by Talley, Liz
Tennyson laughed. “Yeah, there’s that. You didn’t smoke in college?”
“Cigarettes, but only in secret. I didn’t want people to think I was that kind of girl,” she said, opening the jar of salsa Tennyson set on the cabinet.
“And what kind of girl is that?” Tennyson said, ripping open the tortilla chips with her teeth. Lord, her veneers had cost a small fortune. She didn’t need to break one and have to go to the dentist. She’d rather go to the gynecologist than the dentist. She didn’t have to look up her ob-gyn’s nose—just observe his bald spot.
“I don’t even know. That’s so stupid to even say something like that.” Melanie made a face.
“No, you’re just saying what you think you should say to someone like your mother. She made you super conscious of everything you did . . . and do.”
Melanie nodded her head slowly. “Maybe. I never thought about it that way.”
“You just like everyone to get along, and so you say the things to make that happen. It’s a defense mechanism.” Tennyson snagged a chip and went to town with the salsa. “Dang, this is good salsa. Awesome Annie’s.”
“I’ve had it before, and honestly, store-bought salsa from a jar would taste like heaven right now. I’ve been on a diet for the past six weeks. Ever since I saw how incredible you looked.” Melanie dug a chip into the container and made a face. “And then there’s Charlotte with her size 4 bikini. Ugh.”
“Is that the cow who tried to mount Kit at the engagement party?”
Melanie sighed. “Yeah. She works with him. It seems she’s brilliant, climbs mountains, and laughs at everything he says. He professes she’s ‘just a coworker,’ but it doesn’t feel that way. I think she’s after more than a promotion.”
“First, don’t sell yourself short, Melanie. You’re an incredibly attractive woman, even more so because you’re very unaware of it. You’re a natural beauty who doesn’t need the artifice of plastic surgery or fillers. Second, have you talked to Kit about how she makes you feel?”
“We’re in therapy.”
Tennyson ate five more chips, brushing the crumbs from her chin. “That’s good. So what does he say about your concerns?”
“Nothing. He essentially implies that I’m crazy.”
Well, that figured. She was nearly certain that was the exact thing Robert said when they were in therapy. Anytime she remarked on being concerned about the time he spent at work and that he could be tempted by the ambitious junior partners, he’d say, “You’re imagining things, Tennyson.”
But she hadn’t been. And to prove her suspicions, she set up a sting. She found his daily planner, noted when he was “advising JL,” and hired a private eye who, using the building across the street, managed to get incriminating photographic evidence. Robert was dumb enough to schedule his “mentoring sessions” at the same time several times a week. Which made it easy for Tennyson to barge past the administrative assistant who kept shouting, “He’s in a private meeting,” at her back and catch the man who said she was imagining things with his head between Julie Littman’s slender thighs.
“You’re not crazy.” Tennyson walked over to the fridge and pulled out a crisp sauvignon blanc.
“I’m not?” Melanie’s tone suggested she already knew this.
“No, a woman’s intuition is a strong thing.” Tennyson rooted through the pantry, looking for the travel bag of goodies Andrew had stashed on a shelf. She was certain he had put peanut M&M’s inside. She found the bag, grabbed the family-size bag of candy, and reemerged. “You need to put an end to that shit, Melly.”
Melanie scooped up more salsa with a chip and popped it into her mouth. She chewed for a few minutes, making thinking faces. “Yeah, but I can’t. If Kit wants to cheat, he will. I can’t follow him around or guilt him into not doing it if he’s going to do it.”
“No, no.” Tennyson wagged her finger, grabbing two goblets and a bottle of sauvignon blanc. “I mean, yeah, technically you can’t stop him, but you don’t let him stay in the situation he’s in. It’s like leaving a hungry woman in a room full of donuts. Eventually, she’s going to eat a donut.”
Melanie’s face flashed with pain.
“Damn it, Mel. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have . . . that was a stupid analogy.” For a good half an hour, she’d forgotten what had happened that night. She’d forgotten about Hillary’s death and Melanie’s near breakdown. About how horrible she felt watching Melanie floundering around, looking for someone to throw her a rope. She hadn’t planned on bringing the woman back to her house, but she knew Melanie had needed someone to help her.
