Secrets Gone South (Crimson Romance) (24 page)

“What made you late today?” he asked.

“A last minute walk-in.”

“Oh? Anything bad?”

She hesitated and bit her lip. “No. You said Lanie was working in the children’s activity room tonight. What do you know about that? Is Avery too young?”

“She said to bring him if we want to. They’re going to make a Valentine craft, play games, and have dinner. It costs ten dollars an hour per child.”

“They’re squeezing every dollar they can, aren’t they?”

“It is a fundraiser.” He hesitated. “They’re starting up the classes in the summer. They asked me to teach a carving class for kids.”

“That’s nice,” Arabelle answered.

“Do you think Avery will be willing to stay in that kids’ room while we look at the art? I’d like him to make a craft.”

Arabelle laughed a reserved little laugh. “I expect he’ll stay, especially if John Luke, Emma, and Missy’s kids are there. Don’t expect too much out of his crafting. You seem to forget he’s not even two yet.”

“He’s got promise. I know it. And he’ll be two soon.”

Arabelle nodded. “Less than a month now. March 8.”

“Have you thought about a party?”

She looked at him, surprised. “No. Not really. Maybe just a cake and some balloons with Luke, Lanie, and the kids. He’s still a baby. I don’t really think a big party is something he would understand or remember.”

Will’s stomach turned to stone. He’d never had a birthday party—still hadn’t.

“Did he have a party last year?” A razor sharp grater slammed down through his insides at the thought of missing Avery’s first birthday.

Arabelle looked at the street. “Yes,” she said quietly. She seemed ashamed. He didn’t want her to feel that, he really didn’t, but he pressed on.

“Were you there?” He had to know.

“Yes.”

“Was it nice?” Why couldn’t he stop? Every time he thought he’d let his anger go, it sneaked up, tapped him on the shoulder, and slapped him in the face.

“Yes, it was nice.”

“What was it like? Who came?” Apparently, he was intent on slapping her in the face, too.

They stopped walking and she turned her tortured face to his. He didn’t know if she was so sad because she was remembering her cousin or because she felt guilty because she’d shared a milestone that he hadn’t. Either way, she needed comfort but he didn’t have it to give.

“It was at David and Sheridan’s house. Family came, and the parents and babies from Avery’s play group. There were cupcakes and the theme was giraffes. There were favor bags for the kids with little toys and things. Sheridan hired a clown but that was a mistake. It scared the kids. Avery had a safari hat but he wouldn’t wear it.” She swallowed and closed her eyes.

Clearly these words were costing her, causing her pain. And it was because of him, because he was making her remember. She had to be thinking how she had come to the party as a guest and, at the end of the day, had to leave her child and go home. But he hadn’t even had that.

“Is that when he got Jiffy? At this giraffe party?”

She shook her head. “He’s always had Jiffy. I … I got Jiffy. Before. You know. He had a giraffe birthday because he loved Jiffy.”

Damn. She hadn’t shed a tear through this whole debacle but she was as close now as he’d seen. He was going to make her cry. He hated himself for it but he couldn’t move, couldn’t put a hand on her shoulder, couldn’t take her in his arms—because that grater was sliding up and down, back and forth, making him burn and bleed.

He’d make it up to her later in bed. In bed, he could make her laugh, make her cling to him, give her pleasure. But in the here and now on this street, he had nothing to give.

“Anyway.” She brushed her hair behind her ear. “I have some pictures of that party. I could show you.”

It was his turn to look at the pavement. He’d never seen a picture of Avery from his earlier life and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. If he saw a picture of the man who had been a father to his child, he might never be able to forgive Arabelle. And he wanted to. If he only knew where that road was, he’d take it. But he didn’t.

He resumed strolling and she fell into step beside him again.

“Maybe we could rent one of those big bouncy toys that they go inside. Is he too little for that?” he asked.

“I think it would be okay,” she said. “But you never know about the weather in March. It could be warm enough to go outside or it could be snowing.”

“True.”

They walked in silence for a moment. “Having a party is important to you, isn’t it?” Arabelle asked.

He couldn’t deny it. “Yes.”

She nodded. “Then we’ll have a party. Are you willing to let the masses invade your woods? There’s likely to be a mess when they’re gone. And I can guarantee you aren’t going to like some of the parents of the kids from Avery’s Sunday school class.”

