The Sugar Queen (12 page)

"So this is your house," she said.

Adam cut the engine. "You didn't know?"

"Why would I know?" Now that he knew she'd been pining for him, naturally he assumed she must have been stalking him too? She angrily got out and began to walk around the car to get to the driver's side. But by the time she reached the front of the car, Adam had met her halfway. Because of the car parked in front of them, she couldn't walk around him without touching him, and Lord knows how he'd interpret that. So she had to wait for him to move.

Adam stopped in front of her. The glow of the car's headlamps brightened his hair and face as he looked up at his house. He was so beautiful he made her chest hurt. "Looks like Jake's home now," he said. "He's been working late and on weekends ever since this thing with Chloe. Luckily I was the one to get her message first."

"Are you going to tell him?"

"No." He suddenly looked down at her and she had to fight the urge to step back. His eyes dropped to her neck. "That scarf looks familiar."

She shrugged. "I got it from Chloe. She wanted me to wear it."

"Why would she want you to wear it?" he asked, as if that was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard.

"She said for color." Adam Boswell, fashion critic? Oh, yes, finding out that she had feelings for him
of course
gave him leave to find all the things wrong with her. How could she still love a man who knew she loved him and was completely appalled by the idea? He was . . .

"This is Jake's scarf," he said, reaching out to touch it. Her body gave a start, and he hesitated. When he seemed sure she wasn't going to bolt, he wrapped his fingers around the scarf and pulled slowly, causing a warm friction against her skin. As soon as he had it pulled off of her, cold air darted into the collar of her coat and she shivered.

Adam watched her hand go to her neck. He unwrapped his own light blue scarf and looped it around her, their hands touching briefly. She could only stare at him. He stared back at her for several impossibly long seconds, his hands holding the ends of the scarf as if holding her to him. Finally he dropped his hands and brushed past her. Up the concrete steps he went, then he disappeared inside.

When Josey got home,
she stood on the porch in the dark, holding Adam's scarf. She reluctantly hung it on the mailbox. It was a pity scarf, she decided, and she wanted nothing to do with it.

No, that was a big fat lie.

Not the part about it being a pity scarf, of course, but the part about wanting nothing to do with it. She wanted
everything
to do with it. She wanted to sleep with it, dance with it, snuggle it like a pet. But that's exactly what Adam thought she'd do, and she wasn't going to give him that satisfaction.

She'd always known he didn't love her. But it was easier to bear when he didn't know she loved him. That way they were even. Now he knew he had all the power. It wasn't fair. She decided she wasn't going to run to the door every day just to see him anymore. She wasn't going to pine for him like a silly girl with a heart as soft as summer fruit.

She silently unlocked the front door, wishing she'd stopped to get that pie after all. She crept into the dark house and clicked the door closed.

When she turned, there was Helena, her eyes wide and excited.

Josey screamed, which made Helena scream. Josey quickly put one hand over Helena's mouth and the other over her own mouth. Then she stood perfectly still to see if they'd woken up her mother.

When no call came from upstairs, Helena pulled Josey's hand away from her mouth and said, "Oldsey! I wait for you!"

"Thank you, Helena. I appreciate that."

"No, I wait to give something! You wait now. Okay?" Helena disappeared into her bedroom, a large room just under the staircase. She rushed back with a small piece of folded cheesecloth. "Here. Sleep this."

Josey took it. Inside the cheesecloth was a small bone, no more than three inches long. "Helena, I really don't
need ...
an animal bone?"

"Bad thing still here," Helena whispered.

"What exactly do you think the bad thing is?"

"I don't know. Bad."

"Have you actually seen this bad thing?" "No."

That, at least, was a relief. Josey only had to keep Della Lee hidden, and Helena from trying to exorcise her, for a few more weeks. "Everything is fine. It's all under control. The bad thing will be gone soon, I promise. I don't need this." She tried to hand the cloth and bone back to her.

Helena got a stubborn look to her. "Take."

"I don't—"

"Take take take take take."

"Okay," Josey said. "Thank you."

"Oldsey a good girl," Helena said, going back to her room, satisfied.

For the time being.

"The sooner I
get you out of here, the better. Helena is having a fit," Josey said to Della Lee when she opened the closet door. She thought about not going to the closet at all, just falling into bed and trying to ignore her. But then there was Chloe, and what to do about Julian. Josey actually
needed
Della Lee. Damn it.

Della Lee laughed. She was completely unchanged, like telling Josey she thought Marco Cirrini was her father was just another conversation they'd had. No big deal. "I'm having some fun with her. She chased me around in the dark downstairs last night."

