Contents
The Replacement Bridesmaid
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 22
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
About the author
The Replacement Bridesmaid
By Laurie Ralston
Copyright ©2011 Laurie Ralston
All rights reserved.
Cover photo by Lauren Hammond
Used under Creative Commons license
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/
Cover art by Laurie Ralston
For Mark, who lets me escape every day.
Chapter 1
She had not intended on eating the entire pan of double fudge walnut brownies. It had just happened. When her diet soda was gone, she’d hurried back down the stairs to the kitchen, poured a glass of two percent milk and returned to her room to sink down on the floor behind her bed, next to the still nearly full pan of fresh baked brownies. The brownies mocked her. You’re not good enough. You’re an idiot. You don’t deserve fresh baked double fudge walnut brownies. She snapped, snatching up the pan with one hand and the fork that lay next to the pan in the other hand, plowing into the chocolate confection and stuffing it into her mouth, crying all the while. I’ll show you, stupid brownies, I’ll show you!
Finally, after it was all gone, after her breathing had slowed, she stood and walked into the master bathroom to wash her face. She couldn't believe what she saw in the mirror. Her face, streaked with tears, was also smeared with chocolate. Chocolate mixed in with running mascara.
She nodded silently at her reflection. It was true. She was pathetic. A new batch of tears welled up in her eyes, but she fought them off by drinking some water and washing her face and hands. She ran a brush through her brown hair, but it was full of static and sticking out in all directions, probably from rubbing her head against the bed comforter as she sat on the floor eating the brownies. She leaned in towards the mirror and looked deeply into her own eyes.
Yes, pathetic. Jill Owens was pathetic. Thinking about what she had just done only made her heart hurt more. She returned to the bedroom, where she had been sitting on the floor behind the bed. The disposable aluminum pan that had only twenty minutes before contained fresh baked brownies sat empty and bent on the floor, a fork abandoned nearby. Pathetic.
The alarm clock with its huge neon numbers sitting on the nightstand on Scott's side of the bed caught her eye. 4:28. Damn, she thought. Martie was coming over to borrow her sapphire necklace. Her daughter had bought a beautiful pale blue gown to wear to a benefit that night and wanted to wear the sapphire with it. Jill was happy to lend her the necklace, but wished she wasn't coming in a few minutes.
Jill picked up the pan and fork, and then snatched up the empty soda can and glass, hurrying back to the kitchen. She rinsed out the glass, then considering the aluminum pan for a moment, she tossed both it and the soda can in the trash. If she hid the evidence of her melt down, she wouldn't have to explain it to anyone. She was feeling better now anyway and didn't want to get into any kind of conversation over it, not with Martie and definitely not with her husband, Scott.
It was all Scott's fault anyway. When she'd lost her car keys the day before yesterday, he'd berated her like she was a child.
“You are so irresponsible!” he’d raved when he had to come home in the middle of the day to give her his copy of her car keys. “It’s a wonder our kids turned out normal at all – you’re a horrible role model, always losing things, always forgetting things.”
She hadn’t argued with him. Jill had heard this from him a thousand times. But this morning she had gotten up to find a checklist of tasks he wanted her to handle and the last thing on the list was “Don’t screw any of this up.” She lost it. Then the brownie-baking-and-eating thing had just happened. She was both furious and completely demoralized. Alternating between angrily yelling at the walls and crying her eyes out, she had rummaged about in the kitchen trying to find something, anything to eat. Happening upon the box of brownie mix, she threw all the ingredients together and somehow she’d managed to bake the pan of brownies. She was only going to eat a couple of the brownies, but by the time they were done baking, she had worked herself into a sheer crazy state and she ended up on the floor of their bedroom with the pan of brownies, a fork, and a diet soda.
The doorbell rang, shocking Jill out of her rehashing of the past couple of days. She glanced down and saw her previously pristine white button up shirt was smudged with chocolate. She ran back up the stairs to the bedroom and quickly changed. The doorbell rang again.
Jill could see her daughter peering through the glass in the large front door. It was slightly comical, the textured glass making Martie’s eyes look as if she were peering through a pair of coke-bottle lenses. But Jill would never say that to Martie, who was overly concerned about her appearance and how others saw her. Jill was proud of the female member of her twins. Martie had graduated from college with honors just the year before then started her own marketing company. Her talent with words and creative ideas had helped her business take off from the get go and now she was in great demand in the Phoenix area. She didn’t, however, have the sense of humor that Jill had. Martie’s twin, Ryan, had gotten that. Ryan had tried the traditional route of college for a bit, finally deciding to go to Paris for two years to study art. Upon returning, he started a studio with a friend and had been producing wonderful pieces of artwork that were selling well enough for them to stay in business. He was much more relaxed than his sister.
She opened the door to find Martie checking her watch.
“It’s about time, Mom.”
