Sweet Tea Tuesdays

by Ashley Farley

  “While we’re waiting . . .” She handed Lizbet her car keys. “I have a tray of flower arrangements in the car. Will you be a good girl and run get them for me before they wilt?”

  “Sure.” Lizbet hurried out the front door and returned a minute later, struggling under the weight of the heavy tray.

  Georgia rushed to help her with the door. “Lord in heaven, Lula. Did you leave any flowers in the garden?”

  Lizbet set the tray down on the counter. “Seriously, Mom? Why did you make so many arrangements? You have enough flowers here to supply a wedding. I’m pretty sure Heidi had in mind for us to try a few at a time.”

  Lula replaced a stem that had fallen loose from one of the arrangements. “I may have gotten a little carried away experimenting. I took your advice, Lizbet, and contacted a wholesale florist. He sold me these cute little glass cubes and three bunches of filler material. If I want to buy from him in the future, I will need a tax ID number, whatever that is.”

  “That’s no problem,” Georgia said. “We have one you can use.”

  “I made mock-ups of several different styles of arrangements,” Lula said. “I’m curious to see which ones Heidi fancies.”

  “Did someone mention my name?” A striking woman Lula guessed to be in her mid to late thirties teetered into the showroom from the kitchen on heels too high for a woman of any age to wear. Lula knew her type well: the girl all the boys chased in high school who became the woman all the men ogled at cocktail parties—a lifelong blonde with the size breasts that fit into everything and long, shapely legs that looked splendid in short skirts. “Ooh.” She bent down to sniff the flowers. “Did these come from your garden?”

  Lula felt herself blush under the gaze of Heidi’s emerald eyes. “Only the showy blooms. I bought the filler material from the wholesale florist. I got a little carried away and made too many arrangements. I’ll drop whatever you can’t use off at my church.”

  Heidi’s face lit up. “Actually, I just received a call from the client whose event I’m catering tonight. She forgot to order flowers. If you can repurpose some of the smaller ones into a larger arrangement, we might be able to use all of them.”

  Lula took a step back so as to envision the flowers in a larger arrangement. “The stems aren’t very long, but I’m sure I can come up with something—maybe a shallow bowl on a tall pedestal. Does she have a particular container she’d like to use?”

  “Let me give her a call. She sounded desperate earlier. I imagine she’d be thrilled with anything.” Heidi pulled out a cell phone from her apron pocket and clicked on a number. She stepped away from the counter, holding up a finger to indicate she’d be only a minute.

  “It might be easier for you to rework the flowers here instead of taking them home again. I can clear off a spot for you in the kitchen,” Lizbet said, gesturing toward the back of the building.

  The idea of working in someone else’s kitchen appealed to Lula as much as the thought of having to wrestle the flowers home again. “I don’t have my supplies with me, but I can run home and get what I need. I could use a few more stems from the garden anyway.” She cut her eyes at Georgia. “I have the whole day free, since I’m not meeting my best friends for tea for the first time in twenty-six years.”

  Lizbet squished her eyebrows together. “Didn’t you just say you had a busy day ahead of you?”

  “Nothing I can’t postpone,” Lula said.

  Georgia gave Lula a half hug. “Believe it or not, I’m as disappointed as you are about our teatime. I’ve given some thought to our scheduling problem—”

  “Our scheduling problem?” Lula elbowed Georgia away. “This is your scheduling problem. You’re the one responsible for ruining our teatime.”

  “I realize that,” Georgia said. “But I’m trying to tell you I may have a solution. What do you think about moving our teatime to Sunday?”

  Lula shook her head. “That won’t work. Sunday is family day.”

  “Maybe it was when the children were young. But your girls are grown.” Georgia turned to Lizbet. “When’s the last time you spent any time on a Sunday with your parents?”

  “This past Sunday, actually. I was helping Mom with the invitations for the Fourth of July party.” Lizbet paused as she thought about it. “But you’re right. Before that, I can’t remember spending a Sunday at home since I graduated from high school.”

