“Well, yeah.” He swung her arms from side to side to the music. “Every Friday. Whole group of us.” He pointed to all his aged friends dancing around them.
“I hope I’m as cool as you when I’m y’alls age,” Gabby shouted over the music. She could just see her friends growing old together like that. Claire would be the old lady in the corner cheering everyone on. Laura would be the one at the bar getting her man another beer. And Madison would be the one with the rose tattoo on her arm, flirting with all the widowed guys on the dance floor.
“Key is to dance every day,” the old man said, clapping his hands as the song finished. “My wife and I do it in the living room . . . in the kitchen . . . in the bathroom. Keeps you young.”
Gabby looked at him, eyes wide, hoping he was talking about dancing. “Well, thank you for the dance,” she said, shaking the man’s liver-spotted hand.
“Thank you, my dear,” he said as Tony came over to exchange partners. The old man turned to him. “You got a good one, son.”
Tony slid his arm around Gabby’s waist. “I am well aware, sir.”
She looked up at him and smiled. She still had to remind herself sometimes that this wasn’t a dream. Tony—smart, kind, well-mannered Tony—was unlike any of the guys she’d dated in Toulouse. In fact, he was the complete opposite of her last boyfriend, Russell Stevens, who’d left her crying on the side of Main Street after a stupid debate over an Adam Sandler movie they’d just seen. Before that was Klepto Connor—she had a feeling her Sweet Sixteen necklace was still in his possession. Freshman year, there was Jimmy Hill, who was so high all the time that he forgot 90 percent of their plans. Her track record with guys was so bad that sometimes, she couldn’t help wondering: Were they the problem . . . or was she?
But then Tony came along four months ago. From their first date, Gabby felt like there was something different about this relationship. He was serious—about his life, and about her—but balanced it with a dashing smile and witty personality. They always made each other laugh. Although she knew it might be impossible, Gabby hoped that this relationship was the one that would last. . . .
“Let’s go eat!” Tony said, snapping her out of her thoughts. A waitress led them to a table by the window that overlooked the lake.
“This is perfect,” Gabby said as Tony pulled her plastic chair out for her.
“The table, or your life?” He grinned as he sat down in his own seat.
She giggled. “Both.”
Tony grabbed her hands from across the table. The red-and-white-checkered vinyl tablecloth was still a little sticky from someone else’s gumbo. “You look amazing tonight.”
She felt a blush bloom across her cheeks. “Thank you.”
Her fitted burgundy dress was a hand-me-down from Claire. Though Gabby felt bad her friend was still struggling to lose her baby weight, it admittedly wasn’t terrible to benefit from it. Each week, it seemed like Claire was discovering some nearly new item that wouldn’t fit her anymore, and Gabby was more than happy to take the clothes off her hands.
Tony unlocked his fingers from hers and looked down at his menu. “What are you gonna get?”
“It all looks so good,” she said, scanning the laminated paper. So far, all of Tony’s restaurant picks had been amazing, but the grainy photos next to the menu items secretly worried her.
“I know this place is a little cheesy, but seriously, babe, the food is awesome.” He glanced at her over the top of his menu. “My family used to come here all the time. The couple who owns it has been running it since my parents were our age.”
She looked around. The room was packed with families and groups of older people, like their new friends from the dance floor. The whole restaurant had a slight shabbiness to it, like a grandparent’s house—the result of being loved for decades. “It’s great.”
He leaned closer to her. “I told my ma we were coming, so she gave me a five-dollar bill and said I had to order the stuffed mushrooms for you.”
Gabby laughed. “Why the stuffed mushrooms?”
“Because they’re her favorite and no one else in my family eats mushrooms. She got excited when you ate yours when you came over for dinner.” He put his menu down and looked at her slyly. “That means you’re in.”
