“I have a surprise for you,” he said with a big smile.
She looked up at him, wondering what in the world he could have for her this time. “You and your surprises . . .”
He laughed. “This one isn’t a ring, I promise! It’s a person. Guess who’s here. . . .”
“Is this my future daughter-in-law?” a deep voice greeted her. A giant bear of a man with salt-and-pepper hair walked over. His deep brown eyes—just like Tony’s—squinted, assessing her. He was much taller and more intimidating than the pictures Tony had showed her.
Gabby forced a casual smile, trying not to look nervous. “Hi, Mr. Ford! It’s so nice to meet you.” She held out her hand, hoping neither of them would see it was trembling. She was even more nervous about meeting him than she was about meeting any of the rest of his family. It was probably the way Tony talked about him, like he was hard to please.
He walked over to her and stopped. “None of this handshake business,” he said, waving her away. “We do hugs around here.” He swooped in and squeezed her tight. “Welcome, sweetheart.”
She let out a sigh of relief, surprised and soothed by the man’s warmth. For a moment she forgot she was supposed to be nervous about coming clean to Tony tomorrow.
“Gabrielle, Tony tells me some great things about you. In fact he won’t stop talking about you.” Mr. Ford chuckled as the three of them walked through the mansion, the old hardwood floors creaking beneath them.
“Oh, lovely—you’re here!” Mrs. Ford said as they entered the kitchen. She was wearing a forest green silk top, black pants, and a strand of pearls. Her hair was twisted into an elaborate updo, reminding Gabby of Laura’s hair during the pageant phase she went through sophomore year. “Come here, darling,” she said, walking over to Gabby with open arms.
The two hugged, and Gabby stayed in her arms just a little longer than she probably should have. The motherly embrace was so comforting. Whenever she visited her mom at the prison, their hugs were quick, under the cold stare of a guard.
“Thank you so much for having me,” she said, finally letting go.
“Well, I would have been offended if you didn’t come!” she said, holding Gabby’s cheeks with her hands. “I just can’t believe you two are engaged! We need to toast this properly as a family. That’s why I called Raymond and said, ‘You better get your butt over here and meet this wonderful future daughter-in-law of yours. The governor can pardon that turkey himself!’ So he came home a little early.’ ” She took Gabby’s hand and led her to the bar cart in front of the bay window. The setup looked like it was straight from the pages of Southern Living. “Champagne?” Mrs. Ford poured some Veuve Clicquot in a crystal flute and handed it to Gabby.
“This is just Mom’s way of making sure you’re not knocked up,” a voice from behind added. “Y’all got engaged so fast, after all.”
Gabby choked on her champagne and turned to see Carter, Tony’s seventeen-year-old brother, coming down the stairs.
“Oh stop,” Mrs. Ford said, swatting at his shoulder. “It’s not too late to ship you off to boarding school, you know.”
He laughed and walked over to Gabby. “Congrats,” he said, greeting her with a sweet hug. “You’re like the sister I always wanted.”
“Excuse me!” Tony and Carter’s twenty-two-year-old sister, Willow, came down the stairs, popping her brother on his shoulder. She walked over to Gabby and hugged her. “It’s so good to see you again!” She grabbed Gabby’s left hand and studied the diamond. “Beautiful! Did he tell you he picked this out all on his own? Boy’s got some serious taste.”
Gabby laughed. “Yes, he does,” she agreed.
“Good taste in jewelry, good taste in girls . . .” Mrs. Ford squeezed Gabby’s shoulder. “I’m just over the moon that all of us could be here together to celebrate this happy occasion.”
That sick, nervous feeling came back, knotting Gabby’s stomach. How could she pretend to be happy today, when tomorrow her heart might be broken?
Tony whispered in Gabby’s ear: “She’s on her second glass of champagne. She’ll be saying stuff like this for the rest of the night—just a warning.”
“To Tony and Gabrielle,” Mr. Ford said, raising his glass high. “Welcome to the family, sweetheart.”
She raised her flute to him and smiled. If only.
