Madison walked over to the dress that was hanging on the back of the bedroom door. The sunshine from the large windows was shining directly on it, although nothing was sparkling, because, well, it was Madison after all. She slipped on the dress, and Claire placed the floral wreath they made that morning on her head. For the first time all day, Claire smiled.
“You really do look beautiful,” she said, hugging Madison.
“She’s ready,” Connie called out into the hallway, and Madison’s dad appeared in the doorway.
“Aw, Daddy,” Madison said, running over to Allen. He was wearing his only suit—the one he had worn to nine funerals in his lifetime. “At least this baby gets to attend something happy,” Madison joked, smoothing his lapel.
He laughed. And then something happened that Madison never thought would: he broke down and sobbed.
“I’m just so . . .” He trailed off, smiled, and handed her a small wooden box.
“What’s this?” she asked, holding it in her hand.
“I heard that you were supposed to have something blue,” he said, wiping the tears away.
She opened it. A silver bracelet with a large beautiful blue charm sat in the box. “Oh, Daddy,” she said as she held it up and looked it over. “It’s perfect!”
“Do you recognize it?” he asked, looking proud of himself.
Upon closer inspection, Madison realized what it was: the blue fishing lure they had used on their epic fishing trip where the catfish tugged her dad into the water. “Oh my gosh.” Her eyes began watering. “How did you do this?”
“Hold it in!” Claire yelled, running to get some tissues. “Don’t you dare mess up your makeup!”
“Your mama’s friend Mrs. Ashley helped me,” Allen said. “I gave her the lure, and she turned it into a charm for me.”
Madison handed it to him to clasp onto her wrist. “It’s my favorite thing ever,” she said, her heart overflowing. “Thank you.” She kissed her dad and then her mom. “I love you both more than anything.”
“The feeling’s mutual, m’dear,” Allen said, taking her by the hands. “We’re both so proud of you, and we know that George is a good man. He’s gonna take good care of you long after we’re gone.” He paused as his eyes filled with tears once more.
All of them were now crying, even Claire, who was clutching the box of tissues to her chest.
“Well, we should get out there,” Connie said, looking at her watch. “It’s time!”
The four of them walked out into the backyard where forty guests and George waited eagerly for the bride. The solo violinist played a moody melody that gave Madison chills. Claire walked first down the path in between the white wooden chairs that were lined up in a row. Madison, flanked by her parents on either side, gracefully followed.
George and Charlie stood at the end of the path, greeting her with a beaming smile and a wagging tail, respectively. As she stood under the floral arch with her groom, she paused to think about her friends, all so unhappy in their own relationships. She couldn’t help but feel like her marriage was going to be different—after all, it was love that ruined everything. She and George didn’t have to deal with that; they’d just be good friends, sharing a life. She took a deep breath as Gavin began officiating the ceremony.
Madison swallowed and pushed her hair behind her ears. She and George looked at each other, smiling.
“You ready for this?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she said with a grin and was surprised to realize she meant it.
• • •
“TODAY WAS ONE of the best days of my life,” George said as the two lounged on the large comfy sofa in their PJs that evening. Most girls would wear white lacy lingerie on their wedding night, but Madison had a different way: navy blue sweatpants and an old Toulouse High T-shirt that had a bleach stain and some holes in it.
“Yeah, it was pretty awesome,” she said. “I’ve never gotten so many gifts in my life!” Granted, they were mostly useless things like crystal candlesticks and a melon-baller, but she knew she’d have fun exchanging them for better stuff . . . or for some cold, hard cash.
“Well, I’m gonna go to bed, bride,” George said, looking at the clock. It was already midnight. “It’s been a long day.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty tired, too,” Madison said, letting out a loud yawn.
“So, we never talked about this, but I guess you’ll want your own room,” he said awkwardly.
She stared blankly at him and then it clicked: the whole wedding night thing. “Yeah,” she agreed. “I’ll take the guest room.” She felt a twinge of guilt about it, but after all, he’d offered.
George leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. “G’night, Mads,” he said, getting up to head to bed.
“Hey, George . . .” she said as he walked up the stairs.
He glanced back at her, an almost-hopeful look in his eye.
Madison swallowed, looking down at her hands. “I know this is a really unconventional marriage, but I just wanted to let you know I’m excited to be your wife.”
He smiled, and went upstairs alone.
Madison considered her options for the night: she could check out the pay-per-view channels on George’s TV, or she could take a dip in the hot tub, or she could rummage through the kitchen and eat a couple more slices of cake. But before she could make a decision, her phone buzzed. Cash.
U up new wifey? Wanna smoke?
Her heart lurched. She hadn’t realized how much it would hurt to have Cash call her “wifey” . . . and not mean that she was his own. She shook her head, as if to disperse those thoughts, and picked her phone up.
Yeah, meet me at the dock in an hour?
Once she was sure the house had gone still, Madison snuck out. The evening was cool and dark, and she pulled her sweatshirt closer to her body as she walked to the dock. About a half mile down the road from George’s house, Madison sat down on the wooden planks. After a few minutes, she heard them creak with the weight of someone’s footsteps. She looked up, smiling.
“I cannot believe you went through with it,” Cash said with a laugh. The full moon illuminated his grin. “And I can’t believe you actually snuck out to meet me on your wedding night. You’re one devious little girl.” He sat down next to her on the dock and lit up a cigarette, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
Madison shrugged. She wondered if she should have felt guiltier for what she had done. But it’s not like George would really care, she tried to convince herself.
“Why did you meet up with me?” Cash asked.
She stared at him in silence for a moment. “I don’t know, really.” Intrigue . . . the fact that I’ve never been able to say no to you, perhaps.
“Second thoughts?”
The crickets chirped and the lightning bugs glistened. She’d been trying so hard to not think about Cash. But once he’d texted, she remembered what Claire had said earlier—that she was being naive. She thought of Gabby, who put on a brave smile at the reception, but Madison had seen her wipe tears from her eyes when she thought no one was looking. Not being able to be with the man she loved had turned her into a shell of herself. Would Madison feel that way, too? Would she feel trapped in a dead-end marriage with a person she didn’t love?
“No,” she lied, her attention returning to Cash. “No second thoughts.”
He leaned back on the post and looked up at the starry night, his long hair brushing his shoulders. “So, what about us?” Cash asked. “What’s going to happen to us?”
She stared back at him and bit her lip. “I really don’t know.”
33
claire
“SO, HOW ARE you holding up?” Claire asked Gabby. “You put on a good show, but I could tell you were kind of upset last night.” The girls sat side by side in plush leather pedicure chairs at Winnie’s Nails and Spa on Frontage Road. Somewhere during their third glass of champagne at Madison’s reception the night before, they’d made plans for this catch-up date�
��though neither had anticipated what awful headaches the bubbly would give them.
“Kind of?” Gabby said, her sunglasses still on. “I’m a hot mess, Claire. Every time I force myself to stop thinking about him, Tony texts me, asking to meet up.”
Claire’s whole body tingled as the pedicurist tickled her feet with a scrub. “So, why don’t you?”
“What would I even say?” Gabby said under her breath. “I’m not allowed to tell him the truth.”
Claire glanced over at her friend. “Well, if you’d been honest in the first place . . .” She trailed off. Honest. Ha!, she thought to herself as she flashed to her problems with Gavin. Good one, Claire.
“If I’d told him that in the first place, I would’ve never been with him at all. Guys like Tony don’t date girls like me.” Gabby fanned herself with a copy of Us Weekly.
Claire leaned her head back on the vibrating neck rest. “He did date a girl just like you—and he asked you to marry him. I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Gabby said. “My mom is getting out of jail soon and we can concentrate on trying to be a family again.”
“I guess just learn from this and go into your next relationship with complete honesty,” Claire said.
