Crazy Little Thing (23 page)

I SAUNTERED IN THROUGH DODY’S front door sporting a sublime smile and a mad case of whisker burn. Dody and Fontaine were sitting at the kitchen island having their morning coffee.

“Good morning, you saucy minx,” Fontaine said. “Did that filthy scoundrel keep you out all night? Why, I do declare, he has sullied your reputation.”

I kissed Fontaine’s cheek. “I have indeed been sullied.”

Dody hugged me. “Darling, that is simply delightful. Nothing puts the pink in a girl’s cheeks like a good roll in the straw.”

“Hay,” I said.

“Hey, what?” She looked at me, waiting.

“Nothing. So did I miss anything over here last night?”

Fontaine shook his head. “Hardly, but I want every creepy hetero detail from your evening.”

I poured myself a coffee, gazing up at the ceiling without really seeing it. Last night had been a slice of heaven, but I didn’t want to share the details. I wanted to enjoy my lovely thoughts without Fontaine’s crass editorial commentary. I wanted to dwell in the bliss of my wanton behavior before my brain kicked in with the inevitable reprimands.

“It was wonderful.”

Fontaine held up his hands. “And?”

“And that’s all. I’m too sleepy to talk about it right now. Take me shopping later and I’ll tell you more.”

“Deal,” Fontaine answered quickly. “And Penny wants you to call her. She said something about doing the laundry?”

I trotted up to my room, a spring in my step. I fluffed the pillows and plopped down on my bed, noticing that today it did not seem so maddeningly, mockingly empty. Last night had been sensational. And not just the first time either, which was a little urgent. (Hardly his fault considering the way I’d left him earlier that evening.) The second time was pure perfection, like floating on a silky mink raft in a pool of bubbly pink champagne, eating Swiss chocolates while Bradley Cooper massaged my feet. It was that good. By the third time, we were tired, so we had the lazy Sunday morning kind, when you have nothing to do but lie in bed and pass the time. I had forgotten sex could actually be fun. Just fun. I stretched, feeling twinges in muscles that had not been exercised in far too long.

I dialed Penny, and she answered almost immediately. We tumbled excitedly over one another’s words.

“Guess what!”

“Guess what!”

“I slept with Des.”

“I’m pregnant!”

“You are?”

“You did?”

“Holy shit!”

“Holy shit!”

Penny and I haven’t giggled like that since sixth grade, when Scott Nickelson skateboarded right into a mailbox because she flashed him with her training bra.

“Why didn’t you tell me last night?” I asked.

“I didn’t know last night. I peed on the stick this morning. How did you end up in bed with Des?”

We volleyed questions back and forth in our own brand of sister-speak. I was excited for her—and grateful that I could be. I asked about due dates and baby names and what the future grandparents had said when she told them.

“I haven’t told anybody yet. Just you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m kind of scared. It’s really early yet. Something could go wrong.”

“Dody always tells me that worrying about something doesn’t do any good. It only makes you worried.”

“You’re quoting Dody now? We need to get you out of there.”

“Nuh-uh, not now. Ask me again in a week.”

“What happens in a week?” she asked.

“By then I’ll have discovered some incriminating evidence against Des and have to leave Bell Harbor.”

“Like he murdered the Pullmans and has them buried under the deck?”

“Precisely. So are you going to tell Mom?”

“Not yet. I’d like to wait until the end of the first trimester. So don’t tell her, OK? Don’t tell anybody.”

“Listen to you, little mommy, talking about trimesters. I’m so proud of you. And I promise I won’t tell anyone, as long as you don’t tell Mom about me and Des. I don’t need her judgments right now. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Did I hear you guys are going shopping?” Jasper asked. I was sitting in the kitchen putting on my sandals while Fontaine tapped his foot and jangled keys in the doorway. He wore a white polo shirt and mint-colored chinos.

Fontaine nodded. “Yes, after we check on the construction at my house. They’re installing the trim, and I need to make sure they’re using the right wood. Why?” Fontaine said.

“Is Mom coming?”

“No, she and Anita are painting protest signs for their rally against putting in a second traffic light.”

Jasper sat down next to me. “Remember how you told me that weddings and rings and stuff were expensive?”

I reached over and touched his arm. “I never should’ve said that, Jas. I was in a bad mood that day. I think Beth is wonderful, and you’re smart to scoop her up.”

Jasper nodded. “I know. But I was wondering if you’d help with the ring part. I mean, help me pick out something that looks nice but isn’t going to break my bank.”

Sentimentality overtook me. I threw my arms around his neck. “Oh, Jasper! I’d be honored.”

He tensed. “Jeez, Sadie. It’s not that big a deal. What’s up with you?”

He looked over at Fontaine, who answered, “Sadie finally got laid.”

Jasper nodded, as if that explained everything.

Tilly Mason, fourth-generation owner of Mason’s jewelry store, greeted us at the door.

“Hello, Fontaine. Are you looking for some new cuff links?” They gave each other a double air kiss.

“I wish. But today we’re here for something extra special. My brother here thinks it’s time to tie the knot. We need something sparkly and fabulous that costs like something shabby and dull.”