“Don’t jinx it. Still haven’t met your dad.” The idea of meeting Mr. Ford made Gabby nervous. Tony looked up to his dad so much; she worried his approval would make or break their relationship. Every time she went over to Tony’s family’s house, the patriarch was at work or out of town. A high-powered career politician, he was currently serving as a Louisiana congressman. A snarky DC blog once gave him the nickname “Smokey,” not only because of his chain-smoking habit, but also for the pace at which he fired staffers. He was well connected in DC and Louisiana; the governor was Tony’s godfather.
“He’s gonna love you,” Tony said, waving his hand as if to wave away her doubts.
The waitress came up and pulled a blue pen out of her silver bun. “Are y’all ready to order?”
Gabby quickly scanned her menu again. “Yes. Let’s see . . .” She twirled her short red spiral curls with her finger. “I’ll do the seafood platter.”
“I’ll have the same,” Tony said. “And let’s start with the stuffed mushrooms.” After the waitress walked away, he reached back over the table to hold her hand. “So how are classes going?”
Gabby’s stomach lurched. “Amazing.” Could he feel her palm sweating? She pulled her hand away to squeeze lemon into her water. “I’m on track to get straight As right now.”
A huge smile grew on his face. “That’s awesome, babe! I’m so proud of you. I’m sure your mom would have been, too, if she were still with us.” Gabby averted her eyes from his earnest gaze. “Have you given any more thought to those master’s programs we talked about? You probably have to start your applications soon, right?”
“Mmmhmm,” she replied, noncommittal.
“Not that you need any help with it, but I have a book about writing personal statements, if you want to borrow it. I used it for my law school apps.” He leaned back in his chair.
“Sure,” she said, flashing a tight smile. “That sounds great.” Tony had just graduated from Tulane Law in the spring. He was currently working at a local firm but confessed that he didn’t really like it. His true passion was politics.
“I’ll give you the book the next time you come to my place,” Tony said, taking a sip of his water. “I’m glad you’re applying. You’re one of the smartest people I know.”
Gabby squirmed a little in her seat and rested her elbows on the table. “Well, I guess I just love school.”
“I would hope so, Miss Education Major!” he teased.
The waitress returned, saving Gabby from responding. She slid a plate of large mushroom caps stuffed with crab and shrimp as well as a side dish of corn bread onto the table.
“Oh my goodness, this looks delicious!” Gabby said.
“Mushrooms are all yours,” Tony said, wrinkling his nose. “Corn bread . . . all mine!” He brought the plate closer to himself, shielding it with his strong arms.
She laughed, grabbing one of the mushrooms and holding it up. “To us.”
He held up a piece of the bread and tapped her food with his. “To us, babe.”
• • •
“ARE YOU SURE I can’t come up?” Tony asked, nuzzling her neck under the entrance archway of the girls’ dorm at the University of Louisiana in Lafayette.
“I told you . . . my crazy roommate doesn’t like guests.” She sighed as his kisses made their way to her collarbone. “Besides, it’s a total mess.”
“And you’re sure you don’t want to stay with me tonight?” His warm breath sent a delicious thrill down her spine.
Her body quivered. “I really want to . . .” she whispered. “But I have a stupid study group early tomorrow morning. It’s better if I stay here.”
Tony slowly eased up on the kissing and brushed her hair
behind her ear. “You are an amazing woman.”
“You’re an amazing man.” She stared into his dark brown eyes.
He pulled himself away from her and lifted her chin softly with his hand. “I just . . .” He stood silently for a second, studying her.
She could feel her heart beating faster. Did he suspect . . . ?
“I love you, Gabrielle. You just make me so damn happy.” Gabby felt fireworks exploding inside her as Tony caressed her cheek. He loved her. She’d never heard a guy say those words before.
Her knees felt weak and her head began spinning. She grabbed his face with her hands and kissed him hard, completely swept up in the moment. “I love you, too.” They both stared at each other with goofy grins. “I never thought you were gonna say it,” she teased.
“Hey . . . you could’ve said it first!” He nudged her arm playfully.
