Marie laughed. “How did I raise such an odd duck as you? Brooke, honey, this is not all that tricky. Take it slow. Break it down to the basics. A nice man asked you out to dinner. He’s single; you’re single. Now. How do you feel about Gabe? On a personal basis?”
“Don’t you think he’s way too old for me? I mean, the last time we went out to dinner, somebody mistook him for my dad! It was super embarrassing.”
“Gabe Wynant is much younger than Gordon and, just between us girls, much better looking. Anyway, why do you care what I think or what some stupid waiter thinks? What do you think? That’s the only thing that matters.”
Brooke took a deep breath. “He’s a nice guy. When we worked together, he never talked down to me, never hit on me like some of the other, older partners in the law firm. We used to run together, you know? He really listened to me and respected my opinions.”
“What else?”
Brooke shrugged. “I guess I like how he treats women. He never said anything negative about his wife, ever, even though she must have put him through hell. He’s old-school like that, but not an old fogey, like Dad.”
“And?”
“Okay, I guess he is kind of hot, in a silver-haired-fox kind of way. He’s fit, but not obsessed with himself. Does that make sense?”
“Yes. And I’d agree with everything you said.”
“Then maybe you should go out to dinner with him.”
“He didn’t ask me,” Marie said. “Or I would. Now, what are the negatives?”
“Like I said, he’s way too old for me. What do we even have in common?”
“Hmm. You both like to run. You’re both interested in the law. I don’t know. That’s the reason you go to dinner with somebody. To figure that stuff out. It’s part of that whole ‘bizarre dating ritual thing’ that you seem to think you suck at.”
“I do suck at it,” Brooke insisted. “Anyway, the big thing is, it’s creepy. It’s like that whole Woody Allen obsession with younger chicks thing.”
“It’s nothing like that,” Marie said sharply. “You’re not an impressionable teenager. If you’re not interested, just say, ‘No, thanks.’ Gabe’s no dummy. He won’t pursue it if you decline.”
“But I don’t want to hurt his feelings! I like him. I like him a lot!”
“Then go to dinner. Or lunch. Or meet him for a drink. Or coffee. But if you think you have even a little interest, say yes. That’s the one thing I’ve learned, getting older, going through a divorce, reinventing myself. Say yes to the possibility.”
Brooke pulled the Volvo into the driveway of her house. “You sound like you have some personal experience in this whole game. Are you saying you’ve been dating?”
Marie’s smile was sphinxlike.
“Mom! You have been dating. Why didn’t you say so?”
The front door to the cottage opened, and seconds later, Farrah stood in the doorway, waving at them as Henry hurtled through the yard and into his mother’s arms.
44
“Hey,” Farrah said as soon as Brooke walked into the office on Monday afternoon. “We need to get over to the jail. There’s a situation with Brittni.”
“We?” Brooke asked. “Did you graduate from law school and pass the bar exam over the weekend?”
“No, but Brittni’s mom called me a little while ago. Britt got locked up again yesterday and she’s in deep shit.”
“Her stepfather still owes me for Brittni’s last scrape with the law,” Brooke pointed out.
“I told Aunt Charla that, and she’s gonna meet us at the jail with the money she owes you, plus another check for $5,000 as a retainer. Happy?”
“What exactly did Brittni do?” Brooke asked as they were getting into the Volvo.
“Aunt Charla was kinda hysterical when she called, but she kept using words like kidnapping and aggravated assault. Also criminal trespass,” Farrah said.
* * *
Brittni Miles had bleached-blond hair, two black eyes, and an orange jumpsuit. She glared at her visitors from the other side of a plexiglass divider in the visiting room at the Carter County Jail.
“I told Mama not to call y’all,” Brittni said sullenly.
“Too bad,” Farrah said. “Since your mama is the one who’s payin’, she gets to do the sayin’.”
Brooke looked down at the copy of the arrest report she’d been given, but the police officer’s handwritten narrative was nearly unreadable. “Brittni, if I’m going to represent you, I need you to tell me what happened. This says the victim’s name is Kelsy Cotterell. Is she the cashier from the SwiftyMart? The one you threw the ice at?”