“Sorry, I was in the bathroom.” She let Martie in and shut the door. They moved through the family room into the kitchen.
“I haven’t had lunch – do you have any yogurt or something?” Martie asked, sauntering over to open the refrigerator.
“I think there’s some in there. Help yourself.” Jill realized that she hadn’t gotten the sapphire necklace from the bedroom safe yet, so she excused herself to get it.
Returning several minutes later with the necklace, she found Martie holding an empty yogurt container in one hand, while she looked into the trash can.
“Mom, did you make brownies?”
Jill saw that the aluminum pan was sitting on top of the trash in the can. Damn, she should have covered it up, but who knew someone would be checking out her trash.
“Yes…” she answered tentatively.
“So…” Martie asked, “Where are they?”
Jill cursed herself silently. “I ate them,” she said, defeated as she sank down into a kitchen chair. “I ate them all.”
“What? Why?” her daughter asked incredulously.
Jill stood up and started busying herself by emptying the dishwasher. “I got into it with your father again yesterday. I lost my car keys again and he… well, let’s just say he made me feel awful.”
Martie came up behind her mom and put one arm around
her. Jill felt a surge of affection for her only daughter.
“Oh, Mom…” she said in a kind voice. “You know, he’s right, you are so irresponsible.”
Jill shrugged off her daughter’s arm. Martie always sided with her lawyer father. They were peas in a pod. Ryan would have understood.
Martie’s mouth open as she started to say something, but she didn’t. Her mouth snapped shut, as she stood there watching her mother put away dishes for a moment. Pursing her lips, she picked up the necklace case and tucked it in her purse.
“Thanks for the necklace. I’ll be sure to return it,” she said quietly. She started walking to the door, but stopped and turned back to Jill.
“Could you watch Jackson next week? I have to go out of town on Tuesday to a conference. I’ll be back on Friday.”
“Sure, I’d be glad to.” Jackson was Martie’s bull terrier.
Martie smiled at her mom. “I figured you would be glad to have something to do other than putter around here all day.” She kissed Jill on the cheek and let herself out of the house.
Jill shook her head at her daughter's comment. Yes, she missed having the kids around depending on her. But she hardly sat around. She sort of had a secret life about which she had told few, a couple of friends and her son, Ryan. Not Martie and not Scott. Especially not Scott. He would have ridiculed her, laughed at her, told her to stop wasting his money.
Her secret life revolved around her desire to be someone – something, anything – special. Her life had not ended up the way she had thought it would when she was young. She yearned for more. Once upon a time, she’d been on her way to more. She’d excelled in school, earning a full scholarship to college to study theatre. But during her freshman year, she’d met Scott, who was in his first year of law school. He’d talked her into changing her major to business and she ended up with a marketing degree. Not that it was a bad idea; she got a job right out of college with an advertising firm, handling accounts, and she was good at it. She liked dealing with both people and creative ideas.
They had married her senior year. Scott had graduated from law school and landed in a large, prestigious law firm. He worked ungodly hours, but he was talented and quickly moved up in the firm. He’d been made partner at the young age of 30 and was now a senior partner in the same firm. He made a great salary and had provided quite well for his family.
The same year Jill graduated and started working, she got pregnant. She continued to work until the twins were born, stayed home for about six months, and went back to work. She loved her work, was successful and happy, but she missed spending time with the babies, so she cut her work hours to three-quarters time and then to half time. When they started school, she ended up quitting all together so that she could spend time in the kid’s school, participating in PTA and scouting and the hundreds of other activities in which her children were involved. Most of the time, she didn’t miss working. She was involved in charity work and threw lavish dinner parties for Scott’s partners.
Then the kids grew up. They both went out of state to college and Jill found herself with not much to do. She had a great house and still did plenty of charity work, but she felt lost and empty. Scott still worked ten to twelve hours a day and when he was home, he made her feel stupid and petty.
She’d always wanted to learn to play the piano. It was part of her interest in the theatre. As a teenager, she had played the lead in several high school musicals. She had been very good, resulting in a full scholarship in theatre arts at Arizona State University. But she’d let it get away.
So her secret life had started with her signing up for piano lessons at a local piano store. Scott rarely asked what she did during the day, as long as the house was neat and the fridge was stocked. Learning to play piano was the toughest thing she had ever done. She wasn’t very good in the beginning, but Jill stuck with it and suddenly, after about six months of lessons, something clicked and she got it. They had a beautiful piano in the house. Scott had bought a baby grand piano as a token of his financial success, but until she started the lessons, it was quiet. But now, Jill played it every day, making sure she never played when Scott was home or expected home. He’d come home early one day and heard her playing, but he assumed it was a record. By then she’d become very good.