She laughed. Maybe, she thought, but even in any other circumstances, she probably wouldn’t have. After all, that was the one thing her mom had taught her about love: guys scare easily.
Tony left a few moments later and Gabby lingered in the entranceway of the dorm, watching him get into his BMW and drive away. Her heart swelled with love, but underneath that warm feeling was a pit of anxiety. Once she was sure he was long gone, she walked back into the parking lot and got into her own car, a beat-up 2007 Nissan Versa. Then she started the long drive home down I-49.
Her mind reeled as she drove. She’d fallen so hard for Tony, but it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. When she pulled up in front of her actual residence, a shitty apartment building in Toulouse, Gabby burst into tears. Coming home to this awful little studio apartment—the best she could afford on her day care worker’s salary—was a reminder that her unbelievable happiness with Tony had a shelf life. She’d spun a fantasy for both of them, but her lies were unsustainable, and sooner or later they were going to catch up with her.
Her cell phone buzzed as she opened up her creaky front door. It wasn’t a number that she’d programmed into her phone, but she knew it by heart. Taking a deep breath and wiping the tears off her face, she answered it. “Hello?”
“An inmate at the Barton Correctional Facility is trying to contact you,” the automated voice relayed. “Press one if you would like to accept this collect call. Press two if you wish to decline.”
Gabby pushed one, waiting for the call to connect. She sat down on her bed and looked at a framed picture of her and her mom. In the photo, she had been a high school freshman with an unfortunate lopsided haircut, thanks to her mom’s effort to save money by doing it herself. They were still living in the Rydell neighborhood where Gabby felt so unsafe that she worked out a deal with the school bus driver to drop her off right at her house, even though it wasn’t an actual stop. In the picture, their eyes were tired, their smiles forced.
A few months after the picture was taken, everything started turning around. Her mom got a job at the dentist’s office and moved them to that cute little house on President Street. Elaine even got Gabby a hairstylist who actually knew how to cut her curls properly. Her life changed completely. She became happier and more confident, and felt like she had been given another chance. She wasn’t that poor, sad girl anymore—she had a future, and it included college at Tulane, her dream school. Gabby could tell her mom was happier, too, as they were able to buy the things they wanted and needed.
Of course, Gabby didn’t know at the time that most of the money her mom was using didn’t actually belong to her. She found that out the day Elaine was arrested—the day her entire life fell apart. Elaine had been embezzling money from her employer for years. Her mom went to jail, and the money went away, leaving Gabby with no way to pay for college; it was too late to apply for scholarships. Tulane became just another thing that was taken from her.
Not that Tony knew any of that.
The phone line clicked through. “Gabby?”
“Hi, Mom.” She sighed after greeting the woman on the other end.
As it turned out, they were both frauds.
5
laura
“THEY REALLY GOTTA keep the air conditioner on when it’s sixty degrees outside?” Laura whined. The orange faux leather chair in the doctor’s examination room was smooth and cold, and she was shivering.
Brian fidgeted on the raised exam table. “I’ll warm you up,” he said with a grin, motioning for her.
Laura walked over to him, her boots clacking on the tile floor. She nestled into his arms, enjoying the heat emanating from his body. He hadn’t held her close like this since the accident; these days, he held his beer bottles more tightly than he did her. He even moved her hand away from his boxers when she started seductively exploring down there. But finally, he was holding her like he used to. Laura breathed in his musky scent. His hands moved up and down her body, from her shoulders to her thighs, warming her up with a friction that made her body go from frigid to hot in moments. He kissed her neck. She kissed his. She wanted to take him right there but knew she couldn’t. It made his touch all the more thrilling.
Knock, knock. The door handle turned slowly, and Laura quickly composed herself. She turned to see Dr. Carter, the LSU team doctor, smiling in her green scrubs and white lab coat.
“Hello,” she said, looking down at the clipboard with an embarrassed expression.
Laura, realizing the doctor had seen, turned bright red and returned to the orange chair.
Dr. Carter began examining Brian. “So, how’s the pain?” she asked chattily, palpating his knee.
