Dear Cupid (37 page)

Maddy laughed. “Amy and I would have been taking bets on which one of you would commit murder first. Perfect Jane the Neatnik or Pristine Christine who is secretly a slob?”

“No,
you
would have been taking bets,” Christine corrected. “Amy’s too sweet to profit from a friend’s demise.”

“True.” Maddy gave Amy a one-armed hug. “Mother Amy would have been wringing her hands and begging you children to behave.”

“Actually Jane was a lot of fun.” Amy frowned at them. “And for the record, I always hated my nickname.”

“Yeah, me too.” Christine gave Maddy one of her aloof looks. “So watch the name-calling, Gypsy Girl.”

“Hey, if the nickname fits ...” Maddy twisted her hips to make the tiny bells along the hem of her skirt jingle. Colorful beads and shiny charms adorned each wrist and a scarf circled her head from nape to crown, holding back a bonfire of red hair.

Four roommates couldn’t have been more different, or fit their nicknames better. Amy Baker was an intriguing blend of wisdom and whimsy with a need to nurture. Men, unfortunately, never seemed to look past her plumpness and notice her sensual side. Of course, the fact that Amy wore glasses that obscured her big green eyes, dressed in baggy jumpers that made her look frumpy, and kept her glorious, waist-length brown hair confined in a tight braid didn’t help.

And then there was Jane. Glancing back at the signing table, Maddy realized the petite brunette hadn’t changed much in the ten years since graduation. She was still immaculately put together and still glowed with an inner light of intelligence and determination. She sat behind the table piled with her books, wearing a stylish purple suit, her shoulder-length bob swinging slightly as she laughed. Her brown eyes smiled up at one of her fans, who stood with a book clutched to her chest, gushing with praise.

Envy snuck up and gave Maddy a painful bite. “God,” she sighed. “Jane really did make it, just like she always wanted. But it’s not just the fame and fortune. She looks so dang confident!”

“And she’s still so beautiful,” Amy added with genuine admiration in her voice.

“She looks happy,” Christine said with no inflection. “Really happy. Can I kill her?”

“Christine!” Amy gasped. “What a thing to say.”

“Aw, c’mon, Mom, can I?” Christine clasped her hands together. “Please, please, please?”

Amy laughed in spite of herself. “You are so bad.”

“Which is why we love her,” Maddy insisted, since a part of her felt the same way. She was thrilled for Jane’s success, but it made her feel like a failure for never achieving her own dream of becoming a professional artist. She’d met and married Nigel, a sweet but admittedly geeky accountant, right out of college. Nigel had loved her art, believed in her wholeheartedly, and insisted she stay home and pursue her art career full time.

Unfortunately, two years into the marriage, he’d been diagnosed with cancer and she’d spent the next six years taking care of him while helping him keep his accounting firm open. If not for the moral support of Christine and Amy, she wasn’t sure how she would have made it through those years.

Jane had long since moved to New York, and they’d rarely heard from her. Although they’d certainly heard a lot about her lately, with her marriage to a sports announcer, her “lake house” in Austin on the cover of
Homes and Living
, and now her best-selling self-help book.

When Maddy compared her own lack of accomplishments to all that, she couldn’t help but feel inadequate.

“Next!” called the tall, skinny kid behind the counter and Maddy realized she’d reached the front of the line.

“Oh.” She looked up at the coffee menu hanging overhead. “Hold on. Give me a second.”

“Come on, Mad, you can do this,” Christine whispered encouragingly. “Make a decision.”

“The pressure, the pressure.” She touched her fingertips to her brow, like a fortune-teller communing with the other world. “Okay, I got it. I’ll have a Mocha Madness. With extra whipped cream. And caramel swirled on top, please.”

The kid called out the order to the harried woman manning the industrial-size machine.

After Maddy had paid, Christine stepped up without even looking at the board. “Coffee. The gargantuan size. No fluff and stuff. Just give me caffeine and an IV tube.”

