Hope Springs - 05 - Wedding Cake (17 page)

Charlotte considered the question. “Actually, he probably would if I didn’t,” she explained. “They happen to be good friends,” she added. The friendship between Donovan and Carla was becoming a bit difficult for Charlotte. It was something she was trying to work through. She was listening to her advice to Beatrice, and she knew
she should follow it for herself too. She needed to talk to Donovan about her feelings about his relationship with Carla.

“Well, that’s not good,” Beatrice commented. “Why are they such good friends?” she asked.

“Bea, I guess they share a special bond, and unfortunately, having a new girlfriend doesn’t really make that bond go away,” she answered.

“You aren’t happy about it either, are you?”

Charlotte decided to be truthful. “I’m going to talk to him about it,” she confessed.

“Hmmpff,” Beatrice said. “The world has just gone crazy,” she repeated. “Completely crazy,” she added. “Whatever happened to a good old-fashioned church wedding between two young people in love, without ex-wives and the need to go to Mexico?”

Charlotte laughed. “I don’t know, Beatrice. It’s just the way of things, I guess.”

“Well, that’s no excuse.” She sighed. “I love you, Charlotte Stewart.”

“I love you too, Beatrice Newgarden Witherspoon. Give Dick a kiss.” She paused. “And don’t worry so much. It’s going to work out fine. Give Louise your blessing as her friend. Give Jessie a little time. And give your daughter a call.” She waited. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Beatrice responded. And the conversation was over.

T
his is your room.” George motioned to the master bedroom. “I moved my stuff out and I’ve taken the smaller one in the back.” He stood in the hallway as Louise walked into the room.

“I wasn’t expecting to stay in here,” she responded, pulling her suitcase behind her. “I would be fine in the guest room. That’s where I’m used to staying.” Louise had been a frequent guest in her best friend’s home over the years Roxie and George had lived there.

“No, this is best for you. You’ll have your own bathroom and plenty of privacy.” George appeared uncomfortable. He shifted his weight from side to side, still standing at the door. “Roxie would want you to be in here,” he added.

Louise turned to George. She could see how much his health had deteriorated since he had driven to North Carolina on that late winter day to propose. She guessed that he had probably lost forty or fifty pounds since his diagnosis of lung cancer. His face was gaunt and his
clothes were too large. He looked like a shadow of the big man he used to be. “Yeah, she probably would,” she finally said.

“I’ll get your other belongings,” George said, and quickly turned to leave.

Louise was going to tell him that she would get her things herself, that he needed to rest, but when she glanced at where George had been standing, he was gone. She sighed. They had driven in from North Carolina just a few hours before and had gone straight to the courthouse when they arrived in town. They had been married for about an hour. Louise was also tired, and she sat down on the bed. She looked around the room.

Roxie was everywhere. George hadn’t changed a thing since he had been married to her. All the knickknacks she had purchased, all the same linens. Even her old jewelry box was still on the top of the dresser. Louise wondered if George had cleaned out anything since Roxie’s death.

The curtains were the same ones Roxie made when they first moved into the house. Louise remembered when she purchased the material. Louise had come up to visit and help them move in, and the two women had gone together to buy window treatments and new linens as well as other supplies. The two friends had spent many hours getting the house decorated and suited to Roxie’s ideas.

After seeing what the stores were offering, Roxie had decided to make her own window treatments, and the two had driven to every fabric store in a one-hundred-mile radius of the couple’s new home. Roxie finally settled on a nice floral fabric, and she had bought every yard the store had in stock. She had sewn long, thick curtains, and even after more than forty years of hanging in the same windows, they still looked new and fashionable. Louise stood up and walked
over to the window. She touched a curtain, pulling it away from the glass. When she did, she could see outside in the front of the house, and she noticed George struggling with the other suitcases. She was going to go outside and help him and then she waited. She decided just to watch. He pulled one out from the backseat slowly, set it down beside him, and then leaned against the car. It was obvious that he was struggling. Finally, he pulled out the other one and stopped again.

Louise let the curtain fall back and returned to the bed and sat down. “What on earth am I doing here?” she asked herself. She glanced down at her left hand. She was wearing a wedding band, one that Bea and Jessie had bought for her to have for the civil ceremony. It was simple, just a gold band that they had purchased at the local jewelry store. “I am a married woman,” she said, shaking her head. “I am gay and married to my best friend’s dying husband.”

She thought about the events of the last few days. The good-bye lunch she had with her friends that later turned into a silly bridal shower they had organized at Lester’s, complete with lingerie and the giving of the ring they had picked out. Beatrice had even ordered a special cake for Louise, pink frosting with a little bride standing on top. They had invited some of their church friends to attend. Even the pastor showed up, although it was clear that he was uncomfortable at the gathering and with the whole notion of Louise marrying George. He said a quick blessing and soon departed.

Louise remembered how James made an appearance as well and how awkward he had been around Jessie. It seemed as if they hadn’t been around each other in a number of weeks and they acted clumsy and fidgety around each other. Jessie moved to the opposite side of the diner when he arrived. James had brought a gift, a set of note cards, already addressed and stamped, half made out for Bea and half
for Jessie. He had given Louise the gift, looked around the diner, found Jessie’s glance, nodded at her, and left.

After Jessie found out about the other woman and had confronted her husband, James had moved in with his son, and even though he and Jessie still talked to each other, it was obvious to everyone that something painful had happened between them.

Louise was worried about her friends. She even asked Jessie if she wanted her to stay in Hope Springs, offering to cancel the wedding and the move for her friend, but Jessie had convinced her that there was nothing that Louise could do and that she needed to go forward with her life.

“My life,” Louise said to herself, dropping her head in her hands. “This is some life,” she added.

