Текст книги "Summer Rental"
Автор книги: Mary Kay Andrews
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 27 страниц)
13
Maryn watched Dorie’s red van pull out of the parking lot. Had she done something totally crazy? She’d just agreed to rent a room in a house full of women—total strangers—sight unseen. Why? Something about this girl made her feel safe. Dorie seemed like somebody she could trust. And Maryn couldn’t remember the last time she had trusted another woman she wasn’t related to.
She told herself the new plan made perfect sense. This way her name wouldn’t show up on any hotel or motel register. She wouldn’t be using a credit card. She’d be hidden away in a private home, in a place he’d never look, her car parked in a garage, hidden from prying eyes.
Maryn pulled her cell phone from her handbag and checked for messages. Four missed calls from Don. She deleted them with a tap of her fingertip, wishing the task were as easy in the real world as it was in the digital one. She wondered idly if she should call Adam, tell him how right he’d been about Don. She wished she could tell him, wished they could talk. Adam was the only one she could trust. But it wasn’t safe. Not for him, not for her.
Maryn nibbled nervously at her cuticle. What should she do? Call the police? Call the old man, R.G. Prescott himself? And tell him what? “I used to work for you, and my husband, Don Shackleford, is your accountant, and incidentally, he’s ripped you off to the tune of a couple million dollars, have a nice day?”
No. She had no real proof. She hadn’t worked for the insurance company in months. Shortly after their marriage, Don had insisted she quit—he had plenty of money, they didn’t need her penny-ante salary, and anyway, she had plenty to do at home, the three-thousand-square-foot town house they were renting while the new house was under construction. She’d kept up the friendship with Adam after leaving the company, but she was careful not to mention Adam to Don, who thought Adam was a loser—and anyway, why couldn’t she make friends with the wives of some of his golf buddies?
Adam had called on her cell phone last Friday, and it was obvious that something was wrong. “We need to talk,” he’d said, his voice low, insisting they meet at a coffee shop miles away from Cherry Hill.
She’d laughed when he walked in fifteen minutes late, wearing oversized sunglasses and a baseball cap pulled low over his face. “What, you’re incognito?”
“This is serious, Maryn,” Adam had said. “Listen. We had outside auditors show up at the office today. They wouldn’t tell anybody what they were looking for, but I know for a fact that something’s funny with half a dozen of our accounts.”
She shrugged. “What’s that got to do with me? I haven’t worked there in months. And anyway, I just handled claims processing.”
“This isn’t about you,” Adam said. “It’s about your husband.”
“Don?” She still didn’t get it.
Adam smirked. “How do you think he got so rich? How many other CPAs do you know who live like him? The houses, new cars, trips to Vegas, Palm Beach, Bermuda? How much do you think it costs to belong to a country club like yours?” He gestured towards Maryn’s engagement ring. “Robby Prescott is old money, third generation, and his wife doesn’t have a ring like that.”
“That’s crazy,” Maryn said heatedly. She got up to leave. “Don doesn’t have to steal. He owns investment property, an office building on the south side, some self-storage companies. Just because you don’t like him doesn’t mean he’s a crook.”
Adam grabbed her sleeve, and her coffee spilled all over the table, splashing on her favorite Armani skirt. “Listen to me,” he insisted. “The guy is dirty. There’s money missing, or at least unaccounted for. Like, two million dollars.”
“You’re talking about my husband,” Maryn said, her voice cold. “Now let go. And don’t call me again. Ever.”
Her anger lasted all of a day. And then she started to wonder. Just where did all Don’s money come from? Why was he so secretive about his business affairs? He was generous with her, but she had no checking account of her own, not even a debit card, only credit cards, and she never saw a bill or bank statement. Everything was sent directly to his office. If she needed cash, she asked, and Don gave. “I’m your own personal ATM,” he told her more than once, graphically demonstrating just what he expected from her in return for his generosity.
