“Umm . . . everything?” Laura spread her notebooks across the table and sighed at the sight of all her notes from just that day.
“You’re in AP chemistry?” Vince asked, eyeing her textbook.
“Yeah, why?” She clicked her pen.
“It’s just . . .” Vince trailed off.
“It’s just what?” She tightened her grip on her pen.
He ran his hand across his short brown hair and looked at her as if weighing her.
“You’re obviously smart. Why’d you drop out?”
Her eyes widened. “Um, I told you. Brian was heading to LSU, so I went with him.” She could hear herself sounding defensive.
“Yeah, but why? You could have waited.”
Laura felt like she’d been slapped. Vince wasn’t the first one to make this argument with her, and she was sick of hearing it. She felt embarrassed and, quite frankly, a little angry. He had just met her. Who was he to judge? “I did what I needed—make that, wanted—to do,” she said sternly. “We had our future all planned out, and there was no need for me to have a high school diploma.”
“So what made you come back then?” He leaned back in his chair. “Not to Toulouse, I mean. To school.”
“I don’t owe you any explanation, do I?” she huffed.
“Not at all,” he said with a genuine look. “I was just curious.”
“No offense, but I just want to study in quiet, okay?” She opened her notebook to a clean page and shifted in her chair slightly so she was facing away from him. Staring down at the paper, she prayed that she could just get through the rest of the day without appearing as weak as she felt.
Vince raised his hands in a peace-making gesture. “I’m honestly sorry if I offended you in any way,” he said, standing and packing up his books. “I didn’t mean to, I swear.”
“It’s okay,” Laura said guiltily. She hadn’t meant to take her stress out on him. “I’m just really on edge right now.”
“Good luck,” he said, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and walking out.
The door slammed shut behind him, the humming of the exhaust fan the only sound audible. Laura sighed as she silently replayed their conversation in her head. You’re obviously smart, he had said. Sure, she did well in school, but Brian was the one going places. It was never even a question of whose career they would pursue.
There was a hollowness in her stomach that she chalked up to hunger; she had refused Janet’s offer to make her scrambled eggs for breakfast and had opted instead for a chocolate chip granola bar. But even after she ate the sandwich she’d brought with her for lunch, the feeling remained. She couldn’t stop thinking about what Riley and Emma had said. Were they right? Should she not have come back to school? And what Vince said . . . had she needed to drop out of school after they were married? Was Brian’s dream really hers? She’d asked herself these questions before, of course. So why did hearing them from Vince, someone she barely knew, make the questions ring in her head? She blinked and stared down at her French homework.
“Translate the following phrases and match them to the common English saying.”
D’autres fois d’autres manières.
Laura pulled out her pocket French dictionary and began translating, trying to lose herself in work. “Other times, other manners,” she wrote, scanning the right-hand column for the English phrase that matched it. She drew a diagonal line to the words “Times change.”
She looked up at the clock in the library and let out a deep breath, chasing away an image of Vince’s slow smile. They sure do.
11
madison
“CHARLIE WELLINGTON, YOU should really buy a girl a drink first!” Madison had barely sat down on George’s back porch when his golden retriever had put his paws on her shoulders and licked her face. She laughed and kissed his furry forehead.
“Now, how come that doesn’t happen when I slobber on girls?” George laughed at his own joke.
“Well, you’re not as cute as he is,” she said, petting Charlie’s ears.
“I appreciate the honesty,” George said wryly.
The two sat on a brand-new rattan couch, eating peanut butter cookies. Her mom had made a batch as a house-warming present, and Madison offered to deliver them, eager to check out George’s new house. He’d bought the place right next door to Claire’s in-laws; the previous owners were going through a bitter divorce. Word around town was that Mr. Allen found Mrs. Allen between the sheets with the gardener—which explained all the destroyed flower beds around the property. Flowers aside, the property was huge and beautiful.
“Do you want something to drink?” George asked.