And there had been no one else there to do it but Tennyson.
Melanie schooled her features. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it. You don’t intentionally hurt . . .” Melanie didn’t finish her sentence. Instead she shook her head and ate another chip.
Tennyson poured the wine into the goblets and handed one to Melanie.
“I should go. I’ve avoided dealing with my mother and family for long enough. My mother may be a queen bitch, but she’s still my mother. She’s just lost her daughter, and that’s no easy thing, especially as it leaves her completely alone. Anne is a hard woman, but beneath, she’s not really as tough as she likes people to believe. I saw that with my father’s death.”
Tennyson’s stomach twisted. Albert Brevard had been a good man, never shouting at the girls when they rooted through his office looking for a stapler and willingly leaving his work behind to take them for ICEEs on hot summer evenings. He had been a gifted surgeon, very dedicated to his patients, but when she and Melanie had been around, he’d given them his total attention. Tennyson had been so angry, so bent on vengeance that she’d dragged that man down in order to hurt Melanie. When she’d uttered those fateful words into the microphone that night, she hadn’t punished Melanie as she intended; she’d punished the entire Brevard family.
As she’d walked away, dropping the microphone in Kit’s lap, she’d felt the absolute satisfaction of making her old friend pay for stealing her man, but then she’d caught sight of Albert’s face. At that moment, the horror of what she’d actually done had rolled over her. The full implication hit her in the parking lot, and she’d vomited behind the oleanders on the fifteenth hole.
Everyone in the Brevard family had blamed her for ruining Albert Brevard’s career . . . and some had declared her responsible for the man’s suicide years later.
Maybe that was true to some degree, but she also knew that eventually Albert’s short-lived career in porn films would have been discovered. Those sorts of secrets always found the light of day, especially once AOL dragged everyone into a whole new online world with databases and a massive porn network. Vintage porn was fairly collectible, and collectors loved the vampy, campy late sixties and seventies porn, which was exactly what Albert had done with titles like Barebackin and Bronco Willy.
Still, she’d played a part and couldn’t make amends for the promise she’d broken in a snit of outrage. Her words, so angrily declared, had been like the old adage about gossip. Pluck a chicken at the top of a mountain, and then try to gather all the scattered feathers.
Impossible.
“About that,” Tennyson said, running her nail along the veined marble. “I’ve never actually apologized for breaking my promise.”
“What?” Melanie looked confused.
“When we found that tape, I pinkie swore that I wouldn’t tell. That I would forget what we’d seen. I broke that promise.”
“In spectacular fashion,” Melanie murmured.
Regret prickled up her spine. “I was angry.”
Melanie snorted. “I actually figured that out.”
“You invited me to the wedding to rub my nose in the fact you’d won Kit,” Tennyson said, still refusing to look at her old friend. “I couldn’t believe you would do something so cruel, and I wanted to . . . hurt you.”
“But I didn’t invite you to rub your nose in anything. I invited you bec
ause I couldn’t stand the rift between us. We’d been best friends, and the thought of you not being there with me when I got married broke my heart. In hindsight, I guess it may have looked that way, like I wanted to hurt you, but surely you knew me well enough to know I wouldn’t do something so mean spirited. I just missed you, Teeny, and hoped you’d realized Kit and I loved each other. I thought maybe you’d get over it and want to be there.” Melanie’s voice had grown small.
Tennyson looked up. “You invited me because you missed me?”
Melanie lifted a shoulder. “Yeah. I thought if you came, you would see that Kit and I were . . . I just never expected you to be so cruel. That’s not you. You’re a lot of things, but you were never a mean girl.”