And exactly twenty-four hours after her meeting with Adam, Maryn had started to look for answers. And what she found was much, much more than she bargained for. The truth hadn’t set her free at all, she thought now. It had sent her running for her life.
She put the phone away and dismissed any thought of asking anybody for help. Who would believe her? For now, she had more pressing matters to attend to. Her designer clothes—big-city career pieces—made her stand out like a sore thumb in a beach town. And the few pieces of clothing she’d hurriedly thrown into her duffle were just as unsuited to her current situation.
There was an outlet mall just down the road. She’d pick up a new wardrobe for the new person she’d just invented on the spot, a few minutes ago. Madison would need some shorts and T-shirts, a pair of Levi’s, some flip-flops. And her own clothes—Maryn’s clothes, the ones with all those expensive designer tags that she’d once lusted over? There was a Goodwill donation bin in the parking lot of the mall. That would be the end of Maryn. And the beginning of Madison.
* * *
“Here she comes,” Dorie said, as the Volvo bumped along down the driveway.
“Nice car,” Julia said, eyeing it. “Wonder where she stole it?”
“Be nice,” Dorie warned, jumping up from the rocking chair she’d been perched on.
She waited until Madison had parked the car in front of the driveway, and then walked slowly down to meet her.
“Hi, Madison,” Dorie said, smiling. “I’m so glad you’re here. Did you have any trouble finding us?”
“Not at all,” Madison said, unloading her duffle bag and laptop case from the trunk.
“Here,” Dorie said, tugging at the strap of the duffle bag, “Let me help you carry your stuff in.”
“No!” Madison jerked the duffle bag away. “I mean, no thanks. I can manage by myself.”
“All right,” Dorie said. “Come on up to the porch. We’re just having some iced tea. The girls are dying to meet you.”
“If it’s all right with you,” Madison said, “I’ve had a long day. I’d just as soon see my room first, and get settled in. Maybe we could handle the introductions later?”
Dorie’s cheeks flushed hot pink. “Actually, I was a little bit premature in offering to rent the room without everybody having met you first. “
Madison’s smile was tight. “They want to check me out, make sure I’m not some kind of freak, right?”
“I’m so sorry. It’s just that I did this all on my own, without consulting anybody,” Dorie said apologetically. “I’m not usually this impulsive. But I’m sure it’ll be fine, as soon as they meet you.”
Madison let out a long sigh of annoyance. “Let’s get it over with then.”
* * *
“Girls,” Dorie said, “this is Madison.”
Ellis stood up and held out her hand. “Madison, hi. I’m Ellis Sullivan.”
Julia stayed in her rocking chair. She looked Madison up and down and finally put down her glass of iced tea. “Hello,” she said. “I’m Julia.”
“Hi there,” Madison said warily. She clutched her pocketbook and looked around the porch. “This looks very nice. Thanks for agreeing to let me horn in on your getaway.”
“We’re glad to have you,” Ellis said. She gestured towards the rocking chair she’d just abandoned. “Join us, won’t you? I just made a pitcher of iced tea.”
“Thank you,” Madison said. She put the duffle bag and laptop on the floor beside the rocking chair and took the glass of iced tea Ellis poured.
An uneasy silence fell over the porch, punctuated only by the rhythmic sound of Julia’s chair, rocking back and forth on the worn wooden floorboards.
“I guess Dorie told you about all of us,” Ellis said, anxious to break the ice.
“Not really,” Madison said. “She just said you all were old friends. From Savannah?”
“Actually, I’m the only one still living in Savannah,” Dorie said, jumping in. “I teach English at a Catholic girls’ high school. Ellis lives in Philadelphia, and she’s in banking.”
“Was in banking,” Ellis said. “I’ve just been downsized.”
“And Julia lives in London. When she’s not traveling. She’s a model. You’ve probably seen her in magazines. Sumptuesse shampoo? That was Julia,” Dorie said. “She was the face of Sumptuesse.”
“But not lately,” Julia said wryly. “What about you, Madison? What brings you to Nags Head?”