Madison perked up; a guy like George probably had a fully stocked home bar. At the very least, he had to have something better than the Southern Comfort and Mountain Dew that she and Cash usually went for. “Sure!”
He stood and headed inside. “Milk?”
She deflated. “Oh, um, no I’m good.”
He came back out with two large glasses of it anyway. “You can’t have cookies without milk—it’s criminal.”
Madison raised a brow. Being a grown man who preferred milk to booze was what was criminal. She put her feet up on the large metal table. “How do you like living here?”
“So far so good,” he said, staring distractedly at her shoes on the table.
Was this guy for real? She immediately took them off.
He relaxed and leaned back into the couch. “The potholes in the driveway are going to be the death of my car and it looks like I’m in the market for a new gardener, but other than that, I like it.”
“Still loving the smell?” she asked with a wink.
George grinned. “Can’t get enough of it.”
A gust of cool wind blew off of the lake, sending Madison’s long hair flying. As she pushed it out of her face, their eyes locked. She was surprised again by how very green his were, like freshly mown grass on a hot summer day. He flinched nervously and looked away.
“How’s your dad doing?” He’d asked that every time they’d talked over the past two weeks—a couple of calls where Madison didn’t know what to say (she usually only texted with guys) and the afternoon he’d let her test-drive the Porsche. She cringed every time he asked her about her dad, though. As thoughtful as it was, it just made her sad.
“About the same as the last time you asked,” she remarked, leaning her head back on the white cushion. “Honestly, I don’t really want to talk about it, okay? I just feel like that’s all anyone asks me, and the answer is never good.” Talking about it wouldn’t change the situation, so what was the point?
“I understand,” he said, awkwardly patting her knee. “So . . . I went to go look at pools yesterday. I think I’m gonna get one.”
“Oh, great,” she said. “I’m probably going to need a new place to swim.” She gestured to the house next door, a sour feeling in her stomach. “I doubt I’ll get invited there anymore. Claire hasn’t talked to me in two weeks.”
George’s brow furrowed. “What happened?”
“I told her something about her husband, and she refuses to believe it. She has her head in the sand about her marriage. She can be so naive sometimes.” Though she was trying to sound casual, it stung that Claire didn’t listen to her. Did her cousin really think so little of her?
“Family drama’s the worst, ain’t it?” George stared out over his lawn, his gaze settling on a copse of cypress trees that divided his property from the Thibodeauxs’. “I’m actually dealing with some of my own.”
Madison glanced sideways at George, taking in his neatly pressed khakis and the striped dress shirt that he’d buttoned up to the very top. The chairs on his porch were arranged at perfect right angles to the couch, and he’d put his glass of milk on a coaster. It was hard to imagine something out of place in George’s orderly existence. “Oh yeah?”
“My brother and sister stopped talking to me when I took over my dad’s company.” He frowned
. “He left me in charge of it when he passed away, and they’ve never forgiven me. It’s been a whole year and not a word. . . .”
“Damn, I’m sorry to hear that.” This two-week silence was the longest Madison and Claire had gone without talking, and her stomach sunk at the idea of it stretching into next year.
“What’s funny is they got the better end of the deal anyway—a huge payout without having to do any work.” He let out an ironic laugh. “I’m left with insane hours and the weight of an entire company on my shoulders.”
“But you love your job, right?”
He looked out toward the lake, squinting in the afternoon sun. “Love is a strong word.”
“Well, it has to be better than scrubbing mildew off of shower walls.” Madison put her hand on her heart. “I win this pity party, hands down.”
George raised his glass. “To us,” he said. “The pathetic duo.”
“I can definitely drink to that,” Madison said, raising her glass. She winced. “But not with this, because frankly, I find milk disgusting.”
He laughed and put his head in his hands. “This is why I don’t ever have company.”
“Because people are afraid you’ll force-feed them milk?” She cocked her head to the side.