• • •
“SO, HAVE YOU guys talked about a date yet?” Mrs. Ford asked, passing the cranberry sauce. The wine had been flowing over the course of dinner, and they’d fallen into one enjoyable conversation after another. It was inevitable that wedding talk would come up at some point, but now—maybe it was the wine, or the comfortable presence of Tony’s parents—it didn’t really bother Gabby. She just let herself soak it in and enjoy the little time she had left.
“Not yet. Just taking it one day at a time.” As in, one day from now, we might not be engaged anymore. She scooped some mashed potatoes onto her plate.
“Do you know what kind of wedding you want?” Willow asked from the other end of the table.
“Um, we haven’t really talked about it yet,” Gabby said, pushing her turkey into her cranberry sauce.
“You must have some idea,” Willow said, taking a sip of wine. “Heck, I’m not even dating anybody, but I’ve got my wedding already planned out.”
Gabby laughed, but she understood. She and Claire had been playing “bride” since they were eight. They’d found a couple of old bridal magazines in the local library’s giveaway box, and each built a dream book. Gabby’s was filled with everything she could possibly want for her wedding day: a lace sheath dress, a cake with multiple levels, and of course a handsome groom in a tux.
“Yeah, we haven’t discussed this yet,” Tony said, wiping his face with his napkin. “What’s your fantasy wedding?”
She thought back to those magazine tear-outs, to the day she’d planned down to the littlest details. “Well . . .” she said softly, feeling a twinge of excitement. “I’ve always pictured a classic southern wedding. Magnolias everywhere . . . maybe an outdoor ceremony at an antebellum mansion covered in oak trees?”
“Gorgeous!” Mrs. Ford said enthusiastically.
“Have you set up your Pinterest board yet?” Willow chimed in. “There are so many great ideas for DIY projects. I’ll help you with anything you need. If you want to go shopping for a dress or need help planning or making chalkboard signs, I’m your girl.”
“Ooh! Me, too,” Mrs. Ford said, her third flute of champagne in her hand. She and Raymond exchanged a knowing glance, then smiled at Tony and Gabby. The loving look they were both giving the couple was so . . . parental. For the first time in her life, Gabby could imagine what it would have been like growing up in a normal family. “Also, we want you both to know that we’re planning to foot the bill for this whole event, so there’s no need to stress about money, okay? I know Tony’s got a lot of student loans to pay off and your parents . . .” She cocked her head to the side and smiled softly, her eyes tearing up a little. “Well, this is just something we want to do for y’all.”
Gabby gasped, about to protest, but Tony spoke before she could.
“Thanks, Mom,” he said, putting his arm around Gabby’s chair. “We really appreciate it.”
Gabby’s eyes began to water just like Mrs. Ford’s, though for another reason. She looked around the table at all the love surrounding her. Tony, his family . . . they were all so wonderful. They really made her feel like she was one of them, and she could want nothing more. An irrational thought crossed her mind and she latched onto it. Maybe she didn’t have to tell Tony the truth after all. It’d been six months and he hadn’t found out yet. Maybe—just maybe—she could get away with it. The idea took root in her heart. She could do this.
She had to.
18
claire
@Pastor_Gavin: “Stand up, be brave, and confront your fears with determination. God’s got your back. #StrongerWithHim”
Claire stare
d at her computer screen and sighed as she reread her tweet. It had been two weeks since she had spotted Gavin at The Saddle—a really long, hard stretch of time that she spent vacillating between righteous anger and fear for their marriage. She knew that she needed to talk to him, but something kept stopping her. It was as though acknowledging it would make it more real. In their three years of marriage, she and Gavin had fought, but it was about small stuff: whose turn it was to empty the dishwasher or who would get up at 3:00 a.m. when Sadie started crying. They’d always been on the same page for the big things, and she’d never once questioned Gavin’s commitment to her. Maybe it was all a misunderstanding, like her mom said. But what if it wasn’t? What would she do then?
She hadn’t told her friends yet, and with every day that she didn’t confront Gavin, she thought of how hard she’d pushed Gabby to come clean to Tony. It was hard to tell the truth, but as it turned out, it was just as hard to ask for it.
