CHAPTER TWENTY GABRIELLE
CHAPTER TWENTY
G AbrIELLE
S o how are things going?” Cricket asks, meeting me stride for stride on the sidewalk. “Are the boys taking things well?”
“Jay and I haven’t been together in front of them as a couple yet.”
“Oh.” She pumps her arms at her sides as we walk. “That’s smart. What’s the rush, right?”
I smile at her and hope she doesn’t laugh.
I’m practically beaming. My cheeks ache from the smile that’s been plastered on my face since last Saturday. It’s been a week and I’m still walking on air.
Cricket doesn’t laugh. She only acknowledges it with a sly grin of her own.
The sky is gray with black clouds jetting over our heads. A few rumbles of thunder rocked the church this morning, but no rain has fallen. It’s the only reason Cricket agreed to walk with me. The sun isn’t out.
“You haven’t been together in front of the boys, but have you been together without them?” she asks, stepping over a skateboard. “I would imagine you’re still in the dating honeymoon phase of things when you can’t keep your hands off each other.”
I sigh blissfully. “We’ve been together at some point every day, even if it’s for a few minutes. Sometimes it’s just at lunchtime when he comes by to eat at my house, if you get my drift.”
“Ooh.”
“Yeah.” I shiver at the reminder of how well that man takes care of every part of me . “He’s helped me build the new stairs. The boys were home but didn’t pay a bit of attention to us. He’s helped me with the drains, things like that. I’ve gone over there after the kids have gone to bed most nights. We’ve snuck in something every day. We’ve made it work.”
“How long are you going to play it like this?”
“Hey!” Scottie is standing on her porch and waving at us. “What are you guys doing?”
We stop at the white gate across the sidewalk leading to her house.
“We’re walking,” I say, laughing. “Did you think we were about to break out into a sprint?”
She snorts. “Maybe if it had just been you. The only way Cricket would run would be if Martha Stewart were standing at the end of the road.”
“Hey,” Cricket says, smiling.
“Della’s here if you want to take a break and come in,” Scottie says. “But be warned, I’m midcrisis.”
Cricket side-eyes me and opens the gate. I pass through without a word.
I still don’t know these women, aside from Cricket, well enough to know what a crisis looks like to them. What are we walking into? Is it a financial situation? A robbery? Did she lose her job?
“I need to borrow a dog.” Scottie waits for us to enter before closing the door behind us. “Or a cat. But cats and I really don’t mesh well.”
Cricket seems startled by this.
Della pokes her head over the couch and rolls her eyes. Then she holds up a cocktail before sliding back into her seat again.
“I don’t understand,” Cricket says. “Why on earth would you need to borrow a pet?”
Scottie sits on a wicker chair across from Della. Cricket sits beside Della, and I take up the rocking chair near the window.
The house is quaint and comfy. There are lots of pictures and decorations, most of them in warm reds and golds. If I didn’t know it was just Scottie who lives here, I could imagine a family hanging out and sharing meals.
“I met a man.” Scottie’s eyes sparkle. “His name is Grady Brundage and he’s midthirties, so smart, and he likes to garden.”
The words almost hold back her entire squeal.
Ice clinks in Della’s glass as she takes a long drink.
“I still don’t understand where the pet comes in,” Cricket says.
“Oh. Right. He’s a vet. And I don’t have a pet and I really don’t want one. But two things,” Scottie says, holding up a finger. “One, I can’t let him think I don’t like animals because obviously he does. He’d take that as a red flag. And two, I don’t know how I’ll ever see him again if I don’t force it.”
“Scottie,” I say carefully, “I’m not sure if faking a love for animals is a great foundation for a relationship.”
“Listen to her,” Della says. “She just bagged Jay Stetson.”
I stare at her. How does she know? I look at Cricket to see if she’s guilty, but she just shrugs and chuckles.
“What?” Scottie shouts, her jaw dragging the floor. “Why do you guys never tell me the good stuff?”
“I was only guessing,” Della says, winking at me. “I saw Jay go all caveman at Murray’s last Friday night, so given Gabby’s happy little grin, I figured it was a safe bet.”
“Oooh, Gabs. You didn’t tell me that part,” Cricket says, her hands going to her hips.
I sigh. “I just ... Of course, there’s stuff to tell.”
My friends laugh.
“But I wanted to keep it to myself for a little while,” I say.
“It’s been a while. When do we get the juicy bits?” Scottie asks, rubbing her hands together. “I don’t mean this in any disrespectful way, but I’ve wondered so many times ...”
A giddiness envelops me, the likes of which I haven’t felt in ages. I’d love nothing more than to gab with the girls about my new situation with Jay. But I don’t want to take away from Scottie, even though she asked.
“I’ll give you all the details later,” I say. “But let’s solve the vet problem first.”
Scottie gives me a soft smile. “You’re the sweetest.”
