Plus None 2 (10 page)

The drive is nearly a quarter of a mile long. Once I’m on the main road, I relax. I’ve escaped both the valets as well as any opportunity for Alex to corner and confuse me again.

 I was right to walk out on him the morning after Paige’s birthday party. For all his pretty words and dimpled smiles, Alex is unable to offer me more than a few stolen nights. Even if he wanted more, his father and Cadence seem hell bent on pulling him back. My family and my bakery need me. I can’t afford to be pulled down with him.

Chapter Seven

Forty-One Days Until Wayne Catches the Bouquet

When I want to celebrate my adulthood and congratulate myself on making positive life choices, I buy the pear and walnut salad from the Eatin’ Alley. It’s tangy, healthy, and just a little bit sophisticated.

 When I want to eat my feelings and wallow in a state of pity-fueled laziness, I generally go for chocolate soufflé.

I’m on my third.

In forty-five minutes.

The sky is blue, there’s a light breeze in the air, and everyone from Pastor Elkins to Cousin Willy, nose newly set, has dropped by the bakery to pick up a sweet treat on their way to work. I should be enjoying the hustle and bustle of a busy Monday, not eating my weight in chocolate lava. A clot of it lands with a warm plop on the top of my right breast. I use my finger to scoop it into my mouth. I should probably throw a fresh apron over my top and jeans. The one from this morning’s prep is tossed in with the dirty laundry, but walking upstairs to grab another seems unnecessary. Especially given that I can use my shirt as a bib.

The door rattles and Brook bounces in merrily wearing one of her customary mini-dresses. Her coral lipstick matches her shoes perfectly. Coordinating makeup to accessories is her divine gift. “Hey you, looky what I got.”

I stash my nearly finished soufflé beneath the counter and lick the corner of my lips. She waves a creamy, textured envelope in front of my face. Swirly navy-blue ink has been meticulously drawn across its front in handwritten calligraphy. Paige’s wedding invitation.

I put away the chocolate too soon.

Brook tears at the luxurious stationary, using a burgundy nail like a letter opener. She pulls out two additional envelopes and a few pieces of stiff, pearl-colored paper. All are held together with an embossed rose-colored band.

“It’s just more envelopes,” she says, her brow knitted.

“No, look.” I point to the elegant address printed across the larger of the two interior envelopes. “This is the real invitation. That one was just for mailing.”

Brook, confused but always impressed by anything fancy, removes the delicate band from the bundle and pulls out a piece of thick cotton paper. I catch a glimpse of the lettering. It’s gold and deeply set into the page.

She clears her throat and reads. “Doctor and Misses Kenneth Chamberlain the Second.” She pauses, confused. “Doctor? I thought he was the son of an oil tycoon?”

I pull the smaller RSVP envelope toward me. “He is but he’s also a foot doctor.”

“He’s a pedophilist?”

I bite my tongue and try not to smile. “I think you mean, podiatrist.”

“You know what I mean. Why’s he a feet doctor anyway? He’s already rich!”

“I don’t know. I guess he had other aspirations.” I run my finger lightly across the typeset letters.

“Huh?” Brook snaps the paper before her, perturbed. “Sorta sounds like he’s showin’ off to me. I mean, it’s not enough he’s got a number
after
his name, he’s got to have Doctor
in front
of it too?”

I can’t hide the smile this time. For all of Brook’s cubic zirconia jewelry and pleather jackets, she just doesn’t have it in her to be one of the upper class. She’s a country girl, through and through. The lives and motivation of the rich and famous puzzle her like a redneck Rubik’s Cube.

She continues reading. “
Doctor
and Misses Kenneth Chamberlain the Second request the pleasure of your company at the marriage of Paige Jolene Davies to their son, Kenneth Michael Chamberlain the Third, Saturday, the twenty-sixth of October, two thousand and thirteen, at three o’clock, at their home…blah, blah, blah.” Brook tosses the invitation onto the bakery’s counter and picks up the reception announcement.

I pull the gilded invite toward me and do my best to ignore the cloud of depression that settles over me when I think of my baby sister’s wedding. It’s not that I’m afraid of dying a spinster in the armpit of Texas, or that my arch nemesis will be standing next to Paige at the alter instead of me. It’s the cold, brutal hand of reality that keeps bitch-slapping me whenever I get close to a real relationship.