The technicians began painting the girls’ toenails—hot pink polish for Gabby, ruby red for Claire.
Gabby pushed the sunglasses on top of her head and squinted in the fluorescent light. “So, how’s that whole honesty thing working out for you? You talked to Gavin about everything?”
There it was. Claire squirmed. The technician steadied her foot with a firm grip and gave her a stern look. It had been almost a month since she caught Gavin at the club and, no, she still hadn’t confronted him about it. “It’s a completely different situation,” she said evasively. The last thing she needed was gossip spreading about her and her husband around town.
“You’re right,” Gabby whispered back. “But I don’t see how pretending like that didn’t happen is going to solve anything.”
Claire crossed her arms. She knew she couldn’t ignore what she’d seen forever, but confronting him could lead to things she wasn’t ready for—like the truth . . . or divorce. “I’ll do it when I’m ready.”
Gabby frowned and began massaging her temples with her fingers. “So you’re just pretending like nothing’s wrong?”
The technicians placed the plastic sandals on Gabby’s and Claire’s feet and motioned for the girls to follow them.
“Nothing is.” Claire walked over to the manicure table, wishing with all her heart that what she said was true.
• • •
@Pastor_Gavin: “Decluttering isn’t just for closets. Clean out your life. There’s no room in it for people who bring you down.”—3 hours ago
Claire stared at her phone as she got into her car at the nail place, her French tips tapping on the notifications from her tweet earlier that morning. She had gotten the idea for the line from Gavin’s sermon that day. He had talked about the importance of choosing the right people in your life.
The Twitter followers were eating it up—105 retweets and 240 likes. As she sorted through some of the replies, a call from the 337 area code showed up on her caller ID.
“Hello?” She rested her hand on the steering wheel.
“Claire?” a high-pitched woman’s voice asked.
“This is she,” Claire responded, unsure of who it was on the other end.
“It’s Kimmy . . . from The Saddle.” Her voice sounded hesitant.
Claire’s heart sank. “What is it?” she asked, her voice shaky. Her palms began to sweat. She’d been praying that Kimmy would never use her number.
“Hey, don’t worry. I haven’t seen your husband or nothing like that.” She paused.
Claire relaxed slightly. “Then what?”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about our conversation last month. And, well, I have an idea.” Her voice sounded confident.
“What kinda idea?” Claire hesitantly asked, watching a group of women walk in front of her parked car at the spa.
“Can you meet me for coffee right now?”
She looked at the clock on the radio. Her mom could keep Sadie for another hour, she supposed. “Okay,” she said.
“Great!” Kimmy cheered. “Meet me at the Chicory Coffee House in twenty minutes?”
“Okay.” Claire ended the call, the Twitter screen popping up again. She paused, feeling inspired to tweet a follow-up message: @Pastor_Gavin: “Each person comes into your life for a reason—it’s up to you to figure out why.”
• • •
“THANKS FOR MEETING up,” Kimmy said as she held her iced coffee with both hands across the table. Her nails also looked freshly painted, although they were neon orange. “I have a proposition for you.”
“I’m listening,” Claire said, blowing on her hot cup of coffee.
“So, you know how we were talking about your marriage and how you wanted to feel sexy again?” she whispered.
Claire blushed as she looked around the coffee shop, hoping that no one heard that. She nodded quickly.
“Okay, so this is something I’ve wanted to do for a while. And talking with you, I got even more inspired to do it,” Kimmy said, fiddling with the straw of her iced coffee. “My grandma passed away a few months ago.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Claire interrupted, putting her hand over Kimmy’s.
“Don’t be—she was old and crazy—like, swears she was abducted by aliens-crazy.” She quickly made the sign of the cross. “May she rest in peace.” She looked back up and smiled. “But she left me an inheritance. And, well, I’m ready to be done with the club and be a boss lady, but my real talent is stripping. So . . .” She smiled and ran her fingers nervously through her bleached blond hair. “I want to open up one of those aerobic striptease studios to help women like you get their groove back. What do you think?” she asked, beaming at Claire.