“So like I’ve been saying for the last hour ,” Della says, winding the conversation around. “Find him on social media. Where does he like to hang out? Do you have any mutual friends that could work some magic? Call his office and leave a message. When he calls back, ask him to dinner. Guys love a forward woman.”
“Do not ask him out,” Cricket says, almost as if she’s offended on Scottie’s behalf. “You want a gentleman, not a child of a man that has to have a woman lead him. Next thing you know, you’ll be paying for the date.”
“I’m okay with that,” Scottie says.
Cricket’s eyes widen. “How?”
“Because he’s a veterinarian,” Scottie says. “I imagine everyone he takes out expects him to pay. And I want to stand out—show him that I’m a woman in my own right. I can take care of myself.”
“And she’s choosing him to be in her life,” Della says, taking the invisible baton. “It makes him feel like the lucky one to be noticed by her .”
Scottie shrugs in agreement.
“Okay, how did you never meet him before?” I ask. “Everyone knows everyone here.”
“He’s new. Dr. Kane retired and the animal clinic hired Grady,” Scottie says.
“How about this?” Della says, putting her drink on the table. Cricket grabs a coaster and slides it under the glass. “My friend Lark has a dog. I’ll borrow it, go see Dr. Hottie, and mention my beautiful friend Scottie recommended him. Then I’ll give him your number.”
Cricket holds up her hands. “And how is that any different than her pretending to have an animal?”
“Because Scottie’s not lying,” I say, seeing the beauty in the plan. “Who cares if Della is?”
“I’ll say it’s my friend’s dog. I won’t even be lying.”
Scottie leans back in her chair and points at Della. “You know what, I like that. I like it a lot.”
“Thank God.” Della groans. “There’s only so many times we can go over this.”
“It’s perfect, Scottie,” I say, giving her an encouraging smile. “You don’t want to have to pretend in a relationship. Imagine how hard it would be if we were together and he came by, and you had to try to keep your stories straight.”
Cricket stands, her face flushed. “Does anyone need a drink? Scottie, can I make us drinks?”
“You know where the kitchen is,” she replies.
Cricket takes Della’s glass and leaves.
The room grows eerily quiet once Cricket is gone. Scottie sits on the edge of her chair, her eyes glued to the doorway Cricket just passed through. Della looks at me with raised brows. I run through the last few minutes of conversation and try to figure out what doesn’t fit.
“What do you think it is?” Della asks.
“You notice the awkward silence too?” Scottie asks.
I clear my throat. “I can’t figure out what happened. We were only talking about Scottie and the vet.”
“It’s the way Cricket shot to her feet and couldn’t wait to get out of the room,” Della says before glancing over her shoulder. “Is anything going on with her?”
“Not that I know of,” I say.
Scottie shakes her head. “I had lunch with her yesterday and everything seemed fine.”
“Here you go,” Cricket says, announcing her arrival. “Scottie, you’re in desperate need of a restock on your alcohol.”
“I know,” Scottie says, taking a glass from Cricket. “I keep forgetting.”
“How do you forget alcohol?” Della asks.
“I only drink with you guys,” Scottie says. “If you’re not here or if I don’t know you’re coming, I never even look in that cabinet.”
Cricket hands me a cool glass filled with lemonade and then takes her seat. Her neck is blotchy. I can tell despite her taking her hair down and letting it flow over her shoulders.
“Are you okay, Cricket?” Della asks.
“Me? Yes. I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
Della glances at me. As if we’ve done this many times before, I jump in.
“You just seem a little off,” I say.
Her back is perfectly straight, her chin raised. “It’s nothing.”
Scottie reaches over and touches her arm. “Are you sure?”
A single, silent tear trickles down Cricket’s freckled cheek.
What the hell?
“Cricket ...” Della sets her glass down. “What’s going on?”
My cousin stares at a wall across the room. She sniffles, fighting hard not to break down. Watching her struggle to keep her emotions in check brings my own feelings to the surface.
I reach for her hand, and surprisingly, she places a shaky palm in mine.
“It’s what you said, Gabby,” Cricket says. “About not pretending in a relationship.”
Scottie, Della, and I exchange looks. None of us know what to say. Cricket is the stoic one, the one of the four of us who can put her emotions to the side and think with logic. She’s not the one to cry, not even in front of us.
“What’s going on?” Scottie asks softly. “Tell us. Let us help.”
Cricket laughs, sniffling. “You can’t help me with this.”
“Are you sick?” I ask.
“Is it Kyle?” Della asks.
Cricket’s face darkens. Instead of her growing more frantic or even sadder, as one might expect with an illness or a problem child, an iciness slides over her features. “It’s Peter.”
My brain spins wildly, trying to come up with a possible conflict between the couple that, until I moved onto Bittersweet Court, I thought was perfect. The hotshot CEO and the PTA mom. The sports car–driving husband and the luxury-SUV wife. The charismatic businessman and the trophy wife with their perfect son, on a beautiful street.
What gives? The only thing that I can come up with is the tension at Sunday dinner. Is it always like that and I just didn’t realize it?
