She imagined her apartment through his eyes and felt so small, once again reduced to nothing but a poor girl whose mom was serving ten years in prison.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked. At the very least, she always had her manners. “Sweet tea?”
His cold gaze met hers and her stomach dropped. “How long did you think you’d get away with it?”
Gabby swallowed the rising lump in her throat. She clenched her fists, her palms sweating. “What do you mean?”
Mr. Ford frowned. “Don’t play stupid with me, Gabrielle. We welcomed you into our home, into our lives, and you—” He cut off, his face reddening, and took a breath, as if to steady himself. “You deceived him. You deceived all of us.”
Gabby backed up toward the futon, afraid she might faint. “Listen, it’s not what you think,” she started, knowing the words sounded desperate. “It’s all a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding? Can you tell me this—why does my son misunderstand that you’re enrolled in college when you’re not?” His voice got deeper and louder. “Why does my son misunderstand that your parents are dead when your mother is actually in jail?”
Gabby felt her breath leave her body and covered her mouth with her hands, trying not to cry. “How—how did you find out?”
Mr. Ford’s dark brown eyes flashed like steel, and she could suddenly picture Tony looking at her that same way. She hung her head in shame and embarrassment.
“I’ve got a reelection campaign coming up, Gabrielle. I vet everyone. Of course I’d look into someone who was planning on joining my family.”
That was it, then. It was over. She sat down on the futon, cradling her head in her hands. Gabby had imagined a million ways this would all fall apart, but never, ever thought it would happen like this. She felt wrung out and exhausted. “I love your son,” she said quietly.
Mr. Ford cleared his throat and she looked up at him. His gaze was smoldering. “That may be true, but nothing else is.”
Tears began streaming down Gabby’s face. “Have you told Tony yet?”
He shook his head. “No.” His eyebrows furrowed with disappointment. “My son means everything to me. He’s a good person. Your lies would destroy him. I’d prefer if he never knew about this.”
She looked up at him with wide eyes. Did that mean he was really going to let her get away with it? Was he going to forget all of this happened and let her marry Tony anyway?
He moved closer to her, looming over her. “So you have a choice here, Gabrielle. Break up with him—lie to him if you have to, you’re certainly good at that—but don’t tell him how you deceived him.”
Gabby sat up straighter, her face feeling puffy and sore from the tears. “Or?”
Mr. Ford glowered. “Or I’ll tell him everything. I know my son better than you, and I can guarantee he’ll never speak to you again.”
She flinched. “Mr. Ford, I just told you, I love Tony—”
He waved an arm at her, cutting her off before she could protest or try to think of an alternative solution. “You didn’t hear all of my terms. Leave him—tell him nothing about what you did, but leave him—and I’ll get your mom out of prison.”
Gabby gasped, her mind reeling. “Why would you do that for me?”
“My son has a bright future ahead of him. He wants to go into politics, for god’s sake. He doesn’t need someone like you ruining his life. If freeing your mom is what it takes to make you go away, so be it.” He paused. “I’ll leave you to think about it. You’ve got one day.”
He walked out the door, leaving her alone with nothing but a stupid dress, a broken heart, and an impossible decision.
29
claire
CLAIRE PULLED INTO The Saddle’s parking lot, unsure what she was going to say when she confronted the stripper, but shaking with anxiety. Her mom’s words had been replaying over and over in her head the whole week, but it wasn’t until Gavin came home late again the night before that she finally got the nerve to do something about it.
Gathering her courage, she strode into the grimy building. The mood in the place was much more depressing than it had been on Saturday night, if that was even possible. An overweight bald guy was the lone guest, watching a brunette who looked to be about eighteen practicing her moves on the pole.
A petite blonde in a clingy red dress came out from behind the empty bar and walked over to Claire. “Can I help you?”
Claire quickly realized who was standing in front of her. She could never forget that long, bouncy golden hair or those perky breasts. There she was—the woman who was ruining her marriage. Up close, she was much prettier than Claire realized. Her stomach lurched. Had Gavin fallen for her?
