“Does Columbo know you don’t plan to see him again?”
Colette shook her head. “He’ll get the message soon enough.” She sipped her iced tea again. “Enough about me. You’ve been in a bad mood all day. Are you going to tell me what’s really going on?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Alix explained her ongoing disagreement with Jordan, and described the incident the previous week.
“You can’t let Jacqueline and Susan treat you like this,” Colette exclaimed.
“Easy for you to say,” Alix muttered. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried.
There was a brief silence, then Colette asked, “You’re close to Jacqueline, aren’t you?”
Alix nodded. She used to be, but lately she wasn’t so sure. Jacqueline was protective and a real advocate in ways Alix treasured, but when it came to this wedding, she had a will of iron. She made very clear that she was the social expert, and her ideas were not to be ignored.
“Talk to her one-on-one,” Colette suggested. “Remind her that it’s your wedding. Tell her you appreciate everything she’s done but you feel like the wedding’s not about you anymore.”
Colette was right; any reference to the wedding these days was enough to make her cringe. This couldn’t go on. Alix was at odds with Jordan and just about everyone else involved with this wedding. It was time to mend some fences….
When they finished their drinks, Colette went out to do errands and Alix took the bus home. Since the guesthouse was behind the main house and next to the garage, Alix saw right away that both cars were there. Reese’s golf clubs were leaning against his trunk.
Alix knew she had to talk to Jacqueline today. This wedding belonged to her, and as much as she valued everything the Donovans and Turners were doing, she could no longer remain silent.
She knocked at the back door and then entered. Reese was sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in hand, his newspaper propped up against the floral centerpiece. He smiled at Alix.
“How’s the bride-to-be?” he asked with his usual cheer.
Alix shrugged and gave him a wry grin in response. “Reese, I need to talk to Jacqueline.”
“She’s on the phone in my office,” he said.
Typical. Jacqueline had more friends and acquaintances than anyone Alix knew. “Is it okay if I wait?”
“Of course.” Reese glanced at his watch. “I’ve got a golf game in half an hour. Do you mind if I leave you here?”
“Not at all.”
Reese stood and retrieved his sweater. “Grab a coffee if you want,” he offered.
“Thanks. Already had one.”
Reese left with a jaunty wave, and Alix wished him a good game.
Having once worked as the Donovans’ housekeeper, Alix automatically folded the newspaper and placed Reese’s cup in the dishwasher. She wiped down the counter as she waited for Jacqueline to finish her call. Then she decided she should probably let her know she was in the house. Not that she wanted to rush her or anything; Jacqueline could talk as long as she liked. In fact, the more time she spent on the phone, the longer Alix had to prepare for their conversation. She tried not to think of it as a showdown—just a congenial but necessary discussion with a friend.
Walking down the hall to the office, Alix heard Jacqueline speaking and stopped when her name was mentioned.
“I can’t believe you’d suggest something like that,” Jacqueline said, sounding irate.
Alix froze. She hadn’t come to listen in on a private conversation and yet, when she heard her own name, she couldn’t make herself leave.
A few minutes later, she realized that the person on the other end of the line was none other than Susan Turner.
“Jordan doesn’t have any such concerns, does he?” Jacqueline asked, obviously dismayed.
A pause.
“I should think not.” Jacqueline seemed satisfied with the response, whatever it was.
Alix breathed a bit easier.
“You don’t need to tell me Alix is unconventional,” Jacqueline said next. “That doesn’t mean she won’t make Jordan a good wife.”
It felt as if the floor had just dropped. So that was it. Susan didn’t think she was the right wife for her son. Alix had suspected as much and now her suspicions were confirmed.
“Of course Jordan will be a senior pastor one day,” Jacqueline said. “And Alix will—”
Whatever Jacqueline intended to say was abruptly cut off.
Alix didn’t want to hear any more of this conversation. She knew what Susan was saying and to be fair, it was a question she’d asked herself a dozen times since the engagement.
What kind of pastor’s wife would she be?
Apparently, her future mother-in-law had her doubts. Alix didn’t blame Susan Turner; she had concerns of her own in that department. Jordan was the only one who seemed convinced that she was perfect for him and his ministry.
In light of her current feelings, that was a real laugh. What had she been thinking when she agreed to marry Jordan? What was she thinking? For the past couple of years, everything had been going so well. Jacqueline and Reese had given her a step up in life. They’d provided a home and part-time employment. Not only that, Reese had helped her with tuition to culinary school. Then she’d been hired by the French Café. During that whole time, she’d been dating Jordan. And—during that whole time—she’d been blinded to the truth.
Good things don’t last. Not for women like her.
