Been Loving You Too Long (23 page)

 
“If it is, it is, and things will work themselves out,” Brenna added, “Try to just enjoy it, would you?
 
Don’t worry about tomorrow, or next week, or next month.
 
It all comes soon enough.
 
Take today and just live it.”

Ophelia kissed her cheek and hugged her tightly, “Thank you for being my friend.
 
I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Rising from the table, being careful not to smudge her nails, she was passing through the doors and into the street when she bumped into someone.
 
“Oh!
 
Excuse—me!” she said, but the words came out awkwardly, as she realized the person she’d bumped into was none other than Melina Tate.

The blonde looked, not stunning exactly as that would have been far too gauche for her, but lovely and elegant.
 
Her hair was smoothed back into an elegant twist and she wore a linen sheath that was mystically free of wrinkles.
 
Her nude pumps were classic, the tiny clutch purse in her hand an elegant and timeless choice.
 
Everything about her was simply too perfect.

Conscious of the fact that her own dress was just a tad too tight and that the shoes she wore were knockoffs, Ophelia inwardly cringed.
  

“Well, Ophelia!
 
I’ve been meaning to get in touch with you...Congratulations,” Melina greeted.
 

It didn’t take a lot of skill to detect the icy sarcasm underlying the well wishes.
 
Still, Ophelia pasted a smile on her face.
 
“Thank you, Melina. You’re looking lovely, as always.”

Melina smiled.
 
“Oh, thank you.
 
I just have to say how happy I am for you, dear!
 
How nice it must be to still be a part of the DuChamps family!
 
Why, you’re family has been with them for decades!”

There it was.
 
The ubiquitous Southern euphemism for fuck you—how nice.
 
There were other barbs in there as well.
 
That business about still being part of the family and having been with them for decades was a not so subtle reminder of her place as a servant.
 

Ophelia might not have been a member of the same social circles, but that didn’t mean she was oblivious to how they worked.
 
“Well, Vincent and I have been close for so long.
 
As horrible as it was to lose Thomas, I guess you could say it brought us closer together.”
 
It wasn’t a lie, she told herself, just a carefully edited version of the truth.
 

Melina smiled.
 
“Of course, it did.
 
Why, when Vincent and I went out to dinner, he was so upset about Thomas, he could barely speak—and of course when I ran into him the night before the wedding, we had a nice long chat about that.
 
It’s so nice that you were there to swoop in during his time of need.”

That stung on multiple levels.
 
He hadn’t mentioned that he’d run into her.
 
Of course, why would he?
 
It wasn’t like theirs was a real marriage.
 
The other blow was the veiled accusation that she’d somehow taken advantage of his grief.
 

Perhaps it stung because in some way she felt she had.
 
It might not have come about the way she’d envisioned, but she’d gotten the one thing she’d always dreamed of—to be his wife.
 
“Yes, it’s been a hard time for him.
 
For all of us.
 
But at least we have each other,” she said, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness.
 
“Don’t let me hold you up, Melina.
 
I’d hate to make you late for your beauty treatments.
 
Big date tonight?
 
Being single is so hard!
 
I swear I don’t miss it at all!”

Melina smiled so widely it was a wonder her face didn’t crack.
 
“Of course.
 
Married life isn’t for everyone though. Some people like a challenge and a change of scenery every once in a while.
 
Even the married ones. Men just can’t be trusted, Ophelia, I swear!”

“Well, enjoy your scenery today. I have to run.
 
I hate for Vincent to come home to an empty house,” Ophelia added with a faux smile of her own before walking away.
 
She hated those kinds of games and bloodless confrontations.

Getting into her car, she drove from the Quarter to the Garden District; she needed to stop at the pharmacy. Then, she needed to get home and do something to feel useful.

~~****~~

Melina entered the salon, spying Brenna at the drying table.
 
She offered her a cool smile, but didn’t bother to speak.
 
To her mind, Brenna McGhee was hardly the type of person she wanted to associate with.
 
Signing her name onto the book, she took a large bill from her wallet and passed it to the receptionist.
 
“I need to have the same nail technician that those ladies had,” she said, subtly gesturing to where Brenna sat.

The tech nodded and within minutes she was being ushered back to the pedicure chair.
 
“You’ll get the tip of your life if you tell me everything you know about what those two women were talking about.”

The tech looked up, seemed to consider it for a minute, then shrugged.
 
“The one lady thinks she is having a baby.”

“The slutty redhead?” Melina asked, thinking it was good gossip, but hardly worth what she was paying for it.
 

“No, the other lady.
 
The one just married.
 
She doesn’t want to tell her husband.”

Melina smiled.
 
Now that was information worth paying for.
 
“You just earned that tip.”

The nail tech gave her a long considering look.
 
“They say he’s good in bed too and hung.”