  Lula pressed her lips into a tight line. “I refuse to have my Sunday afternoons disrupted because you decided to get a job. Phillip would not approve anyway. Just because Lang is never home doesn’t mean other women don’t like to keep their weekends free for their husbands.”

  Georgia squeezed her arm. “Don’t be so difficult, Lu. Surely you can spare an hour out of your weekend for your friends. You might even find you like it. We can meet earlier in the afternoon if it suits you, maybe around three. Why don’t we at least ask Midge how she feels about Sundays?”

  “You do what you want, but leave me out of it. I’m going home to get my supplies.” Lula marched across the store to the door, but instead of opening it, she turned back around to face them. “I know what you’re trying to do, Georgia. This is some kind of conspiracy to get rid of me. Well, consider me gone.” She raised her hand in the air above her head and flicked her fingers. “Poof! No more Lula for teatime.”

  She felt their eyes on her back as she exited the building. What on earth had made her say that?

  CHAPTER NINE

  Georgia

  Georgia and Lizbet stood together at the window watching Lula get in her car and drive away.

  “What was that all about?” Lizbet asked, a bewildered expression on her face.

  “Your mama’s gotten herself all worked up over your sister’s visit and this Fourth of July party, and she’s taking her stress out on me. Don’t worry. I’m used to it.”

  “You’re not the only one she’s taking it out on,” Lizbet grumbled.

  “You know how she is. When she gets a bee in her bonnet, she expects everyone around her to make honey. Best just to do what she asks and stay out of her way.”

  “You’re probably right.” Lizbet left the door and walked over to the checkout counter. “What I don’t understand is why Brooke has suddenly decided to come home.”

  Georgia joined her at the counter. “She’s been away from her family for a long time. She’s probably homesick and longing for the lazy summers of her youth.”

  “Ha. Brooke doesn’t have fond memories about anything relating to home. Not Charleston or our family. If she missed us, she would have come home long ago. I’ve never understood how, as sisters, we can be so different. We share the same parents and the same DNA. We grew up in the same house, attended the same high school, and, for the most part, participated in the same activities. Yet she couldn’t wait to get as far away from South Carolina as possible, and I never wanted to leave. Until recently, that is.” Lizbet slumped back against the counter. “Brooke has an agenda, a purpose for making this trip. She’ll arrive with drama folded neatly in her suitcase waiting to escape.”

  “Maybe she’ll surprise you,” Georgia said, although she suspected Lizbet was right. Brooke did have a tendency toward the melodramatic. “I didn’t know you were considering leaving Charleston. Where would you go?”

  “To New York with Annie. I want to apply to culinary school, but I need to save the money for tuition first. I can’t ask Mom and Dad to help me, not after they just paid four years’ tuition at the College of Charleston.”

  Georgia was crazy about Heidi’s daughter, Annie—a honey-haired beauty who was every bit as gifted and resourceful as her mother—and she knew Lizbet felt the same. “As talented as you are in the kitchen, I imagine culinary school would be a good fit for you. Have you considered attending the culinary school here in town?”

  “That’s my second choice. I really feel like I need to get away. At least for a while. Please don’t say anything to Mom. I haven’t mentioned it to her yet.�
��

  Georgia ran an imaginary zipper across her lips. “Mum’s the word.”

  Heidi came out of the kitchen, her face flustered and her cell phone gripped in her hand. “Where’d your mother go?” she asked Lizbet.

  “Home, to get her supplies and cut some more flowers.”

  “Okay, great,” Heidi said. “Now that the flower problem is solved, I need to locate a bartender. I just got off the phone with Justin. He has the stomach flu. Do either of you know anyone who might be free at the last minute?”

  Georgia raised her hand without hesitation. “I’ll do it. I’m an expert at pouring wine. And I can mix a killer martini.”

