The Potluck Club—Takes the Cake (23 page)
She smiled up at him, and he kissed the tip of her nose. They still had the “no kissing” rule, so this was as close as he would get.
“Really important?”
“Really, very important. It could turn this whole club upside down.”
“The Potluck Club?” She looked toward the church.
He nodded. It was all he wanted to say right then. After all, Britney already knew a hint of what he knew; she’d met Velvet James before he did. She just didn’t know what he knew. “Ready
to go back inside and help me take pictures?”
Britney turned and linked her arm with his. “I’ll be your assistant,” she said proudly.
“And such a pretty one too,” he said, glad to have his world righted again.
Goldie
I was more than grateful that Britney had agreed to take the paper plates and napkins over to Grace for me. With work piling up and my personal life seemingly falling apart more than most people realized, I hadn’t had time to “put on the dog” as my mama used to say. There would be no china and crystal decorating my table at the Christmas tea. I was doing well enough to have baked my grandmother’s recipe for Southern fruitcake that was to be served as one of the desserts.
As five o’clock neared, I shut down my computer, straightened my desk into neat little piles of work to attack in the morning, and then walked into the break room. I pulled the coffeepot out of the coffeemaker and fleetingly wondered whatever happened to percolators. Now those things could make a good cup of coffee. But they, like so many wonderful things in life, had a way of disappearing. Or becoming relics. The old replaced with the new.
I shivered as I stood at the sink, running water into the pot, adding a squirt of dishwashing liquid, and swishing it around with the yellow sink sponge. I still hadn’t told Jack about Charlene, in spite of Lizzie’s encouragement. I would have told him the night Lizzie and I had met for coffee had it not been for Samuel’s accident. Then the following night Charlene showed up at my place again, wanting to know my opinion on how we were all going to live with this new addition to the Dippel bloodline in Summit View. And
did I have any thoughts on how she should tell Jack.
“I’ve thought about telling him myself,” I told her. I squared my chin. After all, he was my husband. I still had some rights.
Charlene prowled around my living room like a caged tiger waiting for its steak dinner while I stood near the front door with my arms crossed.
“But you haven’t,” she said, stopping.
“Not yet. Lizzie Prattle’s husband hurt his—”
She raised her hand. “I don’t really care, Goldie. Oh, excuse me,
Mrs. Dippel.
What I do care about is how we are all going to handle this. Personally, I haven’t said a word to Jack yet. I want to know first what
you
are going to do. Have you told Olivia? After all, she’ll be my baby’s older sister.” She placed her hand on her stomach. Charlene wasn’t thin by any means, so it was difficult to see if she was showing yet or not. Still, I stared, which caused Charlene to say, “I’m not showing yet, if you’re wondering. My doctor says that first
babies don’t usually cause their mothers to show right away.”
Not to mention the extra padding,
I thought but said nothing in response. Rather, I addressed my daughter’s relationship to this unborn child. “My daughter doesn’t know. She’s pregnant herself and—”
“Isn’t that wild?” she said with a laugh. “Jack’s daughter and Jack’s mistress pregnant at the same time.” She took a step toward me. “Here’s what I’m thinking: you and Jack will get a divorce and that will allow Jack to move in with me so he can help me take care of Little Junior here.” She patted her tummy again.
“Move in with you?” I was stunned by this new revelation, let
me just say.
She curled her lip. “I told you before. I don’t want to marry him, but I’m certainly not up for doing the diaper and bottle thing on
my own.”
Well, bless her heart.
I had to tell Jack. I just had to. But how? And when?
I dried the coffeepot and the four or five mugs dirtied during the day and placed them in their rightful places. I dried my hands on the dishcloth, retrieved my coat from the coatrack, and headed down the hall toward my desk and purse. Chris was there, slipping
his arms into his coat.
“Is your wife going to the tea tonight?” I asked.
He smiled at me. “She wouldn’t miss it. Lisa Leann and Evie have her hosting a table. What about you?”
“Oh, yeah.” I smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it, either. I made fruitcake from an old Southern recipe my grandmother had since I can’t remember when.”
“I love fruitcake. Weird, I know. Most folks don’t. But I do.” He
helped me into my coat.
I reached for my purse, which I’d left on my desk. “I know. Have you ever heard of the Claxton Fruitcake Company?”
“No,” he said as he led me out the door then locked it behind us.
“Claxton, Georgia, isn’t far from where I grew up. Remind me to tell you about it one day.” We took the stairs slowly, with Chris in front of me.
“How’s it going with Jack?” he asked.
“Christmas was... strange,” I said. “But Jack was smart enough not to give me jewelry, considering that had always been his atonement gift after each and every affair.”
“No jewelry?” Chris asked as we reached the bottom of the steps. “Smart man.”
I laughed as we made our way through the card shop. “His gift to me was a footed treasure chest for my living room.”
“But no efforts of reconciliation since the trip to Summit Ridge?” he asked, looking down at me. Chris Lowe is evermore a tall man.
I’d suspect six-foot-six.
I shook my head no. “There’s a complication,” I said. Chris opened the outside door for me, and we stepped into the frigid evening air. The street lamps and holiday decorations up and down Main Street were beginning to flicker on, bringing a postcard atmosphere to the night. I glanced down the street and focused on the rocky, snow-covered mountain that rose proudly behind the row of businesses along the town’s main thoroughfare. “A big complication.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, pushing his hands
into thick gloves.
I thought about it. Seriously thought about it. Then decided against it. “No,” I answered after a moment. I pointed toward 6th Avenue. “I’ll just head on home. There’s still a bit to do before I get to the tea.”
Chris nodded. “Let me know if I can help you in any way, Goldie.”
I told him I would, then began walking home, keeping my arms wrapped around my middle. It was getting colder by the second.
