New Uses For Old Boyfriends (23 page)

“You appreciate fashion?” Daphne sounded surprised.

Allison glanced down at her baggy shorts and scuffed boots with an apologetic smile. “I can't keep up with all the trends, but I
appreciate good craftsmanship. And there's a point where it really stops being about clothes and becomes an art form, right?”

“Yes.” Daphne looked close to tears. “Exactly. It
is
an art form. A well-made gown has beauty and structure and a distinct point of view.”

Lila gave Ben a look. “See? I told you—designers have a point of view. It's a real thing.”

He hovered near Daphne and Allison, ready to quell any further talk about the lack of sushi and sophistication.

A little bark emanated from the back room, and Lila excused herself to go check on Rudi.

“Is there a dog back there?” Allison sounded delighted.

“Yes.” Lila discovered Rudi systematically shredding the towels she'd put down for him on the tiled floor. “A very bored dog who is finding ways to entertain himself.”

“Bring him out!” Allison urged. The moment she set eyes on Rudi, she opened her arms to him. “Is he a springer spaniel?”

“I'm not sure.” Lila gave them a quick summary of Rudi's history. “I don't know how old he is, or what breed. All I know at this point is that he enjoys belly rubs and towel tug-of-war.”

“I always wanted a springer spaniel.” Allison cuddled the black-and-white dog like a baby.

Lila turned to Ben and winked. “Okay, so you'll have the wife, the kids, the Subaru, and a springer spaniel instead of the golden retriever.”

“Works for me.”

Daphne seemed disgruntled that a dog was stealing the spotlight. She turned to Lila and announced with great authority, “It's all settled. Allison and Ben are coming over to our house for dinner.”

“Tonight?” Lila asked.

Daphne nodded. “Seven o'clock. Which means I'd better leave now to start cooking.”

Lila started to laugh, then realized her mother was serious. “You're cooking?”

“Oh, sweet pea, you're so droll. Of course I'm cooking.” Daphne touched Allison's arm and confided, “I make the best scallops you'll ever taste this side of Paris.”

“Um . . .” Lila ignored these outrageous culinary lies and focused on the important matters. “I have plans tonight.”

“You do?”

“Yes.” Lila cleared her throat and willed her mother to remember their earlier conversation. “The yearbook thing?”

“Oh, we don't want to impose,” Allison said, still snuggling Rudi. “We'll find another time to get together.”

“Absolutely not,” Daphne trilled. “Lila can join us for appetizers and drinks before her big date.”

Ben gave Lila a look she couldn't quite decipher. “Who's the guy?” he asked.

Her mother, her ex-boyfriend, and her ex-boyfriend's new girlfriend all stared at her.

“Go ahead,” Daphne urged. “Tell them.”

Lila demurred for a moment, not sure if she was ready to face all the opinions and questions. Afraid of what everyone might think.

And then she realized that she didn't care what anyone else thought. She lifted her head and spoke in a loud, clear voice. “Malcolm Toth.”

“That guy from high school?” Ben looked incredulous. “The quiet guy who was on the track team?”

“I don't really know what he was like in high school,” Lila said. “I just know what he's like now.”

Ben nodded as if his darkest suspicions had been confirmed. “I always knew he had a thing for you.”

Lila grinned. “And now I have a thing for him, too.”

Allison shot a sidelong glance at Ben. “You know him?”

“See? That's another thing about small-town life,” Daphne advised Allison. “Everyone knows everyone, and no one minds their own business.”

Lila escorted her mother to the door. “You'd better get going on those scallops, Mom. We'll see you at dinner. Bye, now.”

“I'm going to get the scallops from that seafood place in Bethany,” Daphne confided in a whisper. “Don't tell.”

Allison was still giving a full-body rubdown to Rudi, who leaned against her shin and gazed up at her with pure canine adoration. “Do you want us to take this little guy for the rest of the afternoon? We could walk him on the beach, buy him some treats and some food.”

“She's a dog lover,” Ben said.

“I can see that.” Lila hesitated for reasons she couldn't quite articulate, then capitulated. “If you want to dog-sit, knock yourself out.”