Claire held her chin high. “Yeah,” she said, taking a deep breath. “You were with my husband on Saturday night—I saw you giving him a lap dance.” She shuddered at the thought.
The stripper’s blue eyes grew wide. “Um, do you want to speak to my manager?”
“No, I wanted to speak to you,” Claire said, pulling her shoulders back and hoping it made her look more confident than she felt. “I’m here to tell you to back off from my husband.” She hoped she looked and sounded threatening.
The stripper cocked her head to the side and put her hands on her hips. “I’m sorry—I don’t even know who your husband is. But I can tell you that nothing inappropriate happened. I was just doin’ my job.”
Claire laughed harshly and took a step forward. “ ‘Nothing inappropriate?’ I saw you grinding on him. You’re really gonna tell me that’s not inappropriate? You seduced him.”
The woman rolled her eyes. “As I said, I was just doin’ my job. It was a harmless lap dance . . . that he paid for. If there’s anyone you should be yelling at, it’s him.” She looked around the bar, as if searching for backup.
Claire slammed her fist on the hostess stand and the woman startled. “That isn’t like my husband. He wouldn’t do something like this. You clearly took advantage of him.”
The stripper shook her head and sighed, seeming exhausted. “You know what? You think your husband’s an angel?” She took a step forward, fire in her eyes. “At least half the guys who come in here have wedding bands on.” She paused. “You’re not special.”
You’re not special. The words rang in Claire’s ears and suddenly she felt light-headed. They cut through her posturing, her belief in her husband’s goodness, her determination to lay blame elsewhere. This happened all the time. Gavin wasn’t some man who’d been seduced by another woman, and she wasn’t his beloved wife—she was just some pathetic woman whose husband’s attention had strayed. Her knees wobbled and she leaned against the hostess stand. Why was she here? What was she doing?
“Look, are you okay, lady?” the girl asked, softening.
Claire bit her lip and nodded, trying not to cry. She wouldn’t be that pathetic.
The woman put her hand on Claire’s shoulder and sighed. “You look like you’re gonna pass out. Come on,” she said, grabbing a packet of cigarettes and lighter from behind the hostess stand and leading her outside.
Claire and the woman sat down on the bench outside the building. She looked younger in the daylight, about Claire’s age—in another life, she could’ve been one of Claire’s friends. Claire put her head in her hands. “What am I doing?” she moaned.
The woman patted her on the shoulder. “It’ll be all right, hon.”
Claire sat back up. “What’s your name?”
“Kimmy,” she said. “Yours?”
“Claire.”
Kimmy offered her a cigarette, but Claire shook her head. “Look, Claire,” Kimmy said in an even and understanding tone. “I get that you’re upset. You’re not the first wife to come stompin’ in here looking to start a fight. But we’re all just trying to pay the bills here, not steal husbands.” She inhaled her cigarette.
Claire nodded, a lump forming in her throat. She took her engagement ring off and began fiddling w
ith it. The small solitaire diamond stared back at her. She thought about all the good, thoughtful things Gavin did: How he always had a cup of coffee ready for her each morning. How he’d make sure her cell phone was charging before she went to bed because she always forgot. How he’d sometimes take her car to be filled up with gas so she didn’t have to make an extra stop. She paused, trying to figure out why someone who did all those things would be coming to a strip club. Did he not find her sexy anymore?
“I’m sorry I blamed you,” she said finally. “You’re right—it’s not your fault he’s coming here. It’s definitely his. But maybe it’s also mine.”
Kimmy glanced over at her, her brows raised. “What in the world are you talking about, your fault?
Claire sighed, feeling defeated. “He’s obviously not happy in our marriage, and I have to partly blame myself,” she confessed. “It’s a two-way street.”
