Adele counted calories like Mark Zuckerberg counted friends, and it showed. The woman was stylish and classy. Everything about her screamed “put together”—the nails, the jewelry, the clothes, the short brown, highlighted haircut. And she refused to be called any version of Grandmother, not even distant soundalikes such as Gigi, Mimi, or Nana. Instead, she’d always insisted that the girls call her Bella. He had no idea where she got the name. Probably googled it and liked it because it sounded remotely royal.
Zach watched the expression on Caroline’s face change as she speared a lettuce leaf with her fork. He saw satisfaction in Adele’s brown eyes. Caroline scanned the plates at the table. Joy’s plate looked just like her mother’s and Adele’s—practically empty. Zach tried to push down the annoyance that rose at the fact that he had just shelled out sixteen bucks for each of these plates and none of them were eating anything.
“Did Caroline tell you of the changes we’re making?” Adele’s words stirred him from his consuming observation.
He shook his head and dug into his grits just because he could. “No, she hasn’t told me of an upcoming change.” He eyed Caroline, whose eyes were on her mother. To be honest, he didn’t want to hear what they had up their sleeves, but he also didn’t want the hassle of saying so. He glanced at his watch.
Adele’s spine was stiff and straight against the curved back of the wooden chair. “I told her she should think about expanding the store. She needs to carry a line of clothes for girls Joy and Lacy’s age.”
“I can’t stand any of the clothes around here. They are so . . . generic.” Joy’s words came out right behind her grandmother’s.
Lacy picked up her glass of sweet tea. “Well, I love Forever 21.”
“You would. You want to look like every other girl in school.”
Zach sat back in his chair. He studied Caroline’s face as it turned from her mother to him. It offered him nothing. She said defensively, as if he had already expressed his disagreement, “It’s a great idea for future growth. Investment is always good.” She waved her bite of lettuce but didn’t actually put it in her mouth.
He felt heat on his face as his anger stirred. He wanted to scream, When were you going to tell me about this? At what point did you think I might have a say in what we do with our money?
“Who decided this?” was all he came up with.
Adele spoke first. “We did. This is a woman kind of thing.” She spoke as if she were humoring him.
“Well, I don’t like it.” He turned to his wife. “We should have talked about this together.”
She patted his hand as if he were a toddler. “Zach, Mom’s right. The store is my issue. The law firm is your issue. I’ll take care of what goes on at my store, and you keep the law business doing well. Then Mom won’t have to help us any more than she already has.”
The jab was real and purposeful, though delivered with the sugarcoating that Southern women were so adept in adding to insults. Adele had lent them some money over the last couple of years, mainly to keep this hobby of Caroline’s going. The store lost money most months, not because she didn’t sell things—Caroline had a great eye and top-notch sales skills—but because of all she spent on herself and on the girls. There was no boundary. No margin.
Zach put his fork down. “I’ve told your mother that I appreciate what she has done. If I haven’t—” he turned to Adele—“let me say it again. Thank you for how you helped us this year. But this is something we will have to talk about.”
It was as if he’d said nothing. It was Adele who patted his hand this time, her patronizing manner infuriating. If he cared more, he would hate her. But he didn’t have the energy for that.
“You just don’t worry about it. Bella will handle it.”
He looked at Caroline, waiting for her to do something. Say something. He wasn’t sure why. She never had before.
“Girls, let’s go shopping this afternoon,” Adele announced with a clap of her hands, the pale-pink polish as perfectly applied as the lipstick she had touched up. “We need swimsuits for our trip to the beach.”
Joy placed her napkin beside her plate, her food swirled around as if it had been tossed by a hurricane. “Oh, Bella, that’ll be so fun.”
“I saw this cute two-piece,” Lacy chimed in.
Adele stood and patted Lacy’s back as she did. “Well, darling, you need to back off on the sweets if you want to wear a two-piece.”
He shook his head in hopeless resignation. It always interested him how Caroline could be constantly concerned about their financial situation yet act as if there were endless resources for whatever she wanted. But then there was an endless resource—standing right there in her pink suit. And she had always been there. A marriage of three, he called it.
Not that he would complain. For this afternoon, at least, she would get Caroline and the girls out of the house and he could do what he wanted. As far as he was concerned, they could spend all the money—Adele’s money—that they wanted to.
Grace loved Mexican; she could eat it every day. And she especially loved Pancho’s, a local Mexican joint located in a strip mall off Highway 96. She loved everything about the place—the burning Coca-Cola, the cheese dip, the chips, and those fajitas. They came out sizzling on the plate. If she were on death row, Pancho’s fajitas would be her final meal. A bonus was getting to practice the five Spanish words she actually remembered from four years of Spanish class. The waiters indulged her clumsy Spanish with a smile.
Fortunately Tyler liked Pancho’s as much as she did, so it was a Sunday afternoon staple. Now they were on their way home, stuffed to the gills with tortillas and cheese.
“What did you think of the church?” she asked as they made the short drive to their house.
“It was okay. Music wasn’t awful. Sometimes the preacher seemed a little too preachy, if you know what I mean, and his wife is kind of ridiculous.” He shrugged. “But it was fine.”
