Chapter 7
7
E very belle knows how to gossip, but the best never do.
Carlisle couldn't quite believe her eyes, but Jane's words were clear. She was not misreading it. “That looks like a date. ”
It sure as hell did . When was the last time she'd seen Harper Rose? Certainly not recently enough to know she was dating Dane Cotton. That was a conundrum all in itself.
“She knows who he is, right?” Jane turned back, fiddling with the stem of her wineglass as she leaned forward, very serious expression across her face.
“She has to.” Carlisle thought everyone in town knew about Dane Cotton. “She moved away for a while, but . . .”
“She’s been back for several years now. There’s no excuse.” Jane looked over her shoulder again. “Unless she’s just getting her rocks off?”
Harper Rose had likely never gotten her rocks off. While Carlisle had been raised with Cotillions and Junior League sales, her own indoctrination had not begun to rival the Mayfair girls. Bailey Ann had almost lost the love of her life for it. Harper Rose had married Thad Bass and gotten swindled, big time. The youngest, Emma Kate, had fought against all the rules and expectations and eventually come out okay, but growing up had been tough on her.
It was Harper who took to it like a fish to water. All the niceties and fried chicken at funerals, all the thank you cards and hostess gifts just came naturally to her. But if she was dating Dane Cotton all that might be out the window.
The younger of the two Cotton boys. Dane was the town's resident playboy and occasionally resident asshole. He'd been arrested for drunk driving before he was even old enough to have a license and his daddy had gotten him out of it. As far as Carlisle had seen, nothing had changed except he’d gotten older and better looking and gotten away with even more crap.
“I should have recognized that car in the parking lot.” It was red and flashy, low and sleek. Guessing that it was Dane Cotton's car would have been too easy. Yet, there he was.
“What is she doing with him?” Jane asked, sincerely confused now.
Carlisle didn't answer but all she could think was nothing good . She didn’t say anything though because they simply didn't know other than Jane insisting that Carlisle find out if only to protect Harper Rose from her own bad decisions.
Jane changed the subject again, just as the pasta arrived. “I waited and you haven’t said anything. So, I’m asking: tell me about this neighbor.”
“Simon?”
“Oh yeah. Simon .” Jane drew the name out, playing with it.
“It's not like that.”
“Why isn't it like that?” her friend pressed.
“Have you seen me lately?” Carlisle motioned up and down herself. She hadn't been the same. Without going to work regularly, her sleep was at odd hours. When she tried to sleep at night, she couldn’t stay asleep. Shifting the hours seemed to help as she didn’t want to wake the neighbors— Simon —now that she knew her voice could absolutely carry that far.
“Are you eating dinner with him every night?”
“I bring a vegetable,” Carlisle said realizing that the actual answer was yes, she had . She almost added I'm just being neighborly , Jane would catch on if she protested too much.
“He likes you, you know.”
“No, I don't know and neither do you.” Carlisle dug her fork down into her pasta and twirled up a bite. This was her comfort food: garlic bread and hot tomato sauce. Pasta with shrimp, tomatoes, and peas. She could pretend it was healthy.
Years in nursing school had taught her it actually wasn't healthy. But, right now, what was healthiest was anything that made her happy, truly happy. Even the pasta didn't quite get her meter all the way to the top. Not much had lately.
Jane took two bites of her own lasagna before leaning forward, her expression serious. “But you like him?”
For a moment Carlisle didn't know how to answer. Two more bites of her own, another drink of the smooth chianti and she finally had to confess. “How could I not? But let's be honest, the man is a bouquet of red flags.”
“Really?” Jane asked, leaning back, arms crossed. No belle would ever flounce like that, nor look as concerned as Jane did. But Carlisle liked it. She didn’t have to guess. Jane was worried about her, and she wanted to know the truth.
Carlisle sorted through her thoughts. The texts she and Simon had shared were mostly about what to bring for dinner. She'd seen him fixing up his house in the evenings. He’d asked her about shutters. They'd had dinner together.
Then, they'd had dinner together again. Whatever subtext had come through, Jane had read it.
“Tell me.” Jane motioned for Carlisle to give up the goods.
Suddenly it all came pouring out. Better than anything she’d been able to talk about in the past four months. Since she’d gone into the water and thought she was going to die.
This was her best friend. Jane was someone she could talk to no matter what. She’d felt like she was still underwater for so long but right now she wanted to talk about something. Even if it was the new neighbor.
It wasn’t gossip, right? And Jane wouldn’t share it with anyone. So she rattled it off. “He's in his mid-thirties.”
“Not a flag. He’s close to your own age.” Jane motioned with one finger.
“No, he's in his thirties and he just bought his first home?—”
“More of a green flag than red,” Jane interrupted.
“And until this he lived with his mother.”
“Okay.” Jane mulled it over. “But why?”
“I didn't ask and he hasn't volunteered. Hence why it's a red flag. I mean, if she was dying of cancer, and he was taking care of her, that's terrible. But she's not gone.” Jane only nodded and Carlisle felt the words pushing at the back of her throat. She hadn’t wanted to tell anyone anything for so long. She added, “He said he couldn't drink!”
“Liquid? ”
“Alcohol,” Carlisle corrected. “And then he did drink it.”
“Okay, that's weird.”
“Like, so it must not be anything physical. He just suddenly changed his mind and said, oh, actually I can . And he's had a drink with dinner each night since.”
“A drink each night is not weird. Really.” Jane seemed to be thinking about it. “The first part was odd though. Not sure how much of a red flag that is.”
“He drives a very nice car.”
“Not a flag at all!” Jane replied.
“I know, I know. But he lives in this little fixer house in the same neighborhood as me!” No one in their neighborhood had nice cars. A handful did in Jane’s subdivision, but she’d been a housewife and a nurse, with four kids and a minivan. Carlisle’s neighborhood was more of a startup. “I'm grateful he has a garage, but I'm not sure that this car is necessarily safe in our neighborhood.”
“Your neighborhood is fine .”
“Our neighborhood is becoming fine. So why the flashy Dane Cotton car, Jane?” Carlisle added.
Carlisle had bought in that neighborhood because she didn't want to spend outside of her means. She’d always figured she'd fix the place up. If the neighborhood did upgrade, she'd stay put. And, if not, she'd sell and move to the next place.
She hadn't planned on being on medical leave for trauma for two months, and then attempting to return to work only to find out she couldn't do it. Things she had thought were fundamentally true about herself had been stripped away.
“Clearly, he’s got more money than the rest of the neighborhood, or less sense! He's also never had a pet,” Carlisle added, as if that could be the nail in the coffin.
“Oh honey, what are you even doing?” Jane asked.