Maddy frowned at her. “I thought you were going to cut back on caffeine.”

“Damn! You would remember that.” Christine made a face. “Okay, make that decaf.”

The kid relayed the change in her order and started to ring it up.

“No, wait.” Christine reached out and grabbed his arm, desperation lighting her eyes. “Make that decaf with a depth charge of espresso.” She made a face at Maddy. “I’ll cut back more seriously when my residency is over.”

Obviously used to dealing with coffee addicts, the kid rang it up without batting an eye.

Amy came next, chewing her lip and eyeing the pastries. The light from the case shone off her glasses. “I’ll have a sugar-free vanilla cappuccino.”

“Did you want a pastry?” the kid asked.

She hesitated, but held firm. “No. Just the cappuccino. Skinny, please.”

Maddy started to tell Amy to go for a pastry, but reminded herself not to sabotage her friend’s diet. Personally, she thought Amy looked just fine and should stop starving herself. Sexy came in many shapes and sizes. Maddy was no Skinny Minnie, but she’d learned to celebrate, rather than hide, her abundant curves. Nigel had certainly enjoyed them in the early days, before he’d become too weak to enjoy much of anything in life.

“So,” Christine said after they picked up their orders, “shall we grab a table and look at this book?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Maddy headed for an empty table near a colorful display of coffee mugs and gift items. “I’m dying to know the ten steps to outrageous happiness.”

“Me too.” Christine opened her copy of the book as soon as they were seated. “After the last few years of all work and no play, I could use some happiness, outrageous or otherwise.”

“But you’re making it.” Amy smiled at her. “A few more months and you’ll be a doctor. Surely that makes you happy.”

“If I live that long,” Christine said as she read the contents page. “Let’s see. Step one,
Know What You Want.”

“That’s easy.” Maddy sipped her sweet coffee, then licked whipped cream from her lip. “A winning lottery ticket that makes all the bills go away forever.”

Christine frowned at her. “I thought you were doing okay financially, what with the life insurance and selling the accounting firm.”

“I am, but you know I hate balancing a checkbook, or anything else related to numbers. Plus, I wouldn’t mind having some money to travel.”

Christine squeezed her forearm. “I think traveling would be a good idea. It doesn’t have to be an expensive trip, just something that would get you out of that empty house.”

“You’re probably right.” Maddy thought about the letter lurking in the bottom of her purse. The job it described would certainly get her out of the house.
Waaay
out of the house. If she had the guts to apply for it. “What’s step two?”

Christine looked down. “Oh, this sounds cheery.
Face Your Inner Fear
.”

Maddy snorted. “Well, hey, I’ve got that step down at least, since I’ve just gone through years of facing fear on a daily basis.”

“True. Let’s see what she has to say on the subject.” Christine flipped forward to that chapter. The minute she started skimming the page, her eyes widened. “The bitch!”

“What?” Maddy straightened in surprise.

“She used us in her book.”

“You’re kidding! She mentioned us by name?” Maddy craned her neck to read the page.

“No, but still, she says, ‘I had three friends in college who are excellent examples of how women frequently let fear hold them back from pursuing their dreams.’”

“Does she go into detail?” Amy chewed her thumbnail.

Christine ran her finger down the page. “Let’s see, ‘I had an artist friend’—gee, I wonder who that could be—‘who let her fear of rejection stop her from going after an art career with any real dedication or enthusiasm.’”

“That’s ridiculous!” Maddy set her coffee down with a thud. “I didn’t pursue an art career because I had a dying husband to care for.” Even as she said the words, she knew they didn’t explain why she wasn’t pursuing an art career now. “What else does she say?”

“Oh, get this.” Christine read further. “Apparently my fear is that of parental disapproval. ‘My med-student friend spent so much time trying to win her father’s approval, she frequently sacrificed her own happiness.’ ” Christine looked up, her blue eyes blazing. “How dare she print her interpretation of things I told her in confidence? Besides, what is wrong with me trying to please my father? Yes, it’s hard to live up to his standards and I’ve complained a time or two, but he’s a great man, a leader in the medical community, and a brilliant surgeon. Just because Jane’s mother was an alcoholic and her father skipped out what right does she have to criticize me? In print!”