“It’s fine,” Brian said shortly. “Am I going to be able to play again?”
Dr. Carter scribbled something in his chart and took a moment before looking up. “As you know, Brian, your injury was quite severe,” she said briskly. “You’re going to need surgery, but I just want to be up front about your expectations. We can repair some of your ligament damage so that you can walk again, but even with physical therapy, your knee won’t be strong enough to withstand stress—or sustain another major hit. It’s likely you won’t be able to play again.”
Laura’s gasp echoed throughout the quiet, sterile room. Brian remained silent.
“At this point, your options are very limited. There is one surgery that I would recommend, but it’s new and not widely practiced. I can refer you to a specialist in New Orleans and have him take a look. The surgeon has worked with some of the Saints players, and he’s very well regarded. Of course nothing is guaranteed, but it’s your only option if you want to play any kind of sport again. I called and he’s agreed to see you, but unfortunately he doesn’t take your insurance, so you’ll have to pay out of pocket.”
“Doesn’t the school need to pay?” Laura asked. So far, the school had covered all their costs because Brian had been hurt on the field.
“They would if the doctor was in network,” Dr. Carter explained. “But the surgery is experimental, and even if the doctor were in network, they might still refuse to cover it, especially since Brian has other options available to him.”
“Not playing again is not an option,” Brian said. “I don’t want some surgery that just helps me walk again—I want to play.”
Laura sat up in her chair. “How much would something like that cost?” she asked.
“A lot,” Dr. Carter said sympathetically. “My advice is to go for a consultation and learn more.” She turned back to Brian. “I know football is a big deal to you, but I want you to seriously weigh your decision before you leap into this surgery. There are a number of risks, both physically and financially.”
Brian’s gaze remained calm. “If I don’t do it, will I ever be able to play again?”
“Most likely not.” She pulled out her notepad and twisted her pen. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m going to do it.” He held his shoulders back, confident with his decision.
Laura knew the look of determination in Brian’s eyes. It was the same one he had worn when Toulouse High had been down a field goal a
gainst their toughest opponent, Port Arthur, during the last game of his high school career. She had cheered her heart out for him that night, and she had every intention of doing it again this time around.
Dr. Carter nodded and jotted down the contact info on a page from her notepad. “Good luck.” She bid them good-bye before walking out of the room.
Once she was gone, Brian hung his head. “I can’t believe this.”
“Hey, I’m feeling pretty optimistic,” Laura said, rubbing his arm encouragingly. “We’ll find a way to pay for the surgery, and everything will be fine. You’ll play again. You’ll see.”
He huffed as he stood, and he hobbled toward the door on his crutches. Laura looked down at her watch. “Do you want me to drop you off at your three o’clock class? You’ll be a little early, but at least you won’t have to walk all the way there on those things.”
“I’m not going,” Brian said flatly. He didn’t wait for her as he made his way to the car.
• • •
IT WAS A beautiful sunny fall day. Not that you could tell from the inside of Laura and Brian’s small on-campus apartment.
As she opened the front door, fresh from her morning shift at the Magnolia Coffee House, Laura sighed. Brian lay supine on the couch, watching ESPN in the dark. At least he was awake; over these past few weeks, he had pretty much been sleeping all day.
“Hey, baby,” she said, dropping a pile of mail on the kitchen counter. “What’d you do all morning?”
Silence.
“That cute old lady came in today,” Laura continued, opening the blinds. Sunlight streamed into the room, lighting a trail of dust motes. “You remember me talking about her—Mrs. Stratton? Well, she asked how you were doing. She read about the injury in the paper and told me she’s praying for your speedy recovery. Oh, and she gave me a fifty percent tip. I love that woman.”
Brian still hadn’t stirred from the couch. “Hey, babe?” he finally croaked. “Can you bring me another beer?”
Laura paused. Another? “It’s only eleven thirty. How many have you had?”
The Young Wives Club Page 3