The mosquitoes were getting bad, swarming the yard. It had rained the night before, and small puddles of water collected on the blue tarp covering their scratched-up fishing boat.
Madison stared out at the boat. “Do you remember that time you tried to reel that catfish in for me, and ended up falling in the water?”
Her dad chuckled. “That sucker wasn’t no catfish. It was ten foot long and mocking me with a mouth full of fangs.”
“Wasn’t it five foot the last time you told the story?”
“Nah, it’s always been fifteen.” They both burst into laughter.
Madison’s mom poked her head out the sliding door, a wan smile on her face. In the months since Allen had gotten sick, gray streaks had shot through her short brown hair and she had stopped wearing makeup. “What’s all the fuss out here?”
“Just reminiscing about our fishing trips,” her dad responded.
Connie turned to Madison. “You’ve got company.”
She jumped off the swing and ran inside the house, making a beeline for the front door. “I don’t know why that boy never comes in . . .” she heard her mom say under her breath.
“Must be scared of us,” her dad replied.
In the driveway, Cash Romero sat on his Boss Hoss motorcycle, revving the engine. His shoulder-length black hair fell into a messy swoop as he removed his helmet. He shook his head, the strands immediately falling where they belonged. Madison’s eyes trailed his tattoos from his wrists to the top of his large biceps, peeking out from his snug black T-shirt. Heat pooled in her stomach.
His dark brown eyes caught hers. “Like what you see?” he called out with a smile.
“I didn’t know you were gonna stop by today,” she said, giving him a kiss. “Why are you here?”
Cash brushed a strand of her hair away from her eyes. “Just wanted to see how my girl was doing. Come to my show tonight,” he said, grabbing her waist. “I want you right up front.” His face was so close to hers, she could feel his warm breath on her lips.
“I’m kinda in a mood right now,” she said, lowering her eyes. “Put me down as a maybe?” She hated to say no, but after the conversation with her father, she knew she couldn’t afford the ten-dollar cover, or the bar tab. Cash would be onstage most of the night, so he couldn’t buy her drinks, which meant she’d need at least forty bucks for the night. Money was too tight for that.
“I’m in a mood, too,” he whispered, pulling her closer, moving his hand from her waist to her butt. He nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck and nibbled on her earlobe, sending a spark of pleasure down her body. She hoped her parents weren’t looking out the window, but it felt so good, she didn’t want him to stop. “I want you,” he said, finally kissing her and biting her bottom lip.
She could taste his last cigarette, and he could probably taste hers. He slid his hand up her neck into her hair, tugging at a few of her ever-present knots, and probably causing a few more. She moved her hand under his shirt slowly, feeling his stomach. It was smooth, save for the line of hair that led to his belly button. She knew exactly where that trail ended.
Cash slowly pulled back, pecking her on the lips. “I’ll see you tonight. Ten p.m. at the Sea Shack.”
Madison just nodded. Before she could form words, Cash and his motorcycle were already out the driveway and down the street.
3
claire
@Pastor_Gavin: “Today’s a new day. Show gratitude for the joyful things in your life & seek God’s strength. You got this!”
CLAIRE THIBODEAUX SQUINTED at her iPhone, rereading her tweet to make sure she hadn’t misspelled any words. Last week, one of their church’s youth group members had replied, “Don’t you mean ‘MESSAGE?’ ” to Claire’s tweet about the importance of God’s massage. It still made her blush.
Claire held her phone out to her husband, Gavin, who was sprawled across their navy sectional couch. “Do you like this one?”
Gavin glanced up from his iPad. “Love it, hon. Thank you.” He smiled at her, his blue eyes crinkling adorably behind his thick-rimmed glasses, and went back to typing away. She glowed with pride.
Managing Gavin’s personal Twitter account was just one of Claire’s many jobs at the church—their church. She worked behind the scenes, building up Pastor Gavin’s national following and bringing his message to the tens of thousands of fans he had on social media. The demand for her—er, Gavin’s—words of wisdom was so huge that she was even writing a book in his name. Well, it was an ebook, but still, she had been staying up until midnight every night working on it.