The thought that Melanie had sent the invitation because she missed their friendship had never crossed Tennyson’s mind. Maybe because she couldn’t fathom doing something like that. When she’d opened that envelope, she was three days off finding out she was pregnant. Panic wasn’t even the word for where she was in figuring out her life. She’d spent too many years hanging around a different kind of crowd—spoiled heiresses with spoons up their nose and dislike in their eyes and guys who hustled and thought nothing of stepping on people in their climb to the top. Tennyson had grown accustomed to people who had motives for everything they did. Reading that elegant script inviting her to the marriage of Melanie Elizabeth to Christopher Douglas Layton, she’d burned with fury. Then she’d crumpled into grief over losing the man she thought would be hers. She’d felt betrayed and angry enough to do something rash and uncaring.
And she’d done just that.
“It never occurred to me that you truly wanted me there. I don’t know why I didn’t see that. It was a hard year for me. No excuse for what I did, but maybe I could give you a little background on where I was in my life. You asked me about drugs. I was into that scene. Participating in that irresponsible selfishness led me to getting pregnant with Andrew. His biological father was a small-time director who had a coke problem and a wife. I had been booted off a low-budget horror film for coming in drunk. I didn’t have money, a man, or a clue about what to do about the baby. I just knew I wasn’t going to have an abortion or pretend my mistake away. I had already done that once before. So, yeah, it wasn’t good for me the day I got the invitation. But you didn’t deserve what I did. Nothing really justifies what I did. I can’t take it back, but I can say I’m sorry, Melly. I’ve been sorry for a long time.”
A few seconds ticked by, and Tennyson hoped that her old friend might offer her the forgiveness she never knew she craved so much. But Melanie didn’t. Instead she looked down at her fingernails. “I should go. I’m sure people have been texting and calling asking where I am and if I’m okay. It was super irresponsible to leave everyone. It was selfish.”
Tennyson shook her head. “Don’t do that. You needed a moment to deal. They are not the only people dealing with a loss, Melly. It’s okay to need some time, to be a little selfish.”
Melanie shrugged. “Maybe so. I probably shouldn’t have smoked a joint, though.”
“I don’t think it hurt.”
“It’s illegal.” As Melanie said those words her eyes widened a little as if she truly realized that she’d not only been a little selfish, but she’d also broken the law.
“Not in some states.”
“But here it is.”
Tennyson smiled. “You can get it medically. I think.”
“I don’t have glaucoma, Teeny,” Melanie said, her mouth tightening back into that now familiar disapproving line.
“But you have Anne for a mother.”
Melanie stared at the refrigerator for a few seconds and said, “Well, that’s true.”
The sound of the front door opening made both of them turn. Andrew called out. “Hey, anyone home?”
“In the kitchen,” Tennyson shouted.
Her son appeared in the doorway, still wearing his suit sans the tie and the tucked-in shirt. His hair stuck up in a few places, and his mouth looked tight. His gaze landed on Melanie, his eyes widened, and then his shoulders sagged in what she could only guess was relief. “Oh, here you are. Emma’s been calling you for the last half hour.”
“My phone’s in the living room,” Melanie said. She looked away, guilt reflected in the brown depths of her eyes.
“They’re all at the hospital and—” He stopped and made a face. Then he inhaled. “Has someone been smoking weed?”
Tennyson wasn’t sure how to answer that.
Melanie brushed the crumbs from the counter, sweeping them into her hand. She tossed them into the sink. Looking at Andrew, she lifted one shoulder. “We may have.”
“You may have?” He looked at Tennyson with a gobsmacked expression that was both endearing and irritating. “I don’t know what you two have been doing at a critical time for this family, but we really need to get back to the hospital. Everyone is really upset.”
“Melanie needed a few minutes away,” Tennyson said. Melanie remained quiet, studying her fingernails.
“Do you even know what has happened while y’all were here drinking and doing illegal drugs?” Andrew sounded very much like a parent.
“I know what happened,” Melanie said, straightening and heading toward the living area where she’d left her clothes and purse. “I was there by myself when my sister died. None of my family was there. My husband’s in Florida, my mother is more concerned about being right than present, and my children are obviously more concerned with lattes, so don’t lecture me or your mother on where I should have been.”
Andrew stared at her wide eyed as she passed by him. Then he looked at Tennyson. “What’s happening here?”