“Are you sorry you’ve come?” George was standing at the door. He surprised Louise.

She snapped up her head. “No,” she said. “I was just thinking about Jessie and James,” she acknowledged. “They’re having problems.”

“Yeah, you mentioned the affair.” He stood at the door. “Are you sure it’s just that and not all this?” he asked.

Louise decided to be honest. “It is just a little crazy, don’t you think?” she asked.

George rolled the suitcase into the room and placed it beside the other one that was near the bed. He nodded toward the bed. “Can I sit?” he asked.

“Yes, of course,” Louise replied, moving over to make room for him to sit beside her.

He sat down. His breathing was short and labored.

“You okay?” Louise asked. “You want a glass of water or something?” She started to get up.

George just shook his head, holding up his hand, to wave away the offer.

Louise sat back down. She slid her hands down the front of her legs, resting them on her knees. She waited.

“Roxie loved this room,” she finally commented. She glanced around. “She had everything exactly like she wanted it.” She noticed the color of the paint, the carpet, the design of the bedspread.

“She always said that the bedroom should be a person’s sanctuary, a place where everything was restful and relaxing.” Louise shook her head. “She read all of these books, did all of this research, picking the colors and the fabrics to be soothing and calming. She was determined to create a gentle space for the two of you.”

George smiled. “She had this room painted three times before she found the exact color of blue she had in mind.” He reached in his back pocket and took out a handkerchief. He wiped his forehead. “I kept saying to her the colors all looked the same. What is the big deal? And she’d say, ‘This one is just too dark, too stormy. I want light blue, I want morning sky blue, not noon sky blue.’ ”

Louise smiled. “She was particular about her paint colors. That’s for sure.”

“She was particular about a lot of things,” George noted.

Louise nodded. “The foods she fed her family, her Christmas cards, how she dressed. I always felt like such a slob around her because she was so perfect in everything she presented, everything she did. And she never seemed to be burdened by all those things. She was also so light and carefree and still managed to make everything perfect.” She paused. “I’ve never been like that.”

“She used to tell me that she wished she could be more like you,” George commented.

Louise turned to George with surprise. “How so?” she asked.

“She thought you were the smartest person she knew. She always thought no one took her seriously because she was so unfettered by life and because she liked being a homebody. She liked to cook and plan meals and sew. She thought you were more of a real woman because you had a career and read a lot of books and because you could argue so well with me. You could always make your points so clearly.” George looked at Louise. “She thought she was never quite smart enough.”

“Well, that’s about the silliest thing I ever heard,” Louise responded.

George shrugged. “That’s what she said.”

The two of them sat on the bed, side by side.

“What do you think she would say about this—” Louise stopped, trying to find the right words.

“Arrangement?” George interrupted.

Louise nodded.

He paused. “I think she would approve.” He turned to Louise. “Don’t you?” he asked. “You knew her better than I did,” he added.

This comment surprised Louise. “You really think that?” she asked.

George dropped his hands in his lap. “Of course I think that.” He took in another breath. His breathing seemed to be under control again. “After we got married, she always said that she wished she was living with you instead of me, that the two of you made better room-mates than we did and that she didn’t have to tell you everything she was thinking like she did to me.”

Louise scratched her chin. She smiled. “It’s just a woman thing, I guess.” She lightly punched George in the side with her elbow.

“I knew I could never come between the two of you,” he commented.

“It wasn’t like you didn’t try,” Louise responded. “You never liked me, did you?” she asked.

George considered the question. “I was just jealous,” he replied. “I always knew you were the one she wanted to talk to about everything. You could always make her laugh, always make her feel better.” He coughed. “If I remember correctly, you never cared for me either.”

Louise nodded. “You took my best friend away,” she said. “How was I ever supposed to like you after that?”

George smiled. “But somehow Roxie made us get along.”

“She was the peacemaker,” she noted. “Those women at the mill could fight like cats and dogs, and Roxie would always find a way to ease the tensions, bring them together to be friends. She was good at that,” Louise added.

George nodded. “She was good at a lot of things,” he said. “But you didn’t answer your own question.”

“What’s that?” Louise asked, forgetting about the earlier part of the conversation.

“What do you think she would say about us?” he asked.

Louise shrugged. “I think she would want you to be happy, that she would say that she was glad that someone she trusted was taking care of you, looking after you, being with you.”

“Is that the only reason you’re here?” George asked. “The reason you married me?”

Louise paused. “It’s the main reason,” she answered. “I’d do anything for Roxie,” she added.

“Even marry her sorry old husband?”

Louise shrugged. “I guess that’s what I did.”

George nodded, wiped his forehead again, and then placed the handkerchief back in his pants pocket.

“Do you think she could ever forgive what I did to her?” he asked.

Louise turned to George. She understood that he was referring to the affair he had during the last year of Roxie’s life. She didn’t answer right away. She recalled how her friend had never spoken a harsh word about her husband. In those rare moments of clarity after she had moved in with Louise, her Alzheimer’s in full-blown status, she simply made comments that she had hoped that George was okay, and the only disappointment she had ever named was that his actions had caused an estrangement with their children.

Louise knew that she had never spoken of him in anger or shown any signs of bitterness toward him. She had often wondered how much Roxie knew about the affair, whether she simply chose not to consider it, act like it hadn’t happened, but in the end she knew that Roxie did know and that in some inexplicable way, she had not gone to her grave with any resentment or harbored any ill will toward her husband.

“She already has forgiven you,” Louise replied. “She forgave you before she died,” she added.

George’s eyes filled with tears. “I was wrong to do what I did. I’m sorry for that, been sorry a long time. She didn’t deserve that.”

“No, she didn’t,” Louise responded.