Josey lowered herself to the floor. "She chased you?

Good Lord, she could have called the police. Stop teasing her."

"What do you have in your pocket?" Della Lee suddenly demanded, scooting away from her.

"My pocket?" Josey reached into her dress pocket. "Oh. Helena gave this to me. How did you know?"

"It was sticking out. What is that, a bone?"

Josey shrugged. "I think so."

"Ick. Just keep it away from me." She waited for Josey to put it away before she asked, "So, did you have fun with Chloe?"

"No,"
Josey said vehemently. She fell back onto the floor, like she'd seen Della Lee do so many times. She stared up at the ceiling.

"What happened?"

"Do you know who she's been talking to?" Josey said. "Who she went to the bar to meet?" "Who?"

She turned her head to look at Della Lee. "Julian."

Della Lee blinked a few times. "My Julian?"

"Yes."

"Holy crap! I had a feeling the other day, it just hit me, that Julian had already moved on to someone else. But I never dreamed it would be Chloe! Keep her away from him, Josey. She's no match for him, especially not in her state. How in the hell did she meet him?"

"I don't know!" Josey said, and rubbed her face with her hands.

"You keep an eye on her. You watch her like a hawk."

Josey lifted her hands. "How am I supposed to do that?"

"I don't know. But that man could ruin her life."

"Like he ruined yours?"

"He was just one more destructive tendency." Della Lee shook her head, like she couldn't believe it now, like she was looking back on something she'd done a long, long time ago. "But that's why women are drawn to him, don't you see? He'll ruin her by giving her exactly what she thinks she wants."

Snow Candy

Josey had to take
her mother to the annual Baptist Women's charity luncheon the next day, Tuesday. But before they were to leave, Josey decided to call Chloe to see how she was doing. She tried her work number first, but didn't get an answer.

"She's not at work," Josey said as she disconnected.

"I still don't think you know how to work that thing," Della Lee said from the closet. Today she was wearing Josey's red scarf as a headband and was trying on all of Josey's shoes.

"I dialed, it rang, no one answered. What exactly do you think I'm doing wrong?"

"It was just an observation. You're so touchy."

"I know how to work a phone," Josey grumbled as she dialed Chloe's cell phone number.

"Hello," Chloe finally answered after several rings. She sounded sick.

Josey sat on the edge of her bed. "Chloe, it's Josey. How are you feeling?"

"I'm so sorry about last night, Josey," Chloe said, and her voice started to tremble. "I never thought I would be the kind of woman to act like this, to fall to pieces, but I . . . I can't seem to help it. I don't know how to move on from it, and it hurts so much. I missed an appointment to see an apartment this morning. Am I going crazy? I feel like I'm going crazy."

Josey hesitated. Della Lee watched her curiously. "I'll be right over," she finally said.

As soon as she hung up, Della Lee said, "You're going to see her?"

Josey picked up her gray coat from the chaise. "Yes."

"Instead of taking your mother to her luncheon?"

"Yes."

"Oh, my baby is growing up."

"You're psychotic," Josey said, leaving the room while dialing another number.

Adam didn't see
the scarf draped over the mailbox until he was halfway up the steps. He pulled the buds from his iPod out of his ears.

It had been strange seeing Josey in Jake's scarf last night.

With the way Chloe was acting, Adam wondered if she was trying to push Jake and Josey together. That didn't sit well with him. Jake and Chloe were . . . well . . . Jake and Chloe. But there was Josey wearing Jake's scarf.
Chloe
should wear Jake's scarf. But when he took it, Josey then didn't have a scarf. So of course he gave her his. It was cold. She needed one.

All right, so she didn't want to keep it. Her being in love with him and all, he just thought she would. Hell, it wasn't like she'd given back an engagement ring. But did this mean he wasn't going to see her today? Was she mad at him? He'd been harsh with her last night. But just the thought of Chloe and Josey at Nite Lite, of all places . . . and then that bastard called her fat. That still made him angry.

He took the scarf off the mailbox and put the Cirrinis' mail in. He hesitated and looked at the door.

Josey usually came out before now.

He looked over to the driveway. Her car was there.

He walked slowly to the steps, pulling the Fergusons' mail out of his bag. He stopped and looked back at the door again.

Where was she?

Okay, he could just walk away. Let her avoid him. It would probably make things a lot easier. But then he shook his head and turned back around. He wasn't going to let her do this. He went to the door and raised his hand to knock, not sure what he was going to say. Maybe he would apologize, tell her that he didn't mean to be so hard on her.