“I think your soon-to-be mother-in-law is telling you to get your head out of your ass. Does anyone ever think about her? She does so much for that family, and they just take and take.”
Andrew tilted his head. “I thought you two didn’t like each other?”
Melanie breezed back in. “We don’t. I went with her because she had weed.”
Her reply was so saucy that Tennyson turned around to hide her smile. Then she schooled her features into something more suiting the situation and turned back to her son. “Take Melanie back to the hospital. You’re right. It’s time she was with her family.”
Melanie had her dress over her arm, but the only shoes she had were a pair of pumps, which looked ridiculous with the workout pants and T-shirt.
“Hold on,” Tennyson said, jogging toward her bedroom. She entered her enormous closet and flipped the custom shoe cabinet back to reveal her sandal and flip-flop collection. She snagged a pair of flat Tory Burch thongs she’d never worn and went back to the kitchen. “Here’s a bag for your clothes and a pair of sandals. You can’t go out in those heels.”
Melanie gave her a small smile. “That’s nice of you.”
“I can be nice. Every full moon or so, once I make a sacrificial offering.”
“It’s not a full moon,” Melanie said, tugging off the pumps and sliding the thongs on.
“Eh, the weed made me do it,” she said, eyeing Andrew on the phone, most likely with Emma.
Melanie shoved the dress inside. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And if you need anything, call someone else,” she joked, feeling suddenly vulnerable in front of the woman she’d once known better than anyone.
“Yeah,” Melanie said.
Then Melanie reached out and gave her a quick squeeze. It was the first time she’d voluntarily touched Tennyson, outside of zipping her up in the dressing room weeks ago. Tennyson closed her eyes briefly against the wave of emotion that engulfed her.
Then her old friend released her and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Tennyson with a full bottle of wine, half a bag of Tostitos, and a small sprig of hope uncurling in her heart.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Almost nine weeks later
Melanie studied the basil planted in the galvanized bucket and trie
d to remember if Hillary had said to pinch off the blooms or let it go ahead and seed. Hillary had always helped her plant the herbs in her kitchen garden every early March. Her sister had been brilliant when it came to gardening and using herbs in cooking. She always knew what a pinch of rosemary or a dash of oregano could do for a dish. Sad thing was, her sister hadn’t been able to overcome her own roadblocks to use the homegrown tomatoes for a savory red sauce or batter the eggplants for crispy chips. And now her sister was dead. And had been for eight weeks, five days, fourteen hours, and a few minutes. Not that she was keeping track.
“Mom?” Emma called from the kitchen.
Melanie shoved the trowel into the rich loam and made sure her pack of cigarettes was tucked into Jerry the frog’s butt. She wasn’t sure why she was still hiding her habit other than she didn’t want to deal with exposing it days before the wedding. Besides, she didn’t light one up often. She usually smoked maybe a single pack in three or four months. Of course, since Hillary died, she’d smoked a pack every two weeks. The only time she felt peace come was when she sat alone in the garden, taking a drag on a cigarette, pretending everything would be okay.
Of course, relying on something that gave people cancer to feel better was dangerous, ridiculous, and selfish on her part. Her sister had died because she’d refused to deal with her feelings. Hillary ate them and then vomited them up. Melanie knew she, too, was using something unhealthy as a coping mechanism. She should join Pure Barre with Emma. Or do Jazzercise or Zumba. Those activities should be her coping mechanisms, not sucking in tar, nicotine, and whatever else they used to make the addictive little devils these days.
“Out here,” she called to her daughter, spraying a little bug spray into the air.
“Hey,” Emma said from the open door. “Wow, it’s hot out here. Why are you gardening in the heat of the day?”
“I guess it’s not the best time, but I saw the blooms on this basil and couldn’t remember if Hillary told me to wait and let it seed or pinch it off and dry it. I just couldn’t remember.”
Emma gave her a soft smile. “Why don’t you leave it? We can look up how best to regrow basil on the internet. Besides, I have some things to go over with you if you have the time.”