Madison had been waiting for it, and she was ready with an answer that was mostly true.
“I’m running away from home,” she said glibly, with a toss of her head. “Man troubles.”
“So sorry,” Dorie said, reaching out and awkwardly patting Madison’s hand.
“I’ll get over it,” Madison said, her smile tight.
“Where’s home?” Julia said, pressing on.
“Good question,” Madison said smoothly. “I’ve bounced around a lot. Jersey most recently. But that’s about to change. I’m examining my options.”
“I know what that’s like,” Ellis said, nodding her head in agreement. “Time for reinvention, right? I’m not even sure I’ll go back into banking.”
“What?” Dorie said, looking confused. “You never told us you’re planning a career change. What would you do?”
Ellis shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll take up skydiving. Or run away and join the circus.”
“Right,” Julia said. “And I’ll take up brain surgery.”
“Ellis is afraid of heights,” Dorie said, seeing Madison’s questioning look. “And Julia can’t stand the sight of blood. She flunked high school biology because she refused to dissect her fetal pig.”
Madison yawned and set down her iced tea glass. “Sorry,” she said. “I hope I’m not being rude, but I really am tired after a day of driving.” She glanced over at Dorie. “If that’s all right?”
“Of course,” Dorie exclaimed, looking over at the other two women. “Right?”
Julia shrugged. Ellis stood up again. “Welcome to Ebbtide,” she said warmly.
“Come on, Madison,” Dorie said. “I’ll show you your room. Or would you like to see the rest of the house first?”
“I’ll take the tour later, if you don’t mind,” Madison said.
“All right,” Dorie said, trying not to look surprised. “Sure. Well, your entrance is around the back of the house. I’ll show you the way.”
“Thanks,” Madison said.
Dorie picked her way carefully up the three flights of stairs, clinging tightly to the metal rail. The paint was rusted and peeling and stuck to the damp palms of her hand. Madison was only a few steps behind, and while Dorie could feel herself winded after just the first floor, the other woman’s step was light, her breathing unaffected.
She and Ellis had made quick work of getting the room ready for their guest. The room, which had been empty, was stifling, so they switched on the air-conditioning unit to try and cool it down. Then, while Ellis made up the bed with clean linens, Dorie had dragged a small oak dresser, nightstand, and ancient green desk lamp from the attic storage space. They’d damp mopped the floor and swept the cobwebs from the windowsills. It had taken both of them to force open the warped door to the outside-stair landing. It obviously hadn’t been used in quite a while.
Dorie opened the door and stepped aside to let Madison enter the room first, keeping her fingers crossed that the room would meet her approval.
It took Madison only a moment to look around. She set her duffle bag on the bed and stood her laptop case on the dresser. She walked over and looked out the front window. From here she had a clear view of the street. A double window faced the ocean.
“It’s fine,” she said briskly.
“I’m glad,” Dorie said. She pointed through the bedroom door to the stair landing. “Your bathroom is right there. You have a set of clean towels. There’s a laundry room off the kitchen.”
“What about the key?” Madison asked.
“The key?”
“To the door,” Madison said impatiently. “Doors, that is.”
“Oh.” Dorie looked at the exterior door they’d just come through. It had an old-fashioned keyhole. The bedroom door had a thumb-latch lock, but nothing else. “We don’t have a key to the outside stairway,” Dorie admitted. “I guess maybe we could ask Mr. Culpepper about getting one.”
“Yes,” Madison said. “I’ll need a key.”
“I don’t think there is a lock for your bedroom door,” Dorie said, gesturing towards it. “But you don’t need to worry about that. Since you’ve got the whole top floor, nobody else will be coming up here.”
“I’d feel better about having a lock,” Madison said.
“Really? I mean, we do have locks on the downstairs doors,” Dorie said, “and I’ll get you a key made for those. But half the time we don’t even remember to lock up. It’s the beach, and I guess that’s not something we worry about.”