She pressed TWEET and waited for the notifications to start rolling in; with their large following, each missive from @Pastor_Gavin got tons of retweets, favorites, and replies. Though she knew it was prideful, Claire couldn’t help enjoying the flurry of activity.
Her phone buzzed and she picked it up excitedly, but it was just a text from her cousin Madison:
Take a break from ur perfect life and come out w me tonite? 10pm Sea Shack?
Claire frowned, the words “perfect life” rubbing her the wrong way. When Claire was Madison’s age, she was already engaged to the love of her life and working a full-time job at the church. Her cousin, on the other hand, seemed to take a more impulsive approach to her future—oftentimes, to her own detriment. Claire didn’t want to encourage that kind of behavior.
C: It’s a school night sweetheart.
M: Since when are u in school? :/
C: You know what I mean . . .
M: Boo . . .
C: How’s your dad doing BTW?
M: :(
C: So sorry, Mads. Praying for him.
Claire placed her phone down on the beige carpet and sighed. “Uncle Allen isn’t doing well,” she said, fighting a wave of sadness. Her uncle was practically her substitute dad. He was the one who had taught her the important things in life, like how to ride a bike and suck the head of a crawfish. “We need to send prayers to him and Madison and Aunt Connie.”
Gavin looked up from his iPad, his eyebrows furrowed with concern. “Of course.”
Sadie started whining, flailing on her fleece blanket in the middle of the living room. She wasn’t crawling yet, but she seemed determined to try. “What’s wrong, little girl?” Claire asked her daughter in a soft voice, scooping her baby into her arms.
Claire rocked Sadie. “I just can’t imagine what Mads is going through right now. She’s so close with her dad. Like you and Sadie. What you have with her just stops my heart.”
Gavin’s eyes lit up. “This is good,” he said.
“Good?” Claire’s voice cracked with confusion.
“I’m writing my sermon on family matters,” he said, setting his iPad down. “What you’re saying—it’s really interesting to think about. Why does it take these life-altering moments to look at what you have and appreciate it? If your dad was dying, would you feel differently about him?” He picked up the device from the side table and started typing furiously.
Claire’s father was only fifteen miles away, but he hadn’t seen her more than five times in the last year. She resented him for walking out on her and her mom when she was six. Resented him for forgetting her birthdays, for never coming to her school plays when she was younger, for not coming to see Sadie very often now. But at the thought of him dying . . . “I’d be devastated,” she admitted. It made her wonder if she should make more of an effort.
Gavin typed something. “Do you think that sometimes we take what we have for granted? Family-wise, I mean.”
“Of course,” Claire said. “But you’d never do that to me and Sadie, would ya?” she teased.
Gavin missed her playful tone. “Never.” His head was still down as he continued to write.
Claire stood up, bouncing a now-fussy Sadie on her hip. It was her bedtime. After putting her daughter down, Claire lingered in her bedroom, staring at the collage framed on the wall. It was filled with pictures of Claire and Gavin before they had
Sadie. Her eyes went immediately to their wedding picture, the two of them standing under the arch of two large oak trees on Gavin’s family’s property. They looked like bride and groom cake toppers—she in a heavy, poufy white gown from David’s Bridal, Gavin in his freshly pressed suit. She could just hear the Ziggy Lou Zydeco Band performing at the barbecue reception. Gavin had insisted that an accordion would go better with brisket than a cello would. She’d been skeptical but had to admit he was right . . . as he usually was.
That day was incredible, although their beaming smiles in the picture hid just how nervous they were about that night. It would be the first time they would see each other naked, or do more than kiss. Claire had secretly researched what to do, Googling until she came across a Christian relationship blog that gave her some vague tips:
1. Ask your husband or wife what pleases them. Just like in your relationship, communication is important in the bedroom. This is a surefire way both of you will have your wants and needs met.