“Alright, let’s have it.” Brook leans across the counter and snatches the invite from me.

 “You’ve got a face on you like a kid returned to the orphanage. So what is it? You upset Paige is getting married first?”

I shake my head. “No, of course not. I couldn’t be happier for her. You know that.”

“Than what is it? You worried about going plus none?”

“Huh?”

“Plus none.” She gives me a wry look. “You’ve got no date for the big weddin’.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess.” I lean against the counter, fitting my chin in the palm of my hand.

“Listen, sugar, you are a gorgeous, smart, business woman. Any man’d be proud to have you for a date. Hey.” She grabs my wrist. “What about Luke?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve been turning down Luke’s date invitations for the better part of a decade. I can’t ask him to go with me to the wedding.”

“Why not? He’s a good catch, a hard worker. Tall, blonde, and handsome. And those biceps.” Brook shivers beside me. Her eyes roll back momentarily. “
Whoo
. Ask him.” She shakes my arm and makes my head wobble.

“I told you, I’m not asking Luke. Besides, can you imagine Luke at a rich wedding like that? He’d probably show up in a camouflage tuxedo.”

“You’re joking, but I’m pretty sure Barry’s got one of them.” Brook releases me and runs her hands down the skin-tight mini dress. “What about that tall drink of water in here the other week?”

The mere mention of Alex sets the storm clouds rolling over my head.

Who am I kidding? It’s not a cloud. It’s a friggin’ tsunami.

When we agreed to keep ‘us’ a secret, it meant we couldn’t show up at the wedding together. That disappointment would’ve been made easier by a quickie in the guest bathroom, but now…  I move away from the counter and my inquisitive aunt. “He’s just an old acquaintance.”

“Honey, if that’s the way you greet old acquaintances, you might want to skip your high-school reunion.”

I open my mouth to lie about my relationship with Alex but, well, I’ve never been very good at telling tales and Brook’s pretty much a master at recognizing them. She stops me with a knowing look.

The bell above the door rings and for the briefest of moments, I’m relieved. Then I see its Amber, coming to rob me of strawberry scones. She’s sporting her signature black Dock Martin boots, black tights, black shorts, and a black top with long sleeves and the words ‘Hell Raiser’ printed across the front in red ink. (At least I hope its ink.) Her black hair’s been pulled off her pale, delicate face, which is really quite lovely. The black eyeliner heavily applied to both brown eyes is excessive but her lips are uncommonly bare.

Brook says, “Well don’t you look pretty today.”

Amber throws her spiky purse on a table and sits, looking annoyed. “What?”

“It’s a compliment, oh Dark One. It’s nice to see your mouth without all that dark lipstick painted across it.” Then under her breath, “Makes you look like you ate a damn crow.”

“Just the heart of one.” Amber winks.

I pull a scone from the display case and set it in front of Amber. She smiles angelically at me. I shrug. “Yeah well, if you can’t beat ‘em…”

Amber snatches the strawberry cake and takes a large bite, clearly ravenous. Brook totters to the table and claims the seat across from her. “What’s got you so chipper today?”

Amber swallows thickly and gestures toward the coffee pot. “I like it with four sugars.”

“You can’t be serious,” I say.

“Think of it as payment.”

I bend over, place both hands on my knees and look suspiciously into her coal-rimmed eyes. Her pupils are small and reactive. She’s definitely not high. “How is me giving you free scones and coffee payment?”

She pulls the studded strap of her leather bag toward her and roots inside, producing a glass orb.

“I’m not trading food for a paperweight.” I take a step back and cross my arms. Amber in possession of a blunt object always requires caution.

“It’s not a paperweight, genius, it’s a crystal ball. Mommy Dearest has been hanging around me all morning. She’s got a message for you.”

My heart does that twisty-turny thing it always does when someone casually mentions Mama. I don’t know which is worse; that my mother’s seemingly trapped in Harlow Country for all eternity, or that she’s chosen Amber as her vessel to communicate with me.

 I turn to Brook for support but she nods seriously in Amber’s direction.

“What?” I ask. “You don’t really believe in this nonsense, do you?”

“Listen, I’m a God-fearing Christian woman, but I’ve employed Amber for some time now at the Bath Shop, and I’m tellin’ you, she can cast a spell on a toothless grandmother that’ll have her attracting men like a fish to a fly. I’ve seen it a hundred times.”