  Heidi studied Georgia’s face as she considered the idea. “I have no doubt but that you can handle it. Bartending at this type event is different than at a nightclub. Drink requests are usually straightforward like wine, beer, and vodka tonics. But I want you to think about it carefully before you agree to do it. You might have to serve your own friends. That could get awkward.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” Georgia pursed her lips in thought. “Who’s hosting the party?”

  “Dean and Marta Underwood. They live on the waterfront in Mount Pleasant.”

  “Never heard of them. Which means it’s highly unlikely I know any of their friends.” Working the party was preferable to spending another evening at home alone. Anything, in fact, was preferable to spending another evening home alone. “I’m fine with it, really, Heidi. I think it’d be fun to work the party.”

  Heidi clapped her hands together. “In that case, you’re hired. And don’t worry. You won’t be alone. Jessie will be the head bartender. You’ll be her helper.” She eyed Georgia’s clothing. “You’ll need to wear black pants, a white blouse of some sort—nothing nice in case you have spills—and comfortable shoes.”

  Georgia envisioned the contents of her closet. “That shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll run home and get them during my lunch break.”

  #

  Lula returned to the store an hour later with a small canvas tool bag slung over her shoulder and an armful of flowers. Georgia suspected the blue hydrangea blooms came from her yard, since Lula’s hydrangea bushes were all pink. But she held her tongue. She was used to Lula helping herself to her flowers.

  The rest of the day passed in a flurry of activity: tourists moseying about shopping for trinkets, and locals rushing in and out picking up salads for lunch, casseroles for dinner, and odds and ends for their social functions. Five days in and Georgia had settled into her new job with ease. She enjoyed the customers and the opportunity to meet interesting new people every day. She was pleased that Heidi planned not only to take her to market on the next trip to Atlanta but also to eventually turn the responsibility of merchandising and staffing the retail side of the business over to her. She was even already thinking about how she would decorate the showroom for the upcoming holiday season—Halloween, followed by Thanksgiving and Christmas. With a dedicated, energetic woman like Heidi at the helm and Annie following in her footsteps, Tasty Provisions had a long and prosperous future ahead. Which would mean job security for Georgia and perhaps a promotion if she worked hard enough.

  Georgia locked the door at six o’clock sharp and quickly changed into her server attire in the employee bathroom off the kitchen. As she crossed the Cooper River Bridge to Mount Pleasant, she was relieved to find that the afternoon commuter traffic had dwindled, but her stomach turned a somersault the moment she entered the house through the back door. “This was a bad idea, Georgie,” she muttered to herself when she saw the catering staff bustling about in the kitchen. If she ran into someone she knew here tonight, word would travel back to Langdon in the seconds it took for that someone to type a text message and click send. And her husband would be furious.

  Gripping her handbag to her chest, Georgia was contemplating a dash for the door when Heidi spotted her from across the kitchen and waved her over. “Put your bag in here,” Heidi said as she opened a pantry door and pointed inside. “Jessie is waiting for you at the bar in the living room at the front of the house, down the center hall, second door on the right.”

  Georgia avoided eye contact with the guests as she worked her way through the already-crowded house, a restored early twentieth-century Georgian with plush fabrics and carpets and lovely antiques. People were already lined up three deep, one behind the other, waiting for a drink. She took her place beside Jessie behind the bar and began filling orders. For the next two-plus hours, Georgia poured wine and mixed vodka with tonic and scotch with soda. She recognized no one, and no one recognized her. She was invisible to the men and women who presented their empty glasses for refills. She was a nobody, put on the planet to perform a service for them.

  As the night wore on and the alcohol began to dull their senses, they began to speak freely in front of her as if she weren’t there at all. Men and women in small groups of two and three lingered in front of the bar as they drained the last drops of liquid from their glasses. The men complained of problems at work and diminishing golf handicaps, while the women made snarky remarks and shared petty gossip. The pretty women made fun of the ones who hadn’t aged so well. Those women, in turn, criticized the pretty women for their revealing clothing and flawless skin made possible by frequent visits to the plastic surgeon. She heard rumors of extramarital affairs and couples forced into bankruptcy from the poor economy. The women bragged about their children’s accomplishments and boasted about their husbands’ promotions. By eleven o’clock, when the hostess finally bid good night to the last guests, Georgia was more than ready to return to the solitude of her own home. She felt utterly depleted.

