunswick stew recipe, to Jonathan’s sweet professions of undying love for Cindy, and finally my confession to harboring some hooch from the Pritchard stills.
He didn’t ask, but as we cleaned up the dishes together, I offered to let him try the famous Pritchard moonshine. A few minutes later we were sitting on my couch passing the Mason jar just like I’d done with Darlene only yesterday.
“It’s definitely potent,” he remarked after a healthy swallow. “I’ve heard about this stuff. It’s legendary around here. They say the recipe died with Kenny.”