“I worry about it,” Madison said firmly, her hand on the door to the inside-stair landing. “I’m used to living in the city. I won’t sleep until I have a lock and a key—to both these doors. I’ll be happy to pay to get a locksmith in.”
Her eyes flickered to the hallway, a clear signal to Dorie that she was dismissed.
“All right,” Dorie said finally, getting the hint. “I’ll let you get some rest. And I’ll get Ellis to ask Mr. Culpepper about the locks.”
“Thank you,” Madison said, giving Dorie a tight smile. “I’d appreciate that.” She picked up the Prada bag, took out a thick, white envelope and handed it to Dorie. “My rent,” she said. “I just assumed your friends wouldn’t want to take a check.”
Dorie’s face colored. “Well, uh, we hadn’t really discussed that.…”
Madison started to close the door.
“Oh!” Dorie said, poking her head back inside. “I nearly forgot. We take turns cooking, and tonight’s my night. It’s nothing fancy, just rotisserie chicken from Harris Teeter and Caesar salad. But we’d love it if you’d join us for dinner. We usually eat between seven and eight.”
“That’s very sweet,” Madison said. “But I’ll probably take a rain check. That club sandwich I had this afternoon will tide me over ’til morning.”
“Well … if you change your mind, or want to join us in a glass of wine or something,” Dorie said, heading down the stairs. “Just come on down.”
“I’ll do that.” Madison closed the door, and Dorie heard the thumb latch click into place.
* * *
Julia and Ellis were sitting on the sofa in the living room when Dorie got downstairs.
“Well?” Ellis asked expectantly. “Did she like the room?”
“More importantly, did she pay the rent?” Julia asked.
Dorie sat down in one of the faded chintz armchairs by the fireplace. “She liked the room fine, as far as I could tell. Madison’s just, well … reserved, I guess you’d say.” She held up the envelope of cash. “And yes, she gave me the rent money. In cash.” She stared accusingly at Julia. “She was sure you guys wouldn’t take her check.”
“Cash is king,” Julia said lightly. “Is she coming downstairs for dinner?” Julia craned her neck in the direction of the stairs, as though Madison might be coming down at any moment.
“Not right now,” Dorie said. “She said she’s pretty tired. I get the feeling she might have just driven into town today.”
“She’s got New Jersey tags on that Volvo she’s driving,” Julia reported. “And I think you’re right about her having money, Dorie. That is not a cheap car. Those XC70s run around forty-seven thousand dollars, and that’s just for the basics. Hers is loaded, got the onboard nav screen and the works.”
“How do you suddenly happen to know so much about cars?” Ellis asked. “You haven’t owned one in years, right?”
“Oh, Booker’s turned into a total gearhead,” Julia said airily. “That’s the car he’s been lusting after for months now.”
Dorie had opened the envelope and was silently counting the money. “You guys,” she said, looking from Julia to Ellis. “There’s three thousand dollars here. All in fifty-dollar bills.”
Ellis peered over Dorie’s shoulder at the cash. “Didn’t you say she only wanted to pay half in advance and half at the end of the month?”
“Let me see that,” Julia said, putting out her hand for the money. She fanned the bills out across her bare, tanned legs. “Holy mother,” Julia said. “Dorie’s right. And these are all brand-new bills. What do you make of that?”
“Maybe she knocked over a bank on the way over here?” Ellis said, giggling uneasily at her own joke.
“She did ask if we could get a new lock put on that door to the outside staircase. And get the key to her room,” Dorie said reluctantly. “And she wants a key to the front door too. She said she was willing to pay to have a locksmith come in. Maybe that’s why the extra money.”
“What the hell?” Julia said angrily. “Does she think we’re a bunch of thieves or something?”
“She said she’s used to living in the city, and that she won’t sleep at night until she feels secure,” Dorie said. She looked over at Ellis. “Maybe you could ask Mr. Culpepper if it’s all right to get the locks put on? Tell him we’ll pay for it?”
