“I’m sure you did a fine job of that, Marcia. I’m sure he’ll keep his flower seasons straight from here on out.”
“So . . .” Marcia leaned on the counter. “That Brantley. He’s a charmer. Always was. Didn’t the two of you date some back in the day?”
Lucy frowned and shook her head as if puzzled, but she knew exactly what Marcia was referring to. “What day would that be, Marcia?”
“I seem to remember him taking you to one of those summer dancing school cotillions at the country club. I was a little older than you, but I was there. Maybe the last time I went.”
Lucy frowned some more as if she was trying to puzzle it out and then let a light dawn on her face. “Oh!” She brushed her hand in the air as if she were clearing away a spider web. “It
Annelle would not have allowed fifteen-year-old Lucy to go to the dance with just any eighteen-year-old, but this was Brantley Kincaid: quarterback, acolyte, and professional charmer. It hadn’t hurt that he was the son of Eva and Charles Kincaid and grandson of Caroline and Judge Alden Brantley.
It hadn’t been a real date, though she had wanted so desperately for it to be. She would have never had the nerve to invite Brantley if Missy hadn’t prompted her, no matter how much she had wanted to. Missy had no idea of Lucy’s feelings for Brantley. She only wanted Lucy to go to the dance and had pointed out that Brantley wasn’t dating anyone. Once she had resolved to invite him, Lucy decided she was just going to ask, with no caveats or disclaimers. She would simply ask him to the dance the same way dozens of other girls were asking dozens of other boys. And Brantley would simply say yes or no. End of story. If he said no, she would not die. Her parents would return to the country and take her away in less than a month and he would be leaving for Vandy soon thereafter. She would not have to live with the humiliation for long.
But all her resolve melted away when the moment came to invite him. She had stammered and led with saying that Missy had suggested it, that she knew it wasn’t a real date, but since they were friends, it might be fun, and on and on and on until he laughed that sweet caramel laugh, laid an index finger on her cheek, and told her of course he would take her.
She’d been ecstatic. It had been so easy to forget how she’d issued the invitation. Annelle had taken her to Birmingham to shop for a dress for her pudgy little body and it had turned out, for once, to be a dress that made her feel pretty. She spent days daydreaming about how he would see her in a whole different light and end the night with sweet kisses and proclamations.
And truly, the night had started off like her fantasies. If at eighteen Brantley had been gorgeous in his khaki shorts and golf shirts, he was dazzling in a tuxedo. And he’d brought a nosegay instead of a wrist corsage like most of the other girls had. With her white dress and bouquet of orchids and calla lilies, she’d felt like a bride. He was attentive, funny, and seemed to be happy to be there.
And the dancing had been wonderful. She moved so easily in his arms; she had credited the lessons she’d had all summer until she and Missy had swapped partners. It was Brantley who had made her a good dancer. She’d never danced with such ease before or since—well, except for that night in the bar in Savannah and more recently at the Follies party.
But later that night it had all come crashing down. She was returning from the restroom to where Brantley was waiting a discreet distance away when she saw them. To this day, she did not know the name of the girl he had been talking to but she was wearing a blue dress, an indication that, like Brantley and Missy, she had just graduated from high school and this would be her last cotillion. The moment she saw her, Lucy felt childish in the white dress that the younger girls were required to wear.
“Are you dating Lucy Mead?” the girl had asked.
“No,” Brantley said. “Lucy’s a great kid but we’re just friends.”
In that moment, for the first time, Lucy understood the meaning of a broken heart.
“Just thought I’d ask. I am not one to move in on somebody else’s territory. Some of us are going out to my parents’ lake house after the dance.” The girl gave him a look that meant business. “Why don’t you come after you take Lucy home?”
Brantley laughed. “Maybe I will. I’d have to go home and get my swimsuit.”
“Maybe you won’t need a suit,” the girl said and the two of them laughed together.
The bottom fell out of Lucy’s world. What a baby she had been to think he could want her. This girl could give him what Lucy could not even consider. Even if she was ready to have sex, she was too fat to take her clothes off.
Grateful for the potted plant that had concealed her from them, Lucy fled back to the rest room and hid in a stall until her breathing evened out and her face cooled down. More than anything, she wanted to go home, but there were rules for this dance. No one left early without a good reason and advance permission—unless the undertaker was picking you up.
Right now, that didn’t sound like a bad alternative.
When she came out again, Brantley was standing alone and he smiled at her like she was the one he’d been waiting for all his life.
Like he’d smiled at her in Savannah, at the Follies, and two days ago.
Marcia brought her back to the present. “Yes. That would have been my last cotillion. I remember now. I was excited not to have to wear a white dress. I had that dark purple organza. My mother wouldn’t let me have black sequins.”
“I had forgotten that Brantley took me. It was nothing.”
“Wasn’t it right after that that his mother and grandfather were killed?”
“Yes,” Lucy said. “Three days later.” The next time she had seen him, it was at Christ Episcopal Church before the funeral. He had accepted her condolence hug but he’d been hollow eyed and empty.
“So . . .” Marcia had a sly look about her. “Jack-O-Lanterns and roses in November from Brantley Kincaid. What could that mean?”
“It means Brantley and I are going to work on a project together. Strictly professional.”
“Oh.” Marcia looked disappointed and somewhat skeptical. “Any chance you will tell me what that project is?”
“None. You’ll know pretty soon.”
Chapter Ten
Lucy loved book club . . . usually. It didn’t even matter to her that she was the only one who ever read the book and they never got around to talking about it. There had been a time when Tolly always read the book too, but those days were over. In the space of one year, Tolly had taken in an orphaned teenager, married Merritt High football coach Nathan Scott, moved her new family into a big rambling house, and sent Kirby off to college.
No matter. Book club had never been about books; it was a time for wine, food, and gossip with her three best friends.
Tonight she dreaded it. Not only was she bone tired from decorating Brantley’s carriage house, she was pretty sure she was in for the grilling of her life—though she had told them all repeatedly that there was nothing going on between Brantley and her. After swearing them to secrecy, she had even told Lanie and Tolly what Missy already knew—that she and Brantley would be restoring the Brantley Building together.
The rumor that she and Brantley were a couple had ripped though town like a rabid dog out for blood. No doubt, between Mr. Reed and Marcia, the news had made it to the state line by now. Even Miss Caroline had given her a couple of knowing smiles and last night Charles Kincaid had shown up at her door to check the antifreeze in her car. “I know you’re busy getting that place squared away for my boy,” he’d said. “They’re giving a freeze warning tonight, and I thought I’d make sure you’re good to go.”
And it had gotten cold, so cold that she let Eller in her bed and caught herself almost wishing the rumor was true.