“Then I guess I just need to get over that, don’t I?” He could get over anything for Avery and that included that Arabelle had cheated him. It would just take time.

She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “We’ll have a truck theme. Will that make you happy?” she asked lightly, sure that that would please him. It wouldn’t of course. Maybe nothing short of a time machine could do that.

“I think I’d like a giraffe theme,” he said.

She was silent for a long moment and he half expected her to say that repeating Avery’s first party theme wouldn’t get the birthday back. But she didn’t.

“That’s fine,” she said. “Now, can we step it up a little? I’m hungry.”

• • •

Once inside the Brantley Building, Arabelle was able to leave some of her gloom behind. Everything was decorated with glittery red and pink and there was happy music playing. At the children’s activity room, Will handed over fifty dollars, though there was no way they would leave him there for five hours. Will thoroughly interrogated Jessilyn Chambers about what the kids would be eating and told her at least twice that Avery couldn’t have peanut products. Avery trotted off with Jessilyn without a backward glance.

“There he goes.” Will gave her a dimpled smile. “Next it’ll be kindergarten. Then college. Then we’ll be in assisted living and we’ll never see him.” He was trying hard to get past the gloom too.

“Speak for yourself. I’m not going to assisted living. I’m always going to be young and spry.”

“Good to know. You can take care of me.”

That was an odd thought. Would they be together then, after Avery was grown and gone? It had never occurred to her to think that far.

“Do you want me to get you a glass of wine?” Will asked. “I’m sure it’s no more than seventy-five or eighty dollars a glass.”

Brantley Kincaid appeared. “Junior Leaguers are never cheap. Lucy just made me bid two hundred dollars on a spider that Beau Bragg drew—at least I think it’s a spider. And I’m saying, godson or not, that’s a little steep.”

“I suppose I should go look at what my child and niece and nephew have contributed,” Arabelle said.

“We might want to look at the adult art too.” Will smiled. “We could use some.”

“First—” Brantley pointed toward the ceiling “—Arabelle, I want you to look at that crown molding up there. Tell me which part is original to the building and which is a reproduction.”

This building, built sometime in the late 1800s, had been in Brantley’s family since that time. He, Lucy, and Will had restored it last year, before Brantley’s grandmother gave it to the city for a multipurpose building. It had been renamed the Alden Fairfax Brantley Cultural Center for Brantley’s grandfather, but everyone called it what they always had—the Brantley Building.

Arabelle squinted at the ceiling. “It all looks the same to me, Brantley. I can’t tell what you’re talking about.”

“Ha!” Will said triumphantly. “You keep asking and you keep getting the same answer.”

“What?” Arabelle looked from Will to Brantley.

“I should have known you’d say that,” Brantley said. “He’s your husband.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Arabelle said.

“He thinks he can reproduce architectural details that are indiscernible from the original ones. I’m going to get you a ladder so you can get up there and see.”

“I’m not climbing a ladder in this crowd.” Arabelle laughed.

“I’ll bring you back tomorrow.”

“I’m not doing it then either.”

“I should have known you’d be on his side,” Brantley said.

Will looped an arm around her shoulders. “Admit it, Kincaid,” Will said. “You can’t tell either. I’ll remind you; I took down the old, restored it, and built what couldn’t be fixed. Then I put it back up. You don’t even know for sure which is which.”

“I do,” he insisted. “I know. I can tell. Besides, you told me and I made a sketch for the files.”

“But you’re not altogether sure, are you? That’s why you keep asking people. I might have lied.”

“You don’t lie,” Brantley said. “You’ve never lied in your life. You don’t even know how.”

This was testosterone charged banter, meant to be funny, but Arabelle realized what Brantley said was true. There had been a time when she didn’t lie either but she’d gotten awfully good at it. And now she was not only forcing Will to lie, but to lie about the most important thing in the world to him. He would probably never forgive her. And she’d have to live with it because she would not—could not—live with Avery ever knowing.

Just then Brantley’s grandmother, Caroline Brantley, glided up tall and elegant, moving like she had wheels instead of feet. Arabelle noted that the two of them might be the only women at the event not dressed in red. Miss Caroline wore fuchsia silk pants and a lightweight creamy cashmere sweater shot with silver threads.

