by Talley, Liz
Tennyson tugged Melanie’s arm. “Come on. Bring your gift.”
Melanie pulled away. She didn’t want everyone to watch Emma open her gift, and since it was for Emma only, it seemed wrong to have her open it here. She hadn’t thought to get something for Andrew. The bracelet would have been better on the wedding day or at the rehearsal dinner. “No, I’ll give mine later. You go ahead.”
She couldn’t imagine what Tennyson had gotten Emma and Andrew that could top the elaborate shower. The flowers had to have set the woman back at least ten grand, and Melanie could only guess what the catering bill would be. But maybe Tennyson would get some money back on Cesar since he’d bailed.
Tennyson stepped toward the couple, her smile almost crocodilian. Melanie knew Tennyson’s stage presence was perfectly in place. “I couldn’t even begin to put into words how much I love this boy. That he would find the perfect girl for him has always been my fervent prayer. I’m not going to lie, at first, I wondered how this could work.”
The crowd issued a little chuckle because some of them had been at Melanie’s wedding and knew the discord between Tennyson and Melanie. Some laughed because everyone else had, and they had no clue why Emma and Andrew marrying was . . . well, nuts.
“But”—Tennyson turned to Emma and tucked a glossy strand of hair behind Melanie’s daughter’s ear. It was a tender demonstration of her approval of Emma. Melanie tried not to roll her eyes at the affectation. “I can’t think of a more fitting wife for Andrew. In less than two months, I will gain a daughter, and my heart is very full.”
So over the top. So Teeny. But at the same time, it was sort of sweet to see Tennyson care about Emma that much.
“Emma will be starting medical school in a few weeks. She knows how to cut it close,” Tennyson said with a laugh, giving Emma an indulgent smile. “And Andrew has a new job, so a true honeymoon is impossible at present. Still, everyone deserves a few weeks of alone time when they’re newly married. Since fall break comes at the most beautiful time off the coast of Amalfi, I thought a trip to Italy would be the perfect belated honeymoon.”
Emma’s mouth fell open, and Andrew laughed. “Seriously?”
All the gathered guests oohed and aahed, then broke into applause. Melanie finally closed her agape mouth.
A trip to Italy?
Motherfu . . . ugh. Of course Tennyson had bought them an Italian honeymoon.
Melanie could never measure up to Tennyson. The woman would always outdo her. From the wedding to grandchildren to her funeral, Tennyson would always have the best ideas, presents, vacations, and casket. Melanie would never be able to compete.
And she never had. Tennyson had always commanded the attention of the room, she’d always turned heads, she’d always won whatever she’d set out to win, whether it was the library’s summer reading contest or head cheerleader. Now it was evident as her former friend stood in the middle of the most ridiculous bridal shower in the history of Shreveport, looking ten years younger than Melanie, splashing thousands upon thousands of dollars around, that Melanie would always be the dark horse.
Sometimes the dark horse won.
And sometimes they broke their leg on the track.
Tennyson took the envelope from Marc and handed it to Andrew. “Congratulations, sugar. I hope you make the best memories in Italy.”
Emma and Andrew beamed at each other as they opened the envelope, gasping over the first-class flight to Rome and the five-star accommodations. Melanie was happy for her daughter for receiving a honeymoon of a lifetime. She wasn’t that petty. But still. The gift was meant to show off what Tennyson could and would do.
It was at that moment that Melanie’s mother appeared beside her. “Melanie, we must go.”
“Wow, when you said you would leave after Emma opened presents, you weren’t kidding,” Melanie said, turning to her mother. Sandy was with her, her cute sequined clutch in hand. Both their expressions alarmed her. “What? What’s wrong?”
“We have to go to the hospital.” Anne’s mouth flatlined with annoyance.
“Someone called your mother from University Health. They just brought your sister there by ambulance,” Sandy said, putting a comforting hand on Melanie’s mother’s shoulder.
Anne brushed off Sandy’s hand and started toward the lit path. “I told you she was ill.”
