by Metsy Hingle
“It’s okay,” Lily told her. “Really, it’s fine.”
“Oh, gosh, look at the time,” Emma declared. “I need to run. I’m supposed to be meeting a client at the gallery in ten minutes.”
“Emma, did you forget you’re supposed to meet with me after lunch so you can select a wedding cake today? Not to mention you’re supposed to choose the napkins and pick out the music,” Felicity protested.
“I’m sorry,” Emma said and grabbed her purse. “Why don’t you just meet with Reed and you and he decide.”
“But, Emma, this isyour wedding, not mine. You should be the one making these decisions with Reed, not me.”
“I know. But the truth is I don’t have time and Reed thinks you’re terrific. He’s always raving about what a good job you’re doing. So the two of you work it out. Now I’ve got to run,” Emma said. “Lily, I’m thrilled to have you as a Deb and I’ll be in touch about the fund-raising.” And before anyone could respond, Emma disappeared, practically running on her stiletto heels.
“Did it come out?” Mary asked her, referring to the tea stain on her dress.
“Not yet. I’ll just go to the ladies’ room and use a little soap on it. Don’t worry. I’ve survived hundreds of spills. This one isn’t bad at all.”
The spill really hadn’t been that bad, Lily thought as she surveyed her cleaning job in the mirror of the ladies’ room. Deciding she’d better use the facilities now instead of making another trip in thirty minutes, Lily disappeared into one of the stalls.
The swish of the door to the powder room opening was followed by the clicking of women’s heels on the marble floor. “I just need to freshen my lipstick,” a woman said and Lily immediately recognized the voice of Delia Forrester.
“Well, I need to potty. I knew I shouldn’t have had that second Bloody Mary,” another woman complained and Lily heard the door to one of the other bathroom stalls open and close.
“Patty, did you happen to get a look at the new addition at the Debs Club’s table?”
“You mean the pregnant little redhead?”
“Yes,” Delia said. “She’s Jack Cartwright’s new wife. And now we all know why the rush-rush wedding, don’t we?”
“You’re kidding! A shotgun wedding?” the woman named Patty remarked. A toilet flushed and the other woman exited the stall.
“I hear she’s a little nobody. You’d think a man in Jack’s position would be a little more selective about who he sleeps with,” Delia said. “What is it they say, if you sleep with dogs, you’re bound to get fleas? Well, I guess it’s true. No wonder he decided not to run for the senate. With that wife of his as baggage, he probably wouldn’t get elected dogcatcher.”
Having heard enough, Lily exited her stall and walked over to the sinks where the other two women were laughing. She took the spot between them and proceeded to wash her hands. The woman named Patty immediately sobered. Delia had a smug smile on her lips. And when Lily met the other woman’s eyes in the mirror, she realized that Delia had known she was there all along. Reaching for one of the cloth towels, Lily dried her hands and disposed of the towel in the used laundry receptacle.
She started toward the door, stopped, turned. “Oh, by the way. You ladies really shouldn’t worry about whether or not my husband could get elected as dogcatcher. He doesn’t need the job. In case you haven’t heard, he’s filthy rich.”
And without waiting for them to respond, Lily left the bathroom. But despite her bravado, she could feel her stomach pitching. Once she was out of sight, she leaned against the wall and squeezed her eyes shut a moment. She loved Jack and the last thing she ever wanted to do was to bring him down.
“Lily? Are you all right?”
Lily opened her eyes at the sound of Abby’s voice. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“The rest of the girls had to leave and said to tell you goodbye.”
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” Lily told her.
“I wanted to. Besides I thought I saw Delia go into the bathroom behind you,” Abby explained and glanced in the direction of the ladies’ room. “I was worried she might have cornered you and tried to wheedle an invitation or something out of you.”
“No. No, she didn’t,” Lily told her. “But thanks for checking on me.”
“It wasn’t a big deal,” Abby told her as they walked down the corridor. When they reached the Emerald Room, Abby said, “There’s another exit through here.”
The moment they stepped outdoors into the patio area near the pool the sweet scent of the mountain laurel surrounded them.
“My mother liked you a lot,” Abby told her. “She spoke very highly of you.”
Once again, Lily was struck with empathy for Abby and it helped her push aside her own concerns. “I thought the world of her, too. In fact, it’s because of her that I met Jack.” Lily told her about Bunny insisting she come to the ball, about lending her the dress, about meeting Jack at the ball.
“My mother loved happy endings. I think she would be pleased to know that she’s responsible for you two finding yours,” Abby told her.
“Abby, you don’t have to pretend. I’m sure everyone knows that the only reason Jack married me was because of the baby.”
“And you married him because you love him.”
Lily sighed. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to someone who suffers from the same disease.”
“It’s different for you, though. You and your husband married because you love one another,” Lily told her.