But what was that around her neck? It looked like a necklace made of macaroni and purple plastic heart beads, but surely not.

“Darlings!” She passed out cheek kisses beginning with Arabelle and ending with Brantley, who gave her a hug.

“You know you don’t have to keep wearing that necklace,” Brantley said.

“I pity the man who tries to take it from me.” Miss Caroline stroked the macaroni and hearts. “My grandson made this for me for Valentine’s Day when he was four precious years old. I wear it every year.” She looked at Brantley fondly.

“It’s got a practical use. Emergency rations. You can boil it up and eat it if you get hungry.”

“No chance of that. I just had some lovely spaghetti upstairs. Hasn’t our Lucy done a beautiful job with this event—she and Tolly, of course.”

“Everything looks beautiful,” Arabelle said. “Though we just got here and haven’t made the rounds.”

“Oh, my dear. Wait until you see the ballroom where they’re serving dinner. They have it all fixed up like an old fashioned New York Italian restaurant, with checkered tablecloths and violin players circulating and taking requests.”

“Yeah,” Brantley said tersely. “It’s nice and it ought to be. I haven’t seen my wife all week. And those violin players? They got them for free from the high school orchestra. But if you make a request, it’s going to cost you. And those kids don’t even get a cut.”

“Charity, darling,” Miss Caroline said.

“By the time they get done with us,” Brantley said, “these art lessons are going to rival the Sorbonne. Little French children will be coming to Merritt to learn to draw.”

“And carve,” Arabelle said. “Will is going to teach some classes.”

“For free, I’m betting,” Brantley said. “I am telling you, Junior Leaguers cost you every single time. And by the way.” He turned to Arabelle and Will. “Missy says for y’all to wait until eight to eat so we can all sit together. That’s when she and Lanie get off duty from the kid room and when Tolly and Lucy are taking a break.”

“I don’t know.” Will looked at Arabelle. “Arabelle said she was hungry.”

“I’ll be fine.” What else could she say? She’d been summoned. “I’m sure there’s an overpriced snack around here somewhere—all for the cause of course.”

“Give her a chunk of your necklace, Big Mama,” Brantley said.

Miss Caroline threw up her hands to protect her necklace. “Never! But I do have a request.”

“Your wish … ” Brantley said.

“There’s someone here from the Alabama Historical Commission doing an article on the building for their newsletter. They’d like to talk to the two of you and Lucy.” She looked at Brantley and Will.

“They did an article when it won that award,” Will said. Will wasn’t too excited about having his picture taken and talking about his work, Arabelle had discovered.

“Yes, but now they want to show how it’s functioning as a community asset.”

“Sounds good to me,” Brantley said. “At least I’ll get to see my wife for a few minutes.”

Miss Caroline met Arabelle’s eyes. “Arabelle, dear, would you like to join us?” Ever the lady, Miss Caroline never invited part of a group anywhere. If she had been asking Brantley to drive her for a root canal, she would have invited Will and Arabelle. Mimi had been the same.

“Oh, no. Y’all go ahead. I’m going to get a glass of wine and find Avery’s artwork.”

“Are you sure?” Will asked.

“I’ve been navigating rooms alone for years. We’ll catch up when you’re done.”

Will leaned toward her and she thought he was going to kiss her but he whispered in her ear, “Bid a thousand dollars on Avery’s tree on the cabinet door. No one else is taking that home.” Did he really think anyone else would want it? Of course, it might be the only way some of them would be able to get anything handmade by Will Garrett.

Arabelle watched her husband go, talking to Brantley and Miss Caroline as he went. People spoke to him right and left, and he responded easily. It sure hadn’t taken him long to turn from near recluse to social butterfly.

She worked her way to one of the smaller rooms where the cash bar was set up. She ordered a glass of Pinot Blanc and added a tiny, cellophane, beribboned bag of cheese straws. That ought to hold her until the Missy appointed dinnertime.

She was about to pay when a voice behind her said, “Bourbon and branch and I’ve got the lady’s.”

She turned to protest but instead broke into a happy smile.

“How are you, young lady?” It was Tiptoe Watkins, the local cemetery owner, piano tuner, and amateur philosopher. “How’s your daddy and mama?”