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“I’m fine, really. It’s . . . hard, but . . .”
Try to pretend that you care....
She did care. She cared that Court was gone. She cared that he’d been lying to her. She cared that she’d wished him dead. Any sadness she felt was for a love lost, promises broken, a dream shattered, all which had occurred before her husband’s death.
“Are you good with that?” Dave asked, inclining his head to the barely touched glass of wine she held in her hand. In the kitchen spotlights, his crown glimmered with strands of silver.
Court had displayed the beginnings of gray hair, too, but he’d been death on admitting it and woe to anyone who had the bad form to make a comment about it.
Elizabeth took a sip of her merlot and gave Dave a thumbs-up. He was tall, like Court and Bill and had a strong chest and muscular arms. She wouldn’t have had to be told he was into working out; it was stamped all over him.
That reminded her that she should cancel her membership to Fitness Now! Oh, God, there were so many things to do, so many loose ends to tie up, so many reminders of Court.
Vivian rounded up all the kids and got them situated on the covered patio with juice boxes and slices of pizza on paper plates. The temperature was pleasant enough that coats and sweaters had been shed.
“If anyone’s ready for dinner, pull off the plastic wrap.” She signaled to Bill to do just that as she stuffed her hands into oversized mitts, then bent to the oven and pulled out a broiler pan with two large flank steaks sizzling away. “Five, ten minutes and we’ll be ready to serve.”
“I’m liking the hors d’oeuvres,” Les said, spreading brie and fig jam on a cracker.
“You’re like Kurt,” Nadia said. “He loves the appetizers.”
“Who doesn’t?” Deirdre piped up as she replicated her husband’s choices.
They slowly moved to the dining room table and seated themselves. Vivian directed Elizabeth to sit at one end and Bill to sit at the other while she took a seat to her left, which gave her ease to get up and down to the kitchen.
Throughout the meal, the conversation stayed with small talk, nothing serious discussed until talk inevitably strayed to the memorial service. The kids had already rushed back inside and ran like a herd up the stairs, the boys joining the girls. Elizabeth had finally made it to the bottom of her wineglass and Bill, who’d gotten up to bring the bottle to the table, was quick to give her a refill before she could demur.
“I invited Jade, but she’s just feeling too pregnant,” Vivian said, cutting off a bite of steak and popping it into her mouth.
“When’s she due again?” Nadia asked. She was on Elizabeth’s right and when Bill lifted his brows in query she held up her wineglass for him to top off as well.
Her question reminded Elizabeth of Nadia’s inability to conceive and it seemed to catch Vivian up, too, as she hesitated before saying, “Ummm . . . six weeks or maybe eight?”
Nadia looked straight at Elizabeth. Her eyes were the same shade of blue as Chloe’s and had the same piercing quality. A line drew between her brows. “Are we having a baby shower for her?”
“Nah.” Deirdre shook her head. Her honey-blond hair was pulled into a loose ponytail.
Blond woman with a messy bun . . .
The wayward thought slid through Elizabeth’s mind like a snake and for a second she felt her stomach clench. She had purposely worn her hair down tonight and clipped away from her face.
“Nobody wants to go to a shower for a second one,” Deirdre went on. “We should just have a kind of open house after the baby’s here.” She waved a hand over the table. “Wine, appetizers, small sandwiches . . . this kind of thing.”
“Good idea,” Tara said. Her hair had been recently bleached again, but she’d battled its dryness with a lot of product and it lay smooth and stiff at an angle to her chin.
Vivian’s poof of hair was corralled into a tight bun this evening, and for once she’d given up her workout gear for a blue shift that showed off her tanned arms and legs.
Blondes. We’re all blondes. Elizabeth’s throat tightened. Funny, she’d never noticed that fact before.
Because it doesn’t matter. Don’t go all psycho just because your friends are comfortable with L’Oreal.
Elizabeth forced down what she could of the meal and once everyone was finished and had complimented Vivian a dozen times over on the food, Vivian got up and went to the freezer, pulling out a mud pie. “I can’t take credit for this,” she said, slicing up the dessert and putting it onto small plates.
Elizabeth’s stomach was still in knots and she begged off, though everyone else had a piece, the women sighing as if the dessert was somewhat orgasmic. Elizabeth just wanted out.
At last, they pushed away from the table and walked onto the patio to drink coffee with or without Baileys, Elizabeth followed, wondering how to escape.
Vivian clinked her cup with Elizabeth’s, then said sheepishly, “I got a chance to get my aggressions out after I left the grave site today.” She leaned back in her patio chair and cradled her cup. “Some damned asshole cut me off when I was driving home and I just laid on the horn. God, I swear it was a full minute. He was pissed as hell, but it made me feel so great.” She sighed. “Dumb, huh?”