Kimmy scoffed. “That’s bullshit, you know that, right?” She ashed her cigarette. “If the wives were to blame for every single married man who comes in here, I’d lose hope in our gender.” Kimmy shook her head and then took another drag. “Seriously, don’t take this personally. Be mad, fine, but don’t beat yourself up over it.”
Claire lowered her eyes to her tightly clasped hands. It was easy for this girl to tell her it wasn’t her fault, but Claire didn’t know what else to think. She was furious with Gavin, of course, but a part of her felt sure that if she’d just spent more time working out, or doing her makeup, or trying to spend intimate time with him . . . things would be different.
She got an idea and grabbed a piece of paper from her bag, scribbling her phone number on it. Before Kimmy could say anything, Claire pulled out her phone and showed her the lock-screen picture of her family, taken in the church parking lot. Their faces smiled as brightly as the sun that was hitting their eyes. She sighed and pointed to Gavin as she said her next words. “Will you call me if this guy comes back?”
Kimmy stared down at the pink and green monogrammed sticky note and winced. “I feel for you, Claire, but I can’t do this,” she said, trying to hand it back. “It’s against club rules.”
“Please?” Claire begged. If she knew the next time Gavin was here, maybe she could confront him in a more meaningful way. And maybe, just maybe, if she concentrated for real on improving their marriage, Kimmy would never have to use that number.
Kimmy looked at her hesitantly, then sighed and grabbed the piece of paper.
“Thank you,” Claire said. She stood up, brushing off her jeans.
Kimmy folded up the piece of paper and held it tightly in her hand. The girls nodded at each other, and Claire walked to her car, shaking even more than when she first arrived. With trembling fingers, she opened her phone and fired off a tweet.
@Pastor_Gavin: “You want real change in the world? Look in the mirror and start with yourself. #BeTheDifference.”
30
laura
“WHERE ARE YOU taking me?” Laura asked Brian as she threw her backpack in the backseat of Rob’s Ford F-150. “Your text was so cryptic.”
He had messaged her during lunch that day as she and Vince were having a heated debate about the best snow cone flavors (Laura insisted on wedding cake, Vince was a root beer guy). Her phone buzzed just as she was about to propose a taste test at Sal’s Sno-Cones that afternoon. It was almost as if Brian knew she was making plans with another guy. . . .
“I just wanted to spend some alone time with my girl,” he said, his muscular arm draped over the steering wheel.
Laura looked out the window and rolled her eyes. They’d barely talked all week. She’d taken to stopping at the local library when she wasn’t working at the Sea Shack to finish her homework, not heading back to the Landrys’ until she knew Janet and Rob would be in bed. Then she’d slip under the covers and turn off the lights before Brian could ask her how her day was. She’d also gone to Gulf Coast Bank and opened her own bank account. There was a measly $131 in it, but it was all hers.
The ride was quiet, save for the country music on the radio. She gazed out the window, watching as they passed sky-high cedar and pine trees. They turned down an unmarked dirt road, the loose bits of gravel hitting the bottom of the truck with steady metallic pings.
“Here we are,” he said, slowly getting down from the truck.
Laura opened the door and realized they were at an access point for Darby Lake. Rob’s fishing boat was docked a few yards away, bobbing in the light waves. Laura felt a sudden rush of nostalgia; this was the place where Brian had proposed. She glanced up at him. He was staring at her nervously, his dirty blond hair newly cut, his hands in his back pockets. It was a smart move, reminding her how happy they’d been that day.
“Are we going fishing?” She looked down at her outfit—a red silk blouse, a pair of light blue jeans, and the expensive ballet flats her parents had gotten her for her birthday. “I’m not really dressed for this.”
“Come on, it’ll be fun.” He took her hand and laced his fingers through hers. His blue eyes were pleading, the same color as the clear sky. “Please? You’ve got to talk to me sometime.”
Despite her anger, Laura still felt a little thrill as Brian rubbed his thumb along her palm. She felt herself softening. “Okay. But I’ve got to get to the restaurant by six.”
Brian grinned. “Deal.”