Another tear falls.
“My marriage is falling apart, you guys,” she says, the words wobbling. “And I don’t know how to fix it.”
“Oh, honey,” Scottie says, kneeling next to her.
I stand and pull her head into my shoulder. The contact makes her heave a sob. The sound triggers tears for me too.
“What kind of a situation are we dealing with here?” Della asks. “I know a lot of people who can do a lot of things privately, if you catch my drift.”
Scottie and I make eye contact and fight a grin.
“No, nothing like that,” Cricket says, raising her head from my shoulder. She wipes her face with the back of her hand. Mascara streaks her skin. “Oh, damn it. I’m a mess.”
Scottie grabs a tissue and hands it to her.
We take our seats as Cricket straightens herself up.
“Peter is spending lots of time in the office,” she says, sniffling. “When he’s not, he’s golfing or barely being civil to me.”
“Is he stressed?” Scottie asks. “Is everything going okay at work?”
“I don’t know because we never get that far into a conversation without him being rude and me walking away.”
Della sighs. “Fine. I’ll ask it. Do you think he’s fucking someone else?”
“Della,” I say, my mouth hanging open.
“Well, we haven’t been intimate in ... a while,” Cricket says, fighting tears again. “I don’t think he’d have an affair, but I think that’s what most people believe when their spouse starts sleeping with their assistant.”
I take a drink of my lemonade and listen to Cricket and our friends banter back and forth. It’s easy to forget the trials of marriage when things are going fine or you’re out of one ... and your ex-husband is dead.
All the arguments that Chris and I had come back to me. His long hours at the office. My irritation at being touched after having been handled by a toddler all day. My gas tank being empty when we took my van somewhere as a family.
Despite all that—despite our conflicts and the nights we stayed up late arguing and the long days struggling to make it, praying for him to come home—it was worth it. Every bit of it was worth the energy. Even though it ended in divorce, I’m glad I fought for it every time until it was clear we weren’t meant to be.
“What do you want to do?” I ask, cutting back into the conversation.
“I don’t want a divorce, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Cricket says.
Della smiles. “Then this is where I come in.”
“Oh, God,” Cricket says under her breath.
“You can’t pay for this level of experience,” Della says, undeterred. “Do you want my help or not?”
“Be easy with her,” I say, laughing.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to hear you out,” Cricket says. “I am on the verge of desperation.”
“I’m going to ignore that.” Della lifts a brow. “Let me break this down into the simplest form. The way I see it, and I’m basically an expert in this arena—Peter needs to have sex to have a connection. You, on the other hand, need to have a connection to have sex.”
Wow. That makes sense.
“I feel like I should take notes,” Scottie teases.
Cricket watches Della with rapt attention. “Go on.”
“I’ve said it a million times: men are simple creatures,” Della says. “But it’s not because they’re emotionless barbarians. It’s because most women don’t understand them. You’re fighting or there’s a communication issue or whatever it is, and you withhold sex because you don’t feel connected to him. Or he stops fucking you because he’s pissed or hurt, and then he stops feeling connected.”
“Peter and I haven’t fucked , as you so eloquently put it, since before I got Botox and stretch marks,” Cricket says, her jaw locked. “That puts us having fun sex at a solid sixteen years ago.”
Scottie’s wide eyes meet mine over the glasses of lemonade.
I didn’t think Peter and Cricket had a wild love life, but I didn’t expect it to be nonexistent either. She always paints a picture of a healthy sex life and seems satisfied. She even says they have sex several times a week. So, this? This abject desolation written on Cricket’s face? It’s as shocking as it is heartbreaking.
My heart aches for the loneliness Cricket must be feeling. I know it well. But a certain handsome, somewhat irritating man is helping me fix that.
Della stands. “Where is Peter now?”
“Golfing.” She spits out the word. “Why?”
“We’re going to your house to pick out the sexiest lingerie you own.” Della looks Cricket up and down. “Or we’re going to go buy some.”
Cricket’s face grows red, but she surprisingly doesn’t object.
“Then you’re going to get hold of his assistant and find out when he has an opening in his schedule,” Della says. “You’re going to have her pencil in a fake name for a full hour.”
Cricket swallows so hard I can hear it.
“You’re going to wear that with a trench coat over it,” Della says, grinning mischievously. “And surprise him at work.”
“I can’t do that,” Cricket says, squeaking.
“You can. And you will ,” Della says. “Make that connection. Show him what he’s missing—what you need.”
The room is still for a long second. Then Cricket blows out a quick breath.
“You know what, let’s do it. Make me a man-eater like you, Della—with all due respect,” Cricket says.
Scottie and I laugh.
We file out the door, Scottie locking up behind us. As we make our way down the sidewalk, my mind begins to wander.
And it wanders to my next-door neighbor.
If things got serious between us, would he fight for me? Would he go to the lengths Cricket is going to keep the passion between us?
I smile to myself.
From what I know, I think he might.
And I think I own a trench coat.