“Did they say why? Who called?” Melanie asked, looking around for Emma so she could explain. At that moment, fireworks erupted overhead, exploding brilliance against the darkening sky, scaring the hell out of Melanie. She clasped her chest and sucked in a deep breath. “Oh, good gracious.”
Sandy gave her a light squeeze. “I’m not sure who called your mother. Go find Emma. I’ll call for the car.”
“Thank you,” Melanie said, glancing up at the bursts of light followed by heart-stopping booms that rattled the hurricane glass on the tables. Of course there were fireworks. Because that, too, was so Tennyson.
Jesus.
“Prosecco to toast the happy couple?” a waiter asked as she pushed through the crowd staring up at the show above them.
“No, thanks,” she said, looking at where she’d last seen Emma.
Tennyson intercepted her, her smile fading when she read Melanie’s body language. “What’s wrong, Melly?”
“Where’s Emma?”
“She and Andrew went to take pictures out by the oak with the Japanese lanterns. I thought with the fireworks behind them . . . wait, what’s wrong?”
Melanie passed a hand over her face. “They’ve taken Hillary to the hospital. I don’t know what’s wrong. Someone called Mother, and we have to go to University and see what’s going on.”
“Oh no,” Tennyson said, taking Melanie’s elbow and turning her toward the exit. “Don’t worry. Just go see about Hillary. I’ll let Emma know where you’ve gone. She can come to the hospital once the party’s over.”
Melanie nodded. “Thank you.”
Tennyson halted. “Is it serious?”
Melanie felt fear rise inside her. “It’s always serious when it comes to Hillary.”
“Then go to her.”
And so Melanie left without toasting the future happy couple.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Tennyson’s feet felt as if she’d put them through a meat grinder, and her lower back ached, but she couldn’t stop the smile on her face when Officer Joseph Rhett appeared poolside, wading through the staff scurrying around as they broke down the tables and chairs.
“Hello, handsome,” she said, her heels hooked in one hand, a glass of prosecco in the other. “I would offer you a drink, but you wouldn’t take it.”
“I didn’t come for a drink,” he said, his expression intense, his gaze dropping to her breasts. She remembered how fond he was of Anna and Elsa, the nicknames he’d given to her breasts. Obviously, the man had watched a lot of Frozen with his daughters.
“Yeah? Good thing I have what you came for,” she teased.
“Leftovers?” He crooked a sexy eyebrow.
That made Tennyson laugh. “I got those, too.”
Joseph leaned down and kissed her right in front of God and everybody. Okay, just the cleanup crew, but it still made her feel vulnerable. To kiss a man in public sent a message that they were together. And they weren’t together. Just having good sex.
But even as she had that anticipatory thought, another graver one niggled its way into her conscience.
Hillary.
Melanie’s older sister had been the sister that Tennyson had always wanted. Slightly chubby, endearingly kind, and attentive to her younger sister and her best friend, Hillary was the kind of person everyone wanted to have beside them when life got tough. A gentle spirit with calm hands that braided their hair, ready laughter when she and Melanie dressed up and sang karaoke, and whimsical input on the plays Tennyson would write for the girls to perform on long summer nights in the Brevard playroom. It never occurred to Tennyson that the reason why Bronte wanted nothing to do
with her and Melanie was because Bronte had a horde of gal pals. Hillary had none, so she was happy to be with the younger girls. When Hillary was in high school, she lost a bunch of weight. After six months, Hillary was thin and pretty, prettier than Bronte even. Suddenly, Hillary had boys coming around, a group of friends who wanted to smoke joints out by the pool and throw weekend parties with Everclear and ecstasy.
Still, even as Hillary became popular, she always treated Melanie and Tennyson with kindness, sometimes looking as if she would rather go back to being their talent show judge and doing makeovers rather than “partying” with her newfound friends.
When Hillary went to college and lost even more weight, it became evident there was a problem. After only a year, she had to drop out, go to a program for people with eating disorders, and enter weekly therapy. Hillary eventually gained some weight and started apprenticing in a salon. After two years, she struck out for Baton Rouge and a partnership in a new salon. She got married, got divorced, and at some point, reclaimed her lifelong struggle with anorexia and bulimia.