Or maybe he would ask her what in the world she thought his secret was.

She'd said it like it was obvious, and he'd gone over and over it in his mind last night. He got the feeling there was a lot Josey knew that she wasn't sharing with him.

He stopped just short of knocking when he heard voices inside.

"I've taken care of everything. I have to do this, Mother. Someone needs me," Josey said.

"Who? Who needs you more than me?" That sounded like her mother.

"A friend."

All of a sudden, the door opened and there was Josey.

She looked tired. But her hair was so curly it could never get limp. And the paler her skin, the more striking her dark eyes seemed. She looked . . .

Okay, he could admit it. She looked beautiful.

When she saw him, she seemed momentarily nonplussed. She actually took a step back and he was afraid she was going to close the door on him, but then her mother called, "Josey!"

She looked over her shoulder, then reluctantly stepped outside and closed the door behind her. "Hi, Adam," she said, looking down to button her long gray coat.

He held out the scarf. "You could have kept this."

Her eyes darted up briefly, embarrassed. "I know."

He reached over and took her mail out of the mailbox. He held it out. "Here's your mail."

But she didn't take that either. "Just leave it in the box, please. I'll get it when I come back."

He put it back in. "Have you talked to Chloe today?"

"I'm going to see her now." She went to the steps and started walking down.

He turned quickly to join her. "Listen, I'm sorry I was so rough on you last night. I was just . . ."

"Angry," she said.

"No, not angry." He stopped her when she reached the bottom step, putting his hand on her arm. "I could never be angry at you, Josey."

She considered him for a moment, as if to gauge his honesty. She stared at him so long he dropped his hand.

"I've, uh, been thinking about what you said last night," he said. "That I had a secret . . ."

"I also said it was none of my business. I'm sorry." She started to turn away.

"Wait. Why do you think I have a secret?"

"I don't know. Maybe you don't have one. Maybe I was just projecting."

"You have a secret?"

She gave a small laugh and shook her head. "Well, not anymore," she said, and walked to the driveway and the enormous gold Cadillac parked there.

Why hadn't he seen it before?
Three years.
Why hadn't he known she was in love with him? "Are you sure you don't want to keep this scarf?" he called after her. "No."

"No, you don't want to keep it? Or no, you're not sure?"

She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled slightly. His breath caught.

He felt a strange stirring, something he hadn't felt in a very long time. It felt a little like when a limb falls asleep but then slowly, surely, there's a tingling, an almost uncomfortable
sensation ...
of waking up.

After stopping by
the store for noodle soup and 7-Up and Milky Way ice cream, Josey knocked on Chloe's door.

When Chloe opened it, she looked miserable. She was wearing a thick terrycloth robe and her hair was all over the place, each tangled curl looking like it should have a wisp of smoke curling off of it. Mascara was smudged under her eyes.

Josey held up the bags and said, "In all my life, I've only ever been sure of one thing. Food makes everything better, at least until it's gone."

Chloe smiled.

And then she cried.

Josey walked in and closed the door behind her. She made a nice pot of stinging-nettle tea, which made the decision to eat the ice cream first much easier for them.

Margaret stood
in the sitting room, confused. Here she was, all ready to go, and Josey just came down the stairs and said she had something else to do! It was so unexpected that she couldn't yet build up an acceptable level of anger because of her shock.

A friend, Josey said. She had to help out a friend.

That was clearly a lie. Josey didn't have friends.

What was she doing, then?

Not ten minutes after Josey left, there was a knock at the door.

"Helena," Margaret said, stopping her as she passed the sitting room. "Tell whoever it is that I'm indisposed. Don't say a word about Josey not being here." Josey was supposed to take care of her. Margaret expected it. Everyone expected it.

Shortly, Helena reappeared in the sitting-room doorway. "A man at the door for you."

"I said to
tell ..."
Helena probably didn't know what "indisposed" meant. Margaret took a deep breath. "Tell him I'm not feeling well."

"He say he drive you."

"Drive me?"

"Yes, Oldgret."

Margaret got up and followed Helena to the door, leaving her cane behind because there was a chance it was someone she didn't know and she never liked to give a first impression of being feeble. When Helena opened the front door, Margaret felt slightly woozy, strange memories coming to her, memories of the last time he'd stood on her porch like this. For a moment she could even feel how blurry and medicated she'd been, how completely, profoundly unhappy she'd felt. "Rawley Pelham," she said, giving a smart, nervous pull to the hem of her yellow suit jacket, "what on earth are you doing here?"