“I can do that,” Ellis said. “But I really don’t want to let him know we’re subletting that third floor room. He’s already charging us an extra fifty dollars a week to use the garage. I’m afraid if he figures out what we’re doing, he’ll hit us up for even more money.”
“You’re right,” Julia said. “Just don’t even mention Madison. Just blame it on one of us. Tell him we’re paranoid or something.”
“That’s not far from the truth,” Ellis said. “I’m really not a scaredy-cat, but maybe when we get the locksmith in, should we ask him to put locks on our bedroom doors too?”
“Why would we do that?” Dorie asked. She took the bills from Julia, and stuffed them back into the cash envelope.
“Because,” Julia said slowly. “We’ve just invited a stranger into our midst, and we actually know virtually nothing about her. Did you guys notice how evasive she was when I asked her about herself? If she’s that interested in locking us out, maybe we need to start thinking about doing the same for ourselves.”
“Oh, Julia,” Dorie said, flushing. “That’s not fair! I mean, I know you were pissed that I rented the room out, but honestly, I think I know a little bit about people. Madison seems perfectly nice. Perfectly normal. She’s just a little shy. And she wants her privacy. What’s so scary about that?”
“Nothing scary to me,” Julia said. “But if she can drive a car that costs nearly fifty thousand dollars and carry a two-thousand-dollar pocketbook, which, by the way, is the real deal, doesn’t it seem a little odd to you that she wants to rent a crappy bedroom in a fairly crappy house? And that she’s willing to pay all this money to do it—sight unseen?”
“I’m sorry, but I’ve got to agree with Julia, it really does seem odd to me,” Ellis said.
“And I for one intend to keep my eyes and ears open around the woman,” Julia added. “There’s a lot more I’d like to know about this Madison.”
“I really don’t care why she wants to live here,” Dorie said. “All I care about is that now I don’t have to call my sister and grovel and beg her to pay her share for the house. So you guys can go ahead and lock your doors and play detective all you want. Just don’t chase her off. Okay?”
14
The cable was out. When they turned on the television after dinner, the screen was as gray and fuzzy as a discarded sweater.
Ellis reached for her iPhone. “I’m e-mailing Mr. Culpepper. Honestly, we get one thing fixed, and something else breaks down.”
“Why don’t you just call him?” Dorie asked.
“I don’t have his phone number,” Ellis said, typing away. “And he’s pretty cagey about letting me know where he lives, or believe me, I’d be camped out on his doorstep until he got everything here squared away.”
Julia poured herself another glass of wine and leaned back in her chair. “Don’t get your panties in a wad on my account. I could care less about watching television. Especially in the summertime.”
Ellis loaded up the dinner plates and silverware and dumped them into the deep sink she’d filled with soapy water before sitting down to dinner. This part of the summer, she noted happily, was going just as planned, especially now that they had Madison, and her money, contributing to their financial well-being. Madison had been there three days now, and turned down all their invitations to join them for dinner, explaining that she didn’t really “do” dinner.
She was, as Dorie had said, shy around them, spending most of her time in her room, with an occasional walk on the beach. The day after she’d moved in, she’d brought a bike home, and now, when she left the house, it was usually on her bike. Despite Julia’s dire predictions, nothing out of the ordinary had happened since Madison’s arrival.
She was odd, a loner, evasive when asked for personal information. Ellis had suggested that Madison was suffering from a broken heart, and Dorie seconded the emotion. “That ring of hers,” Julia had commented, “would go a long way towards healing my broken heart.”
“Come on, Ellis,” Dorie called now from the dining room. “Leave the dishes ’til later. I’m glad the television’s on the fritz. Let’s do something together. There’s a bunch of jigsaw puzzles here. Let’s work on one of those.”
“Suits me,” Ellis said.
“Ugh, jigsaw puzzles,” Julia said, making a face. “Why don’t we just put on our Supp-Hose and eat some stewed prunes while we’re at it? Come on, you guys, we’ve got to figure out something livelier than that. We’re not dead yet, are we?”
“I brought some DVDs,” Ellis started. “Or we could play a board game. What’s over there, Dorie?”