“I thought we did. At least it’s the reason I married Luke,” Abby told her. “I’m not sure anymore why Luke married me.”
“I’m sure he loves you,” Lily offered, wanting to comfort her new friend.
“Maybe. But loving someone is a lot more than just saying the words. From what I’ve heard, Jack sure acts like a man who’s in love.”
Maybe Abby was right, Lily told herself. At least she hoped she was.
Jack strode into the bar of the Eastwick Country Club and scanned the room for Tom Carlton.
“Jack, over here.”
Jack headed over to the bar where Tom sat on a stool, sipping a glass of bourbon. At sixty-five, Tom was short and stocky with a receding hairline and a firm handshake. His mild appearance belied the fact that he was a shark and one of the biggest political power brokers in the state. Jack offered his hand. “Good to see you, Tom.”
“You, too,” Tom said with a slap on Jack’s back. “What’s your poison?”
“I’ll just have a ginger ale, Harry,” Jack advised the bartender who had been a fixture at the club since Jack had been a boy. Somewhere between sixty and seventy, Harry was tall, bald and silent. While people always said, “If these walls could talk,” he imagined Harry could tell the walls a thing or two.
“Ginger ale?” Carlton repeated. “I thought you were a scotch man.”
“Right now I’m a married man whose wife is expecting a baby. Thanks, Harry,” he said when the glass was placed in front of him. “Lily’s drink of choice is milk and occasionally juice these days. I’ve changed my drinking habits so that they’re more in line with hers.”
Carlton shook his head. “I guess that’s just one more of the changes in today’s society. During my generation, a man wasn’t expected to change his eating and drinking habits because his wife was pregnant.”
“It’s a personal decision. But I’m sure you didn’t ask me to meet you to discuss my eating and drinking habits. What’s on your mind, Tom?”
“That’s what I like about you, Cartwright. You’re direct.”
“I find it saves time. And time isn’t something I have a lot to spare these days,” he informed him. It was true. Between work and his commitments to his family and the community, his time had always been in short supply. Now that he was married to Lily he’d discovered he wanted more time with her and he suspected he would want even more once the baby arrived.
“Why don’t we go have a seat over there,
where we can have a little more privacy,” Tom suggested, indicating a table in the far corner of the bar. Once they were both seated, Carlton said, “You wanted me to be direct. So I’ll get straight to the point. I want you to reconsider running for Peterson’s senate seat.”
“Tom—”
He held up his hand. “Let me finish. The preliminary test polls I had my people run show the seat is yours for the taking.” He leaned forward, “Jack, you could be the next senator of Connecticut. Think of all the good you could do, the legislation you could introduce. You would make a difference in a lot of people’s lives. And you’d certainly be doing the city of Eastwick proud. All you’ve got to do is give me the word and we kick off your campaign tomorrow.”
“I appreciate the offer. Honestly I do. And while I do have a lot of ideas about how to make this country run better, now is not the right time for me to try to do it. Maybe at some time in the future, but not now.”
“Listen, Jack. I understand your reservations. And when I found out the real reason you pulled out, I agreed with your decision.”
“The real reason I pulled out?” Jack repeated because he’d thought he’d made it clear that the reason he decided not to run was because he didn’t want to subject himself or Lily to the time and commitment running a political race would demand.
“Your quickie marriage to this Miller girl because you got her pregnant,” Tom answered matter-of-factly. “Politically, I figured it would be a nail in your coffin the same as you did. I mean the people of Connecticut place a lot of stock in family values. They expect a man and woman to get married first and then make babies. But I was wrong,” Carlton told him proudly. “You doing the honorable thing and marrying the girl, well, that made you a stand-up guy in the voters’ eyes.”
“Did it now?” Jack asked softly while he tried to keep his anger in check.
“It sure did. And if you’re worried that your wife’s background will be a problem, it won’t. The PR team thinks her growing up in an orphanage and foster homes, having to work to make something of herself will work in your favor. The voters will see you as a senator for the common man as well as the rich.” Beaming, Carlton asked, “So what do you say? Do we start printing the Cartwright for Senate bumper stickers?”
“No,” Jack said between gritted teeth.
“No? Did you just hear what I said? You’re a shoo-in to be the next senator of Connecticut.”
“I heard you. And I’m not interested.” Jack stood.
“Why the hell not?”
“First off, because I don’t have any use for narrow-minded bigots and I certainly wouldn’t want one running my campaign—if I had a campaign to run. Secondly, because I don’t want to take time I could be spending with my wife and baby to jump on the political merry-go-round.” Jack shoved his chair back and ignoring the stir of voices behind him, he continued. “And just to set the record straight, Carlton, if I ever do decide to run for political office, I’ll want Lily standing by my side all right. But it won’t be because she makes for good copy. It’ll be because I’m proud of who she is, of what she’s done, and I’m feel damn lucky to have her as my wife. Now if you’ll excuse me, I don’t much care for the stench in here.” And before he gave in to the urge to plant his fist in Carlton’s face, Jack left the bar.
