Her Sister's Shoes (18 page)

“Curtis is a very dangerous man, Jamie. You’ve seen what he did to my face. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me, especially if you were protecting me. Promise me you won’t try to be a hero.”

“Don’t worry. I can take care of myself.” He rolled over to the bucket of balls, picked out a basketball, and shot it at the hoop over the garage door. The ball bounced off the rim, hit the backboard, and fell through the net.

Faith caught the rebound and tossed it back to Jamie. “I’m impressed. You still have all your upper body strength. Rumor has it, you might walk again.”

He shot the ball and made it a second time. “My mom’s the one who started the rumor. And here she comes.” He motioned toward his mother’s Jeep turning in the driveway. “Please don’t get her started on that.”

Sam hopped out of the Jeep and grabbed a rectangular cardboard box from the backseat. “What’s all this? Isn’t it a little late for spring cleaning?”

“It’s a surprise for you with an ulterior motive for me,” Faith said.

“Whatever your motive is, it’s fine by me. I haven’t seen the floor of this garage in years.”

“What’s in the box?” Faith asked.

Sam set the box in Jamie’s lap. “Burgers and steaks and ribs. A meat distributor came by today offering samples. What do y’all think about adding a butcher at Sweeney’s?”

“That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.” Jamie handed the box back to his mom and wheeled off.

“What’s so dumb about it?” she called after him.

“Because having meat would take the attention away from the seafood,” he responded as he maneuvered his way into the house.

Sam turned to Faith. “What do you think?”

Faith had no opinion one way or another about adding a butcher. She was simply relieved to know she still had a voice in the decisions. “Well, I think the idea is interesting. And we certainly have the space to add a butcher counter. But I can also see what Jamie is saying. We don’t want to diversify too much or we’ll lose our main focus.”

“True. And we’ve already added the wine section and the prepared foods.” Sam set the box down in the wheelbarrow. “I guess we need to start turning a profit before we make any more changes.”

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t sample the goods.” Faith opened the lid on the box and rummaged through the contents. She held up a large rack of baby back ribs.

Bitsy rolled her hula hoop over to them. “Are we having ribs for dinner?”

“Not unless we cook them in the oven.” Sam pointed at the dark clouds moving in from the west. “Looks like a storm’s coming.” As if on cue, a bolt of lightning was followed by a not-so-distant rumble of thunder.

Faith moved her truck into the garage, and then the three of them parked everything else around it.

“I think we better get inside.” Sam lowered the garage door and sprinted across the grass to the back door as the first sprinkles began to fall.

The thunderstorm passed quickly, but the rain set in for the night. At Sam’s suggestion, they built a fire in the fireplace and cooked hotdogs and marshmallows on coat hangers. Jamie helped Bitsy build a blanket tent under the dining room table, and the four of them crawled inside to eat campsite-style.

Faith appreciated her sister’s efforts. Sam claimed it was for Bitsy’s sake, but her impromptu campout lightened everyone’s mood. Faith recognized the faraway look in Sam’s eyes as a sign of exhaustion. She had no doubt Sam would spend another night on the floor beside her son’s bed, holding vigil. Devoted mother and sister and daughter, Sam had always been all things to everyone in their family. But they had never all been in crisis at the same time. And Faith could tell their situation was taking its toll on her sister. Try as she might, Sam would never find answers to any of their problems in a bottle of wine.

Twenty-Three

Jacqueline

A
nxious to begin
the process that would end her marriage, Jackie arrived thirty minutes early for her first appointment with her attorney. She’d spoken to Barbara Rutledge several times on the phone, but this would be their first face-to-face meeting.

With a sunshine-yellow facade and electric-blue front door, the office building for the law practice of Browning, Rutledge, and Rankin was the biggest and brightest of all the townhouses on Rainbow Row. The receptionist, a young woman dressed in a black
pencil skirt
and white starched blouse, greeted Jackie from behind a tiny desk in the foyer and ushered her to the adjoining waiting room. Jackie refused her offer of coffee and made herself at home on the leather sofa with the current issue of
Garden & Gun
magazine. Aside from the constant ringing of the telephone, the office was quiet. The waiting room was handsomely appointed in a masculine way with rich coffee-colored walls and oriental rugs. After twenty minutes and three back issues of
Garden & Gun
, she heard voices coming down the stairs. A handsome couple appeared in the foyer—Barbara Rutledge, whom Jackie recognized right away from her photographs in the newspaper, and a man who was undoubtedly a client.

Jackie judged the client to be in his mid to late fifties and newly divorced, as evidenced by the absence of a wedding ring and his presence in a divorce attorney’s office. With dark hair graying at the temple …

Jackie caught herself. What was she thinking? She’d vowed never to fall for a good-looking man again, regardless of how nicely his taut body filled out his impeccably tailored suit.

Barbara Rutledge opened the front door for her client and followed him outside.

Jackie thumbed through the rest of the magazine. She was beginning to wonder if her attorney had forgotten about their appointment and taken the handsome man out for a late lunch, when Barbara suddenly reappeared.