Rawley turned to Helena. "Please tell Mrs. Cirrini that her daughter called me a few minutes ago and I promised I would take Mrs. Cirrini to her luncheon."

"Josey called you?" she asked, followed immediately by an incredulous, "She made you
promise?"
Pelhams didn't make promises easily, because they knew they couldn't break them. It was astounding that Rawley had not only promised something, but promised to do something for
her.

He hated her.

"Please tell Mrs. Cirrini yes," he said to Helena.

Helena looked confused and vaguely panicked, obviously wondering why this man wouldn't talk directly to Margaret.

Well, there wasn't really any choice now. If Rawley promised, he had to do it. He would take her to this luncheon whether she liked it or not, or die trying. Livia Lynley- White was going to have a fit. "Helena, get my coat and cane. And tell Josey I want a word with her when I get home."

Rawley walked with her to his cab in the windy noon air. She wondered if the neighborhood was watching. She tried to walk as if she didn't care, but she felt herself leaning toward him, as if he had a gravitational force. She'd made her decision. She lived with it. But staying away from him was easier when she didn't actually have to be near him. He opened the cab door for her, his face without expression. That also made it easier, knowing how much he disliked her. She awkwardly sat and he closed the door.

When he got behind the wheel and pulled out, she couldn't help but wonder over how familiar this was. It felt like soft slippers. Like good wine. She'd fallen into the best part of her past.

She stared at the back of his head. She'd always been attracted to Rawley, from the moment she saw him. Ladies in their circle never drove themselves anywhere. They had chauffeurs, or they called a cab. The first time she saw him— she was in her late twenties at the time—he was helping one of her friends out of his cab at a social function. She'd asked, "Who is
that?"

All the ladies who were natives of Bald Slope knew Rawley, and they were more than glad to tell her. He was beneath them, but so pretty to look at with his healthy good looks, blue eyes and russet hair. After high school he'd gone into the service. He'd just come back to Bald Slope to work for his father at Pelham Cabs. He met her eyes that day, and it was the start of three years of long looks, three years of her dismissing the chauffeur for the day, then suddenly realizing she had to go somewhere, so of course she had to call a cab. And it was always Rawley who came. She never had to ask for him by name.

It was so innocent at first. He talked with her, laughed with her. She'd lived for those rides. She was lonely, and he was kind—good-natured and gangly with youth. She knew she should have been more responsible. She was older than Rawley by almost eight years, after all. But she hadn't meant to get so close to him. Not intimate, anyway.

Then it happened.

Rawley had driven Margaret home on the evening of Christmas Eve after the church program. All the servants were gone for the holiday, and the house was as dark as a hole. They'd had a bevy of help back then. Full-time cook, maid, gardener, chauffeur. But not even Marco was home. By that time she'd known about his other women. The first time, she'd been devastated. The second didn't hurt as much. By his tenth affair, she was numb.

She'd looked up at the house that night and felt empty. She hadn't talked to her family in Asheville since she'd left almost ten years ago. Her father was a hard man who'd clung to his old Southern name. His family lost all their money in the market crash, but they never lost their pride. Margaret was his oldest of seven daughters and she took care of her loud, needy sisters after her mother died giving birth to the last one. She cleaned the house from day to night and kept their clothes stitched and fine, because her father wanted to give the illusion to all who knew them that they could afford servants. Even working as hard as she did, her father expected her to keep her appearance impeccable, because he said her beauty was his only thing of value. She thought he meant he valued
her,
and that was the only thing that kept her going. Later, when he brought Marco to dinner, when he forced Margaret to sit next to Marco at the table, then had her younger sisters serve them drinks on the veranda and leave them alone, she understood. All she was to him was an investment. And as soon as all her sisters were out of the baby stage and able to care for themselves, he'd basically sold her to the man who offered the most.

After that, she couldn't wait to get away.

Rawley had opened the door for her and she'd stepped out. She remembered it had been a mild winter. The grass was still green.

"Good night, Mrs. Cirrini," he'd said. "Have a joyous Christmas."

"Good night," was all she'd managed before her voice broke. She tried to hurry away, but Rawley caught her hand. She was wearing her red swing coat with the high funnel collar, a red pillbox hat, and white gloves. She'd looked beautiful, young and stylish. She still had that outfit tucked away in the attic. Later, for years after it ended, she would go up and put it on when Marco wasn't home.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Please let go of my hand. The neighbors will see."

"There's no one around. Tell me what's wrong."