“Mmm, let’s see. Uno, Monopoly, Trivial Pursuit. Oh, I know, cards. Let’s play five hundred, like we used to do at the beach at home.”
“Yeah,” Ellis said, getting up from the table. “Five hundred. Shuffle the cards, Julia. And I’ll make some popcorn.”
“Open another bottle of wine, while you’re at it,” Julia ordered. “And not that cheap crap, either. I put a nice bottle of pinot grigio in the fridge before dinner.”
* * *
Ty read the latest e-mail from Ellis Sullivan and laughed despite himself. Maybe she wasn’t wrapped quite as tightly as he’d thought.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Cable’s out
Dear Mr. Culpepper, Hate to pout, but our cable is out.—Ellis
Of course her cable was out. His cable was out too. He had a pile of past-due notices on his desk, and the disconnect warning was on the very top. He toyed with the idea of trying to bypass the cable box. A buddy had shown him how to do this back in his college days. But with his luck, he’d get caught and get his ass slammed in jail.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Cable
Dear Ellis: Please don’t have a hissy. I’ve called Comcast, but the line is busy.
Pleased with himself for this small accomplishment, he pushed the send button. And then he forwarded her latest missive to the file where he had kept all the rest of her e-mails. It was getting to be quite a collection.
Without television and the Nationals game he’d planned to watch, the evening stretched out before him seemed as empty and depressing as the silent television screen perched on the plastic milk crate in the corner of his living room.
He went to the fridge, got a beer, and walked out onto the deck. He slumped down onto a chair and stared out at the water. Must have been a good sunset, he mused, looking at the orange-and-purple-streaked sky. He’d missed it, of course, because he’d been online, searching for a way out of his predicament. That’s how he spent most of his time these days, looking for a way out of the hole he’d dug himself into. It was a hell of a note. He’d risked everything buying this place, desperately wanting to live on the ocean again. Now he had it—Ebbtide, perched right on the edge of the Outer Banks, and he might as well have been living in a cave for all the good it did him. He hadn’t surfed, hadn’t gone for a morning swim, hadn’t even caught a decent sunset—not in weeks.
There had to be a way out. But how?
He took a long pull on the beer bottle. He heard laughter and music coming from the direction of Ebbtide. If he stood at the far end of the deck, he could see into the dining room, bathed in the golden yellow light of the chandelier.
The three women were sitting around the table, playing cards. There was a wine bottle on the table, and half-filled glasses. The tall one, Julia, was talking rapid-fire, waving her hands for emphasis. The cute little strawberry blonde was giggling helplessly, running her fingers through her hair. Ellis, he noticed, seemed to be the scorekeeper. She was arguing, and smiling, and writing something on a pad of paper. Suddenly she looked up. Ty ducked instinctively. Had she seen him watching him? Nah. One of the women said something, and Ellis pelted her with a piece of popcorn, and now they were having a full-on popcorn fight, and their shrieks of laughter floated over the dune and out to sea.
The cards and the golden light and the silvery peals of laughter reminded him of summers past. The whole family was staying at Ebbtide, and his mother and grandmother were having a meeting of what they called “the swill sisters.” He’d been, what? Six? His father had to explain that these ladies were not really his mom’s sisters, but just a few old friends his mom had known since she was a girl, nearly his age.
His grandmother had spent the day of the swill sisters meeting feverishly baking little cookies and making egg-salad, pimento-cheese, and chicken-salad sandwiches, all cut into tiny, crustless triangles. His mother had fluffed and fussed and swept and scrubbed the old pine floors to a fine, dull gleam. A flowery tablecloth had been spread across the battered dining room table, and from the big cedar chest that sat in the hall under the stairs, a set of gold-rimmed, rose-strewn dishes and delicate pink wineglasses he’d never seen before were produced.