“At least she didn’t use your name,” Maddy said.

“She might as well have! Anyone who knows me knows I roomed with her at UT. What if my dad reads this?”

“A self-help book for women?” Maddy raised a skeptical brow.

“Well, someone else could read it and show it to him.”

“What does she say about me?” Amy asked in a small voice.

Christine resumed reading. “Apparently your fear is that of taking a risk. According to Miss Perfect, ‘My other friend was so afraid of trying anything new and failing, she’d rather stay in her safe routine than take a risk that might bring her a more satisfying life.’”

“That’s such bull!” Maddy contemplated marching over to the autographing table and giving Jane a piece of her mind.

“Actually, it’s true,” Amy said quietly.

“But you own your own business,” Maddy argued. “That took risk.”

“Not much.” Amy sighed. “Traveling Nannies is a franchise, so it was fairly safe. And since I’m the owner, no one can fire me. It’s about as low risk as you can get.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean you’re an unhappy coward,” Christine insisted.

“I guess not.” Amy dropped her gaze to the table.

“Amy?” Maddy ducked her head to see her friend’s face. “You are happy, aren’t you?”

“Mostly.”

“But ...?” Christine made a beckoning gesture with one hand. “I definitely hear a but in there.”

Amy hesitated. “I just wish, sometimes, that I was one of the nannies I place with the rich and famous who are traveling on vacation. They go to some really exciting places, stay at fabulous hotels, eat at fancy restaurants, and meet interesting people. I’ve never been outside of the Austin area.”

“Is that really so bad?” Maddy asked. “Considering you have no sense of direction—as in absolutely zip—it’s only natural that strange places terrify you. But it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“It is if I let it rule my life.” Amy raised her chin, determination on every round curve of her face. “Look at Christine. She’s afraid of heights, but every Christmas back in college she went to Colorado with her family and got on a lift so she could ski.”

“Actually ...” Christine looked back and forth between them. “I didn’t.”

“What do you mean, you didn’t?” Maddy frowned at her. “You brought back pictures of those ski trips, so we know you went.”

“Okay, truth.” She sat forward. “When I was growing up, I was so determined to outdo my brother at something, I forced myself to ride the chairlift even though I nearly fainted every time. As soon as I started college, though, I figured out some inventive ways to spend those family vacations in the ski lodge. Hence pictures, but no actual skiing.”

“Inventive ways like what?” Amy leaned forward, clearly intrigued.

“A couple of years I faked altitude sickness. The problem there was I did such a good job, Dad wanted to check me into the hospital. So the next year I showed up at the airport wearing one of those big black boots, claiming I had a stress fracture. But Dad kept wanting to examine my foot. After that, I just insisted I was too busy and didn’t even go.”

“You’re kidding.” Amy looked as stunned as Maddy felt. “But I thought you liked to ski.”

“I do!” Christine exhaled in a burst of self-disgust. “It’s getting to the top of the mountain that I don’t like. Although, in my defense, those lifts are nothing more than a bench dangling about a mile off the ground, and they take approximately three years to get from the bottom to the top. The real bitch, though, is I’m a good skier. Damned good. I think I really could best Robby in that one thing if I weren’t afraid of the dang chairlift.”

“Wow.” Maddy stared at her. “I had no idea your phobia was that bad.”

“Well, now you know.” With a touch of drama, Christine dropped her head onto her arm on the table. “I’m a total wimp.”

“No, you’re not.” Maddy laughed. “Look at all you’ve accomplished. You save lives, for heaven’s sake. Who cares if you’re afraid of heights?”

“I care.” Christine lifted her head. “Amy’s right. It’s okay to be afraid, but it’s not okay to let fear keep you from something you want to do.”