The Wedding Circle (5 page)

“Oh, you don't fool me. I'm sure you were thinkin' it, and it's not the least bit funny,” she said, backing away from him slightly. He was still intruding too much on her personal space. “It's no business of yours if I am good friends with Parker or what's goin' on between us. But let me remind you that you and I are divorced, Harlan John Lattimore, and that means it's over and done with. I thought I made that crystal clear to you when I turned down that so-called second proposal of yours a few months ago. Fact is, you're still the same irresponsible, pretend cowboy you always were. You'll never grow up—not in our lifetime. You oughtta try to see yourself as everybody else does for a change.”

He inched closer to her face again, and she could smell that he had been drinking. “Spare me the lecture, Peri. Hell, I just can't believe you'd prefer this black man to me,” he continued, contorting his lips into a sneer. “You keep this up, and it'll ruin your business for sure. It's one thing to hire this man to make some extra money on his desserts. I get that part. But it's another thing entirely if you're seen all over town acting like some damn fool, giggly teenager on her first date. Makes me sick just to think about it. You don't think people are talking about you behind your back? I'm only telling you all this for your own good, I hope you realize. Talk about looking at yourself in a mirror!”

Now it was her turn to laugh him off. “Yeah, I know you've always had my best interests at heart. Ha! That's why our marriage lasted so long. But you keep this stalkin' stuff up, and I'll get a restraining order against you. I mean it, Harlan. I don't have to take this foolishness, so you better get over your jukebox-playing, line-dancing, womanizing self. I don't wanna see you around The Twinkle even if you haven't eaten for a month and you're flat out starvin' to death. You're not welcome here on my property, and that's my fair warning.”

He lifted his chin dramatically, twitching his nose as his eyes narrowed to slits. “If that's the way you want it, then, Miss High and Mighty!”

“Call me whatever you want. But you just remember those two big words, Harlan:
restraining order.
You'll get off my case here and now if you know what's good for you.”

He mumbled something under his breath and started to walk away. Then he turned on his cowboy boot heels at the last second and wagged a finger at her. “You can't get rid of me so easily after all we've been through. And don't come crying to me when all this doesn't turn out the way you thought it would!”

“Believe me, I won't,” she said, snickering. “And your veiled threats don't scare me the least little bit.”

She watched him storming off into the darkness and suddenly realized she needed to catch a breath. Her blood was racing, and she felt more vulnerable than she had in a very long time. When she had finally calmed herself, she slid into the front seat of her car and sat behind the wheel thinking about what had just happened. Should she tell Parker about the distressing incident? The last thing she wanted was any kind of confrontation between the two men. That might bring the black versus white issue to an ugly conclusion.

She started the car and then turned on the air-conditioning, finding unexpected comfort in the rush of white noise it produced. Maybe if she just told her best girlfriend, Maura Beth, and sought her advice, leaning on her shoulder for once. What about her mother over in Corinth? Or perhaps she should just say nothing and hope for the best. Surely Harlan was just talking a tough game and trying to soothe his wounded male ego. It was easy to picture him as nothing more than an aging buck with a huge set of antlers, posturing and snorting at the air; then flicking his tail and running away into the woods to hide at the first sign of being stood down.

5

Bye Bye Broccoli

J
eremy and Maura Beth were sitting across from each other at the breakfast table a few days before the big visit of their parents. “You still have no clue what Becca's surprise girlie luncheon—as you keep calling it—is all about?” he wanted to know. It wasn't the first time he had pressed her on the subject.

She was momentarily lost in thought and then looked up from her cereal with a wry grin. “Hey, cut the woman some slack. She's pregnant and probably crazed with hormones. That's the best I can come up with right now. All she would tell any of us was that it was going to be me, Connie, Periwinkle, and Miss Voncille—the original core of the book club.”

Jeremy took a sip of his coffee before throwing out his latest theory. “Okay, try this one on for size. I have to be good at reading the minds of all my students, you know. That's how you maintain control in the classroom—you anticipate the next moves of those fermenting teenaged brains. So, I was thinking that Becca might have an important announcement to make, and she wants her very bestest girlfriends at her side for a big dose of courage.”

Maura Beth put down her spoon as her face fell. “Oh, no!”

He had a superior smirk on his face. “Hey, I'm well aware
bestest
isn't proper English!”

“No, it's not that, silly. It's the baby,” Maura Beth continued. “I hope nothing bad has happened. She and Stout Fella have been waiting for ten long years to get pregnant. Oh, now you've got me thinking all sorts of terrible things!”

Jeremy adopted her sudden tone of despair. “Geez, I hadn't even thought of that angle. Sorry. I didn't mean to upset you.” He took another moment. “But you said she was the usual bubbly Becca over the phone.”

“Yes, she definitely was. I didn't even give her invitation a second thought at the time.”

He dug into more of his cereal. “Well, it's probably nothing. And you'll know in a few more hours,” he added, finally. “Maybe it's just some straightforward good news, and she just wants to share it with all of you first.”