  As best she could remember, Georgia had never witnessed such cattiness at any of the cocktail parties she and Langdon attended over the years. Was this how people behaved at social gatherings these days? Come to think of it, when was the last time they went to a cocktail party? How had she failed to notice that the number of invitations they received had dwindled to none? Once upon a time, and not that long ago, they’d gone out several times a week. Some events were strictly personal, while others were related to the hospital or her volunteer work. She no longer served on nonprofit boards, but surely Langdon’s business associates still had their functions. Did he attend these gatherings alone? And what about their friends? Had their peers stopped entertaining altogether, or were the Murdaughs considered personae non gratae? Tears blurred Georgia’s vision as she drove back across the bridge toward home. She was no longer sure of where she belonged. Her old life, the one centering around her family and volunteer work, felt like a dress that had grown out of style. But the life she was currently living, with her new job and friends at Tasty Provisions, felt like a pair of new boots she’d yet to break in.

  For the first time ever, she was relieved to discover her husband had not yet come home. She peeled off her clothes, slipped beneath the covers, and fell into a deep sleep.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Midge

  As the minutes ticked slowly off the clock on Tuesday, Midge was all too aware of the void in her afternoon schedule. For the first time in twenty-six years, the standing four o’clock teatime with Georgia and Lula no longer stood. On the flip side, not meeting for tea meant she could delay telling Georgia about her encounter with Lang and Mrs. Jones at the seedy airport hotel on Friday.

  Spending the weekend with her brother and his wife had helped Midge realign her perspective on a lot of things. They were sitting on the beach late in the day on Saturday, their heads buzzing from too many margaritas, when she mentioned seeing her fiancé with another woman. “He claims she’s a business associate and that they’re putting together some kind of secret deal. He’s not at liberty to talk about it yet.”

  “Sounds like you don’t believe him,” Kara, her sister-in-law, said.

  Midge dug her toes in the sand. “I want to believe him, but something’s holding me back. I don’t know if it’s my past or his past or a little bit of both.”
She wished she could travel back two months to when they’d first started seeing each other. She was so in love with him she’d believed everything he’d told her. Had there been any warning signs? Or had she ignored them? Could she have fallen out of love that quickly? Midge didn’t think so.

  “You haven’t opened yourself up to anyone in a long time,” Keith said. “It’s normal for you to feel vulnerable. Listen closely to your heart and your gut. If both are telling you the same thing, you have your answer. But if your emotions are at odds, you need to continue searching for your answer.”

  Midge sipped her margarita as she thought about her brother’s advice. Her heart loved Bennett, but her gut warned her to be wary of him. She would proceed with caution until one of her emotions prevailed.

  “Since you have all the answers, little brother, explain to me what makes a man cheat on his wife.” She told Keith and Kara about running into Georgia’s husband at a hotel with another woman.

  Keith gave a solemn shake of his head. “I can’t answer that, Midge. I like to look at other women as much as the next guy, but I’ve never been tempted to cheat on my wife. Kara and I respect each other, and we treat each other with kindness. Ours is a give/give relationship. Most importantly, we take our commitment to our family seriously.”

  “Georgia has devoted her life to her family, and look where it’s gotten her,” Midge said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she already suspects something. She hasn’t been herself lately. I can’t explain it except to say that some of her sparkle has faded. Her voice no longer softens when she talks about Lang. And they rarely attend social functions together anymore. Most evenings, I see him speeding off alone in his convertible Audi. And he isn’t always dressed for the hospital. Maybe I should let her figure it out on her own.”