Alix had been riding a wave, but that wave had crested and she was about to be swept into shark-infested waters. Women like her, girls with her background and her past, weren’t destined for a decent life. They ended up on the street, society throwaways, refuse. No better than garbage headed for a dump.
Alix hurried into her small guesthouse and placed her hands over her ears to block out the voices that were shouting at her. This was “stinking thinking” at its worst. Those ugly, frightening demons of hate seemed relentless, determined to push her into the gutter. To punish her.
Damn, she needed a cigarette. The craving was worse than ever and she deserved one. She wanted one, she needed one, and she didn’t care if anyone saw her with it, either.
She walked down to the corner store and bought a pack, shocked at how expensive they’d gotten since she’d quit. She wasn’t even out of the store before she tore open the pack and pulled out a cigarette.
Her hands shook as she struck the match. Already she could feel a sense of calm and anticipation. Lighting the cigarette, she inhaled deeply and nearly choked. It tasted like shit.
“Damn.” She tossed it on the ground and stomped it out as if she were Smoky the Bear wiping out the first forest fire of the season.
Her cell chirped. She removed it from her purse to see who it was, frowning when Jordan’s name showed up on caller ID. She wasn’t in the mood to talk to him. Or anybody else, either. They’d parted on shaky ground and had ignored each other ever since. Feeling the way she did just then, Alix didn’t know what she might say.
She was tempted to turn off her cell; she didn’t but she waited a few extra minutes before she listened to her messages. There was only the one.
“Alix, it’s Jordan. Call me, all right?”
She didn’t.
He phoned again an hour later as she sat alone in her dimly lit room. And again she waited for his message.
“Alix,” he said, his voice more than a little exasperated. “I know you’re screening your calls. This is crazy. We need to talk. I’m going over to my parents’ and Mom’s invited you to dinner, too. She said there’s something she wants to talk over with us. Call me.”
Alix nearly threw the phone across the room. She knew what Susan wanted to discuss. Her. The question being raised was whether Alix would be an appropriate wife for Susan Turner’s son, the minister. The good boy who was about to marry the bad girl. Well, screw them all.
Alix fell on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. What she ought to do was pack her bags and leave. That was it. She’d walk away. Let them think what they wanted. She didn’t care anymore.
To her surprise, she fell asleep and when she woke it was dark outside. It took her a moment to recognize the sound of someone knocking. Disoriented, she sat up and let her eyes adjust to the dark before she stumbled over to the door. She turned on the light and saw Jacqueline, hands cupped around her face as she peered in through the small window.
Alix opened the door.
“Alix?” Jacqueline asked, looking worried. “Is everything all right?”
“Sure,” she said. She pushed the disheveled hair out of her face. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You weren’t answering your phone.”
She didn’t tell Jacqueline she’d turned off her cell. “I was asleep.” That was the truth, after all.
“Jordan called me to see if you were home.”
“Oh.” Jordan again. Good, let him worry. “What time is it anyway?”
“Nine.”
“At night?” Alix couldn’t believe it. She’d been asleep for hours.
Jacqueline nodded. “Come on over to the house and let’s talk. You must be starved. When did you last eat?”
Alix couldn’t remember; still, she wasn’t sure she was in the mood to deal with Jacqueline’s concern. “What’ve you got?”
Her friend laughed. “Your favorite.”
“Macaroni and cheese?”
“That, too.”
Alix hesitated. The voices weren’t shouting at her as loudly as before, but they were still there, reminding her that she’d never be good enough for Jordan. She refused to listen. Jacqueline was right, though; she was hungry.
Stepping outside, she closed the door and followed her to the house.
“Reese said you stopped by to talk to me this afternoon.”
“Yeah.” Alix yawned before dismissing the need to have the conversation she’d planned hours earlier. “Nothing important.”
“You didn’t stay long,” Jacqueline commented as she led the way into the main house.
“No…I waited for a few minutes and you were still on the phone. Like I said, it wasn’t all that important, so I went out for a while.”
Jacqueline stopped, lean closed and sniffed the air. “Do I smell cigarette smoke?”
“Ah…”
“I suppose you were with a smoker?”
Alix shrugged. She couldn’t lie but she was willing to stretch the truth when necessary.
“Smoking’s such a disgusting habit. I’m so grateful you gave it up.”
“Yup,” Alix agreed. “Me, too.”
CHAPTER 23
Colette Blake
Colette read the simple handwritten invitation a second time. The gold-embossed card had arrived in the mail that afternoon. It was a request for Colette to join Elizabeth Sasser for dinner on Friday night. Elizabeth wrote with a fountain pen and her handwriting was much like the woman herself: blunt and forthright. Although it was technically an invitation, the card read more like a summons.
