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Francesca rose from the bench and rubbed her cheek. “Lucy was the answer to my prayers for Teddy. I thought he’d finally met a woman who was worthy of him. Someone intelligent and decent, someone who understood what it was like to be raised with privilege but hadn’t been spoiled by her upbringing. I thought she had character.” Her expression hardened. “I was wrong there, now wasn’t I?”
“We all were.”
The tissue shredded in her fingers, and she spoke so softly Emma could barely hear her. “I so desperately want grandchildren, Emma. I—I dream about them—holding them, smelling their soft little heads. Teddy’s babies . . .”
Emma knew enough about Francesca and Dallie’s history to understand Francesca was expressing more than a fifty-four-year-old woman’s simple yearning for a grandchild. Dallie and Francesca had been estranged for the first nine years of Ted’s life, right up until the time Dallie learned that he had a son. A grandchild would help fill that empty hole in their lives.
As if reading her thoughts, Francesca said, “Dallie and I never got to watch first steps together, to hear first words.” Her voice grew bitter. “Meg Koranda stole Ted’s babies from us. She stole Lucy, and she stole our grandchildren.”
Emma couldn’t bear her sadness. She rose from the bench and hugged her. “You’ll still have those grandchildren, love. There’ll be another woman for Ted. A woman far better than Lucy Jorik.”
Francesca didn’t believe her. Emma could see that. And she decided right then not to tell Francesca the worst of it. That Meg Koranda was still in town.
“Do you have another credit card, Ms. Koranda?” the beautiful blond desk clerk asked. “This one seems to have been rejected.”
“Rejected?” Meg acted as though she didn’t understand the word, but she understood it all right. With a soft whoosh, her last remaining credit card disappeared into the middle drawer of the front desk at the Wynette Country Inn.
The desk clerk didn’t try to hide her satisfaction. Meg had become public enemy number one in Wynette, as a twisted version of her role in the wedding debacle that had subjected the town’s sainted mayor to international humiliation had spread like an airborne virus through the small town where a few members of the press still lingered. A grossly exaggerated account of Meg’s confrontation with Birdie Kittle the night of the rehearsal dinner had also become public fodder. If only Meg had been able to leave Wynette right away, she could have avoided this, but that had proven to be impossible.
Lucy’s family had left Wynette on Sunday, twenty-four hours after Lucy had run off. Meg suspected they’d still be here, hoping Lucy would return, but the president had committed to attending the World Health Organization’s global conference in Barcelona along with Lucy’s father, who was hosting a gathering of international medical journalists. Meg was the only one who’d spoken to Lucy since she’d run away.
She’d gotten the phone call late Saturday night, around the time the bride and groom should have been leaving the wedding reception for their honeymoon. The signal was weak, and she barely recognized Lucy’s voice, which sounded thin and unsteady.
“Meg, it’s me.”
“Luce? Are you all right?”
Lucy gave a choked, semihysterical laugh. “Matter of opinion. You know that wild side of me you’re always talking about? I guess I found it.”
“Oh, honey . . .”
“I’m—I’m a coward, Meg. I can’t face my family.”
“Luce, they love you. They’ll understand.”
“Tell them I’m sorry.” Her voice broke. “Tell them I love them, and I know I’ve made a horrible mess of everything, and that I’ll come back and clean it up, but . . . Not yet. I can’t do it yet.”
“All right. I’ll tell them. But—”
She disconnected before Meg could say anything else.
Meg steeled herself and told Lucy’s parents about the call. “She’s doing this of her own free will,” the president had said, perhaps remembering her own long-ago rebellious escape. “For now, we have to give her the space she needs.” She made Meg promise to remain in Wynette for a few more days in case Lucy reappeared. “It’s the least you can do after causing this mess.” Meg was too weighed down with guilt to refuse. Unfortunately, neither the president nor her husband had thought to cover the cost of Meg’s extended stay at the inn.
“That’s odd,” Meg said to the desk clerk. In addition to her natural beauty, the clerk’s highlighted hair, perfect makeup, blindingly white teeth, and assortment of bracelets and rings tagged her as someone who spent a lot more time and money on her appearance than Meg did. “Unfortunately, I don’t have another card with me. I’ll write a check.” Impossible, since she’d emptied out her checking account three months ago, and she’d been living on her precious last credit card ever since. She shuffled through her purse. “Oh, no. I forgot my checkbook.”
“No problem. There’s an ATM right around the corner.”
“Excellent.” Meg grabbed her suitcase. “I’ll drop this in my car on the way.”
The clerk shot around the counter and wrenched the suitcase away. “We’ll have it waiting for you when you get back.”
Meg gave the woman her most withering look and spoke words she’d never imagined would ever come out of her mouth. “Do you know who I am?” I’m a nobody. An absolute nobody.
“Oh, yes. Everybody does. But we have our policies.”
“Fine.” She hoisted her purse,
a hand-me-down Prada hobo from her mother, and swept from the lobby. By the time she reached the parking lot, she’d broken out in a cold sweat.