“She doesn’t work there anymore,” Brittni said smugly. “Got fired for gettin’ arrested for what she done to me.”
“Which was what?” Farrah asked.
“Put a big ol’ bag of flaming dog poop on my mama’s doorstep Friday night,” Brittni said. “Only she didn’t know Mama put one of those motion-activated video cameras on our front porch. The dumb ho looked right at the camera while she was doing it. The bag caught the whole porch on fire, and Mama called Aunt Jodee, and the cops looked at the video and arrested her, right there at the SwiftyMart.”
“Oh-kayyyy,” Brooke said slowly. “But that doesn’t explain the criminal trespass, kidnapping, and aggravated assault charges against you. Do you want to walk us through that?”
“Kelsy posted bail the same night she was arrested!” Brittni exclaimed. “Then she called my cell and left a message saying next time she’d burn down our whole house. So I decided to, like, keep an eye on her. Saturday night, I followed her Camaro, and you know where she went? Right to Wayne’s place! That ho.”
Farrah glanced over at Brooke. “Wayne is Brittni’s boyfriend.”
“Ex-boyfriend.”
“Whatever,” Farrah said. “Does Wayne still live in those apartments by the school?”
“Uh-uh. He bought an RV, which he parks at his sister’s place. Wayne told me he had to work a late shift Saturday night, but his truck was parked right there in his sister’s driveway. The lying sack of crap. I watched her go in, and five minutes later, I saw the lights in the RV go out, and the next thing you know, that thing was rockin’ back and forth to beat the band.”
“Uh-oh,” Farrah said.
“Right then, I think I might have had, like, an outer body experience,” Brittni said. “I, like, lost control. Next thing you know, I was running over to the cab of the RV. I was just gonna bang on the side to scare them, but the keys were in the ignition, so I fired it up and floored it. Who knew a twelve-year-old Winnebago could do sixty on a dirt road? I could hear Wayne and Kelsy bouncing around back there and hollering at me to stop, but it was like the devil took hold of me. You know how that is, right?”
“Uh, no,” Brooke said.
“Wayne came up front, buck naked, and he was trying to yank the wheel away from me, and then Kelsy was right on top of me too, pulling my hair and screaming at me to stop, and while I was trying to fight her off and defend myself, the RV went off the road and slammed into a pecan tree. The airbags deployed, and I was knocked unconscious. And when I came to, all I saw was blue lights and gold badges.”
“Okay,” Brooke said. “Do you still have Kelsy’s message on your phone?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Forward that to me. That’s called making terroristic threats. Serious stuff. If she came onto your property without permission, that’s trespassing. How much damage did the flaming dog poop do?”
“A lot!” Brittni said. “The fire spread from the porch to the carport, and the whole thing collapsed on top of my stepdad’s 1968 El Camino, which he’s been restoring.”
“All good stuff,” Brooke said. “I’ve got to get back to the office now, but I’m going to call the district attorney and offer to show him the video of Kelsy trying to burn down your house, and I’ll let him know about the threats too, and hopefully he’ll see that this was just a love triangle gone wrong. In the meanti
me, if they do drop the charges, I’d urge you to stay away from Kelsy.”
“She’d better stay the hell away from me too,” Brittni said, glowering.
* * *
Charla Miles was waiting outside when Farrah and Brooke emerged from the jail.
“How’d it go?” she asked, handing an envelope to Farrah.
“As well as can be expected,” Brooke reported. “I’ll speak to the district attorney and see if we can’t work out something that doesn’t involve jail time. Best-case scenario, Brittni pays for the damage to the RV, does some community service hours, and takes some anger management classes.”
Charla threw her arms around Farrah and hugged her tight. “Thank God!”
“No, Aunt Charla,” Farrah said, “thank Brooke. And don’t forget, if she gets Brittni off without doing any more jail time, you agreed to let her represent you on your next divorce.” She handed the envelope of money to Brooke.