“Something like that,” he said, standing up and smoothing his pants. “What do you want—for real?”
“Let me see what you have.” She got up and walked to the kitchen with him. Beautiful mahogany cabinets lined the walls and a marble-topped island stood in the center of the room. An oversize stainless steel refrigerator was covered in postcards from all over the world: Bangkok, Berlin, Paris, London, New York City, Moscow, Athens, Dubai, Marrakech.
She stared at a picture of Ben Big at night. “Have you been to all of these places?”
“Yeah,” he said, walking over to her.
A whisper of jealousy stole through her. She plucked a scene of a market in Venice and flipped it over. It was stamped but blank, as if he’d mailed the postcard to himself. It was sad to think that he’d traveled all over the world and hadn’t had someone to share it with. “Which place did you like the most?”
George pointed to one showing a crowded street lined with buildings and long balconies. BOURBON STREET was spelled out in green, purple, and gold letters on the bottom of the image. “Hands down my favorite place in the world,” he said.
“I’ve never been,” Madison confessed, turning to him. “I even joined this stupid club my senior year because they had a field trip there. I had to sell about a hundred candy bars to all of my friends. But then Hurricane Sebastian hit, and the club donated the money to the victims instead.”
He leaned against the counter. “Well, that was nice of y’all.”
“I guess. . . .” Madison trailed off, thinking of all the people who’d lost their homes and belongings. Her home hadn’t been damaged by a hurricane, but she couldn’t help but worry that her family’s existence teetered precariously on the edge. “Honestly, though, and I know how selfish this sounds, but I was bummed that I didn’t get to go.”
George’s eyes widened, and for a moment Madison thought he was going to scold her, but then he walked over to the other side of the fridge and pulled a piece of parchment paper out from under a magnet.
“What’s this?” she said as he handed it to her. She read the words out loud:
Krewe of Celio Mardi Gras Ball
Saturday, the Eleventh of February
At Half Past Seven in the Evening
Archer Ballroom, New Orleans
He smiled. “Wanna go with me?”
“Seriously?” She gripped the thick card stock, staring at the intricate tendrils of gold foil.
George bit his lip. “I mean, if you think it’s weird, that’s fine.” He took a step back, as if to ward off her imminent rejection. “It’s just that I have an extra ticket, and you’ve never been to New Orleans. . . . Could be a win-win for both of us?”
Madison grinned, trying to hold back her excitement. “Yeah. I’m in.” She was suddenly acutely aware of her Chuck Taylors and her chipping black nail polish. If she was going to go to a ball, she would need to clean herself up.
George held his hand out to high-five her, and Madison chuckled, slapping his hand with her own. He was such a nerd.
He cleared his throat. “We have to stay the night. But I’ll get you your own hotel room, of course.”
Madison raised an eyebrow, amused by how embarrassed he was. “So you’re not expecting some Pretty Woman scenario, right?”
“No, ma’am,” he said, shaking his head.
She tucked her hair behind her ears and glanced over at George, who was straightening the postcards on the fridge, his cheeks bright red. She knew what she wanted out of their relationship—some good meals and maybe some expensive gifts, since all the money she earned these days went to helping her parents. Not to mention that it was sure to make Cash jealous when he found out. But she still wasn’t sure what he wanted, if not sex. He was new in town and clearly didn’t have many friends. Was he lonely? Or was it something else entirely?
Her phone buzzed and she grabbed it out of her pocket. It was a text message from Cash.
Fat Pat’s at 6?
Madison hit her lock screen, feeling slightly guilty that she was leaving already. “I gotta get going.”
“Thanks for coming out today,” George said. “And tell your mama thanks for the cookies.”
“I will,” she said, opening the front door. Outside, the sun was beginning to fade away, and a cotton candy sky hovered over the trees. She turned back to George before heading to her truck. “See you soon.” Her words hung in the air, stretching out between them as they stood there. She didn’t know the protocol for this sort of situation. Should they hug? Kiss on the cheek?