Taking her own tweet to heart, Claire said a quick prayer and walked down the hall, knocking on Gavin’s open office door. “You have a second?” she asked, standing in the frame, her stomach in knots.
He looked up distractedly from his computer, his black frame glasses slipping down his nose. “For you, always.”
“Wanna go for a walk?” Claire asked, holding her shoulders back and ignoring how her palms had begun to sweat. “I just need some fresh air.”
“Sure, babe.”
They walked through the quiet church gardens, shivering in the crisp November air, and settled onto a stone bench nestled in between pansies and geraniums.
“How’s your day going?” Gavin asked, pushing his glasses up his nose.
She turned toward him, pulling her sweater closer around herself. “It’s . . . it’s fine. Look, you always say you need to practice what you preach, so I’m gonna do that, okay?” She took a deep breath.
Gavin cocked his head to the side. “Is everything okay?”
Claire scuffed her black-heeled boots against the ground, anxiety coursing through her veins. “Remember when I went to the Gumbo Fest with the girls? I was driving behind you and you didn’t go home. . . .” A lump formed in her throat. “I saw you at The Saddle, Gavin.”
Gavin’s brow furrowed. For a long moment he just stared at her and bile rose in her throat. Then he put his warm hand on hers. “Why didn’t you come to me sooner? This had to have been eating you up for days.” He ruefully half-smiled. “Claire, if you would’ve just talked to me, I would’ve told you why I was there.”
Claire pushed her wind-blown hair behind her ears, confused. “And why’s that?”
Gavin started stroking her palm with his thumb. “One of the girls who works there has a kid and a drug problem. Her aunt asked me to intervene and help her.” He squinted up at the sunny blue sky. “I should’ve just told you, but the girl’s abusive ex is trying to get custody of the kid, so her aunt asked me to keep it a secret. If the ex found out, she could lose her son.” He looked her directly in the eye. “I’m so sorry if you thought anything inappropriate was going on.”
Claire’s entire body went slack—she hadn’t even realized how tense she’d been. Of course it was just for church outreach. Of course. “So, were you able to help the girl?”
“I hope so. It’s a really sad situation.” He shook his head. “But I think I was able to get through to her.”
Claire felt like a fool. Her husband was such a good man, and all she’d done was jump to conclusions and throw accusations at him. “I’ll pray for her,” Claire said, squeezing his hand.
Gavin smiled and kissed her on the forehead. “By the way,” he said, frown lines wrinkling his brow, “why did you follow me? Do you not trust me?”
Claire’s stomach clenched. This whole time she’d thought Gavin was jeopardizing their marriage, when in reality, she had been. She’d created a problem where there was none, and gone as far as following him.
“Of course I trust you, Gavin. I was just so confused when you said you’d be at one place and ended up driving in another direction. But I never should’ve just assumed something without asking you about it.” She buried her face in her hands. “I feel like I’ve failed our marriage.”
Gavin wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in toward him for a kiss. “You could never fail me, Claire. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Claire said.
“We should probably get back to work,” Gavin said, checking the time on his iPhone. “I’ve got a couple coming in for premarital counseling in ten minutes.”
Back at her desk, relief washed over Claire, followed by a twinge of guilt. Why did she even question Gavin? She’d known there had to be another explanation. That’s why she’d been so mad at Madison in the first place. She flashed back to his wedding vows. Gavin had thanked God for putting her in his life, and had promised to Him, their families, and their friends that he would always treat her with love and respect. That he would always be faithful and believe in them, even when times got hard.
Claire thought about her accusation, how she’d doubted his faithfulness. That wasn’t showing belief in him—or them, for that matter. But as awful as she felt about the whole situation, she was experiencing a renewed sense of their relationship. God worked in mysterious ways, and it was time she showed that she had as much faith in her husband as she had in Him.
With that, she pulled up Twitter and typed: “When things get dark, remember that God is ready with the flashlight.”
