Season of Sisters (18 page)

The driver's door swung open. The chauffeur pushed a button and the trunk lid released with a click. He gave a little wave as he climbed from the car, walked around to the back, and removed something from the trunk.

Holly had to walk right past him to get to her car, so she couldn't help but notice the object he held in his hand. It was a small suitcase, an overnight bag. A floral overnight bag.

A woman's overnight bag.

"Excuse me," Justin said, pushing past Holly to meet the chauffeur at the curb. "Sorry for the trouble."

"No problem at all, Dr. Skipworth. I should have remembered Miss Larson had a bag in the trunk. Hope this didn't cause her too much inconvenience."

"No. No, not at all."

Holly's universe tilted. Miss Larson. Puffy Larson's daughter. Two-point-three kids.

Justin dug into his pocket for a bill, tipped the man, took the case, and turned around. At that point, Holly heard the snick of the front door opening behind her.

She really, really didn't want to look around and confirm what she already knew, but pride wouldn't let her run away. Taking a bracing breath, she turned and smiled. "Hello, Jenna."

She wore a little black dress, stiletto heels, sheer black stockings, and a smug smile.

Holly had to force herself not to glance down at her Bonham Middle School, Lady Falcon Basketball tee shirt, wind shorts, and flip-flops. At least she'd had a pedicure this past week. Otherwise she'd have felt completely naked.

"Why, Holly Weeks. We didn't expect to see you here tonight."

Obviously.
A dozen different responses flashed through Holly's mind, ranging from caustic to catty to classy. She opted for the high road—even though doing so almost made her gag—and said, "That's a lovely dress you're wearing, Jenna. You look beautiful."

Squaring her shoulders, she turned to Justin and forced words through throat spasms. "I apologize for interrupting your evening."

"Holly, it's not what you..." Justin shifted his gaze away from hers, a muscle working in his jaw. He shoved his hands into his pockets, sighed heavily, then pinned her with a narrow-eyed stare. "You can't have it both ways."

Years of practice hiding her tears allowed her to answer him without breaking. "I know that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an early day tomorrow."

She flashed a quick, faked smile, then walked in calm, measured steps toward her car. Her knees felt as supportive as cotton candy. With blind luck she managed to insert the key into the lock on the first try. Once she'd made it safely inside the car, the tremble in her hand intensified. Metal clattered against metal as she tried to slip the key into the ignition. Finally, using both hands, she managed. As she fired the engine and put the car into gear, she glanced through her tears into her rearview mirror.

Oh, God. Justin.
He stood watching her go, Jenna's overnight bag in his right hand. Jenna clung to his left. The yellow porch light illuminated her smile, a victorious testimony to orthodontia.

Holly waited until she'd turned the corner before gunning the gas. The sensation in her chest was a cross between severe acid reflux and a coronary.

Or maybe this was how a heart felt when it broke in two.

Chapter 8

Before Grace
opened
her
eye
s
Saturday morning, she knew she faced one of those days. Her stomach churned with nausea, her bones hurt, and fatigue lay upon her body like a leaden sheet. She could hardly summon the energy to get out of bed to go throw up.

Swallowing a moan, she rolled onto her side and opened her eyes.

Ben stood in the bathroom doorway, shaving cream spread across half his face, watching her. "You feel bad, don't you?"

This time, she couldn't deny it. "Oh, sweetheart." His voice was gentle, the light in his eyes kind. He returned to the bathroom, washed the shaving foam from his face, then returned to their room, taking a seat on his side of the bed. "I have a little something I hope will cheer you up."

From beside his side of the bed, he lifted a pretty gift bag with pink roses on it and stuffed with magenta tissue. Dangling from the string handle was a little paper angel. Grace smiled. Across the angel's robe, Ben had written: I
love you, Angel Gracie.

She carefully untied the tag from the bag so she could save it. "Oh, hurry up, wouldya?" her husband growled, anticipation bright in his eyes.