When my apartment was in view, I noticed Jack’s car pulling into the driveway. I paused, and he waved at me from the driver’s seat.
What is he doing here?
My question was answered as soon as he stepped out of the car. “Hey!” he hollered. “Thought you could use a ride to the tea.”
I made my way to the driveway, and he met me, looking quite pleased with himself for having thought to be so gallant as to drive me to a social tea. Something I knew Jack thought was quite frivolous.
“You shouldn’t be walking in the cold, Goldie,” he said, taking my shoulders in his hands and planting a kiss on my cheek. “You’ll catch your death out here.”
“It’s only a couple of blocks,” I said. “And I like the walk. It gives my head a chance to clear.”
He wrapped his arm around me and guided me toward the front door. “I hate it that you have to clear your head at all. I’m to blame for part of that... okay, all of that. If it weren’t for my wrongdoing, you wouldn’t even have to work at all.”
I know he was trying... but he was missing the mark. “I do enjoy myself at work, Jack,” I told him. I opened my purse and removed the house key then jabbed it into the brass lock. “And I don’t intend to leave.” I pushed the door open and walked through.
Jack was right behind me. He pointed to the treasure chest and said, “I really like the looks of the chest in here, Goldie. Like the way you angled it near the fireplace.”
I took off my coat and threw it over a nearby chair. “I have to
get ready for the tea now.”
“Is that your grandmother’s fruitcake I smell?” he asked, ignoring me.
“Yes. I need a quick bath and—”
Jack grinned. “Want me to scrub your back?”
I frowned. “I do not. I want you to just sit down and...”—I looked around—“watch TV or something.” I started toward my bedroom.
“What about a cup of tea? Would you like a cup of tea? I can make it for you while you’re getting ready.”
I stopped and glanced over my shoulder at him. He hadn’t been this attentive since
I
was pregnant. “Sure,” I said. “I won’t be but a minute or two.”
I struggled all the way to the church, with Jack sitting next to me. Should I give him a hint? Should I say, “We need to talk?” But the opportunity never came, what with Jack talking nonstop about his plans for us, about his continued sessions with Pastor Kevin, about Olivia’s baby and the start of a new life with this new addition to our family.
Yeah, well... Lord, just wait till I tell him about the other new
addition to our family...
When we arrived at the church, Jack pulled right up to the fellowship hall door and ran around to my side of the car to help me out. I cradled in my arms the fruitcake wrapped in plastic wrap and
resting on an old cake plate I’ve had since I was a bride.
I sighed heavily. Jack shut the door behind me and guided me to the door as though I were an invalid. “I’ll pick you up when it’s all over,” he said. “Livvy coming?” he asked, using a nickname for our daughter he hadn’t used in years. “I didn’t even think to ask if
she needed a ride.”
“Tony is bringing her,” I said, ready to get inside and get the whole evening over with.
Jack kissed me on the cheek again as he opened the door for me. “You have a good time, and I’ll see you shortly. Save me a piece of that cake.” He patted me on my backside and chuckled.
I turned sharply. “Jack, we have to talk,” I blurted out.
He leaned in close with a grin. “Sorry about the patting thing. I forgot where I was.”
I shook my head. “That’s not it. Entirely. We have to talk about something else.”
Jack sobered. “Don’t tell me you want a divorce. Not here. Not now. We’re making headway, Goldie. We’re going to make it. I
know we are.”
“It’s not that, Jack. We’ll... we’ll talk later tonight, okay?”
He didn’t say anything for a minute. “We’re letting the cold air in and the hot air out,” he said quietly. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
Lizzie met me at my table, which was so far in the back of the room it was practically in another state. “Lisa Leann,” Lizzie whispered in my ear with a giggle. “She doesn’t like your paper products.”
“Well, pooh on her,” I said.
Lizzie nodded toward my set table. “I went ahead and set everything up for you.”
“Thanks,” I responded, casting my gaze across the room. It was lovely. Truly lovely. Every table was highly decorated in the personal theme of the hostess. The overhead lights and the lit candles atop each table cast shimmering lights across the crystal and china and the glass Christmas ornaments. “I see she’s got herself front and center.”
“Don’t let it bother you,” Lizzie said. She reached for the fruitcake. “I’ll take this to the serving table. You mingle.” She started away from me, then turned back. “You and Jack talk yet?”
I shook my head no. “Not yet. I told him I want to talk to him tonight.” I took in a deep breath, then let it out.
“Good girl,” Lizzie said, then walked away, leaving me to mingle
with the other women who were hostessing tables.
I went to Evie’s table first, a lovely Victorian setting, her mother’s china and silver resting beautifully on damask linen. I touched it with my fingertips. “This is lovely, Evie,” I said. “Was this one of your mother’s? I’ve never seen it before.”
Evie smiled at me as she adjusted one of the candles of her centerpiece. “Believe it or not, it’s a piece of a bedsheet. I thought it was so pretty, I bought it, took it down to the Sew and Stitch, and had Dora make it into a tablecloth.”
“You are very wise,” I said with a wink. “Are you counting down the days till the wedding?”
Evie sighed. “I’m trying not to think about how far behind I am on everything.” She inched closer to me. “And with the Queen Wedding Bee over there trying to run everything... well... I’m just letting her. She’s having so much fun, and quite frankly it keeps
her out of everything else that’s going on around here, so...”
“What do you mean? What else is going on around here?”
Lizzie joined us just then. “Are you telling her?” Lizzie asked.
“Telling me what?” I looked from one to the other.
Evie’s shoulders seemed to drop a bit. She stopped in her table primping and crossed her arms. The three of us formed an awkward circle. “Okay. You’ll have to promise not to say anything, though.”