Finally they moved toward each other awkwardly and ended up doing a sort of half-hug, half-shoulder pat. “Get home safe,” he said with a laugh.
As she started her truck—the engine rumbling and exhaust smoke spewing from the underside—she looked back at George. He waved eagerly at her from the front porch of the grand Victorian, Charlie lying by his feet.
She blew them a kiss and smiled to herself. Only a few weeks in, and already she’d snagged herself a trip to New Orleans. She couldn’t wait to see what George would offer up next.
12
claire
“HOW LATE DO you think you’ll be?” Claire asked as she scribbled down the WiFi password on her “Fixin’ To” notepad. Her mom would be there in a couple of minutes to watch Sadie while Claire and Gavin went out with their respective friends. Her mom’s only stipulation for coming over was that she have good Internet access—she was addicted to her Mahjong with Friends app.
Gavin poured his glass of water down the sink and left the dirty dish on the counter. “I’m not sure. The game starts at seven, but the guys and I were talking about practicing a couple of songs for the church talent show after, so it might be kinda late.”
“I’m sure Becky’ll love a jam session in her living room at eleven o’clock on a Friday night,” Claire said, sticking the piece of paper to the fridge.
“She’s out of town this weekend, so sadly for her, she doesn’t even get to hear us play.” He pushed his glasses up with his finger. “How long you gonna be?”
“I think we’re just having dinner, so it should only be a few hours.” She grabbed Gavin’s glass and put it in the dishwasher.
“All the girls are going?” He moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, his breath warm against her cheek.
Claire nuzzled his cheek with hers and turned her head to kiss him. “Yep.”
Her heart began to beat faster, but it wasn’t from the kiss. Madison would be there tonight, and things hadn’t been the same with her since she had accused Gavin of going to a strip club last month. Claire still couldn’t believe that Madison had been so thoughtless, and so wrong.
Claire and Gavin had been working ha
rder on their relationship recently—taking breaks together at the church, setting aside time to eat dinner together as a family, and even going on a few romantic dates. Marriage was hard work, something Madison couldn’t possibly understand. The girls had made up last week and texted a few times. But Madison was being the most cordial and polite she had ever been in her entire life, and quite frankly, it scared Claire a little.
Gavin disentangled himself and walked over to the breakfast table. He sat down, tying his brown shoes. “And you still haven’t met Gabby’s fiancé yet?”
“No . . . weird, right?” Claire pulled up the chair next to him. “She said he’s out of town this weekend but she’s going to bring him around next week. I still can’t believe they’re engaged—it happened so fast. I think she’s in shock.”
“That happens.” Gavin looked up from his shoes with a smile. “Remember how surprised you were when I asked you?”
Claire’s lips curled up as she thought about that night. They had been celebrating their one-year anniversary, which fell on the same night as the church’s youth choir concert. Gavin promised he would take her out for a late dinner after the performance. They sat in the front row, and Gavin held her hand throughout the entire show. The last song just happened to be their song. As the kids belted out “God Gave Me You,” chill bumps started covering her body. The singers then pointed to her in a coordinated move. She blushed and looked over at Gavin, who squeezed her hand and kissed her cheek. When she looked back at the stage, the kids were holding out letters that spelled out “Will You Marry Me, Claire?”
Gavin gently let go of her hand and got down on one knee. Totally shocked, she nodded, tears rolling down her face, and the entire audience cheered. Their families—even her dad—popped out from behind a door to congratulate them. “This is the happiest day of my life,” she had whispered in Gavin’s ear. “It’ll only get better,” he had whispered back.
The doorbell chimed, shaking her out of the memory, and Claire stood up. “Mom’s here!” She ran to the foyer and opened the door, welcoming her mother into the house. “Thanks so much for doing this, Mama.”
The Young Wives Club Page 8