Ain't She Sweet? (29 page)

She turned to gaze out the window, pretending not to notice him, but he was coming right toward her. He wore a gray suit, white shirt, and a tie loosened at the neck. Every eye in the dining room swung in their direction. She gazed down at her plate, spoke through tight lips. “You know better than this. Go away.”

He kicked out the chair across from her and sank into it, beer bottle in hand. “I don’t feel like it.”

The teenage boy she remembered would never have taken a seat without being invited, but
that
boy had been a lot more polite than this hard-eyed captain of industry. She wanted her dog.

“I mean it, Ryan. Everybody’s going to say I lured you out here, and frankly, I’m getting a little tired of being held responsible for the fall of all mankind.”

His hair wasn’t deliberately rumpled like Colin’s. Instead, it looked as though he’d shoved his hand through it a few too many times, and the lines in his face seemed deeper-etched than they’d been four nights ago. His suit coat fell open as he stretched his legs and gestured toward her plate with his bottle. “Are you going to eat the rest of that sandwich?”

“Yes.”

But he’d already pulled her plate toward him. As he picked up her untouched half, the past rushed at her so fast she felt dizzy. How many meals had he finished for her when they were in high school? She’d been a picky eater, more interested in fun and flirting than food, and he’d had a teenage boy’s gargantuan appetite. Suddenly, she wanted it all back: the opportunities she’d squandered, the self-confidence she lost, the blissful arrogance that had made her believe nothing could ever harm her. She wanted her mother. The Seawillows. Most of all, she wanted the life she’d have lived if she’d stayed with her first lover, even though she hadn’t loved him for a very long time.

The boy most likely to succeed polished off her sandwich and took a swig of beer. “Did you think about Parrish after you left?”

“I tried my best not to.”

“Remember how we were going to leave here? Go to the big city and make our mark?”

“You were going to make your mark. I was mainly going to shop.”

Colin would have enjoyed that, but Ryan barely seemed to hear her. Even as kids, they hadn’t shared the same sense of humor. His had always been more literal. Like Winnie’s.

He peeled up the edge of the beer label with his thumb. “Did you ever think about me?”

Weariness from a long day caught up with her, and she sighed. “Go home, Ryan. Better yet, I’ll go.”

She tossed down her napkin and started to rise, but his hand shot across the table and grabbed her wrist. “Did you?” he said fiercely.

She was in no mood for this, and as she fell back in her chair, she jerked her hand away.

“I thought about you all the time,” she retorted. “When Darren Tharp slapped me across the room, I thought of you. When he screwed around on me, I thought of you. And the night I staggered into a Vegas wedding chapel with Cy, both of us so drunk we could barely say our vows, I thought of you then, too. One morning— And this happened
after
my divorce, mind you, because, unlike my loser husbands, I didn’t screw around. One morning I woke up in a seedy motel with a man I could have sworn I’d never seen before, and, baby, you’d better believe I thought of you then.”

A mixture of emotions played across his face: shock, pity, and the faintest trace of satisfaction that came from knowing she’d been punished for what she’d done to him. His all-too-human reaction quenched her anger, and she gave him a rueful smile. “Before you get too smug, I’d better tell you that I stopped thinking about you the day I met Emmett Hooper. I loved that man from the bottom of my heart.”

Ryan’s satisfaction faded, and she knew what was coming next. She held out her hand to put a stop it. “Don’t bother jumpin’ on the pity train for me. Emmett and I had more happiness in our short marriage than most couples have in a lifetime. I was very lucky.”

He surprised her by going all starchy. “Winnie and I’ve been very happy.”

“I wasn’t making comparisons.”

“All couples hit rough patches now and then.”

She and Emmett hadn’t. He’d died too soon.

“Anything I can get you, Mr. Galantine?” The waitress’s eyes were bright with curiosity as she sidled up to the table. “Anything else, miss?”

“I’ll have another beer,” Ryan said, “and bring her some of that chocolate pie.”

“Just my check,” Sugar Beth said.

“Make it two pies,” he said.

“Sure enough.”

“I don’t want pie,” Sugar Beth told him, as the waitress left. “I want to go home. And since you’re such a saint, apparently it hasn’t occurred to you that Winnie’s going to hear all about our little tête-à-tête here, and I’m guessing she won’t take it well, so this might not be the best way to patch up your differences.”