After Tennyson and Melanie’s friendship ended, Tennyson tried to keep up with Hillary, but that was before social media was relevant. She hadn’t seen Hillary in many years.
Joseph cradled her face, leveling her gaze to his. “What’s wrong? I thought you wanted me to come by after the party?”
“I did. I do. It’s just I have some things on my mind,” she said.
“Maybe I could distract you?” he asked, his lips at her ear.
The words were meant as seduction, and Tennyson could easily let herself go where her wakening body wanted to go, but there was also part of her that needed to do something. It was this part of herself that she sometimes wished she could ignore, but once a stirring latched on to her thoughts, it became a bit bulldoggish and would give her no peace until she complied. Which was how she’d ended up back in Shreveport in the first place.
Stepping back from Joseph, she met his eyes. “Can you do me a favor?”
Joseph narrowed his eyes. “Why do I sense this favor won’t lead me to that really soft bed you have?”
Tennyson smiled. “Maybe later?”
“Definitely later,” he said, looping his arms about her waist. “What do you need, Tennyson?”
Loaded question indeed. She needed a shower. Pajamas. Multiple orgasms. Another martini. A man who would stay beside her and not be distracted by other women, more money, and her net worth. She settled on, “A ride to the hospital?”
“The hospital? Is there something I should know?” he asked, now looking concerned.
“I have a . . .” She couldn’t say friend because she and Melanie weren’t friends any longer. And Lord knew Anne Brevard would love to see her eviscerated and hanged by her own entrails, so it wasn’t like she was going to be welcomed by the family. Still, something about the way Melanie looked when she told her they had taken Hillary to the hospital made the hair on the back of Tennyson’s neck stand at attention. Something felt really wrong about the whole situation, and some intangible, weird impulse drove her to check on Melanie. “There’s just someone I need to be there for. I’ve had a few martinis, so I can’t drive. Would you?”
He released her. “Of course.”
“Let me settle things with Marc, and then we can go,” she said, rising on the aching balls of her feet and giving his cheek a light kiss. “You really are a good guy. You protect, serve, and give a gal a ride to the hospital.”
She felt him watch her as she walked toward the event planner, who was sitting with his bow tie untied, his top button undone, and his knees akimbo. That was about as disheveled as she’d ever seen the dapper Marc Mallow.
He looked up from his phone when she stopped in front of him. “We did good, Tennyson. Well, outside of the whole Cesar thing, but really, the man is a queen bee. If he would have stayed, he would have been screeching at us all night. Look at me. Hear me. Adore me. Better that he left. Don’t worry, I will demand he return half the fees paid to him, or I will write a scathing review on my blog and share it all over creation.”
Tennyson wanted to laugh at his antics, but she felt too sad to do so.
Marc gestured to the chair beside him. “Sit, darling. Unless you have better things to do? Like that handsome man wearing the absolute worst trousers I’ve ever seen. Where do you suppose he bought them? Sam’s Club?”
“He looks good in them.” Tennyson sat, eyeing Joseph, who had pulled his phone out and was no doubt checking baseball scores. She knew this because he’d checked the scores after the second time they’d had sex. He’d suggested it was his version of an after-sex cigarette. She hadn’t fallen for that one.
Marc smiled. “True.”
“I have to go. A friend needs me. Can you please oversee the cleanup? And let Prada out to potty?” Tennyson gave him her best “pretty please” face.
“How much will you pay me?” Marc asked.
Tennyson leveled an exasperated look at him. “I have a blog, too, you know.”
“Really? What’s it called?”
“Event Planners Who Hire Opera Singers Who Don’t Complete Their Gig.”
“Never heard of it, but I’m sure it would give MarshMallow Thoughts a run for its money. And I will let Prada out. No charge.”
Tennyson patted his knee and rose. “I’m putting on flats, and Hot Cop is giving me a ride. The bridal shower was good, Marc. Thanks for all you did to make it so nice for the kids.”
His mouth curved into something less sarcastic and more sincere. “That’s my job.”