“I think he likes me,” Allison announced to the room at large. “I think we have a bond.”

“Black Dog Bay's a great place to have a dog,” Lila said. “It's in the name and everything.”

“Score one for small-town life.” Ben shared a conspiratorial smile with Lila, but as he started for the door, she heard him muttering, “Malcolm Toth?”

“Hey.” She stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “What's going on with you?”

He avoided eye contact. “Nothing.”

“You're being weird,” she pointed out. “About Malcolm. Are you . . . I mean, I know how this sounds, but are you
jealous
?”

“No.” When he met her gaze, he looked confused and a bit embarrassed. “But it's still weird. I can't explain it.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” She closed the distance between them and gave him a quick, sisterly hug. “See you later.”

And just when Lila thought she'd wrapped up the busiest, strangest day in Unfinished Business's short history, a diminutive but formidable figure appeared in the doorway.

“Miss Alders.” Hattie Huntington wore sensible black pumps, a fur-trimmed gray coat, and the air of an executioner. “We meet again.”

L
ila stood motionless by the mermaid gown, too intimidated to speak or move.

“Hello? Miss Alders?” Hattie walked in with a very sure stride for such a frail-looking old lady. “You could at least pay me the courtesy of a verbal response.”

Lila forced out a little squeak of assent. “Yes, Miss Huntington.”

“The last time you were at my home, we didn't get a chance to speak properly.” Hattie's glacial blue eyes glittered. “I told you our conversation wasn't over, and I meant it.”

Lila swallowed. “Yes, well . . .”

“Don't interrupt me, young lady. I'll let you know when it's your turn to speak.” Hattie let a long pause ensue. “You seem to enjoy the thrill of the search and the thrill of the chase.”

Lila endured another moment of agonizing silence, then asked, “Am I allowed to talk now?”

“No. I've got something to hand off to you.”

Is it a lawsuit?
Lila didn't dare ask.

“My car is outside,” Hattie announced. “Hold the door.”

Lila did as she was told, propping open the glass door while
Hattie's driver hauled a massive antique steamer trunk out of the navy sedan and carried it into the boutique.

The driver gave a curt nod to Hattie, then to Lila, and hastened back to the car.

Lila had learned enough from her mother and the online forums to know that she was looking at old-world French artistry. She reached out to touch the trunk's smooth, cognac-colored leather. “Ooh, is this—”

Hattie cut her off midsentence with a snap of her fingers. “I have a task that requires your assistance.” Her lips thinned into a crimped white grimace. “It's the least you can do, considering the circumstances.”

Lila bowed her head. “Yes, Miss Huntington.”

“I'm aware that Pauline handed over half our couture collection to you and your mother.” Hattie's heels clicked against the wooden floor as she stalked closer to Lila.

“If there's, um, anything you'd like to take back, I'd be happy to—”

“I don't want anything back. Quite the contrary. I have a particular gown I'd like you to pass along to Miss Benson.”

Lila looked up, confused. “To Summer?”

“Yes. But she can never know it came from me. No one can ever know it came from me—not even Pauline. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma'am.” Lila's apprehension mounted as Hattie unlatched the trunk's brass fastenings. What sort of garment would a woman like Hattie keep secret from her own sister?

Hattie opened the trunk's lid. “Prepare yourself, Miss Alders.”

Lila tried to steel herself. “I'm prepared.”

“This is truly one of a kind.” Hattie reached into the trunk and pulled out a pile of black sequins and lavender tulle. “
This
is
how vintage style is done. It's a Bob Mackie original from the eighties. One of his more understated pieces.”

Lila's heart rate sped up as she glimpsed the exquisite beading and flawless stitching. The top of the dress was a snug, boned corset designed to hug the body, but the bottom flared out in a cascade of black and lavender tulle. “This is incredible.” She examined the shimmering black sequins covering the seam between the bodice and the skirt. “Moulin Rouge meets Rodeo Drive.” She glanced up at Hattie. “Summer will love it.”

“Of course she will.” Hattie sniffed. “I hand selected it for her.”