“I won’t forget,” Charla said. “Martin’s so mad about Brittni getting his El Camino burned up, I could be callin’ y’all any day now.”
When they returned to the office, Brooke spotted an envelope lying on the middle of her desktop. The envelope had the official seal of the University of Georgia.
“What’s this?” she asked, turning to Farrah.
“Oh my God, I almost forgot with all of Brittni’s drama!” Farrah exclaimed. “I did it, Brooke. I got in! I got into UGA!”
She grabbed both of Brooke’s hands and the two of them hopped up and down in an impromptu happy dance. “We did it!” Farrah shouted.
“You did it,” Brooke corrected. “Yaaaay!”
They were both out of breath and laughing and crying at the end of the dance.
“I told you so. I knew you’d get in, but I thought you said you weren’t going to apply,” Brooke said with a mock-accusing tone.
“I just told everybody that, so that way, when I got rejected, nobody but me would know,” Farrah said. “I didn’t even tell my mom. Or Jaxson, which I felt kind of guilty about.”
“Jaxson’s not an issue anymore, right?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure. He wants us to get back together. He’s been texting me, and I’ve seen him drive by the house a bunch of times at night. I think he’s checking up on me.”
Brooke knew better than to give unsolicited advice, but she couldn’t help herself. “Farrah, please listen to me. You’ve got such an incredible, bright future ahead of you. I hate to see you tether yourself to your hometown honey.”
“I didn’t say I was getting back with him.”
“But you’re thinking about it. And if he’s texting you, he’s going to come around begging you to take him back. And he’ll make you feel guilty about going off to school in Athens and leaving him behind. And the next thing you know, you’ll think about what he wants, instead of what you need.”
Farrah’s phone dinged. She took it out of the pocket of her jeans, read the text, typed something rapidly, and pushed Send.
“Okay, I’m ready to get to work,” she announced, sitting at her desk and powering up her computer.
“Was that Jaxson?”
Farrah nodded but didn’t look up from the document she’d just opened.
“Did you tell him you didn’t want to get back together with him?” Brooke asked.
The girl still didn’t look up. “Brooke?”
“Yes?”
“Not another word.”
Brooke’s own cell phone rang. She checked the caller ID screen. It was Gabe Wynant.
She glanced at Farrah, picked up the phone, and headed for the powder room, which was, for her, the equivalent of a conference room. She closed the bathroom door, took a deep breath, and answered. “Hi, Gabe!”
* * *
“I know it’s last minute, but is there any way you could sit for Henry tonight?” she asked Farrah, trying desperately to sound casual.
“Sure. I could use the extra money. UGA ain’t cheap, ya know.” She flashed a big grin.
“Great. Why don’t you come over around 6:30? I’ll fix something for dinner for you and Henry, and you can give him a bath and get him ready for bed before I leave around 7:00.”
“That’s fine. But you’re going out on a weeknight?”
“Yes.”
“Business meeting?”
“Not exactly. More like an, uh, date.”
“Oh. My. God!” Farrah spun around on her chair so that she was facing Brooke. “Finally. Who’s the guy?”
“Just a lawyer I used to work with in Savannah. An old friend, that’s all.”
“Suuuuure.”
“Farrah?”
“Yeah?”
“Not another word.”
45
Farrah peeked out the small window in the front door. “I think he’s here.”
“Get away from that window,” Brooke said. “Aren’t you supposed to be putting my son to bed?”
“Oh my God. He’s totally driving a Porsche 911. Who is this guy?”
“Farrah!”
“Just let me get a good look at him. You know, to make sure he’s not an ax murderer or something. I wish I could see his license plate.”
“Farrah!”
“Okay, he’s getting out of the car. Wait. He’s got white hair. Seriously, how old is this dude?” She whipped her cell phone out, held it against the window, and clicked off three frames in rapid succession.
“Farrah!” Brooke’s teeth were clenched. She wiped her sweaty palms on the side of her white jeans. Her stomach was doing flip-flops, and she could already feel the familiar heat creeping up from her collarbone. She’d felt like this for the past hour. It was as though she were reliving junior high again. Why in God’s name had she agreed to go out with Gabe Wynant?
