The Red Hat Society's Queens of Woodlawn Avenue (24 page)

“If you’re bidding a slam in no-trump, you have to account for all the aces, so you have to ask your partner how many she
has.” Once again, Linda sat across from me with Grace on my left and Jane on my right.

“I thought you weren’t allowed to talk to each other like that.”

Linda smiled. “You ask by bidding. Let’s say you have two of the four aces in your hand and enough high card points and support
from your partner to know you might have a slam. Then you need to know if your partner has one or both of the two remaining
aces.”

“Why do you need to know about aces?”

“You need to know what kind of support you can count on from your partner. In no-trump, all the aces are winners. If your
partner only has one of the two missing aces, you can only bid a little slam. But if your partner has them both, you can bid
a grand slam.”

“So how do I ask for aces?”

Like just about everything else in bridge, it turned out to be a matter of understanding the carefully coded language. If
I bid four no-trump, then I was asking my partner how many aces she had. If she responded with a bid of five clubs, it meant
she either had none or all four.

“How will I know whether it’s one or four?”

Grace chuckled at this. “Well, if you don’t have a
couple of aces in your own hand, you wouldn’t be bidding four no-trump to begin with.”

I laughed and nodded. “Point taken.”

“If your partner has one ace, she’ll bid 5?. If she has two, it’s 5?. Three would be 5?.”

“And then I’ll know if we have all the aces and can bid a grand slam?”

“You’ve got it.” Linda smiled. “And six weeks ago you were telling us you were hopeless at cards.”

Well, six weeks ago I’d assumed I was hopeless at almost everything. These three ladies, though, had shown me just how wrong
I’d been. True, my life was far from perfect. But at least it was mine. Although it would be nice if life could be like bridge
and I could ask for aces so I’d have some idea if I held all the cards I needed to make my very own grand slam.

S
unday morning found me not out in the backyard pulling the last remaining weeds, but on my way to Cumberland Farms & Stables
to negotiate for the exercise and feeding of Cupcake. Part of me knew I was sacrificing too much to hang on to the past the
horse represented, but another part of me didn’t know if I could live with the guilt of telling Courtney that Cupcake had
to go. If nothing else, it was a beautiful morning for a drive, and so I headed south, grateful for a reprieve from my worries
over the Cannon Ball and avoiding Will, the love-struck cop.

I’d known Greta Price for years, since the day Jim bought Courtney her first pony without consulting me.
He’d gotten the hugs and kisses and sparkling looks of adoration from a young Courtney. I’d gotten the task of chauffeuring
her to and from the stables several times a week. As I pulled into the gravel driveway, Greta, fresh-scrubbed with hair stuffed
into a ponytail, appeared from around the corner of one of the barns and gave me a jaunty wave.

“Morning, Ellie.”

I returned her greeting and joined her in the sunshine. “How are you?”

“Can’t complain.” Greta was one of those women who was either drawn to horses because she resembled them, or she had come
to resemble them after spending so much time around them. She wasn’t unattractive. On the contrary, she glowed from the combination
of sun, wind, and work-induced sweat.

“Thanks for taking the time for me.”

She smiled. “No problem. How’s Courtney? College going okay?”

“Well enough that she only calls home when she needs money.”

“Good.” Greta turned and started walking toward the barns, and I fell into step beside her.

“I guess you know Jim and I are divorced.”

“He mentioned it when he called.”

“Neither of us really has the means right now for Cupcake’s upkeep.”

Greta nodded sagely. “Do you want me to let folks know he’s for sale?”

“Well, actually, I was wondering if we could trade services, so to speak. I think Jim mentioned that to you.”

“He did. What is it your new company does?”

“It’s called Your Better Half. We do all the things you’re too busy to do yourself.”

“Like muck out stables?”

It took me a moment to realize she was kidding. “I’m afraid not,” I said with a laugh. “More like errands, shopping, hostessing
events, things like that.”

She stopped and turned toward me. “I’d like to help you out, Ellie. You and Jim have been good customers all these years.
But I just don’t need that kind of help.”

My stomach fell to the tops of my ancient running shoes. “You sure?”