Claire leaned back in her chair, thinking about Kimmy’s idea. Claire had recently read an article in Glamour about pole fitness being a hot workout trend. “I think you might have something there,” she said, nodding her head. “But, what do you need me for?”
Kimmy stretched her hands across the table. “I want you to be my first client.”
“Um, I dunno about that.” Claire shook her head, thinking about the brunette she’d seen writhing on the pole when she’d caught Gavin with Kimmy. There was no way she could move like that.
“Ah, come on!” Kimmy cocked her head to the side. “You wouldn’t even have to pay me. I just want to make sure this is what I want to do and that it works before I throw all of Granny’s money into the studio.” She took a big sip of her drink and flashed her wide eyes at Claire. “Please let me practice with you,” she begged. “Please?”
Claire fanned herself with her napkin. She could feel herself getting hotter and more uncomfortable.
“We’d have a blast, I promise!” Kimmy continued, smiling at her.
She contemplated the offer for a moment. As far as she knew, Gavin hadn’t been to the club in a month, but it’s not like their sex life had improved. They were still stressed and busy. The one time she’d tried to initiate, Gavin had said he was too tired and ended up falling asleep in front of the TV. Claire looked down at her outfit—a boring gray pencil skirt she had gotten before they were even married. The hem was fraying and the back zipper didn’t go all the way up, a casualty of the extra pounds she had put on after Sadie. The dark satin blouse was a more recent purchase, a quick pickup from Talbots after her baby had spit up on the top she had been wearing that day. But she had to admit it made her look frumpy. Most of her postbaby clothes did.
“Please?” Kimmy said again, her blue eyes pleading.
Claire could feel herself softening. It couldn’t hurt to try, right? Maybe it would help her get her sexy back. And at the very least, she’d be helping Kimmy get out of stripping.
“Sure,” she finally said. “Why not?”
Kimmy clapped her hands and yelled out a loud “Woo!” The young couple sitting one table over turned their heads and stared at the two of them. Claire put her elbows on the table and rubbed her face with her hands, wondering what, exactly, she’d just agreed to.
• • •
THE NEXT DAY, Claire drove to Kimmy’s apartment on her lunch break, downing a Moon Pie and an RC Cola on the way. Her nerves jumped in her stomach as she pulled into the small apartment complex on Sugar Mill Road, fifteen miles from the church.
Kimmy opened the door with a beaming smile. “Come in! Come in!”
Claire’s eyes widened as she entered the studio. “Wow, your place is so . . . beautiful.”
She was surprised at how nicely decorated it was. A twin bed sat in the far right corner, covered with a plush floral duvet and chunky knitted afghan. Hardcover books and picture frames filled with images of Kimmy and her family were placed on a white vintage bookcase. A lavender moth orchid perched atop a rustic wooden side table, and a sprawling peace lily stood in the opposite corner. The kitchen was small but well organized. A buttercup-colored KitchenAid stand mixer sat on the counter next to a homemade three-tiered strawberry shortcake in a glass dome.
“You can just throw your stuff right here,” Kimmy said, pointing to a Tiffany-blue chaise lounge by the door. She was wearing a pink sports bra and black leggings.
Claire couldn’t help but be jealous of Kimmy’s rock solid body. Goals . . . she thought to herself as she dropped her bag and ran into the bathroom to change. She stared in the full-length mirror on the back of the door, looking at the old white tank top and faded blue yoga pants that were wrinkled from being crammed in the back of her drawer for at least a year.
“Okay, you ready?” Kimmy greeted her as she came back into the main room. “I know you only have an hour, so let’s just jump into it.” She walked over to the stereo. “Since I don’t have a pole in here, we’re just gonna have to do some warm-ups and a sexy little dance, but I want you to really be honest with me about everything, okay, Claire? Like does this work and do you think I have a good idea for a business and all that.”
The Young Wives Club Page 21