She leaned her head against the black leather headrest in Tyler’s Mercedes G-Class SUV. The vehicle was expensive and big and nothing either of them needed. It was the only compromise they could reach after last year’s car war.
What Tyler had really wanted was a convertible. Grace had bucked against that idea with everything she had inside. It wasn’t because she hated convertibles as such. If their marriage had been normal by any stretch, she would have bought him one herself. But to her, a convertible represented a mind-set with no thought of children and possibly meant he didn’t even want children. So she’d refused, using every argument she could think of to keep that convertible out of their driveway. Which was how they’d ended up with a gas-guzzling monster of an SUV they really couldn’t afford.
She’d bought her Prius to compensate as much as she could. She wasn’t an environmentalist making a statement. She was simply trying to ensure they had some retirement money left when they grew old. With both their careers, they should have been doing all right, but the last house had bitten a chunk out of them. This had been no time to sell. Even though they’d gotten a good deal on the new house, the stock market and housing market had all but destroyed their savings. And Tyler’s insatiable desire for the best of the latest didn’t help either.
Tyler’s words interrupted her thoughts. “Jeff and Heather are getting a divorce. He told me that last night.”
Jeff was a teammate of Tyler’s, a drinking buddy. And his wife, Heather, was one of the most self-absorbed women Grace had met. “I’m not surprised,” she responded.
“He told me last night. She’s whacked, you know.”
Grace stared out the window. “I think it’s sad.”
“Jeff will be better off without her.”
She could fight that comment, but it wasn’t worth it. She didn’t want to start an argument today or give Tyler another reason to get angry or drunk. But it bothered her that no one seemed to fight for their marriages anymore. That was Heather and Jeff’s problem as far as she could see. Jeff coul
d be incredibly thoughtless. And Heather definitely wasn’t the type to make any sacrifices. No wonder they couldn’t hold it together.
But she didn’t want to think about Heather and Jeff anymore. She changed the subject. “What do you want to do when we get home? I was thinking I’d bake some bread for dinner tonight. We could have some of that good soup Rachel brought over.”
“I’m way too full to even think about dinner. I think I’m going to go to the Sportsplex and sit in the hot tub, maybe get more rehab on my shoulder and ride some on the bike. I’m not going to rush home. But the bread would be great. I could have it when I get in.”
She pushed the disappointment aside. At least he was talking about coming home. “Well, thanks for helping me the last couple of days. It made it go much quicker.”
He patted her hand, which rested on the console between their seats. “ Hey, I wasn’t going to make you move all by yourself. I’ve never done that.” He laughed as if the thought was absurd. “That’s why I scheduled the move for my time off.”
They pulled into their driveway and went inside. The house was taking shape, starting to look remotely like a home. And as she walked through the door of a place with no painful memories, a piece of hope broke loose inside of Grace and made its way to the surface. They headed to their bedroom, where she set down her purse on the small wicker trunk by the door. Tyler went straight to the bathroom and pulled out his toothbrush. And as he started brushing, Grace felt an unexpected surge of desire run through her. Something about the closeness of their day, sitting with him, being touched by him, talking to him—all of that made her feel connected to him. And deep inside, she hoped it made him feel connected to her.
Her heart sped up. She did everything in her power to slow it down. She joined him at the bathroom counter and pulled out her toothbrush too. She pushed the electric switch and tried to let the brush’s humming distract her mind and body. Because her body followed her mind, and she didn’t really want to go where her mind was going.
After all these years without intimacy, she was still amazed that she desired it. She had prayed God would just shut down that desire. She’d begged him, Take it away. Just take it away, and then I won’t have to deal with the pain of rejection. But years of prayers and sheer willpower had failed to accomplish that, so she didn’t know how she could make it happen now.
Still, she tried. As she brushed, she tried. She rinsed and wiped her mouth, the ache inside her growing more intense and painful.
Her phone rang in her purse, but Grace let the call go to voice mail. It was probably Rachel. She would call her back.
She looked at Tyler, who was flossing now. What amazed her was that something in her soul still believed this time could be different. Believed that somehow, supernaturally, something had shifted with a touch or a word or an afternoon together that would cause him to desire her. To love her. And that all that was supposed to be would be.
The belief propelled her to his side of the sink. She scooted up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, the warmth of his body now against her own. He patted her hand again, as he often did. His touch was familiar, even comforting. But she wanted more. She wanted to be made love to like a young bride, with passion and longing and abandon. But she also wanted it with the beauty of years, with knowing and commitment. She wanted her husband.
Her hand inched down and ran along the edge of his jeans underneath his shirt. Before she could move farther, his hand grabbed hers and pushed it from his waist.
He rinsed his mouth before he spoke. “Grace, would you stop?” His anger was sharp and real.
“I’m sorry. I just . . .”
“I don’t want to hear it. Can’t you get it? I don’t want to make love to you. But you keep pushing and pushing.”
His words were loud and clear.