“Yep.” We’d reached the door of the nearest barn. Greta opened it and motioned me inside.

The interior of the barn was cool and dark. No horses whinnied here, though. Instead, it was more of a carriage house. “What’s
all this?”

Greta led me down the center of the barn toward a lighted room at the back of the building. “Carriages, wagons, pony carts.
I started collecting all this stuff a few years back. Don’t get much call to use a lot of it. Folks will hire out a wagon
for a hay ride or a carriage for a wedding. Pony cart for a birthday party. That kind of thing.”

“There must be twenty of them in here.”

Greta ducked her head sheepishly. “Guess I went a little bit overboard. But I’m just partial to horse-drawn travel.”

“Oh my gosh. That’s it!” The idea kicked me in the head like one of Greta’s horses. I turned toward her, and my face was probably
bright enough to light up Nashville. “Do you have enough horses to pull all of these?”

“At the same time?” Greta’s brow furrowed.

“Yes. Do you have enough horses?”

She smiled. “Well, what I don’t have I could probably borrow or rent from some of the other stables in the area.”

“How much?”

“To do what?”

“To rent all of these for one night.”

She looked at me like I’d lost my mind, and maybe I had. But I was giddy with excitement.

“I don’t know. Including drivers? And would you use them here on the farm?”

“No. In town.”

Greta thought for a moment and then named a figure that stole the color from my cheeks. The number was sky high. It was also
almost the exact amount of the check I’d received from Henri in the FedEx envelope yesterday.

“Could I book them for next Saturday night?”

“Are you kidding me?” Greta’s eyes darkened. “This isn’t some kind of weird joke?”

“No. I want to book all of these for next Saturday night. Could you find drivers in time?”

“They might not all be professionals. Maybe some of my experienced older students, too. Would that be okay?”

“That would be fine.”

“Well, okay. Sure. It’s a deal.”

The knowledge that it would take all the money I’d made in the last six weeks to underwrite my crazy scheme scared me, but
I also knew never to look a gift horse in the mouth. So to speak.

“And about Cupcake—”

“Are you kidding?” Greta started walking toward the office again. “If you’re serious about this, Cupcake can be my guest for
a couple of months. Think of it as a free gift with purchase.”

’Thanks, Greta.”

I followed her to the office where she filled out a contract. I signed my name in big, bold script. And then I thought about
how even if you know when to ask for aces, you don’t always know where to ask for them. Sometimes you can find them in the
most surprising places.

A
fter all the times I’d told Jim to quit calling me, I was delighted when he phoned that evening.

“You sound happy,” he said. I laughed and told him about my conversation that morning with Greta.

“Brilliant. Although the wagons may be a bit of a stretch for some of the high-end folks.”

“I’m going to cover the benches in them with some old satin sheets and buy some fancy throw pillows. They’ll think they’re
traveling in a sedan chair with a sultan’s harem.”

“You did it, Ellie. You saved Cupcake.” He actually sounded proud of me.

“Just for the short term. You’re responsible for the two months after that.”

He was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “I guess I could sell my Harley. That ought to keep old Cupcake in oats for awhile.”

If I hadn’t been sitting on the couch, my knees might
have buckled under me. Jim considering selling his Harley? Was the world coming to an end?

“You’d really do that?”

“I’m pretty sure Greta’s not doing this for free, and I doubt the Cannon Ball budgeted the kind of money we’re talking about
for shuttle buses. You must be forking out a pretty penny.”

“I am. Now if I can just round up some more valet parking attendants.”

“How many do you need?”

My heartbeat accelerated. “About twenty. I’ve already hired most of Connor’s friends who still live here. Why, do you know
where I can find some?”

“I can probably swing some of the boys from my fraternity at Vandy. I’m on the alumni advisory council.”

“They’d do it just because you’re on the advisory council?”

Jim’s sigh wasn’t one of exasperation—more like one filled with resignation. “They will when I tell them how much I’m going
to donate to their house renovation fund.”

“I thought you were broke?”

“Well, if I don’t need the Harley, I probably don’t need the boat, either.”