“I’m Barbara Rutledge.” She extended her hand to her new client. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person.”

“Believe me, Ms. Rutledge, the pleasure is all mine.”

“Please. Let’s dispense with the formalities. I’m Barbara, known to my clients as Barbara the Barracuda, which is a nickname I’m proud of and work hard to maintain. Shall I call you Jackie?”

“Or Jacqueline. Anything but Jack.”

Barbara smiled. “Because that’s what your husband calls you.”

“How very perceptive of you.”

“Shall we go upstairs to my office?” Barbara motioned toward the stairwell.

Jackie gathered her things and followed Barbara’s shapely figure up the steep flight of stairs. Wearing a summer khaki pantsuit, pale-blue silk blouse, and nude Manolo Blahnik pumps, Barbara set a striking example of a classic Southern professional woman.

The attorney’s office was a more feminine version of the waiting room downstairs with soft cream walls and Oushak rugs in neutral shades. Her Queen Anne mahogany desk sat in front of a bank of windows that overlooked East Bay Street below. Bookcases covered one wall while a pair of large contemporary paintings offered splashes of color on another.

With legal pad in hand, Barbara joined Jackie on the sofa. “This first meeting is mostly about you and me getting to know one another. I typically start by asking my clients about their expectations—the obvious being, what do you hope to get out of your divorce?”

“Full custody of my sons and every penny I can possibly extract out of my husband.”

A smile appeared across Barbara’s rosy pink lips. “Then you’ve come to the right place.” She consulted her legal pad. “You mentioned on the phone that your husband has been having an affair. Is there any evidence of that?”

“Plenty. The happy couple is certainly not trying to hide anything. We’ve been separated for less than two weeks and they’re already living together. He’s strutting his new trophy around town. He even had the nerve to show up at a benefit with her on his arm the other night.”

“Did anyone take pictures at the event that we might use as evidence?”

“My husband’s mistress or girlfriend—or whatever you want to call her—has plenty of pictures plastered all over her Facebook page. And not just from the event. There are photographs of them taken at restaurants and parties. There’s even a selfie of them lying on the beach together with that woman wearing the most inappropriate little pink bikini.”

Barbara arched her perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Really?”

“See for yourself.” Jackie pointed at Barbara’s computer. “Her name is Daisy Calhoun.”

“I’ll check that out later.” Barbara scribbled a few notes on her legal pad. “Tell me about your boys.” She settled back on the sofa and crossed her legs. “How are they handling the separation?”

“We haven’t told them yet. They’re away at camp.”

Barbara looked up from her note taking, an expression of surprise on her face. “I’ve been through a divorce myself, Jackie. As a parent, I strongly suggest you tell them about the separation as soon as possible. The last thing you want is for them to hear about the breakup from their friends. And considering the many means of communication available these days … You just told me yourself that their father’s picture is all over his mistress’s Facebook page.”

“They are not allowed to have their cell phones at camp.”

“The twins are what …”—Barbara consulted her legal pad—“sixteen. They’re junior counselors then?”

“That’s correct.”

“Which means they are privy to more than the campers. If they get their hands on a computer …”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Hot news like this spreads as fast as the speed of the Internet. Kids these days know everything, almost before stuff even happens.”

Jackie knew Barbara was right. But she couldn’t think of a delicate way to break this kind of news to her boys, aside from making the seven-hour drive to camp. Writing a letter seemed too impersonal and would deprive her of the chance to answer their questions, console, and reassure them.

For the next forty-five minutes, Jackie answered detailed questions about her lifestyle—about their home and monthly expenses and how much they’d saved for the twins’ college tuition; about the size of Bill’s practice and Jackie’s career as a decorator, or lack thereof since she’d recently resigned. When Barbara asked which parent the twins turned to for advice, Jackie answered truthfully—their father. After they’d discussed Jackie’s immediate family at length, Barbara moved on to questions about her extended family, searching for skeletons in the closet. By the time Jackie left the attorney’s office a few minutes before two, her emotional tank was empty. Lacking the energy to drive home, she grabbed a ham and swiss on rye from a nearby deli and drove down to Battery Park.

She made her way to the same park bench under the sprawling oak tree. As she took the first bite of her sandwich, her attention gravitated to the scene unfolding at the stately gray home across the street. Pink helium balloons were tied off on the iron stair railings, decorations for what Jackie assumed was Lilly’s birthday party. Dressed in ballet attire—pink leotards, white tights, black slippers—a group of about twenty little girls chased each other around the porch. Lilly ran behind them, desperately shouting to get their attention. When the girls continued to ignore her, she burst into tears and ran inside, returning a minute later with her mother in tow.

“I’m not sure what to do,” Jackie heard the mother say to her daughter. “Irina is not answering her cell phone. She either forgot about the party or she got tied up in traffic.”

“But, Mommy, how are we supposed to have a ballet party without Irina? Can you teach us?”