“Where did you get this?”

“None of your business,” the old lady snapped. “Your business is to get it to Miss Benson and to do so with discretion. Do I make myself clear?” For a moment, those hard blue eyes softened.

Lila stopped fawning over the dress and touched the older woman's hand. “But why don't you want her to know where we got it?”

Hattie snatched her hand away, regaining her customary hauteur. “As I'm sure you're aware, young lady, I have a reputation to uphold. This never happened.”

“This never happened,” Lila echoed, wondering exactly what it was about vintage clothes that elicited paranoia and vows of eternal silence.

She walked Hattie back out to the curb and tried to help the old woman get safely back into the car, which earned her a literal slap on the wrist for her efforts. “But wait. What about your trunk?”

“You may keep it. And for the record, it's Goyard.” Hattie didn't say good-bye or even spare Lila another glance. She turned to her driver and commanded, “Go.”

The driver obeyed, and the sleek sedan pulled away.

Lila, trying to process the reality of what had just happened,
watched the car round the corner. Asking herself questions that she would never be able to ask anyone else, since she'd been sworn to silence. Yet again.

Then she raced back into the boutique, locked the front door, and grabbed her phone.

“Hello, Ingrid? Hey, this is Lila Alders. I've got some great news and I wanted you to be the first to hear: I think we just found Summer's wedding dress.”

*   *   *

For once, Lila was grateful for the FUV's cavernous interior. Since she couldn't leave the Bob Mackie in the boutique—and no way would the Goyard trunk go unnoticed by her mother—she backed up her vehicle so that the liftgate was as close as possible to the store's back door, then wrestled the steamer trunk into the cargo space. It fit with plenty of room to spare. Lila was reasonably sure that the car's passenger area was eternally expanding, much like the universe itself.

Sweating and panting, she slammed the liftgate down, climbed into the driver's seat, and plugged in her phone charger. She turned on the ignition, rolled down her window, scrolled through her music options to find an appropriate victory song, and was all ready to roll out of the parking lot like one of the teenagers she'd decried at Gull's Point . . . when the engine died.

The music went off. The dashboard lights dimmed. The window refused to roll back up.

“Are you kidding me?” She yanked the key out, then tried to start the car again. The music and the lights reactivated for half a second, then faded. Somewhere deep in the bowels of the engine, she heard an ominous grinding noise.

Still in rebellious high schooler mode, she rattled off a string of obscenities, then jumped down onto the pavement and kicked
the nearest tire. The FUV just stood there, steely and sturdy and completely shut down.

She gave up, collected her handbag and cell phone from the console, locked the doors, and left the vehicle by Unfinished Business's back door.

“Tomorrow,” she promised as she walked down the alley toward Main Street. “Rematch at eight a.m.”

She could feel the first traces of summer in the late afternoon. The chill wind had given way to a gentle breeze, and the slowly setting sun cast all the shops and passersby in a warm golden glow. Lila knew that she could venture into any of the nearby businesses—the Whinery, the historical society, the bookstore, the bank—and find someone she knew who would be happy to give her a ride home, but she decided to walk. She strolled by the white gazebo and the bronze statue in the town square, down to the boardwalk. The last few weeks had been so jam-packed with struggles and worry and unexpected revelations that it felt luxurious to have some time alone to just enjoy the moment. To bask in the sunshine. To text the delectable marine.

She sat down on one of the weathered white benches overlooking the shoreline and wrote:
Command performance at dinner tonight, but I'm making a run for it before dessert. Meet you at the rendezvous point at 2000 hours.

A few minutes later, he replied:
Let me know if you need a diversion.

She laughed and put away her phone and gazed out at the horizon, wondering how she ever could have been so blind. Even at fifteen, caught up in a whirl of popularity and pretension, how could she have been immune to this immediate resonance, this rare connection?

How could she have
forgotten
this man existed?

She didn't know what would happen after tonight, but she
understood with absolute certainty that she would never be able to forget him again. Not just because of who he was or what he'd done, but because of how they were together. Deeply flawed, yet somehow perfect.