“Maybe it’s your bath products.” I eye the crystal ball uncomfortably.

Brook rises and walks over to the coffee pot, pouring a cup for Amber. “Honey, if that were true--” She sets a steaming mug in front of our resident clairvoyant. “--I wouldn’t be on my third read through of
Fifty Shades of Grey.”

Amber blows on her cup, waiting patiently. I’ll admit, last time she passed on a message from the other side, she was pretty spot-on. I sit cautiously as she balances the glass sphere on the mouth of her coffee mug. I know it’s just an illusion created by the heat of the cup, but the glass becomes foggy and I swear, there’s a wisp of smoke swirling within.

Amber takes hold of my hand. Her skin is cold and her grip is very tight. I’m on the verge of asking what the hell I’ve gotten myself into, when she shushes me. Her eyes are shut tight. Did she…sense me?

“Oh God, shut up already,” she moans, rolling her head from shoulder to shoulder.

I lower my voice to a whisper. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Not you.” She moves side to side as though in a trance. “Her.”

I have no idea who ‘her’ is. We’re the only three in the bakery.

“Yes, fine. Yes. I get it, stop blabbering.”

Brook’s eyes are also closed, a look of fierce concentration on her face.

“Alright already.” She stiffens, gripping me painfully and her eyes snap open. “Don’t get your boots wet.”

She drops my hand, removes the crystal ball from atop the cup, shoves it back in her bag and proceeds to dunk the remainder of her scone into the coffee before shoving it in her mouth.

“That’s it?”

Brook nods like she’s just been witness to the secret of life.

Amber chews loudly.

“
Don’t get your boots wet?”
I repeat back to her.

“I know.” She rolls her eyes. “She wouldn’t shut up about it.”

My aunt twists her mouth into a frown. “Your Mama used to be better with words. Still,” she sighs heavily, “it’s good advice.”

I stand, covering my mouth with my hand. “Let me get this straight. That’s the message my mother chose to remain earth-bound for? Forgoing Heaven, its streets paved in gold and swarming with angels?
Don’t get your boots wet
?”

Amber snaps her fingers above her head. “No. You’re right.  There was one more thing.”

“What?”

“Duck.”

The bell over the front door jingles. I turn toward it as a small blue handbag hits me square in the face.

The foot tap is the universal sign for,
you better explain yourself right now.
Paige currently employs this tactic from the counter as I lock up the empty shop for the day. My nose smarts from the purse she threw at my face. I know it only contained my wallet and some odds and ends, but it felt like a bag of bricks when it connected with my cheekbone.

“Well?”

“Well what?” I fire back, rubbing my nose.

“You up and run out on my engagement party without saying goodbye to me or Ken or anybody.  You give the poor valet a heart attack, then set the Banjo triplets on him and you haven’t returned any of my phone calls. That’s what.”

Normally I don’t fear my baby sister but she’s brought the claws out today and I’m not as young as I used to be. “All right, fine. I’m sorry."

She folds her arms across her chest and looks away from me. “I don’t accept.”

“You have to accept.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“But you
have to
when someone tells you they’re sorry.”

“Says who?”

“Jesus. And Dr. Phil.”

Paige throws her hands in the air and collapses into a seat. “You know, I don’t like sayin’ it but,
I told you so
.”

I edge cautiously closer.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about you and Alex.”

I feel like I’ve been hit in the face with the purse again. “I don’t--”

“Oh save it.” Paige waves me off, a look of pure disgust on her face. “Cadence told me about your all’s little make-out session in the cellar.”

A surreal kind of quiet settles between us. Paige’s never been one to hold back how she feels, but she’s never spoken to me with such…aggravation before.

“I told you, two years ago, Alex Ramirez is not for you, Charlie. That hasn’t changed.”

She studies me as I sink into the chair opposite. “Paige, you don’t…” I shake my head, trying to gather my thoughts. “He and I, we--”

She interrupts me again. “You had a one night stand, the night of my birthday party.” Her eyes light up, daring me to contradict her.

How on earth could she have known and not said a word? The notion that she’s been walking around all this time, knowing I’ve kept this from her makes me feel sick. “I can’t believe you knew it. Why didn’t you say anything?”