Okay, the world was definitely in danger of coming to an end. Jim loved his high-priced toys like Courtney loved her horses.

“You’d really do that?”

“I told you, Ellie. I’ve been a fool. If selling the Harley and the boat convinces you I’m sincere, it’s not much of a price
to pay.”

I was so, so tempted to let down my guard at that
moment. Even after all that had happened, I was still vulnerable to him. That thought both terrified and electrified me.

“Thank you.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“I actually called to see what color dress you’re wearing to the ball. Thought I’d get a tie and cummerbund to match.”

I swallowed against the sudden lump in my throat. Because this man on the phone, whoever he had become, was sounding more
and more each moment like the man I had married. Not the man I’d been married to.

“I don’t know yet.”

“You don’t have a dress? I gave you carte blanche at Elliott’s.”

“I know. Tomorrow. I’ll swing by there tomorrow. And I’ll let you know about the color as soon as I pick something out.”

Jim chuckled. “You really must be busy if you can’t take time to buy a ball gown.”

In the months before Jim walked out, a chuckle like that would have provoked me into a defensive outburst. Now, I could hear
the affectionate bemusement in his tone.

“I guess priorities have a way of shifting.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Yes, they do. And sometimes they have a way of shifting back.”

I wasn’t ready to offer any olive branches quite yet, though. “Pick me up at five on Saturday. I need to be out there early.”

“Five?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No. No, no problem.” Although I could tell from his tone that clearly it was. Still, he didn’t balk. “Just need to reschedule
a few things.”

“Okay. See you then. And Jim?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for your help with the parking attendants.”

“My pleasure,” he said. And for the first time in a long time, I could tell that he really meant it.

I
finally got to the last of the weeds in the flower bed late that afternoon. Except for Red Hat meetings, I’d studiously avoided
Grace. I kept waiting for her to show up on my doorstep, exhumation order in hand, furious that I’d implicated her to Will
McFarland. Instead, she showed up in my backyard carrying a long garment bag.

“There you are. I rang the bell twice and you didn’t answer.”

“Sorry.” I rocked back onto my heels and brushed the dirt off my gardening gloves. Then I leveraged myself to my feet. “Just
trying to get the last bed finished.”

Grace’s gaze swept around the yard and the now-immaculate flower beds. “A good layer of mulch and you’ll be done with this
first go round.”

First go round? My head swam. “There’s more?”

Grace smiled. “A real garden takes years. But you’ve got the good bones for one now.”

“So to speak.” Oops. I really hadn’t meant to bring up Marvin Etherington. “Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

I brushed away her question just as I’d brushed the
dirt from my gloves. “What’s that?” I asked, nodding toward the garment bag in her arms.

“You said Saturday night that you didn’t have a dress for the ball.”

Oh, dear. And now she’d come to offer me the loan of one. Probably a mother-of-the-bride dress from one of her children’s
weddings. I was going to have to handle this very delicately.

“That’s very thoughtful, Grace. Why don’t we have a glass of tea and you can show it to me?” I didn’t mean to sound like a
teacher patronizing a student who’d brought her first show-and-tell to school.

We went inside and I poured us both iced tea in my nicest glasses, plastic tumblers that said,
WORLD’S BEST BARBECUE
on the side. “Okay. What have you got?”

Grace looked like the cat that ate the canary. “Something you might not be expecting.” She snagged the hanger on the kitchen
door frame and then unzipped the bag. I could see a glimmer of very pale pink underneath black tulle. Grace slipped the bag
from around the dress and then shook out the skirt, spilling yards and yards of the luxurious materials.

The glass of iced tea slipped from my suddenly nerveless fingers and hit the floor with a thud and a splash. “Oh my God.”
The dress was magnificent.

“I wore it years ago to the Cannon Ball myself.”

“You attended the ball?” I didn’t know whether to grab a mop or grill Grace immediately. She’d been a socialite? Why hadn’t
she ever mentioned it?

“Don’t move,” she ordered me, and I was still stunned enough to obey. She grabbed a dish towel from the
counter and threw it over the spilled tea. Then she wiped it up and threw the towel into the sink.