At six o’clock, his grandmother had banished them. “No boys allowed,” she’d said, laughingly pushing them out the door. So he and his dad had walked down the road to the pizza parlor, where they’d slowly eaten a large pie and watched the Braves game on the television mounted on the wall over the bar. His dad had beer, and he’d given Ty a sip, warning him not to tell “the womenfolk.”
When they’d walked back home, the sandy driveway was still filled with cars, so he’d waited by the kitchen door, and his father had tiptoed into the house, emerging a moment later with a paper napkin filled with the little cookies and cakes, and a can of root beer for Ty.
“Contraband,” his dad had called it in a conspiratorial whisper. They took their stolen treats and went to the garage apartment. Back then, they still called the apartment Tillie’s house, because it was where his grandmother’s maid, Tillie, and her three children lived every summer when they came down to the beach from his grandmother’s big house in Edenton.
Ty had only a vague memory of Tillie, a slight, stoop-shouldered black lady who colored her hair bright red, chewed gum nonstop, and wore what looked to him like a white nurse’s uniform. He did remember how Tillie put ice in her coffee in the morning, and how she liked to boss his mother around. But Tillie had quit coming to the beach in the ’80s, because, as his father reported, she wanted to be paid a living wage, “and your grandmother, bless her heart, is tight as a tick.”
So Tillie’s house had become a place to store unused furniture and an overflow of houseguests. The night of the swill sisters meeting, his father dragged two rickety wooden chairs out to the deck, and they’d sat there and gorged on desserts. They could see his grandmother and his mother and a gaggle of women, arrayed around the gussied-up dining room table. Music was playing, and some of the ladies were playing a card game, and everybody was laughing and having a real party.
Ty had been mesmerized by the glimpse of his mother and his usually dignified grandmother, acting like the girls in his class at school. “What are they talking about?” he’d asked his father, who was leaning with his back against the deck railing. “What’s so funny?”
“Who, them?” Ty’s father glanced in the direction of the big house and shrugged. “Son, there ain’t no telling what’s on a woman’s mind. You get a bunch of hens together like that, and all bets are off. They might be talking about shoes or clothes. Or they might be talking about whoever’s not there tonight. Probably they’re talking about how sorry somebody’s husband is. Doesn’t really matter. ’Cause even if you and me were right in there with ’em, we probably wouldn’t understand what’s so funny. Not in a million years.”
* * *
“Rummy!” Ellis shouted jubilantly, slapping the cards faceup on the table.
“Oh no, not again,” Dorie said. She fanned her own cards for the others to see. “You caught me holding a handful of aces and kings. Again.” She ticked her fingertips across the cards. “That gives me, like, minus sixty.”
“I’m at forty,” Julia reported, laying down her own cards. “Where’s that put us, Ellis?”
“Hmmm. I’m at 485. Julia, you’re at 410. And Dorie, honey, you’re at 220.”
“I’m hopeless,” Dorie said, yawning. “And tired. It’s what, nearly midnight? I think I’m gonna take myself off to bed.”
“Not yet,” Ellis protested. “It’s still early. And you could still have a comeback. Come on, Dorie, don’t go to bed yet. Not when we’re having so much fun. Hey, what about some ice cream? I’ve got Fudgsicles in the freezer.”
“Chocolate?” Dorie raised an eyebrow. “Well, why didn’t you say so? I may suck at cards, but I’m grrreeatttt at chocolate.”
“You didn’t always suck at cards,” Julia observed. “You used to whip us all single-handed. I never saw anybody who could memorize cards like you, Dorie.”
Dorie pushed her hair back from her face. “My mind’s not in it,” she said lightly. “I’m having a blonde spell. A strawberry-blonde spell.”
“What is on your mind?” Julia asked. Ellis shot her a warning look, but Julia never took her own eyes from Dorie.
“Oh, you know,” Dorie said. “Money. Work. The usual stuff. Never mind me. I’ll be better once Ellis hands out those Fudgsicles she’s bribing me with.”
“Dorie?” Julia slid her chair over so that it was beside her friend’s. “Come on, girlfriend. We know something is upsetting you.”