Then Jeremy changed the subject as they cleared the table. “Gotten any new e-mails or phone calls from your parents about the book club visit?”

“Nothing,” Maura Beth said. “I'm just continuing to hope for the best when they get here. After Mama's last long-distance, diva performance about what clothes she should bring, I decided I'd rather not hear from her until she actually darkens our door. Silence really can be golden sometimes.”

“Well, at least my mom and dad are excited about it all. I know for a fact they've always loved everything about Uncle Doug and Aunt Connie's lodge. And so should we, considering that's where we first met last year.”

That brought a reflective smile to Maura Beth's face. “Yep, we were clicking on all cylinders that evening by the fireplace. Can't remember a single disagreement we had, and we trotted out all the deal breakers—politics, religion, pop culture, you name it. Plus, your parents have just been fantastic to me. They helped me out so much with my book-club ideas up in Brentwood, and your mother's been a sweetheart over the phone ever since. Can I please just go ahead and adopt them?”

He gave her a chuckle as he rinsed out his coffee cup at the sink. “No worries, Maurie. They'll be your in-laws soon enough.”

“And I'm really looking forward to that,” she said, leaning into him affectionately. “We're getting married no matter what my parents throw up against the wall.”

 

As Maura Beth drove her Prius along the gravel road lined with pink crepe myrtles that led to the Brachles' sprawling, multicolumned country estate, she was suddenly reminded of the lack of affordable housing throughout Greater Cherico. She and Jeremy had been looking for something larger—just anything at all—for weeks now. But the only new construction within a ten-mile radius was going on out at Justin Brachle's high-end lake development, and those were exclusively the mega-budget projects of the wealthiest citizens. Meanwhile, there didn't seem to be much of a market for a new apartment complex of any size anywhere, especially since Cherico was not growing. For the time being, Maura Beth's efficiency on Clover Street would have to do; she and Jeremy would just have to go the extra mile to avoid getting on each other's nerves in such a small space. For the most part, they were managing things nicely. Except that she was still somewhat upset by Jeremy's suggestion over breakfast that had led her to think a tragedy of the highest order might have befallen the Brachle household.

So when Maura Beth followed Becca into her chandelier-hung dining room a few minutes later and saw that her petite girlfriend was still not in maternity clothes, a nearly palpable feeling of panic exploded somewhere deep inside her. It spread from the core of her being all the way out to her fingertips, and she could only hope that the concern was not reading on her face. There was also the problem of thinking of just the right thing to say if the pregnancy had indeed gone awry. She had never been in this position before and wasn't looking forward to the pressure.

“Always good to get together with the famous Becca Broccoli in her beautiful home,” Maura Beth said, as she admired the pastel blue quatrefoil drapes, Wilson china place settings, and centerpiece of lush green hydrangea cuttings. “And what are you serving us today that smells so heavenly?”

“Oh, it's just my easy-peasy chicken spaghetti. It should be getting close to golden bubbly in a few more minutes,” Becca told her. “Hope you're good and hungry. I doubled the recipe, and I'm expecting you girls to take home any leftovers. I mean it—I've got all my Tupperware lined up back in the kitchen.”

“I'm sure I'll do my share of damage,” Maura Beth said, matching the smile on Becca's face. So far, nothing seemed to be out of kilter, but appearances could be deceiving.

In order, Connie, Periwinkle, and Miss Voncille swept in—all fashionably dressed and coiffed—and they were soon enjoying Bloody Marys and chatting amiably. But it was when Maura Beth saw Becca sipping her cocktail that her heart truly sank. She knew there was no way a responsible pregnant woman would be consuming alcohol. In that case, it was obvious that Becca was putting up a remarkably strong front while steeling herself for the unpleasant revelation that she had indeed lost the baby.

When the time came for everyone to sit down and start enjoying their food, Maura Beth was so preoccupied that she merely pushed hers around her plate. Being the consummate hostess she was, of course, Becca noticed. “I hope there's nothing wrong with your spaghetti, Maura Beth. Did I go overboard with the cayenne pepper this morning? I've been in a spicy mood lately,” she said, her voice the epitome of Southern hospitality.

Maura Beth looked embarrassed and thought on her feet. “Oh, no, Becca . . . it's delicious as usual. I guess I wasn't as hungry as I thought I was. But don't worry. I'll pick up the pace.”

Becca smiled brightly and then chimed her spoon on her water glass a moment later. “Well, ladies, if I recall my
Alice in Wonderland
correctly, the time has come to talk of other things. I always enjoy getting together with you, of course, but I had another purpose in mind today. I have an important announcement to make, and I trust you'll all bear with me. This isn't going to be a particularly easy thing for me to explain, but I want you to hear it from me and not on the street.”

Maura Beth briefly shut her eyes and tried to calm herself. So Jeremy had been right all along! Becca was truly putting on a brave show for the benefit of her dearest friends, bless her heart.