2. Be creative and have fun! Keep things spicy and playful—it’s important for both of you to enjoy this special time. Maybe you can even buy some books on techniques or classy lingerie that will liven up the routine.
3. Focus on your spouse and not your supposed flaws. Be confident in the body God gave you.
Claire had always been sheepish about the idea of Gavin seeing her naked, but from the look on his face on their wedding night, he liked what he saw. And she liked how it felt. As he discovered new parts of her body, he greeted each one with a kiss. Each time his lips touched down, she felt even more confident and sexy, much to her surprise. Within the first few minutes of their getting-to-know-each-other session, her body began begging for more, quivering with pleasure. It was a spiritual experience. She took him in slowly. It hurt, but the pain felt good. Each movement they shared made her body fill up with a power she couldn’t explain until it finally overflowed and burst. Afterward, they lay together side by side on their backs, breathing heavily.
“I love you,” she had told him, in between gasps. At that moment, she’d felt closer to him than she ever thought she could.
Now, as Claire gazed at her wedding photo, all she could think was that the nineteen-year-old girl staring back at her was so beautiful. She missed that long flowing brown hair—it had been cut into a short bob when a crying baby made long showers and primping impossible. And she missed that svelte frame—the extra twenty pounds of baby weight were not going anywhere, no matter how hard she tried. But Claire was sure that she could recapture that powerful feeling of being sexy, of being wanted.
In the bathroom, she brushed her hair and put some makeup on. Her tired eyes popped once she applied black eyeliner and mascara. Her pale lips transformed into a sexy pout with the swipe of a red lipstick. Her colorless cheeks had life in them again after a smear of cream blush. Finally, she traded in her gray hoodie for a fitted black V-neck. It wasn’t anything special, but she always felt seductive in black.
In the living room, Gavin was still working on his sermon.
“She’s asleep,” Claire said, walking over to him and taking his iPad out of his hands. Before he could say anything, she sat on his lap, trailing kisses down his neck, reaching lower and lower. “Let’s be bad,” she said in a husky voice, unbuttoning his jeans.
Gavin placed his hands on hers to stop her. “I’ve got to finish this sermon, honey.”
Claire sat back, searching. “But you’ve got all night. C’mon. We finally have some time. Please?” Was he really going to make her beg?
He kissed her forehead. “I’m so sorry, babe, but I’m in a groove right now. I really need to get this done while I’m inspired.”
She pouted and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Don’t you find me attractive anymore?”
He took off his glasses. Without them, he looked as tired as she felt. “Of course. Why would you say that?”
“It’s just been so long. . . .” It had been weeks since they’d had sex. It seemed like life was constantly getting in the way these days—if Gavin wasn’t busy with work, Claire was exhausted from taking care of Sadie. There was no more time for them.
Gavin sighed. “I know. Maybe your mom can take Sadie next weekend and we can have a date night?”
Claire slid off his lap and averted her eyes, trying to fight back tears. It somehow felt personal, like being unable to balance their marriage with their lives meant she was failing as a wife. “Sure.”
Gavin buttoned his jeans and grabbed the iPad from the side table. “I love you,” he said, already starting to type again.
Their small, orderly living room suddenly felt stifling. Claire stood, a decision forming in her mind. “I have to take Madison to her boyfriend’s show tonight. I’ll be out late.” She walked out of the room without waiting for Gavin to say another word.
• • •
IT WAS ALREADY midnight, and Claire couldn’t stop yawning. Madison was sitting on Cash’s lap in a dark corner of the bar; they hadn’t come up for air in a while. Ricky Broussard, the restaurant’s owner, slid into the booth next to Claire. He always made her uncomfortable, with his bushy mustache and leering gaze. Back when she was in high school, he’d try to hit on her despite being a decade older. “I’m gonna marry you one day when you’re older, Claire Guidry,” he’d once whispered into her ear. “You just wait.”
“I just got myself a new shotgun rifle,” he told her now, smoothing his thick brown mustache out with two fingers. “I work hard, ya know? Gotta blow off some steam out there on the hunt. And this baby’s a powerful one.”