She managed a laugh, pleasing them both, then peered into the gift bag. She spied white fluffy fur and sparkly gold satin. "A teddy bear angel, Ben?" she asked with delight, tugging the gift free.

It was the size of a newborn child, downy soft and cuddly. Sunshine beaming through the bedroom window picked up sparkles of multicolored glitter in the golden wings on his back and the halo around his head. "He's so cute. I love him."

"I thought you would. Kid across the street had one and it made me think of you. I couldn't remember the last time I gave you a stuffed animal. Decided it was overdue. Boy's mom told me where to get one."

Grace grabbed her husband's arm and pulled him toward her for a kiss. It had taken Ben upward of thirty years to learn how to buy gifts, but once he'd figured it out, he did it with style. In other words, he put some thought into it, which was all Grace truly desired. "Thank you, Ben. My little angel bear is excellent medicine."

His smug, satisfied smile slipped a little at the mention of medicine. He studied her closely. "It's worse than last time, isn't it?"

"Maybe a little." Actually, a lot, but Grace didn't like to complain. In her mind, that would be borrowing trouble.

For a person living with what was deemed a terminal illness, she considered herself lucky to fare as well as she did. Most days she felt fine. Her energy level remained high and her pain level was no more than any other sixty-something woman could expect. But some days this elephant-in-the-room that was cancer got the better of her. Today the elephant had moved right into bed with her.

"I'll call Maggie and Holly for you," he said, standing up. "Their numbers are in the address book, right?"

Maggie and Holly? What... oh no. They'd planned another round of party-dress shopping today.

Grace wanted to scream with frustration. This was her own fault. She should have known not to schedule anything for the day following her monthly trip to the cancer clinic for her two-hour date with an IV drip. Never mind that the last three treatments had been side-effect free. She'd lived with breast cancer too long not to know to expect the unexpected.

"I hate to cancel on them," she told Ben.

"You can't go traipsing around from dress shop to dress shop today. It would be too much for you."

In this instance, she couldn't charge Ben with acting overprotectively. What he said was true. "I know. But I hate it, Ben. They've set aside the day for me."

"And you hate the idea of letting the elephant win."

"Can you blame me?"

His mouth quirked in a grin. "All the time, because it only makes me worry more. Then I tell myself that all your vinegar serves you well because it's fuel to fight that hairy old beast."

Grace gripped her husband's hand. Today the two of them were in balance, at peace. Today she needed him to take care of her as much as he needed to give care to her. She glanced at the clock. Seven A.M. Maggie was due to pick her up at ten. "Maybe we can give it an hour or so and see how I feel?"

He finger-combed her hair off her forehead. "Sure, honey. We'll give it an hour or so and see."

By nine, determination and meds had for the most part dealt with the nausea. The fatigue, however, had settled in to stay. As much as she hated to admit it, Grace knew she wasn't up to dress shopping today. Ben brought her the address book. She picked up the phone and dialed Maggie's number first.

Maggie answered on the second ring. " 'Mornin', Grace. You got your shoppin' shoes on?"

"Good morning, Maggie. I'm afraid that is why I'm calling. My shopping shoes seem to be pinching my toes a bit today."

Grace explained about the Aredia infusion and its occasional side effects. "I'm sorry, Maggie, but I'm afraid I don't have the energy for trying on dresses. I hate to cancel on you and Holly at the last minute."

"Oh, don't you spend a second fretting about it. Sounds to me like you already have all the bad feelings you need on your plate as it is. We'll shop for your dress another day. A time when you can truly enjoy it. There's no rush."

"I was so looking forward to it." Grace heard a shameful note of wistful self-pity in her tone and turned it to a more positive pitch. "Planning this party is the most fun I've had in years, and besides, I could use a dose of girl talk right now. It's better medicine than half the pills I take every day."

"I know exactly what you mean." Maggie's voice sounded as pensive as her own. "I'll trade my Zoloft for an hour with you and Holly anytime."