After the piano lessons, she took voice and singing lessons. Then it was dancing and karate. She’d lost the weight she’d put on while in mom-mode over the years. Fit and healthy, Jill felt better about herself than she had in years. Except for those tirades that she had to endure from Scott. He changed, too. Instead of growing, however, he’d become grumpy, critical, and full of self-importance. He stopped being the loving sweetheart that she had married. He’d become an ass.
Chapter 2
Jill loved the way she felt after one of her classes. Now she was taking clarinet lessons. She’d happened upon Martie’s old clarinet from high school while cleaning out the attic. Learning to play the clarinet was easy now that she knew the piano. Creating music lifted her soul and cleared out all the misery she felt after a bout with Scott.
The day after the brownie incident, Jill had clarinet class. Her teacher asked her to play a new piece for the rest of the class. After practicing it at home during the week, she felt she could play it quite well. And she did play it well. Her teacher and classmates applauded her loudly and she left class feeling very proud of herself.
Meeting her best friend Mary for lunch, Jill arrived at the restaurant and took a table outside. It was spring, warm early, and everything was blooming and green, making her feel hopeful. Then she thought about Scott degrading her about her forgetfulness. Her spirits fell a bit, but lifted again when she saw Mary walking towards her.
There was something about her best friend that made people want to be with her. Mary was always cheerful, even in bad times, even through her own nasty divorce. Her chocolate brown eyes sparkled and her deep auburn curls bounced as she walked. She was a delight to be around. Mary had been Jill’s rock for years.
“Jilly!” Mary cried when she saw her friend. “How are you?”
They hugged and sat down.
“Really, how are you?” Mary asked again, looking askance at Jill. “You look beat.”
Jill sighed. “I’m not sleeping well lately.”
“Why not?”
What to tell her, Jill wondered. Oh, well, Mary had shared her feelings when she’d divorced her own deadbeat husband. She peered through her bangs at her friend.
“What?” Mary asked pointedly.
“It’s Scott… well, he’s on me all the time, critical, complaining. Told me I was completely irresponsible and a bad role model for the kids.” Jill said nonchalantly, playing down the fact that her husband treated her like a child.
“Jill, you need to leave him.”
“Oh, I don’t know…” Jill started, but was interrupted by Mary.
“I know you like to act like this is a unique occurrence, but I have heard this same story, or a similar one, from you umpteen times. You don’t have to put up with him treating you this way.” Mary leaned in to emphasize her point to Jill.
“Well, it’s not like he beats me or anything.”
“Not physically, but he sure as heck beats you up mentally. You don’t deserve this.” Mary stopped as the waiter came to take their drink orders, then continued, grasping Jill by her arm. “You don’t talk to him, you sneak out to classes to gain the little bit of happiness you have in your life, he treats like a maid – except he would probably be nice to a maid – and he’s never home… Although, that’s probably the good part of the situation, if you ask me.”
She laughed and Jill had to laugh, too. It was funny, but it was also true. Jill dreaded the evenings when he came home on time. She dreaded having to make small talk with him. Now that the kids were gone, there was nothing to talk about. She didn’t share his enthusiasm about his cases and he acted as if she was too stupid to understand the complexities anyway. She certainly could
n’t tell him about all the classes. She had to practically launder the money to pay for the classes so he wouldn’t know. He’d be furious if he knew she’d been sneaking around spending money for something he would deem useless.
Mary must have seen she was upsetting her friend, because she changed the subject.
“Okay, enough about Scott, let’s talk about me,” she said, leaning across the table.
“Sure, what about you?”
“I’m getting ready for my trip to Ireland,” Mary said, her voice raising teasingly. That was something else they had in common; they both had Irish ancestry. Mary was a first generation American, her parents immigrating to the United States from Ireland before she was born. So, Mary’s Irish connections more recent than Jill’s, but none-the-less, Jill had always “felt” Irish. Her mother, who was not from Irish decent, had latched onto her husband’s Irish last name, giving her daughter the name of “Jilleen Fiona Flannery.” Jill had, since a child, been fascinated with all things Irish, particularly the music. She heard “Gypsy Rover” once on television on St. Patrick’s Day when she was about eight years old and nearly drove her parents mad singing the song over and over for months.
“That’s right! I had forgotten that you were going to Ireland,” Jill said. “Now, remind me, who’s getting married?”
“My cousin – I guess she’s my cousin, my mom’s cousin’s daughter,” Mary stopped and looked up from her salad. “You got that?” she asked, laughing.
“Your cousin once removed,” Jill said.
“Right, right. Cousin once removed. Whatever,” she waved her fork in the air. “Anyway, I leave in a couple of weeks. I can’t wait.”
“Ireland,” Jill said. “God, I’m so jealous.”
“Well, it’s going to be a hoot, I’m sure.”
“Is Tara going?” Jill asked. Tara was Mary’s younger sister who lived in Los Angeles and made a living as an entertainment agent. She always added to any event, much like Mary did. Jill didn’t see her much, but always enjoyed her when she was around.
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