“I have nothing to feel guilty about.”

He’d answered too carefully, and Sugar Beth studied him. “You want Winnie to hear about this.”

“Hand me those fries if you’re not going to finish them.”

“I don’t appreciate being used.”

“You owe me.”

“Not after Sunday.”

He studied the ring his bottle left on the table. “You’re talking about Gigi.”

“Still as sharp as ever.”

“I’m not apologizing for being upset.”

“Then you’re an idiot. You and Winnie managed to turn me into forbidden fruit, and you can bet that Gigi’s already figured out a way to see me again.”

Instead of an angry rejoinder, he traced the water ring with his finger. “You’re probably right.”

The waitress returned with the beer, two pieces of pie, and Sugar Beth’s check. As she left, Sugar Beth stirred the last bits of ice in her Coke with her straw. “She’s a great kid, Ryan. Right now, she’s asking the questions that most of us don’t get around to until we’re older.”

“She hasn’t asked me anything.”

She arched an eyebrow.

“We have a great relationship,” he said defensively. “We’ve always talked.”

“Before she turned into a teenager.”

“That shouldn’t make any difference.”

“You sound like you’re ninety. You remember what it was like. I’m not her parent, and I’m also notorious, which makes me an irresistible confidante.”

“What kind of questions is she asking?”

“Privileged information. You’ll have to trust me.”

He gazed at her for a long moment. She waited for him to say she was the last person he’d trust, but he didn’t. “Colin’s right. You have changed.”

She shrugged. He fiddled with his beer bottle again. “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we’d stayed together?”

“We wouldn’t have. My self-destructive streak was a mile wide. If I hadn’t left you for Darren Tharp, I’d have left you for somebody else.”

“I guess you couldn’t help it.”

“Wait a minute. You’re not going to wave the olive branch that easily, are you?”

“Your father was an insensitive son of a bitch. If he’d given you a little affection, maybe you wouldn’t have adopted your scorched-earth policy with men.”

“Girls and their daddies.”

He flinched.

“Ryan, it’s not going to be that way with Gigi. She knows you love her. She’ll come through. Just give her some room to make a few mistakes.”

He switched directions before she could see it coming. “Don’t zero in on Colin, Sugar Beth. He bleeds like the rest of us, and he still has a lot of wounds from his wife’s suicide.”

“Worry about yourself.” She pushed her pie across the table. “And don’t use me again as a pawn in your problems with Winnie.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“Yes.”

He leaned back in his chair, looking her square in the eye. “What if I said I still thought about you?”

“I’d believe you, but I wouldn’t attach any importance to it. There’s not a single spark left between us.”

“You’re still a beautiful woman.”

“And you’re a gorgeous man. Ken and Barbie all grown up. We look real good together, but we don’t have a lot to say to each other.”

That made him smile, and she thought she felt something ease between them. Before it went away, she gathered up her purse and pushed her check across the table. “Thanks for dinner. And good luck explaining this to Winnie.”

The house felt abandoned as Ryan entered. No wife waiting for him with a glass of wine and a smile. No rock music blaring from the upstairs bedroom. He tossed his suit coat over the back of a kitchen chair, on top of the sweater he’d left there yesterday. His
Sports Illustrated
lay open on the table. The counter held a litter of advertising flyers mixed in with bills and brokerage statements he hadn’t taken the time to sort through.

He’d always thought of himself as being well organized, but when he’d gotten dressed this morning, he couldn’t find either his good black belt or his nail clippers. He tried to imagine Winnie’s reaction when she heard he’d been with Sugar Beth. Maybe this would finally shake enough sense into her to bring her home.

The front door banged.

“Dad!”

Gigi sounded frantic. He dropped the newspaper. She’d eaten dinner tonight with Winnie at the Inn, and as he rushed into the foyer, images of disaster flashed through his head.

She stood just inside the front door, her eyes pools of misery, her chest quivering. She looked so young and forlorn. He pulled her into his arms. “Honey? What’s wrong?”

“Dad?” She shuddered against him. “Dad, Mom’s left us.”

