you.”
“I don’t want him to.”
“If that man dangled a diamond in front of you, you’d rip his arm off to get to it.”
Sugar Beth shrugged. “Whatever you want to believe.”
By turning serious, she seemed to have taken the fun out of the game. Winnie set down the tomato, wiped her hands on a paper towel, and leaned against the counter. “You mean it, don’t you?”
She nodded.
But if she’d expected Winnie to back off, she was mistaken because real anger flashed in her eyes. “You’re trying to collect another scalp. You don’t care about hurting him. You just want to add him to your collection. And he’s so smitten he doesn’t see what’s coming.”
“He sees it, all right. I’ve been trying to dump him since Tuesday night, but he won’t stay dumped.”
That threw Winnie off stride. “I don’t believe you. Why would you want to dump him? He’s rich, successful… brilliant. He
“Two of them, anyway. When did you say Gigi would be getting here?”
“Don’t try to tell me you’re not attracted to him. I’ve seen the way the two of you behave when you’re together.”
“Just drop it, okay.”
“My, my. Have I hit a tender spot?”
All Sugar Beth could do was nod.
That gave Winnie something to think about, and she turned away to concentrate on the salad. Sugar Beth took a sip of cold coffee. A minute ticked by, and then another. Finally, Winnie set down her knife. “I got pregnant with Gigi on purpose.”
Sugar Beth nearly choked on her coffee. “That’s definitely not something you should share with your worst enemy.”
“Probably not.” She cracked a hard-boiled egg against the side of the bowl. “I spent fourteen years trying to make it up to him. I didn’t think he knew, but he did. And he never said anything. He just let his resentment eat away.” A piece of eggshell fell to the floor, but she didn’t notice. “What a pair we’ve been. He suffered in noble silence, and I fed my guilt by overcompensating. Then I blamed you for everything that was wrong in our marriage. So when it comes to you and me, Sugar Beth, which one of us is the biggest sinner?”
“Beats me. I’m not good at making moral judgments.”
“You seem to have made a few about yourself.”
“Yeah, but that’s easy.”
Winnie fished a piece of eggshell from the bowl, a distant expression on her face. “Gigi would say that I gave up my power.”
“You’re doing one heck of a job getting it back.”
Winnie smiled. “Ryan asked me out to dinner tonight.”
“Just because a boy buys you a steak doesn’t mean you have to put out for him.”
“I’ll remember that.”
Gordon began to bark as Gigi arrived. This time she wore jeans and an Ole Miss T-shirt. “Dad’s really mad at Sugar Beth again. He didn’t want me to come down here. What’d you do?”
“Come see what I’ve got in the salad,” Winnie said before Sugar Beth could reply.
Gigi patted Gordon, who was worshiping at her feet, then walked over to examine the salad. “Orzo! That’s so cool. And avocado. Don’t put any chicken in, okay.” She plucked out a piece of tomato with dog-slobber fingers and nearly gave Winnie apoplexy.
Sugar Beth rinsed out her coffee mug. “I’ll leave the two of you to your own devices.”
“Don’t go,” Gigi said.
“I have things to do.” She was trying to give them some time alone together, but Winnie got her snippy look.
“Now you can see exactly how inconsiderate your aunt really is, Gigi. I’ve made a nice lunch for us, but does she care? No, she doesn’t.”
Sugar Beth didn’t want Winnie to guess how good it felt to be included. “Okay, but I’m going to switch plates at the last minute, so don’t try any funny stuff with food poisoning.”
“You guys act so weird.”
Ten minutes later they were settled at the drop-leaf cherry table in the living room with the salad, rolls, and Tallulah’s pressed-glass tumblers filled with sweet tea.
“Did you decide what you’re going to wear on your date tonight?” Gigi asked her mother.
“It’s not a date. Your father and I are having dinner together, that’s all.”
“I think you should borrow something from Sugar Beth.”
“I’m not meeting your father in Sugar Beth’s clothes!”
“Just a blouse or something. He won’t know. Hers are sexier than yours.”
“Good idea,” Sugar Beth said. “I’ll trade you a slinky little number I bought at Target last winter for that Neiman’s cashmere sweater set I saw you in last week.”
“She’s trying to get you upset again, Mom.”
Sugar Beth hid a smile. “If you keep spoiling my fun, kid, you’re out of here.”
Gigi leaned closer. “He’s picking her up at seven. Do her makeup, Sugar Beth.”
“I’ll do my own makeup,” Winnie retorted.
“Sugar Beth does better eyes.”
“That’s true. I do know my eyes.” She gazed at Gigi. “Hair, too. What do you say I even up your new do a little?”
“I guess.”
Their conversation moved on to other things, and without planning it, Sugar Beth found herself telling them about Delilah, leaving out only the financial troubles her stepdaughter was causing.
Gigi wrinkled her nose. “It’s sort of gross, isn’t it? Having a stepdaughter that old?”
Winnie smiled and touched the back of her daughter’s hand. “Love’s a strange thing, Gigi. You never quite know exactly when it’s going to hit or how hard it’ll strike.”
On this, at least, Sugar Beth and her evil half sister were in total agreement.
Colin sat with his back to the wall of the lobby bar of the Peabody Memphis Hotel, trying to stave off his guilt by going about the business of getting seriously drunk. Southerners said that the Mississippi delta began in the lobby of the Peabody Hotel, but the place was best known for its ducks. For more than seventy-five years, a small group of mallards had marched along a red carpet at eleven o’clock every morning to the sound of Sousa’s “King Cotton March” and spent the day splashing in the lobby’s travertine marble fountain. But it was evening now. The ducks had retired for the night, and the subdued lighting cast a sepia glow over the grandeur of the Italian Renaissance lobby with its marble floors, stained glass ceiling, and elegant, Old World furnishings. Driving sixty-five miles for the sole purpose of getting drunk wasn’t something he’d normally do, but he’d always loved the Peabody, and after he’d spent a frustrating afternoon laying stone instead of writing, this had seemed as good a destination as any, so he’d packed an overnight bag and left Frenchman’s Bride behind.
“Colin?”
He’d been so preoccupied with his self-loathing that he hadn’t noticed the attractive redhead approaching. Carolyn Bradmond was one of those high-powered, low-maintenance women whose company he should most enjoy. She was intelligent, sophisticated, and too involved in her career to be emotionally demanding. Colin Byrne’s ideal woman… So why hadn’t she crossed his mind since he’d last seen her five months ago?
He rose to greet her. “Hello, Carolyn. How are you?”
“Couldn’t be better. How’s the new book coming along?”
It was one of the two questions people most frequently asked writers, and if he invited her to join him, it wouldn’t take her long to get around to the other one.
