Chapter 11
ABBY
Abby arranged small jars filled with colorful sprinkles on the antique table formerly reserved for fresh floral arrangements and travel brochures while Tyler wiggled in his seat, drooling over the tray of plain sugar cookies.
From this vantage point, she had a clear view of the Belles on the other side of the sitting room.
Each woman sat in her usual spot. Gail Lewis and Janet Hill occupied the twin wingbacks—Gail with her impeccable posture and Janet lounging with her legs crossed. Faye Thompson, in her brocade skirt and vest combo, blended into the vintage Rococo chair. Verna shared the sofa with Sage’s grandmother, Shirley Milton, who, from the pinched expression on Verna’s face, wore a little too much patchouli today.
While they each held a copy of The Secret Book of Flora Lea , they weren’t focused on the open pages. Their collective gaze illuminated the love seat like an interrogation lamp. Piper sat in the middle, sinking into the plump cushions as if she hoped to disappear inside.
Abby almost felt sorry for the woman. The Belles had roped her into their book club, resolutely ignoring her many attempts to decline. When Piper mentioned she hadn’t read the book, Janet admitted that she hadn’t, either. “I come for the good food and the gossip,” she’d said. “You’ll fit right in.”
Piper used Tyler as her next excuse, but Verna gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Oh, Abby can look out for him,” she’d offered. “She’s always coming up with fun activities for Max. She can keep him busy while we ladies chat.”
Piper looked mortified by the prospect, but Verna and the Belles wouldn’t take no for an answer. Hence, the impromptu sugar cookie decorating.
Abby situated six cookies on a sheet of parchment paper—three flower cutouts and three ladybugs. She’d also assembled a plethora of supplies, including her best piping nozzles. Probably overkill for a five-year-old, but she wanted him to have options.
“Does this have Red 40 or Yellow 5?” Tyler squinted at the jar of rainbow sprinkles, his chubby little face scrunched with concern.
Abby blinked. How did he know about food dyes? “No, they don’t.”
“What about those?” He pointed to the pastry bags stuffed with frosting.
“Nope. I never use artificial coloring in my cooking.”
“Good. ’Cause my mom doesn’t let me eat that stuff. She said it’s a ’spiracy between FDR and Big Pharma to make us sick.” He lisped when he tried to pronounce conspiracy , and Abby bit back a laugh.
“You mean the FDA?”
“Yeah, him. And the other guy. They’re bad dudes,” Tyler told her with adorable earnestness.
“They sure sound like it.” Abby matched his serious tone, hiding her surprise. She hadn’t pegged Piper for the kind of mother who worried about food dyes and artificial ingredients. Dragging Tyler halfway across the state in some fraudulent paternity scheme didn’t exactly scream stellar mom material .
As she set the rest of the cookie-decorating utensils on the parchment paper, she couldn’t stop the unwelcome thoughts from invading her mind. What if she and Donnie had been able to conceive? Would their child have been anything like Tyler? Would she have been a good mother back then?
A familiar tightness crept up her chest, and she swallowed, shoving her emotions—and all the haunting what-ifs—deep inside where they belonged.
Forcing a smile, she helped Tyler get started on a ladybug, then surreptitiously turned her attention toward the conversation happening across the room.
“So, ladies. What did you think of the book?” Verna asked her cohorts.
“I loved it. Five stars from me.” Faye smiled, and her full, round cheeks shifted her glasses slightly higher on the bridge of her nose.
While she didn’t doubt Faye’s sincerity in this instance, Abby couldn’t imagine the kindhearted, cajoling woman rating a book anything less than five stars. Even if she didn’t love it.
“Would you say it was historically accurate, Gail?” Faye asked.
Gail sipped her tea, pondering the question before announcing in her authoritative, retired-history-teacher tone, “Yes. As far as fiction can be accurate, Faye.”
Abby braced herself for one of Gail’s lectures on how creative liberties needed to be balanced with exhaustive research when Verna interjected.