Tilly nodded. “I’m sure we can find something wonderful.” She sat Jasper down in a velvet chair and pulled out a laminated chart, explaining about color, cut, clarity, and carats until he glazed over completely.

“Wait, what’s the difference between color and clarity?” Jasper asked for the third time.

“Why don’t we browse a little?” I suggested.

Tilly nodded. “Why don’t you?”

Jasper peered into one display case. “What about these over here?” he asked hesitantly.

“Those are anniversary bands,” Tilly said.

“What’s the difference?”

“They’re for anniversaries.”

Jasper looked at me, silently pleading.

“What kind of ring does Beth want?” Fontaine asked.

“I don’t know. I never asked her.”

“You mean you haven’t talked about this at all?”

“No, I want it to be a surprise.”

“A surprise? Then how do you know she’s going to say yes?”

I smacked Fontaine in the arm. “Fontaine! Of course she’ll say yes. Don’t ask him that.”

Jasper’s face flushed.

“Oh, Fontaine, now look what you’ve done,” I scolded, putting an arm around Jasper. “I’m sure she’ll say yes. She’s madly in love with you. I can tell.”

Fontaine hugged him from the other side. “Of course she will. I didn’t mean that. So how are you going to ask her?”

“Ask her?” Jasper went from pouty to confused.

“Yes. How are you going to propose?”

“Oh. I don’t know. I figured we’d go out to dinner or something.”

“No, no, no!” Fontaine stomped his expensive Italian sandal. “That’s so ordinary. It has to be more romantic than that.”

Jasper shook his head. “Beth isn’t into all that sort of stuff. She doesn’t care.”

“Every girl cares,” Fontaine admonished. “The proposal story is one she’ll tell over and over, so you need to make it good. Put some effort into it.”

“Damn it, Fontaine. This is why I hate to tell you stuff. You blow it way out of proportion.”

“He does,” I had to agree. “But he’s right about this one, Jas. It should be something memorable.”

“Me asking her to spend the rest our lives together isn’t memorable enough?”

“Not if you’re sitting at some dingy restaurant,” Fontaine scoffed. “And don’t even think about putting the ring inside a dessert or a glass of champagne. I can’t imagine what misguided Neanderthal came up with that idea.”

“God, you guys! Come on. Could we stick to one thing at a time here? First I have to find a ring.”

Tilly walked around to where we were bickering and set a tray of diamond rings on the counter. “Why don’t you look these over? I think you might find something you like. That would at least give us a starting point.”

We bent over the tray in a synchronized motion. There were a variety of styles, some beautiful and simple, others garishly large, and a few with diamazoid specks so tiny they looked like smudges on the band. Jasper zeroed in on one right in the center of the tray. It was gorgeous. Not too large, not too small, not too plain, not too elaborate. He picked it up. It sparkled in the light, sending prisms in every direction. We continued to look around the store, but he kept coming back to that one.

“I love this one, Sadie. But it’s too expensive,” Jasper whispered. “I’ve been saving up to buy my own restaurant, you know, but if I spend so much on a ring, it’ll put me back months.”

I thought the price was reasonable, but then again, I had pretty extravagant taste. My own engagement ring had been ostentatious and flashy, like my husband. It was sitting in a drawer back in Glenville. I couldn’t possibly wear it, but I also couldn’t bear the thought of getting rid of it. Someday, when all the bad karma of my marriage had evaporated, I planned to have the diamonds reset into a necklace.

“Maybe you could save up for it?”

He frowned. “Yeah, I guess I’m going to have to. The pretty ones are expensive and the cheap ones are stupid.”

I patted his shoulder. “We can keep looking.” But Mason’s was the only jewelry store in Bell Harbor, and Jasper went on home, sad and dejected.

In spite of Jasper’s blue mood, I floated around for the rest of the day on cloud ten. Richard called to say the kids were doing great and having a wonderful time. He didn’t pick a fight or say anything irritating, which was remarkable considering the phone call lasted nearly five minutes. And I had a date to look forward to! At Des’s that morning, before he left for work and I did the walk of shame back to Dody’s, he had invited me out to dinner again. I had a brand new outfit, chosen by Fontaine, of course, and more frilly new unmentionables, chosen by myself. I had to draw the line at letting my cousin pick out my underwear.

But at precisely four o’clock that afternoon, Des called. I was on the sunporch with Dody where she was knitting a holster for her gun and telling me about the most fascinating e-mail she’d gotten from a Nigerian prince.

“Sadie, hi. I can’t really talk right now. I’m swamped at work,” Des said. “But I have to cancel our dinner. My cousin Charlie is stranded at the airport and needs to spend the night at my house. The next flight doesn’t leave until seven in the morning so I’m kind of obligated to help out. I’m really sorry.”

I deflated like a day-old birthday balloon. The unheard-of-relative-stranded-at-the-airport excuse? I wanted to believe him, but I didn’t trust myself to ask for details. It could be legitimate. Or not. And I didn’t have the courage to find out.

“Oh, that’s OK. We can do it another time.” I was angry at the tremble in my voice.

“I work the next two nights, but we can do dinner after that. OK?”