• • •
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, they were floating in the center of the lake. They were the only boat in sight. A crow circled overhead and a lone fisherman was casting his line on the far shore.
Brian grabbed a piece of uncooked bacon and put it on the hook. “I know you’re really mad at me.”
She paused as she put her hair up in a ponytail. The wind was turning it into a tangled mess. “Of course I am,” she said bluntly. “Can you even comprehend how hard I worked to make that money?”
He threw his hook and line into the water. “I can,” he said. “And I’m sorry. I was just tryin’ to help us. I know this whole thing is my fault, and I was just tryin’ to fix it.”
“I appreciate that.” Laura pulled her notebook out of her backpack and looked for a pencil. She might as well study while they were out here. “But what happened is still real shitty, Brian. I have every right to be mad.” She found the chewed-up pencil and gripped it tightly.
“You do,” he said, grabbing a can of Coke from the cooler. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m probably more mad at myself than you are at me.”
She gave him a flat look. “I highly doubt that.”
“No, I am.” Brian rubbed his forehead and blew out a loud breath. “I’ve played football from the time I could stand up. It dictated everything: Every wake-up time, every meal, every workout . . . nearly every hour of my day revolved around football in some way. Without it, I’m . . . lost.” He groaned. “And now I feel like I’ve thrown my only chance away. This has been my dream for so long, and I blew it.”
His chin trembled slightly, and Laura felt a pinch in her stomach, her anger beginning to ebb. He hadn’t handled the last few months well—at all—but he’d been living a nightmare, too.
He shook his head and turned his attention back to the water. “Anyway, whatcha studyin’?”
“Math,” she replied.
Brian half-grinned. “Ugh, math. That was my worst subject.”
She rested her feet on the cooler across from her. “I know . . . I did your homework for you. Don’t you remember?” she joked.
“Well if you’ve already done it, why do you need to study?” he said, missing her tone.
She erased an equation from her paper and blew the red eraser specks off the page. “You were in general-level classes. This is advanced—all of my classes are, if you didn’t know—and I’m tryin’ to get an A.”
“Why are you tryin’ so hard, babe?” He pulled his line out and recast it. “I thought that going back to school was just something to distract you during the day.”
Laura s
hifted uncomfortably on her seat. Before Brian had lost all their money, she’d started looking into the LSU admissions site, wondering if she could join him there next year. Her grades were good enough, though perhaps not high enough for a scholarship. For some reason, though, she couldn’t bring herself to talk to him about it quite yet. Not when his own future was so uncertain.
“Well, I’m just trying to keep my options open, you know? It’ll look good to have my high school diploma if I want to apply to any other jobs.” She looked back down at her notebook, afraid he’d realize there was more to her words than she was saying. “Besides, I kind of like it. . . .”
Her gaze caught on a doodle Vince had drawn on the top right-hand corner of her paper and she smiled. It was a cartoon version of Mr. Leblanc with the words, “Math jokes. If you get them, you probably don’t have any friends.” The quote was from one of their teacher’s many inspirational posters plastered on the walls—the same posters that Laura had confessed to Vince that she actually loved.
“You’re a nerd,” Vince had said, his grin giving him dimples.
Laura had laughed, a little too loudly, trying to cover her embarrassment. “Oh, like you don’t secretly enjoy them a little.”
He’d leaned back in his chair. “Talk nerdy to me, girl.”
“A-ha!” She pointed at him triumphantly. “That’s the one by the window in the back! You love them, too!”
Brian’s phone rang, cutting through the silence, and Laura lifted her eyes from the doodle.
He answered it quickly. “Hell-o,” he said. After a brief pause, he said, “Yes.” Brian looked over at her as he listened, his eyes slowly widening. A grin spread across his face and he shot her a thumbs-up. “That’s awesome! Thank you so much, sir.” Immediately after he hung up, he threw his phone down in the tackle box and let out a whoop. He moved toward Laura, picking her up and spinning her around. The boat bobbed with their movement.
The Young Wives Club Page 19