Ten minutes later she wore a T-shirt dress that had seen better days and a pair of gingham Tretorns she’d bought on impulse and kept only because they were like wearing velvet clouds. Of course, that could be because she normally wore heels. Heels made her legs look long and her ass firm. A woman had to make sacrifices. But tonight she needed to be comfortable because her presence wouldn’t be appreciated.
Or maybe it would. Sometimes just showing up said all that needed to be said. Or sometimes words needed to be said, but the timing was off. She wasn’t certain why she hadn’t said the words she needed to say by now. They just wouldn’t come, but maybe it was time they did.
“Ready?” Joseph looked up from his phone when she stuck her head out the back door. She caught sight of the baseball logos set against a scoreboard on his screen and realized, though she hadn’t known him for long, she already knew him well. How had he become so familiar to her? They had nothing in common. Like baseball. Tennyson had attended a few of Andrew’s baseball games, but the other mothers had made her feel silly for wearing a sundress and heels to the ballpark. Hey, she’d made sure to wear team colors. But in hindsight, maybe it had been that she’d elected to bring sushi instead of eating the corn dogs and cheese fries offered by the ballpark concession stand.
She liked sushi. Sue her.
“As I’ll ever be,” she said as he fell into step beside her, shoving his phone into the back pocket of his khaki jeans. Together they walked through the house, ignoring Prada’s yipping. She liked the way it felt having Joseph with her. Far less lonely. Far more comforting.
By the time they arrived at the hospital, Tennyson had fallen asleep and drooled onto her dress, which was pretty embarrassing, even though she wasn’t sure Joseph had actually noticed.
“Here we are, sleepyhead,” Joseph said, putting the 4Runner into park and opening the door.
Tennyson hurriedly wiped her chin with the back of her hand. Gak. She probably looked like death warmed up, and her mouth tasted like blue-cheese olives. She found a tin of mints in her purse, popped one, swiped gloss over her lips, and fluffed her hair all by the time Joseph jogged around to open her door. Hot and polite. She’d hit a pair of aces with this guy.
“You’re coming with me?” she asked.
“Um, yes. I wouldn’t let the toughest motorcycle cop walk this street by himself.”
Tennyson wrinkled her nose. “Because not many people like
cops?”
“No, because it’s a dangerous area . . . and maybe a few people don’t like law enforcement. But that comes with the territory,” he said, closing the door and pressing the key fob so his light flashed and the car made a toot-toot to assure them the vehicle was locked.
They made their way to the entrance, where they encountered a squat, frowning woman at the information desk. Her hair seemed to stand on end, and it was obvious her eyes had seen too much.
“I’m not sure they’ll tell me anything. I’m not family,” Tennyson whispered to Joseph.
He dug in his pocket and pulled out his badge. “Hello, Raylene. I need to locate . . .”
“Hillary Brevard,” Tennyson finished.
“Well, Officer Rhett. How you been doin’?” Raylene asked as she tapped, tapped, tapped on the computer in front of her. She shot Hot Cop a winsome smile. She may have even batted her false eyelashes at him.
“Can’t complain,” Joseph said.
“Brevard? I don’t see her in the system.” Raylene tapped a bit more and shook her head.
“They just brought her by ambulance. Um, about an hour and a half ago,” Tennyson said, trying to peer at the screen. Raylene frowned and shot her an accusing look, moving the screen away from Tennyson.
“Okay, yeah, I see right here she came through ER. Y’all go right on down there and tell Stacey that I sent you, Joseph,” she said, ignoring Tennyson completely.
“Thanks, Raylene. I still remember that pumpkin bread you made me. I’m going to be needing some more come fall. It’s worth the extra weight,” he said, rubbing his flat belly and giving the desk clerk a charming smile that made Tennyson want to pinch him. Those smiles were for her.
“Oh, you. You ain’t got an inch of flab on you, sugar,” Raylene said with a wave of her hand.
Tennyson and Joseph pushed through a heavy swinging door that would take them into the bowels of the hospital. She looked over at him. “Laying it on thick, weren’t you?”
“Sometimes you got to use what the good Lord gave you to get what you need.”