Gone With a Handsomer Man (17 page)

“I’m back at the Spencer-Jackson. Coop was wondering if you could put it in writing that I’m house-sitting your antiques and I have your permission to stay.”

“My pleasure.” She walked over to her French desk and pulled a sheet of pink paper from a drawer. “After all, that house is part of the Jackson estate, and I
am
a Jackson.”

“Detectives are watching me,” I said. “They followed me here. And my phone is bugged.”

“The police are fools. I’m not scared of them one bit.” She scribbled a note, signed her name with a flourish, and stuffed the page into a pink polka-dot envelope. She added a thick stack of money and pressed the envelope into my hand.

“Oh, no, ma’am.” I pushed the envelope back. “You’ve already been way too generous.”

“Take it. You’re broke.” She spread her arms. “Broke, broke,
broke
!”

“That’s what Renée Zellweger said in
Jerry Maguire
.”

“And she was right, wasn’t she? Old Jerry Maguire was broke. So are you. Take the money, darlin’. It’s not that much, just a few hundred. Bake me a key lime pie, and we’ll call it even.”

“I’ll be happy to bake you a pie, but I won’t take your money.”

“Yes, you will.” She fit the envelope inside my blouse.

“Miss Dora, why are you so good to me?”

“Well, first of all, I feel terrible that I didn’t warn you about Bing. That boy never treated you right. Second, you are Gloria made over. I always took care of Sister, and I want to take care of you, too.” She patted my cheek. “So just let me do my thing. I know you’re proud and want to pay your own way. But I can help there, too. I’ll make a few job inquiries. I know you’re worried about your phone having a bug, but if I hear anything, is it okay to call?”

“If it’s about a job, sure.”

She stood. “Where you off to?”

“I’m fetching Sir. He’s at the pound.”

“Give him a big old hug from me.”

*   *   *

Coop spent the day with me. First, we picked up Sir, who smelled like pine needles. Then Coop invited me to his house for dinner. We headed over to Isle of Palms, losing the Camry in the bridge traffic. We stopped at the Red & White Grocery to buy steaks and dog food, taking care to leave the windows cracked.

The store was crowded with weekend shoppers, most of them wearing sunglasses and flip-flops. Coop pushed the cart over to the meat counter. “Why don’t you let me cook supper tonight?” he asked.

“You cook?” I smiled.

“I get by.” He leaned over the case and shuffled through packages. “You like T-bone or New York strip?”

“Both.”

“Maybe you can share your cooking secrets?” He grinned and looked past me. His eyes rounded, and the smile morphed into a frown. I turned and saw a woman with long, glossy brown hair that fell past her shoulders, straight except for a slight curl at the ends. She was tall and thin, with curves in the right places.

“Hello, Cooper,” she said in a British accent. She angled her cart next to his. She wore beige slacks and a crisp white blouse that showed a hint of cleavage. “Having a cookout, are we?”

When he didn’t answer, she lowered her sunglasses, showing bluish green eyes.

“Yeah,” he finally said.

“You always were gifted with charcoal,” she said. She reached past him, into the meat case, and grabbed a filet mignon. “You shaved your beard. I rather like it.”

Coop tossed two steaks into our cart. Without looking up, he said, “When did you get back?”

A loaded question, to be sure. I tried my best to analyze it. It could mean,
I thought you were visiting your sick mother in Greenland
. But I hoped it meant,
What part of I never want to see you again did you not understand
?

“Not too terribly long ago,” she said. “I’m staying on Sullivan’s Island.”

I was praying she’d add,
with my cute lover
.

“Staying long?” Coop asked.

Her eyes cut to me, then to Coop. “Indefinitely,” she said.

He looked down into our cart. I looked, too. Food defines people just as clearly as their taste in clothing and their interior design. Miss Dora and I had discussed this a lot. Our cart overflowed with carby things: garlic French bread, potatoes, fresh corn, and a bakery sour cream cake that I planned to turn into a trifle. To our credit, we had a box of strawberries for the aforementioned trifle.

Quick as a flash, I looked into the British woman’s cart. Two lemons. Bottled water—not in plastic containers but in dark green, foreign-looking bottles. A bag of lettuce, and not just any lettuce but a Euro blend with bitter endive. I swallowed around the lump in my throat. Damn this woman and her bitter greens.

She extended her hand. “I’m Ava.”