Claire nodded, repressing the urge to roll her eyes. A group of women in their late twenties were starting a dance party a few feet away from the table. She had watched them all night trying to pick up guys: Purple Crop Top had made out with an overweight bearded man for a free gin and tonic earlier in the evening, while Ed Hardy Dress had finally convinced a Toulouse High senior to dance with her . . . until his girlfriend showed up. At this point, they seemed perfectly content buying their own drinks and dancing by themselves.
They were now collectively jumping up and down screaming to celebrate “The Cupid Shuffle” coming on the speakers. With their longneck beer bottles in hand, the women started moving in tune to the lyrics. These women were at least five years older than she was—how did they still have so much stamina at this hour?
Ricky sucked on his cigarette and gave them a weak round of applause when it was over. “I’ve gotta go talk to those there ladies,” he said, standing up and straightening out his plaid button-down shirt. “You’ll be okay here?”
“Actually, I need to go,” Claire replied, checking the clock on her phone. “I’ve got church in the morning.” She silently thanked God for that perfect excuse.
“Come back around more often,” Ricky said, with a final smoothing of his mustache. “Bring the husband and baby for lunch on me one of these days.”
“Sounds good,” Claire replied with a smile, thinking, that will never happen. She put her cardigan on and grabbed her bag. “Bye!”
“Bye now,” Ricky said. He walked toward the dancers, greeting them with his go-to line. “That was great! Now, who wants shots?”
Claire made her way toward Madison and Cash, who had been making out since his band sang their last song—a cover of Nirvana’s “I Hate Myself and Want to Die,” which was, ironically, how Claire felt when she listened to them play. Madison was sucking Cash’s face with the strength of a Hoover, their bodies—and whatever else they were doing—thankfully concealed by a wooden table piled with bottles and dirty glasses. Claire cleared her throat, hoping that would force them up for air, and finally shouted over the music, “Mads, we have to go.”
Madison looked up at her cousin and smiled beatifically. “I’m going to stay with Cash tonight,” she slurred. “I told my parents I was staying with you.”
“Seriously? You could have told me that an hour ago,” Claire said, frustrated.
“Sorry
!” Madison laughed and went back to kissing Cash.
Claire drove home alone through the winding back roads, the streets lit only by her headlights. By the time she got back to her pretty little house, which sat at the end of a cul-de-sac, all of her anger from earlier in the day had drained away. So what if she and Gavin were having a little rough patch physically? She thought again of the dark bar and its sticky floors, the girls half-dressed and desperate for attention, Ricky Broussard and his leering gaze, and practically shuddered. Who would want that kind of life?
She tiptoed into their bedroom, her movements masked by Gavin’s loud snoring, and slipped on her favorite Lilly Pulitzer-esque pink-and-green floral pajamas from Target. For a moment, she considered seducing her husband in his sleep—Gavin waking up to the feel of himself inside of her. But remembering the scene in the living room earlier, she slid silently under the covers instead. Looking at Gavin sleeping peacefully next to her, she reminded herself that she was perfectly happy with the life she had.
4
gabrielle
“WE’RE THE YOUNGEST people in here by fifty years!” Gabby Vaughn yelled to her boyfriend, Tony Ford, as they two-stepped and twirled their way around the dance floor of a wood-paneled restaurant.
Tony grinned and kissed her on the cheek. “But their fried crawfish is magnifique!” He spun her again so quickly that she barely noticed when an elderly man in a plaid shirt and red suspenders swooped in and grabbed her hand.
“Well, hello there, young lady,” the man said, bouncing to the upbeat rhythm of the piano accordion and washboard coming from the zydeco band onstage.
“Uh, hi!” she said, laughing. To her right, Tony was now carefully bopping up and down with a short grandma in a long floral dress, probably Suspender Man’s wife.
The white-haired man clapped his hands to the beat. “I may be old, but I got better moves than your boyfriend.”
Gabby spun on his lead. “You are good at this. Do you come here a lot?”
The Young Wives Club Page 2