“What does it take for you to get it through your thick skull? I’ve tried to tell you nicely, and that doesn’t work. So you leave me with no choice. I’m not going to humiliate myself again. For whatever reason, sex doesn’t work with us. It just doesn’t. And you can live in your fantasyland hoping it will get better, but that’s not going to happen. I won’t live through the humiliation or the look on your face as if I’ve shattered your world.”
He reached for a towel and rubbed his face. “Now I’ve got to go.”
The worst part was that she knew what he was trading her for, what he was always trading her for. Yes, he would go to the training center, get some rehab, and maybe ride the bike. But after that, he had an afternoon of drinking planned. By the time he got home tonight, he would be drunk. Why? Because he could. He was in a season where he could sleep it off before anyone else but her encountered him. And the pit he was digging was getting darker and deeper as the days and months and years ticked by.
She tried to stay soft, to defuse the anger any way she could. “Tyler, I don’t think it has to be this way. If you’d just quit drinking, I—”
“I don’t want to quit drinking.” His face was red now, his anger palpable. But he was in complete control as he let the painful words spew. “I like drinking. I like the way it makes me feel, the way it doesn’t make me feel. I like everything about it. What I don’t like is living with a woman who can’t just leave me alone and let me be the man that I am. You can walk around in your goody-two-shoes world and be judgmental about Heather and Jeff, but at least Jeff can breathe now.”
He kept ranting as he went into the closet and began to pull his workout gear from a drawer. “What we did here, Grace, was nothing but a huge mistake. We just made a huge mistake.”
She followed him into the closet, shaking her head as she did. Tyler had been mean to her before but never this mean. “We didn’t make a mistake,” she said. “I knew you were the man I was supposed to marry. You can say it was a mistake if you want, but I will never believe that. Never.” She was crying now.
He, however, was seething. He wouldn’t look at her as he dressed, grabbed his running shoes and car keys, and stalked out of the closet.
She followed again as he left the bedroom and headed for the garage. “Tyler, don’t leave like this. Let’s talk. This is crazy. We can make—”
He slammed the door in her face. Her heart pounded in her chest as she stared at the white-painted wood in front of her. This strange door now carried the same familiarity as the doors in every home before it. It didn’t matter where they lived or what new start they tried to make—new houses, new cars—none of it made a new life. No, that had to be chosen, didn’t it? Just as Scarlett Jo’s husband said today, it was all a choice. And Tyler had made it clear what he was willing to choose.
She walked to the bedroom she had set up as her home office. The house was silent, but pain and disappointment clanged through every vein in her body as they made their way to her heart.
Heather and Jeff were divorcing because they didn’t try. But she had tried everything she knew. She had prayed. She had fasted. She had believed. She had loved. She had sacrificed herself. And yet here she was with a man who not only didn’t want her but was now convinced their life together had been a mistake.
She lay down on the thick wool fibers of the plush carpet and wept. She hated that she was weeping—again. There had been moments when she thought for sure there would be no more tears. And yet each time Tyler rejected her, each and every time she set herself up to be rejected, they fell as fresh and new as if that rejection were the first.
Miss Daisy came up beside her and licked her face. Grace let her hand sink into the soft fur of her faithful companion. Some people wondered how someone could call an animal their child. But she knew how it could happen. When you were forbidden to have children because of a spouse who refused to be a true companion, an animal like this easily became something more. And so she’d let it.
“I can’t do this anymore.” She wasn’t talking to Miss Daisy now. The carpet muffled her words as they poured out to the one true Companion who had faithfully listened to her
through each one of these painful outbursts.
“Honestly, I can’t. If you would just tell me that there will be a miracle down the road, I’d stay forever. I’d walk this out however I needed to. But you know. You know if Tyler truly desires healing or if this is going to be the cycle for the rest of our lives. And you also know what it would take to release me.
“I can’t just leave a marriage—you know that. I can’t be Heather. I can’t be Jeff. I’m a fighter. I’ll go to the bottom of this if Tyler will go with me. But I honestly don’t know what you’re asking of me here, what you want me to do. So, Father, show me, please. If this is over, give me what I need to let go.”
She had never prayed a prayer like that before. And she had no idea if she was prepared for the answer.
“How do you do it?” Zach studied the silky strands of dark-brown hair laced between his fingers. “How do we do this?”
“How do we do what?” She nestled warmly against his side on the couch. His office provided a safe place for Sunday afternoon encounters.
“How do we do our jobs, have dinner with our families, and then come here as if none of that exists?”
She turned on her side and looked at him. He loved her dark-brown eyes, the exact color of her hair. “The same way countless people do it, Zach. We shut out everything else, pretend it doesn’t exist. Because this is what makes us happy. It makes me happy, being with you. This is where I feel alive.” She leaned in and kissed him.
He returned the kiss, pulling her close, breathing in her scent. He knew exactly what she meant. These moments made him feel alive too. This was what made getting up in the morning worth it these days.
“I make you happy, huh?” he teased her.
She giggled playfully. “Yes. But I have to go.”
He tightened his hold. “No. You aren’t going.”
She kissed him softly and scooted away from him. “I have to. If I’m supposedly at the store and don’t come home with something, he’s going to wonder how that happened.”
Secrets over Sweet Tea Page 8