Reminded of Maggie's burden, Grace quickly took stock. "Maybe we don't have to cancel entirely. Would you want to go to lunch instead of shopping?"

"Are you up to that?"

"Yes, I think I am. I could use the distraction, to be honest, and besides, it doesn't take much more energy to ride in a car and sit at a restaurant table than it does to lie in bed. Maybe we could at least make more plans. I really enjoy the anticipation; it lets me live the excitement of the party many times."

"Hmm... that gives me an idea." Maggie sounded eager again. "So you're okay as long as it's riding and sitting and that's all?"

"Yes."

"Let me check into something. I'll call you right back."

Ten minutes later, the phone rang. As soon as Grace picked up, Maggie started talking. "Would you be comfortable in the car for an extra hour?"

Grace considered it. "Yes."

"Excellent. I'll be by at ten. Don't dress up. We're going out to the farm."

"The farm?"

Maggie's voice sparkled. "Mike's aunt lives up toward Bowie on the family cotton farm. She's a real sweetheart, plus—and this is why we're making a road trip—she makes the best peach cake you've ever tasted. If you like it as much as I expect you will, I want to ask her to bake the cake for the party."

They spoke for a few more minutes, then Maggie disconnected in order to call Holly and make certain she didn't object to the change in plans. At five minutes of ten, Maggie's silver Lexus whipped around the corner.

Watching from the kitchen window, Ben glanced over at Grace and winced. "She took that turn a little fast. Maybe this isn't such a good idea."

"Oh, hush." Grace leaned over to kiss her husband on his cheek. "You're just jealous you don't get to come with us."

Ben snorted. "Uh huh. Driving an hour to a hen party on a farm beats out playing a round of golf every time."

"Oh, go swing your five iron."

"I plan to," he shot back, grinning. Then his expression grew serious as he cupped her cheek and stared down into her eyes. "Are you certain you're up for this?"

"I am." She put firm certainty into the assurance. "It's just what the doctor ordered."

Ben bent down and gave her a tender kiss. "It gladdens my heart to see the sparkle back in your eyes. Have fun, honey. See you this evening."

Maggie bounded out of the car as Grace made her way down the front steps. Maggie wore tomato red capri pants, a rainbow-hued sleeveless cotton top, and sandals. Her hair was a half-shade more blond than it had been Thursday night, and her cat's-eye sunglasses sported rhinestone stars at the outer corners and concealed the remnants of her black eye.

"You remind me of an old-time movie star," Grace said by way of greeting.

"Yeah? Who?"

Grace considered it. "I'm not sure. A combination. Sexy Marilyn Monroe mixed with girl-next-door Doris Day."

Maggie beamed a smile. "I like that!"

She exchanged pleasantries with Ben, who cautioned Maggie to drive carefully and Grace not to overdo, and then they were off. Twenty minutes later, they pulled in front of Holly's house and Maggie beeped the horn. Holly opened her door and waved.

"Something's wrong," Grace said, as the young woman walked slowly toward the car, head down.

Maggie clucked her tongue. "I'm afraid you're right. Girl looks as low as a lawn mower set to scald. Look at that. Dressed entirely in navy blue. Not a speck of color on her."

Holly looked up and she winced. "No makeup, either."

Holly slipped into the backseat of the Lexus, peered over the top her black-lens sunglasses just long enough to meet Maggie and Grace's gaze, and said, "Good morning, ladies."

"My stars, sugar. Your eyes are as red as my britches. What's wrong?"

Holly turned her head to look out the window. "I'd just as soon not talk about it, if y'all don't mind."

Maggie and Grace shared a brief look of concern, then Grace said, "Whatever you want, honey. We're ready to listen if you change your mind."

Holly smiled her thanks, nodded, then sat quietly throughout the first half of the drive. Maggie and Grace discussed the anniversary plans, then their children. Maggie told a particularly amusing story involving her sons and a fund-raising car wash that turned into a mud fight and fines from the city.