Melina couldn’t have cared less.
 
On a physical level, men held no attraction for her.
 
But Vincent’s position as the head of DuChamps Hotels, that was better than sex any day.
 
“Oh, who gives a damn about that?”

The nail tech shook her head and began speaking to the other tech beside her in a language Melina didn’t understand.
 
She didn’t really care.
 
Let them talk.
 
Their opinions were of little consequence to her.
 

~~****~~

It was almost three when Ophelia entered the house, the bag from the drug store tucked discreetly into her purse.
 
She would have time before Vincent came home to get some things accomplished and hopefully to work off the irritation that Melina Tate had caused.

Heading upstairs, she deposited her things in the bedroom and then headed to Thomas’ room.
 
Opening the closet doors, she began pulling out the many suits he’d had tailor made for him.
 

There was a charity that he’d often donated clothing to that helped people who were unemployed by providing interview and work clothing.
 
The suits would be a nice contribution for them.
 
That they came in such a range of sizes was a testament to how much his illness had impacted his appearance.

It wasn’t a difficult task, but her emotions felt raw.
 
The run in with Melina hadn’t helped.
 
A dozen times, her eyes teared up and she choked back sobs.
 
She could smell his cologne in the closet, the scent clinging to his clothes.
 
Missing him was always a part of her days, feeling the emptiness of the house around her when she was alone was also part of it.
 

With everything else that had been going on, her grief had been put on hold, delayed.
 
But as she began sorting through his belongings, it hit her with a force that left her shaken.
 
Dropping to her knees, she held onto one of his white dress shirts and just sobbed.
 

~~****~~

That was how Vincent found her—on the floor of Thomas’ closet, surrounded by clothes, sobbing like her heart was broken.

Standing in the doorway, he watched her for a moment.
 
He had a cowardly impulse to simply walk away.
 
He hated tears, hated seeing women sob brokenly.
 
Rationally, he knew that was because of his mother, because of the many times she’d sobbed like her heart was broken only to run into his father’s arms the minute he walked back into the house.

He knew though that Ophelia’s tears weren’t destructive, they weren’t a manipulation.
 
She cried because she missed Thomas, because he’d been a part of her life for so long, and had been taken from it far earlier than any of them could grasp.
 

Perhaps that was why he was a coward, he thought, because she could cry for Thomas and he couldn’t.
 
Moving deeper into the walk in closet, he settled himself on the floor beside her.
 
“Closet envy?” he asked.
 

She laughed, it was a watery sound, more of a sob than anything else, but it was a start.
 
“Thomas and I had talked about this before he passed—what he wanted done with his things.
 
He hated wastefulness.”

Vincent knew that was true.
 
“But this is too hard for you.
 
Or maybe it’s just too soon.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head.
 
“I need to do this.
 
We’ve been so caught up in everything else, there just hasn’t been time to mourn him—I miss him so terribly.
 
His temper, his sarcasm, the biting wit that no one was safe from...and his compassion.
 
Thomas had a gift for that.
 
It’s like he could always see straight through to the heart of things, even when no one else could.”

Those words rang through him, reminding him of one of his last conversations with Thomas.
 
Thomas had encouraged him to date, to find a woman he couldn’t take or leave.
 
Ultimately, Thomas had done that for him, because he’d known all along where Vincent’s obsession lay.
 
“I miss him, too,” he admitted.
 
“The conversations about nothing.
 
The negotiating over whether or not he should have his Bourbon and cigars...He gave up everything for us.
 
He told me once that he’d been in love, but that it was before he we came along.
 
I imagine having three children dropped into the middle of a love affair is a quick way to put a damper on things.”

“That isn’t quite how it happened,” Ophelia informed him.
 
Rising from the floor, she pulled a small wooden box down from the shelf and began rifling through it.
 
Inside, were childish drawings, cards, small mementos gathered through a lifetime, but near the bottom was the letter.
 
“Thomas asked me to read this to him.”
 
It had been near the end and he’d been too weak to hold it himself.
 

Vincent took the letter from her and scanned the contents.
 
It seemed strange to read something so intimate, but it became abundantly clear what had happened.
 
Thomas’ lover had been a married man unwilling to end his marriage for their affair, and unwilling to continue their affair when Thomas’ attention could not fully be his.
 
He’d been a supremely selfish bastard.
 
“Why would Thomas want you to read this to him?
 
Who would want to revisit that?”

Ophelia smiled.
 
“He never replied to that letter until just before he died.
 
He dictated to me what he wanted to say... I can’t recall it verbatim, but the gist was that he was dying surrounded by the family he’d raised, by the children he loved, and that there was nothing in his life he regretted, except for their affair. Thomas had called it a waste of his love, pouring his emotions into a person who was incapable of ever returning them.
 
He was thankful that you all came to him when you did, because you saved him from that.”