Winnie gripped the steering wheel. She hadn’t been able to keep Gigi in the dark any longer. Maybe she and Ryan should have told her together, but that would have made it seem too serious, and she hadn’t wanted to scare her. Besides, she doubted Ryan would have agreed to talk to Gigi with her. He was too angry.

When she’d spoken with him a few hours ago on the phone, he’d been hostile and sarcastic, playing the long-suffering husband saddled with a crazy wife. And maybe he was right. What sane woman walked out on her husband because he didn’t love her enough? Still, she wasn’t sorry she hadn’t let him come up last night.

Ironically, she and Gigi had been having a good time at dinner once Winnie had gotten over the shock of her daughter’s hair. Not only had she added red streaks, but she’d also chopped chunks in it around her face, cutting too far in on one side. Still, she’d seemed happy with it, so Winnie had managed a compliment. And she hadn’t uttered a word about Gigi’s eye makeup or too-tight black outfit. After some initial awkwardness, Gigi had started to chatter away about how girls gave up their power, a topic that had first reared its ugly head after her clandestine meeting with Sugar Beth.

“. . . like when a girl does something goofy in class just to make some stupid boy she likes laugh. Or when the girls let teachers ignore them, even the women teachers. Mrs.

Kirkpatrick calls on the boys a lot more than she calls on the girls because the boys are always jumping out of their seats, and she wants to keep them quiet. Today I raised my hand about six thousand times, but she still wouldn’t call on me. Finally, I jumped out of my seat, too, and started waving my arms until she got the point.”

“I remember getting passed over, too.”

“Because you were quiet.”

Winnie had nodded. “Not by Colin, though. He was the worst teacher in some ways, the best in others.” She’d put on her fake British accent.
“Jasper, keep your bum in that
bloody chair till I call on you. Winnie, speak up!
I was terrified of him.”

Gigi had giggled, and for a few moments, it felt like old times. Then Gigi’s strawberry shortcake had arrived, and Winnie had known she couldn’t postpone telling her any longer.

“There’s something I wanted to mention before you hear it from someone else and get the wrong impression.” She’d made herself smile a little, as if what she was about to announce were no more unpleasant than a dental appointment. “I’ve decided I need a little time to myself. No big deal, and definitely nothing for you to worry about. But I’m going to stay at the store awhile longer.”

At first, Gigi hadn’t understood. “This is so lame! It’s not fair. You’re at the store even more now than before you hired Donna.”

Winnie’d tried again, speaking carefully. “It’s not entirely about work. There are some things I need to sort out. Dad and I got married when we were very young, but as people grow older they change a little. I want to think some things through. A few weeks maybe.

A month. It’s nothing serious—I don’t want you to think that—but you’re also getting older, and it’s not fair to keep you in the dark.”

The petulance in her daughter’s expression had been replaced by dawning realization and then horror. Within seconds, Gigi made the leap to the ultimate disaster. “You and Dad are getting a divorce!”

“No! No, sweetheart, nothing like that.” Winnie hoped her own creeping doubts didn’t show. “Dad and I aren’t getting a divorce. I just need some time away, so I can figure a few things out.”

A vulnerable little girl replaced the sullen teenager, and Gigi began to cry. “You’re getting a divorce.”

Winnie knew then that she shouldn’t have chosen the Inn’s dining room to break the news, but she’d thought a public setting would make it seem less important. Once again, she’d been wrong.

“It’s me, isn’t it?” Gigi’s nose had started to run. “Because I’ve been such a bitch.”

“No, sweetie. No. This doesn’t have anything to do with you.” She didn’t add that Gigi’s behavior hadn’t helped. Instead, Winnie hustled her into the ladies’ room, where she’d hugged her, cleaned up the smeared eye makeup, and done her best to reassure both of them that this was only temporary.

She was still shaking as she climbed the stairs and let herself into the dingy apartment that had become the living quarters of the richest woman in Parrish, Mississippi. After she’d slipped into a T-shirt and her new blue-and-white-checked pajama bottoms, she settled down to do some paperwork, but she couldn’t concentrate. She picked up
Southern Living
and thumbed through the recipes, only to realize she had no idea who she might be cooking them for. The phone rang. She knew it would be Ryan. By now, Gigi had told him about their conversation, and he’d be furious. If she ignored his call as she wanted to, she’d only make things worse. “Hello.”