“You four Cherry Cola Book Club members are the first to hear the news,” she began, having everyone's undivided attention. “Well, other than my Stout Fella, my big, lovable Justin. I haven't even told the WHYY station manager yet, and I don't think he's going to like me much when I've done the deed. But here it is, ladies. I'm quitting radio and shutting down
The Becca Broccoli Show.
I'm putting the old girl and her helpful hints to bed.”

Expecting to hear something entirely different as a result of the dramatic buildup inside her head, Maura Beth was having significant trouble processing the information. Thus, her response was a genuine non sequitur. “But I saw you drinking a Bloody Mary, Becca!”

The others exchanged bewildered glances, but it was Connie who managed to speak up. “What does that have to do with the show?”

“Well . . . I . . . the alcohol . . . the pregnancy,” Maura Beth said, struggling to explain herself. Everything suddenly sounded foolish to her even as it was all coming out of her mouth. How in heaven's name had she led herself down the garden path and been this far off in her thinking? She couldn't blame it all on Jeremy. Was the unthinkable happening? Was she becoming the same sort of drama queen her mother had always been and continued to be? Heaven forbid!

Becca's riff of laughter immediately dissolved the confusion in the room. “Oh, I see what you were thinking. But mine was a Virgin Mary, sweetie. Some extra Tabasco was all the kick it had. I thought you all knew that. I wouldn't dare touch even a drop of booze.”

Maura Beth decided to save herself further embarrassment and change the subject quickly. “Oh, of course you wouldn't. Don't pay any attention to me. I seem to be rambling today. Anyhow, you were telling us about wrapping up
The Becca Broccoli Show.
But you haven't told us why yet.”

“Yes, tell us,” Periwinkle said, still frowning at Maura Beth with a skeptical, sideways glance. “I've gotten some of my best food tips from listening to you, Becca. People all over Cherico swear by you. Hey, even The Twinkle's menu swears by you, girl!”

“I know I do,” Miss Voncille added. “Whenever I want to impress Locke with a new dish, I tune you in and get my pen and paper ready. He thinks I'm an absolute genius in the kitchen.”

Becca surveyed her friends quickly and gave a delicate sigh of satisfaction. “Well, there are two reasons really. The first is the little one growing inside me. In just over five months I'll be a mother with a precious baby to look after. As you all know, I've been wanting that for a long time, and now it's finally going to happen. Frankly, I just don't think I'll have the time anymore to keep coming up with all these recipe ideas, much less show up at the radio station early every morning, what with the diapers I'll have to change and the formula I'll have to fix.”

“That sounds so familiar. I remember those hectic days when Douglas and I were on Lindy's two o'clock bottle schedule. My goodness, we thought we would never get a wink of sleep again. The truth is, a baby turns everything upside down,” Connie observed, reaching over to rub Becca's arm gently.

“That's what I've been told, but I don't think I'll mind in the least.”

“No, you won't. But I think I heard you say there were two reasons. What was the other one?” Connie continued.

This time Becca's sigh was drawn-out and weighted with worry as her face clouded over. “It's because of my Stout Fella. As some of you probably know, he's been having these horrible stabbing pains in his feet that just won't go away.” She paused to gesture at the floor with her index finger several times. “I've been teasing him that it was all due to wearing those ridiculous cowboy boots of his. Ha! He thinks they help him with his real-estate deals somehow. Talk about your superstitious beliefs! Unfortunately, it turns out he has neuropathy. In fact, he has a condition called
insulin resistance,
and he's got to completely change his eating habits. I mean from top to bottom. I'll have to do a complete makeover of the pantry.”

“But he's lost all that weight already,” Maura Beth pointed out.

Becca frowned and waved her off. “No thanks to me in the first place. I've been fixing him tons of carbs and sweets ever since we got married. Hey, we've both even laughed about the way he ‘islands' his ice cream all the time. But the neurologist up in Memphis said that he could actually reverse this insulin condition if he lost even more weight and paid strict attention to his sugar and carbs intake. I've got to try to help him do that now.”

“This sounds almost like diabetes,” Maura Beth said.

“It isn't yet, but that could be the eventual result if we don't do something quick. I just hope it's not too little, too late,” Becca answered, sounding both maternal and determined.

Connie looked puzzled as she patted her big hair. “But haven't you been including more healthy recipes in your shows lately? Why, Voncille had us all over for breakfast to listen to that very first one where you told your audience you were putting the broccoli back in
The Becca Broccoli Show.
We just thought that was the cutest thing we'd ever heard.”

Becca waited for the nods of recognition and polite titters to die down. “I appreciate that, but the basis of the show is still plenty of comfort food with carbs and sugar, and that's not what Justin needs right now. The way I see it, my first obligation is to my husband and child. The show's been a wonderful creative outlet for me—really, it's been a great ride. But I think it's run its course.”

The table went silent for a while as everyone took it all in.

“All I can say is, I'll miss you on the radio,” Miss Voncille said, finally. “In fact, I know good and well I've become addicted to it. I set my alarm every morning so I can get up and hear it. Oh, yes, Locke mumbles and complains, but then he turns over and goes right back to sleep while I head out to the kitchen to have my coffee and listen to you.”