19
madison
MADISON HAD BEEN on her best behavior in the months leading up to the Mardi Gras Ball. She had laughed at George’s lame jokes, accompanied him on a few dinner dates, and even invited him to Christmas dinner with her family when she’d discovered he’d had nowhere to go. But now, strolling with him through the bustling streets of the Big Easy, Madison felt all the effort had been worth it. Within five minutes of walking outside their hotel on Canal Street, they had already stumbled upon a parade. As they turned onto Bourbon Street at one thirty in the afternoon, crowds of people were lined up on both sides, yelling and holding their hands out, begging for tacky plastic beads.
Madison had never been one for organized fun. She’d skipped every homecoming pep rally in high school, and ditched Toulouse’s annual fais-dodo dance party to make out with Cash in the back of the Sea Shack. Something always felt so forced to her about these events, but now she couldn’t help but get caught up in the revelry.
“Throw me something, mister!” she yelled at a middle-aged man wearing a glittery top hat. He was walking in front of her and carrying dozens of strands like a rainbow-colored wreath.
“Show me something,” he said with a lewd gesture, dangling some cobalt baubles in front of her.
“Pfft,” she said and motioned for him to move on. “Take your blue balls somewhere else.”
George’s mouth dropped slightly. “Well played!” he yelled into her ear.
“Thank you!” she said, dusting off her shoulder with her right hand.
A trio of toga-clad women sporting curly cotton-candy-pink wigs and purple masks walked past, followed by a marching band pounding on drums and blowing their horns. Then came a plump gray-haired woman who was Mardi Gras’ answer to Big Bird. Gold feathers covered every inch of her dress and fluttered from her lamé headband. In her hand were heavy strands of metallic beads.
Her glitter-covered eyes caught Madison’s. “You,” she mouthed, pointing her perfectly manicured finger directly at Madison.
She pointed at herself. “Me?”
The woman stopped right in front of her. “You’re too pretty not to have any beads, darlin’!” She draped a couple of purple and green strings around Madison’s neck.
Madison flashed a smile, and then the lady was on her way.
George whooped. “Guess I’m gonna need to start catchin’ up.” He unbuttoned his navy Patagonia vest and started to lift his gray T-shirt, as if to flash the crowd.
; “What the hell are you doing?” She laughed, gently hitting him on the shoulder before he could lift the shirt any higher. He was so dorky. “Here, take this.” She put one of the strands around his neck. “There. Now you’re one of the cool kids.”
“That’s one hundred percent not a true statement, but thank you anyway.” He zipped his vest back up and leaned against the black column of the building behind them.
“Let’s keep walking,” Madison said. “We only have twenty-four hours in New Orleans, and I’ve got things to do.” She’d been counting down the days to this trip since George invited her, making list after list of the places she wanted to see. She even had to tamp down her excitement in front of friends, given their misgivings about her relationship with George, but now that she was here—and none of her friends were around—she allowed herself to embrace it.
“What’s on your list?” he asked as a person from the balcony above dropped a strand of beads on their heads.
“Getting assaulted by drunks. Check!” she said, looking up at the rowdy group of guys leaning over the ornate wrought iron railing and yelling “Flash! Flash!” at her.
“And welcome to Mardi Gras,” George said wryly. “Let’s get out of here.”
They walked along Chartres Street, passing a restaurant called Napoleon House. “You hungry?” he asked. “The food here’s great.”
“Can we get it to go and sit in Jackson Square?” she asked. “It’s on the list. . . .”
George nodded. “Sounds good to me.”
They stopped in and grabbed their food—a muffaletta for him, a po’boy for her—and began walking toward the park. On the way they passed a streetlamp with a black and white sign that read RUE TOULOUSE. She pulled out her cell phone and snapped a picture of it to send to the girls.
“I can see why you come here so much,” she said as they sat on the bench in the park. The Parisian-style square had manicured hedges and towering oak trees. St. Louis Cathedral loomed in the background, its dark spires stretching to the blue sky. It was the most beautiful place she’d ever been.
The Young Wives Club Page 12