“Teeny.” I shook her hand, but it took all my strength not to give her the stink eye.

Her eyes swept from my hair to my feet and back up. With that one look, I could tell that she’d eliminated me as competition. Please let her be his long-lost sister. It didn’t seem likely that he had any relatives in England, or I would’ve heard about it. Although, back in Bonaventure, the O’Malleys had celebrated their Irishness with huge St. Patrick’s Day parties.

Coop’s silence told me all I needed to know. Please let her be a bitch. A man-eating, out-for-herself, doesn’t-wear-panties bitch. She wore a ring, but not on the married hand. It wasn’t a diamond, but a twisty gold ring with pearls, something an evil fairy godmother would use to gouge people’s eyes out.

“Are you still enjoying the beach?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said.

I tried to control my face, but from the way Ava was staring, I knew I’d failed. This was my cue to gather up my dignity and leave, tossing out a comment like, I’m out of here, the stakes are too high.

All the bits and pieces of my personality began to talk at once. My logical self said,
Fight or flight, what’s it gonna be, Teens
? Thanks to my criminal record, and my undecided punishment over trespassing, fight wasn’t an option. Nor was flight.

Ava looked away from me and smiled at Coop. He stared back, and I could have sworn that the store’s overhead lights dimmed.

“We’re in a rush,” Coop said. “Take care.”

He steered the cart away from the meat counter, down the baking aisle. I shot her a final glance, but she wasn’t looking at me. Her eyes were latched onto Coop. I strode ahead and started piling items into the cart. Flour, sugar, vanilla, baking chocolate, confectioners’ sugar.

“I guess you’re wondering who she is,” he said, eyeing me warily.

“Not really,” I said and tossed in a Betty Crocker cake decorating kit. I turned. Ava was still staring. I grabbed a brownie mix and a bag of chocolate chips. I felt an urgent need to make triple-layer brownies, just the thing for sour thoughts and a worried mind.

Coop leaned forward and rested his arms on the cart, watching me toss in items. “What’re you fixing to cook?”

“Sweetness,” I said. “Lots and lots of sweetness. But I need cream cheese.”

“I’ll get it,” he said. Before I could protest, he walked to the end of the aisle, where Ava was still standing. He took a sharp left toward the dairy department. I fought the urge to scurry after him. A homegrown girl like myself couldn’t defend him against a goddess.

He caught up with me at the checkout. I was flipping through a fashion magazine, scanning articles: “Lose the Belly Fat!” “Do Cellulite Creams Work?”

“I can explain,” he said.

“Not here.” I tucked the magazine into the rack and loaded our items onto the conveyer belt with excruciating slowness. Ava glided into the next lane. With her few items, she checked out in a heartbeat and didn’t look at us as she started toward the exit. A hush swept through the grocery as she carried her plastic bag, the two lemons hanging low in the bottom like she was carrying a man’s balls. The electronic doors parted, and she floated through.

I was on fire with curiosity, but I tried to act nonchalant as we piled our bags into a cart and hurried out of the store. My poor dog was standing in the window, ears perked forward, watching for me. Two rows over, I saw Ava sitting on a motorcycle, tucking her hair into a helmet. Her puny shopping bag was nowhere to be seen. I bet if I stripped her down, I’d find all kinds of tattoos—
I Ching
symbols, hieroglyphics, or naked Mayan figures. Maybe she even had a heart on her ass with
COOP
written in the center.

She revved the engine. The motorcycle blasted across the lot.

Coop and I climbed into the truck, and Sir began to squeak with delight. My plan was to act calm, no questions, just let him talk. Instead, I blurted, “Take me home. I’m not feeling good.”

He turned toward his house.

“Coop.”

“Just hear me out,” he said.

Lord, this sounded serious.
Hear me out
was what men on death row said before the lethal injection. I hugged Sir. Part of me wanted to listen, but another part craved silence. One thing was certain: I didn’t want to be trapped at his house after he admitted his relationship with this she-wolf.

I wanted her to be a one-night stand, not someone he’d loved.

But what had she meant about him being good with charcoal? No, she’d said
gifted
in a way that hadn’t meant food.

A pensive look crossed Coop’s face as he pulled into his driveway. He shut off the engine and stared out the windshield, rubbing the top of his head. Through the windshield, the sea oats moved back and forth.