“What fascinated me,” she said, “is the concept of secrets . Secrets can be quite complicated, can’t they?” Verna looked directly at Piper, overenunciating the word secrets to a less-than-subtle effect.
“I suppose so.” Piper shifted in her seat, carefully balancing her teacup and saucer as she squirmed.
“There’s also the theme of storytelling,” Verna continued. “And how stories can impact our lives, for better or worse. Isn’t that interesting?” Once again, Verna directed her question at Piper.
“Sure. I guess.” Piper gulped her tea, looking so uncomfortable, Abby felt a tiny pang of guilt—a pang she quickly squelched.
“ Stories ,” Verna said, placing extra emphasis on the word again, “can be quite wonderful, even cathartic, when used for good. But when used for ill will or ill-gotten gains, they can be rather damaging, don’t you think?”
Piper reached for an almond raspberry tea cake, avoiding Verna’s question altogether this time.
Was it her imagination, or had Piper read between the lines of Verna’s literary musings? The Belles might not get as much out of their target as they’d hoped.
As if she’d had the same inkling, Janet snapped the paperback shut and tossed it on the coffee table. “Enough about the book. Tell us about yourself, Piper. Where are you from?” Leaning forward, she flashed her warmest we’re-all-friends-here smile.
“Down south.”
“South like Los Angeles? San Diego? Or south of the border?” Janet asked in a casual, chatty tone.
“From a small town. You wouldn’t have heard of it.” Piper reached for another tea cake, and when she wasn’t looking, Janet threw up her hands in defeat.
Gail rolled her eyes at how quickly Janet surrendered, and Abby smiled. Gail, strict and regimented, frequently chided Janet for her lack of discipline and follow-through when it came to anything other than her rigorous antiaging routine. “What do you do for work?” Gail asked Piper, taking over as interrogator.
“I—” Piper paused, appearing to weigh her words carefully before adding, “I’m in transition right now.”
“Career change?” Gail pressed for more details.
“Yes,” Piper said simply, finishing her tea cake.
“And what do you do for fun? I love to crochet,” Faye chirped, clearly not understanding the assignment. “Do you enjoy crochet?”
“Not really.”
“Do you plan to stay in town long?” Shirley prodded, redirecting the conversation.
Abby’s pulse raced, and she tried to read Piper’s expression from the corner of her eye, without looking too interested. But she had questioned Piper’s game plan more than a hundred times since yesterday. Surely, Piper knew the DNA results would come back negative. What would she do then? Why drive all that way for a plan doomed to fail? It didn’t make sense.
“For as long as it takes.” Piper drained her last sip of tea and set the cup and saucer on the coffee table. Facing the women in turn, she added, “Look. I know you ladies don’t like me. And frankly, I don’t care. I’m not here to make friends. The only thing you need to know about me is that I’m here for my son. And if any of you are mothers, maybe you can try to understand that.” She rose from the love seat, her features firmly set with a level of confidence and conviction that made Abby’s blood freeze. “Tyler.”
He looked up from the ladybug cookie he was decorating as if his mother’s voice were the only sound capable of breaking his concentration. “Yeah?”
“Let’s take a walk down to the beach.”
“Okay!” He brightened at the suggestion. “Can I bring the cookies?”
“You may bring one .”
He grinned, and to Abby’s surprise, turned back around to tidy up the table, starting with replacing the sprinkle caps. How many five-year-olds voluntarily cleaned up after themselves?
“It’s okay,” she told him. “I can clean up. You go with your mom.” On impulse, she asked Piper, “Would you like to take some sand toys?”
For a moment, Piper stared at her as if she’d sprouted two heads, both of which were unexpectedly nice to her. “No.” After a short pause, she added, “Thank you.”
Tyler scooped the cookie into his hands and scampered after his mom.
Before the door swung shut, Tyler waved goodbye, his little face smiling wide as if she’d become his new best friend.
Abby waved back, returning his smile as the fragile fissures sinewing through her heart slowly split open.
Was there even the tiniest possibility that Piper wasn’t lying after all?
And if so, could she bear to uncover the truth?