“Okay, he’s standing by the car, but he’s not moving. He’s looking at his watch. He actually dresses kind of cool for an old guy. He’s not even wearing dad jeans.” She snapped off a few more photos.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m taking his picture, so if you don’t come back tonight, I’ll have something to take to the cops.”
“Farrah!”
“I’m going.”
The doorbell rang. Brooke took a last gulp of her white wine and pasted a smile on her face.
“Hey, you,” she said.
“Hey, you too,” Gabe said. He was dressed casually, in dark wash—but not dad-style—jeans and a crisp, pale yellow dress shirt with rolled cuffs. He wore Gucci loafers, but no socks. “Ready to go?”
“Come on in for a minute. I just need to look in on Henry and kiss him good—”
“Noooooooo!” The three-year-old ran into the living room, dressed in his pajama top, but naked from the waist down. He threw himself against Brooke’s legs, wrapping his arms around her knees. “Nooooo. I don’t want you to gooooo!”
Farrah darted into the room after him. “Sorry,” she said breathlessly. “I turned to grab his pull-ups and he made a run for the door.”
“Come on, Henry,” she said, gently trying to coax the boy away from his mother. “It’s story time. Good Night, Good Night, Construction Site. Your favorite.”
Henry tried to slap away the babysitter’s hands. “No. I go with Mama.”
Brooke leaned down and hoisted the boy into her arms. “Hey, little man. It’s time for bed. You go with Farrah and help her read, and I’ll be home before you know it.”
He shook his head, then stared at Gabe. “Who that?”
Gabe smiled nervously. “Hi, Henry. I’m Gabe.”
“This is Mama’s friend,” Brooke added. “Can you say, ‘Hi, Gabe’?”
“Gimme five!” Gabe said, holding his hand out, palm up.
Henry buried his face in Brooke’s shoulder. “Noooo!” he wailed.
Farrah reached out and managed to peel the boy off his mother. “Let’s go, Henry McBenry,” she said, heading back to the bedroom. “Have a good time, Brooke,” she called over her shou
lder. “Nice to meet you, Gabe.”
* * *
He’d chosen a new restaurant she’d been meaning to check out. It was Italian, located in a restored craftsman cottage a block away from the waterfront. There were flowers and candles on the table, which actually had a white tablecloth.
Gabe smiled at her as the waiter brought their wine. “Are you as nervous as I am?”
She sipped her wine. “That depends. Is your pulse racing? Do you feel like you might vomit at any moment?”
“Check and check. Plus I had to change my shirt twice before I left the house tonight, because of all the flop sweat.”
She laughed. “Okay, I didn’t require a wardrobe change, which makes me feel marginally better, so thanks for that.”
“It’s just dinner. That’s what I’ve been telling myself all night. Right? Dinner with an old friend and colleague.”
“Absolutely.” She nodded and sipped her wine.
He took a gulp of his own wine. “I’m sixty-three, by the way.”
“Okay…”
“I just thought I’d get that out of the way. In case you were wondering and trying to figure out if I really am too old for you, which I hope I’m not.”
“I’ve got a confession to make,” Brooke said, emboldened by the wine. “I already knew that. I checked on Martindale-Hubbell.”
“I Googled and checked you on LinkedIn,” he countered. “Very impressive. I’d forgotten you graduated near the top of your class.”
“So we’re two smarty-pants lawyers. We should be able to get through a simple no-risk dinner together, right?”
“Not a problem,” he said. “And since you mentioned the lawyer thing, I’ve got good news. The court appointed me administrator of Josephine’s estate today.”
“Wow. That was fast.”
“One of the circuit judges was a law school classmate of mine,” Gabe said.
“Ah yes, the good-old-boy network,” Brooke said, hoping she didn’t sound bitter.
“In this case, it was helpful. We can speed things up and start wrapping up Josephine’s estate.”
The High Tide Club Page 27