Lilly’s mother patted her daughter’s head. “No, honey. You know I have two left feet. Your friends will have to settle for Musical Chairs.”

Lilly stomped her slipper-clad foot. “No!”

Jackie stuffed the second half of her sandwich in her bag and wandered across the street. “Excuse me,” she called out to Lilly and her mother. “I don’t mean to pry, but I was eating my lunch on the park bench across the street, and I couldn’t help but overhear. I’m certainly not a dance instructor, but I know a few moves I could share with the girls.”

Mother and daughter exchanged a look of concern about the strange lady intruding on their party.

“I’m Jacqueline Hart.” She continued up the sidewalk. “I live in Prospect, but I had a meeting in town and was just enjoying a little picnic before heading back home.”

“Kate Morgan.” The mom extended her hand. “And this is my daughter, Lilly.”

Lilly tugged at Jackie’s hand. “Oh, please. Can you help us?”

“I don’t know …” Kate hesitated. “You certainly don’t look like a pedophile, but you can’t be too careful these days.”

“You’d be doing me a favor, actually. I have twin sixteen-year-old boys. I’ve always wanted to know what it was like to have a birthday party for little girls.”

One of the little girls slipped and fell and started to cry. “Well … since I am obviously desperate, I would be grateful,” Kate said. “At least for a few minutes while I tend to the wounded and try one more time to get the dance instructor on the phone.”

“Okay then.” Jackie took a deep breath. “Here goes.” She approached the group, capturing their attention with three loud claps, a technique she’d learned from raising boys. “Girls, are you ready to dance your hearts out?”

The girls spun around in circles and bounced on their toes in response.

Jackie spotted a Wi-Fi speaker on a table in the corner of the porch. “Lilly, can you hook us up with some music?”

Lilly picked up her iPod from the table and thumbed through her playlist. “Hip hop, country, or pop?”

“Hmm. How about something that will motivate us to be creative?”

“I know.” Lilly danced a little two-step. “How about
The Lion King
?”

“
The Lion King
is perfect. Why don’t we go down to the garden. Can you bring your speaker with you?”

The girls lined up behind Jackie in single file and followed her down the steps and around the side of the house. The garden extended the depth of the house. Aside from a small flowerbed that bordered the perimeter, the rest of the garden was grass, plenty of room for the girls to express themselves.

“I want everyone to gather around me in a circle and close your eyes.” When all eyes were closed, Jackie said, “Now I want you to picture an animal, a leopard or a lion perhaps, roaming the plains in Africa. Lilly is going to turn on the music, and when I tell you to open your eyes, I want you to pretend to be that animal.”

One little girl raised her hand, her eyes shut tight.

“Yes, sweetheart. Do you have a question?”

“This sounds like fun and all, but it’s not exactly dancing.”

“That all depends on your interpretation of the animal’s movements. Do you know what I mean?”

Eyes still closed, the little girl shook her head.

“Well … you can imagine that you’re a cheetah and run as fast as you can with long strides, or you can pretend to be a graceful gazelle leaping and bounding across the open plains. Does that make sense?”

The child’s face lit up. “Yes.”

“Okay, music please, Lilly.”

Lilly turned on the music and the girls bounded across the grass in all directions. After a few minutes, they gathered together and followed one another around the yard, laughing and singing as they leapt. Every now and then, Jackie shouted the name of a different animal and they adjusted their moves accordingly. Giraffes gave them some difficulty, but they had the most fun imitating elephants and monkeys.

Twenty minutes later, the girls were taking a break, when Kate came down to the garden. “It’s official. Irina is MIA,” she said under her breath to Jackie. “And this isn’t the first time she’s pulled such a stunt.”

“Do all these girls take ballet from her?”

“Yes. She’s the dance instructor at Finley Hall. My husband is on their board of directors. He won’t be very happy when he hears about this.”

“I don’t imagine he will.”

“I can’t thank you enough for helping out, Jackie. You were really good with them.”

“This was fun for me. Definitely a change of pace from my boys.”

“I have a son myself. No doubt boys march to a different beat.”

Jackie snickered. “Yes they do. My boys like to hunt and fish and play football. Most days, I feel like an alien in my own house. You are lucky to have a daughter on your team.”

Lilly appeared, once again tugging on Jackie’s hand. “Will you teach us something else? Please, Miss Jackie.”

She glanced at Kate who nodded her consent. Jackie leaned down and whispered in Lilly’s ear. “What about a little line dancing?”

Lilly’s eyes grew wide. “Is that okay, Mommy?”

Kate spread her arms wide. “It’s your birthday.”

Lilly frowned. “But I don’t have any country music.”

“Do you have any Taylor Swift?” Jackie asked.

Lilly bobbed her head with enthusiasm.

Jackie clapped her hands. “Then what are we waiting for?” She shepherded the girls back up to the porch and divided them into three lines. For the next thirty minutes, they stepped and shuffled and strutted until they were covered in sweat and ready for cake.