*   *   *

When Lila got home, she found her mother subjecting Ben and Allison to a guided tour of the foyer.

“This house is amazing,” Allison gushed. Her magenta tank top had amassed a sprinkling of black-and-white dog hair. “It feels so grand, but still warm and welcoming.”

“Thank you.” Daphne stopped to point out a vase she'd bought in Italy.

“Who was your decorator?” Allison reached over and took Ben's hand. “Just in case I ever happen to need one in town?”

“Oh, I did everything myself.” Daphne didn't even attempt to sound modest. “Picked out every light fixture and curtain panel. All the rugs, all the furniture, all the artwork.”

“You've really got an eye for style.”

“That's what they tell me.” Daphne swept into the living room. “Now, this sofa has a fascinating history. Bill and I were visiting historic homes in the Berkshires—”

“I'm home.” Lila interrupted the monologue to kiss her mom's cheek and admire the freshly cut lilacs on the coffee table. “Ooh, those are beautiful.”

“Ingrid stopped by with them earlier to say thank you for giving her some sort of pageant dress?” Daphne smiled quizzically at her daughter.

Lila recounted the tale of Shannon, Mia, and the upcoming pageant boot camp. “It was very serendipitous, and they all seem excited to be working together.”

“I've got to go check on dinner,” Daphne announced. “Sweet pea, you're the hostess while I'm gone.”

“Yes, ma'am.” She turned to Allison and Ben. “Vodka shots?”

“Lila! Behave yourself. Oh, and if the doorbell rings, it's probably Marla from the bed-and-breakfast. She called earlier and asked if she could borrow my crystal punch bowl. I put it on the side table in the dining room.”

“Got it.”

While Daphne disappeared into the kitchen to finish “cooking” the scallops, Lila sat down with Ben and Allison and reextended her offer of hard liquor.

“I'd take it,” she advised. “Once you get my mom started on decorating details, you're in for a long night.”

“No, no, I asked because I'm genuinely interested.” Allison adjusted one of her tiny silver hoop earrings. “I don't have an innate sense of style, but I really appreciate people who do.”

Ben glanced toward the doorway to the kitchen, then cleared his throat and leaned toward Lila. “Listen, now that it's just the three of us, there's something we need to ask you.”

Lila struggled to keep her mind and expression totally blank.

Allison shifted in her seat. “I know you just met me and this is way overstepping my boundaries, but . . .”

She broke off and turned to Ben, who finished the sentence for her.

“It's Rudi.”

Lila exhaled and sank back into the throw pillows. “What about him?”

“I love him.” Allison proclaimed this with the conviction of a high schooler in the throes of her first crush. “And he loves me.”

“It's true,” Ben said. “You should have seen them on the beach together.”

“And I was hoping, if you hadn't gotten too attached to him yet, that you might consider letting me keep him.” Allison bit her lip and held her breath.

Ben hastened to sweeten the deal before Lila could give an answer. “If she moves here, you can still see him.”

“That's right.” Allison crossed her legs and jiggled her hiking boot. “
If
I move here.”

Lila glanced around the room. “Where is Rudi, anyway?”

“At my place,” Ben said. “In the crate we bought him this afternoon. Along with the dog bed and the little squeaky toy in the shape of a lobster.”

“So you've basically kidnapped him already.” Lila tried to look stern. “This whole ‘asking permission' is merely a formality.”

“You can come visit him any time you want,” Allison offered. “We'll take such good care of him. Ben's already set up a checkup at the vet for Monday.”

“You set up a checkup for my dog without even checking with me?” Lila shook her head at Ben. “You don't waste any time, do you?”

“We didn't mean for this to happen,” Allison cried. “We just started playing fetch, and one thing led to another and now . . .”

Lila decided it was time to put them out of their misery. “You can keep him. I'm sure you and Ben and Rudi and the lobster squeaky toy will be very happy together.”

“We already are!” Allison engulfed Lila in a surprisingly strong, lavender-scented hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“You're welcome.” Lila smoothed her hair. “Now, if I can't sell you on vodka, who wants wine?”