“Just spit it out,” I said.

“Ava is my wife,” he said.

twenty-three

I grabbed my dog, climbed out of the truck, and started toward the house. Fine, I’d just call a taxi. I wasn’t mad; I was scared. History was repeating. Only Coop wasn’t going back to his old girlfriend, he was being reined in by his beautiful wife.

Behind me, I heard his door slam. The wind was picking up and the sea oats ticked. Dark, bruised clouds piled over the water.

“Teeny, wait. It’s not like you think. We’re separated.”

I stopped walking and turned. “For how long, O’Malley?”

“Almost a year.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? And please don’t say ‘I was going to.’”

“But I
was
going to.”

“Sir’s getting hot,” I said. “He can’t breathe in this heat.”

“Hold on, I better put T-Bone on the screened porch,” he said, unlocking the door. “He likes other dogs, but he’s mighty big, and you just never know.”

He went to find T-Bone. I carried Sir into the hall. For a teenaged bulldog, he was a tad on the heavy side, almost sixty pounds, and I was breathless when I reached the kitchen. I set him on the floor and started looking in cabinets for a bowl. I could hear Coop talking to T-Bone, telling him to be gentle with Sir. Then he put the enormous beast on the porch with a large chew bone and shut the door.

When Coop stepped into the kitchen, I was still looking for a bowl. I’d never seen so many cabinets in a kitchen. Not even the Spencer-Jackson House had this many.

“What you need, babe?” Coop asked.

“A dog bowl.” I pulled off my shoes and set them on the floor. He opened a bottom cabinet, grabbed a metal dish, and filled it with water. He set it on the floor next to my shoes. Sir began to drink greedily.

Coop leaned against the counter. “The marriage is over, Teeny. I wasn’t hiding anything.”

“Why does it feel that way?” I asked.

“I’m sorry.”

“I thought you were all about the truth. Is there anything else you’ve forgotten to tell?”

“No.”

“But you were surprised to see her.”

“She’s been on a dig in Sudan.” He paused. “It’s a dangerous region.”

So he cared. “A dig?” I asked.

“She’s an archeologist. We met in England. She was a protester when ground was broken for terminal five at Heathrow Airport.”

“What was she protesting?”

“It’s an important archeological site. I was on her defense team.”

“It took a whole team?”

“She wasn’t the only protester.” He folded his arms. “She has nothing to do with us, Teeny.”

“I need air,” I said and walked to the living room. I opened the French door, stepped across the deck, and ran down the steps. The walkway was so hot, it burned my feet as I raced to the shoreline. I crossed my arms and gripped my elbows, concentrating on the exact point where the sky and water blurred together.

“Teeny!” Coop yelled.

I turned. He sprinted toward me, kicking up sand. My thoughts moved in circles. He’d dropped Barb and took up with me. Then he’d dumped me for Barb. She got left behind and years later, he hooked up with Ava. Had he left her, too?

His hand closed on my arm. “A storm is coming,” he said. “Let’s get inside.”

“You go.” I pulled away.

“I’m not leaving.” His hand moved again toward my elbow, and I stepped back. Lightning zigzagged across the sky, dividing it in half. Then it began to rain. Fat stinging drops hit my arms and shoulders and gouged the sand all around us. My sundress felt cold against my bare skin, but I couldn’t move. I bowed my head, and my hair swung forward.

“Teeny, come on.”

The rain fell at a slant, sweeping across the beach. The waves rounded, tipped with foam, and exploded against the sand. A tall wave slammed into my hips, pushing me against him. Coop grabbed my shoulder, and I jerked back. My teeth clicked, not from the sudden cold but because I was going to cry. I bet Ava never cried.

“I’m not in love with her,” he said.

“Then you should’ve told me about her.”

“I was going to. But I didn’t want to ruin things.” Water dripped off his chin. He was so drenched, I could see his skin through his shirt. He grabbed my hand and pulled me against him.

“I’m falling for you all over again, Teeny.”

I wanted to believe him but couldn’t. I didn’t want to spend the next decade mooning after him. I squirmed away. “Your groceries are melting,” I said and walked back to the house. As I approached the kitchen, Sir skidded around the corner, jowls flapping, and slid to a stop. Poor little fatherless bulldog. Bing had loved him truly. The dog stood on his hind legs and licked my hands—right hand, left hand, back to the right.