So intent was he on leaving the country club that he nearly barreled into Abby Talbot who was on her way down the corridor. “Sorry, Abby. I didn’t see you.”
“That much was obvious. So where’s the fire?” she asked and smiled.
“No fire. I’m just on my way home.”
She looked behind him. “Is Lily not with you?”
“No,” Jack told her, his mood softening at the mention of Lily’s name. “She’s at home. That’s why I was in a hurry.”
“I understand,” Abby told him. “She’s lovely, Jack.”
“I think so, too. And I wanted to thank you for asking her to join the Debs Club. It meant a lot to her. I’m afraid marrying into the Cartwright family hasn’t been all that easy for her. Suddenly she’s under a microscope, being judged, trying to live up to what she thinks is expected of her. You asking her to be on the fund-raising committee and to join your club, I think it made her feel like…like less of an outsider.”
“I know,” Abby told him. “For what it’s worth, I think she’s pretty special and you’re darned lucky she married you.”
“I think so, too.” When he noted Abby looking in the direction of the entrance, Jack glanced behind him, then asked, “Are you looking for someone?”
She flushed. “I’m waiting for Luke. He’s been in New York on business since last week and wasn’t due back until tomorrow, but he was able to wrap things up early. He’s driving straight here from the airport so we can have dinner and then take in a movie together,” she explained.
“Sounds like a fun evening.” And it also explained why Abby was wearing the sexy black dress and smiling for the first time in weeks.
“It should be. Luke and I haven’t been out to dinner or a movie together since…well, since longer than I can remember.” Her cell phone rang.
“I’ll let you get that.”
“No, just a sec,” she said, and opening her evening bag, she pulled out the cell phone and frowned. Turning her body to the side, she answered, “Hello.” Her expression changed from one of joy to one of total despair as she listened. “I see. I’m sure you are. No, don’t bother,” she said and ended the call.
“Everything all right?” he asked even though it was obvious it wasn’t.
“I guess that depends on who you ask,” she said, a note of bitterness in her voice. “I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean to snap at you. That was Luke canceling our date. He couldn’t get away after all.”
“I’m sorry, Abby.”
“So am I,” she said. “A word of advice from a married woman, Jack. Whatever you do, you make time for Lily, and make sure that a day doesn’t go by that she doesn’t know that you love her.”
Lily checked her appearance in the mirror one last time. The saleswoman at the dress shop had called it the Audrey Hepburn little black dress for pregnant women. Lily turned, looked over her shoulder at her image. From the back, the dress did look perfect, she admitted. It showed a nice amount of leg, made her hips look slim and you couldn’t even tell she was pregnant—until she turned around. She sighed. Still, the neckline was a bit daring and her baby bump…well, it couldn’t be helped. She was nearly six months pregnant and there was simply no hiding her little soccer ball.
When Jack had suggested they have dinner to celebrate their three-week anniversary, she had been excited. There had been a change in him this past week. While he was always thoughtful and generous and left her with no doubt about his desire for her, there had been an urgency, an intensity in his lovemaking that she was sure would not be possible if he didn’t love her. Following her encounter with Delia Forrester she had questioned him about why he had withdrawn his name for consideration in the senate race, and he had made it clear that his decision was a selfish one—he wanted the time with her and their baby.
Today when he’d left, he’d been so mysterious about tonight. She’d learned enough about Jack in the few weeks since they had been married to realize that the man loved surprising her with little gifts. She’d lost count of them there had been so many—some silly, some horribly expensive. Whatever his surprise was tonight, it was one he was excited about. So she was excited, too.
Lily checked the seams of her stocking and told herself that the three-inch heels were worth it. They made her legs look a mile long. Walking over to the vanity, she picked up her locket and put it on. After fastening the clasp, she smoothed the ends of the up-do again. She picked up the scarlet lipstick, slicked it on her lips, pressed them together.
Enough, Lily. You’re acting like a schoolgirl going to the prom.
She laughed at herself. In a lot of ways, she felt like a schoolgirl. And it was Jack’s fault. The man made
her feel like a princess and she had never been so happy in her life. Suddenly the panic she’d always felt when she thought things were too good to be true sneaked its way into her thoughts.
Don’t get too comfortable. If you do, when it all crashes down around you, there’ll be no one to help put you back together.
No, Lily told herself. She wasn’t going to do this to herself. She was happy. Jack was happy. They loved one another. All right, so he hadn’t said the words. But Abby was right, he showed he loved her by his actions. She didn’t need the words.
Grabbing her evening bag, she headed downstairs to wait for Jack. But when twenty minutes passed, she checked her watch. He’d said the dinner reservations were for eight o’clock. It was already seven-twenty. Five more minutes. If he wasn’t home, she’d call him.