New Uses For Old Boyfriends (3 page)

A
s if on cue, Cake's “Short Skirt/Long Jacket” came on as Lila piloted the FUV toward Main Street. The bass line brought back a flood of memories: drinking diet soda in the cafeteria, stretching her hamstrings before cheer practice, pinning corsages to the velvet bodices of her formal dresses.

She hadn't heard this song since high school. She'd barely been back to Black Dog Bay in the last ten years, except for the occasional summer weekend and her father's memorial service. Once she left for college, her parents had always been happy to come to her for visits and vacations. Her mother, in particular, had welcomed any opportunity to get out of small-town Delaware and meet her daughter for restaurant Thanksgivings in New York and Philadelphia. They'd had Christmases in Colorado, Easters in West Palm Beach and the Bahamas, August getaways in Maine and Vermont.

But even though she'd barely set foot here in ten years, she knew exactly what to expect. This town was her safety net, her fallback plan, her last resort she could always depend on when the rest of the world failed her. As she drove down Main Street, she
recognized the familiar standbys: the candy shop that sold hand-pulled saltwater taffy, the Eat Your Heart Out bakery, the white gazebo and bronze dog statue in the town square. Of course, a few businesses had changed hands since she'd graduated from high school. The old ice cream shop had been replaced by an antique store. The diner where she and her friends had hung out on Friday afternoons had been deposed by a bar called the Whinery. There was a bookstore now, and a boutique called Retail Therapy.

But everything important, the essence of Black Dog Bay, remained unchanged.

And Ben was back.

As the first wisps of fog rolled in from the sea, Lila pulled up in front of the huge white house where she'd grown up. Her father had built this home as a wedding present for her mother, and her mother had spent the past three decades customizing the mansion on the beach. Over the years, the eighties architecture and decor had been remodeled to reflect a more historical sensibility, and now, thanks to endless updates, the house looked as if it had been there for centuries.

A bronze-accented light glowed warm and bright on the wraparound porch. Lila parked the FUV on the gravel driveway, left her belongings in her car, and sprinted through the rain to the house.

Before she could make it up the wooden steps, her mother flung open the front door. Even in a bathrobe, Daphne Alders looked perfectly put together. She had modeled in New York for several years before she got married, and she'd never lost her sense of chic, her smooth complexion, or her lithe physique.

“Sweet pea!” Daphne threw both arms around her daughter. “You're here!”

“I'm here.” Lila closed her eyes and breathed in the faint notes of
jasmine from her mother's perfume. “I made it.” When she opened her eyes, she glanced around the foyer and living room. Her mother had gone on another redecorating binge. Lila recognized the abstract bronze sculpture on the mantel and the vintage candelabra hanging from the ceiling, but the living room wallpaper—finely woven grass cloth that looked almost like burlap—was definitely new, as was the retro gray settee that looked like it had been stolen from the set of
Mad Men
. But everything somehow worked together, punctuated by green glass vases of white hydrangeas, to create a balanced, beautiful tableau.

“Thank goodness. I've been waiting all night for you.” Daphne pulled out of the hug, grabbed a stack of mail from the hall table, and handed the pile to Lila. “Here. You'll know what to do with these.”

“I will?” Lila shuffled through the stack, glancing at return addresses from utility companies and banks and health insurance corporations.

“Your father paid all the bills online, and you know I'm hopeless with a computer.”

Lila flipped over an envelope. Some of the postmarks were from months ago. “You haven't opened any of these?”

“I just can't bear to. You know the finances were your father's department.”

“Yes, but what about the attorney? I thought you had set up a trustee?”

Daphne dabbed at her eyes. “And the registration for his truck is due. I have no idea how to renew it.”

“Oh, well, we can just—”

“And the water heater's broken.”

“The water heater?” Lila stopped thumbing through the stack of envelopes.

“Yes. The pilot light's out and I need to take a shower and I
can't deal with one more thing right now. You'll handle it, won't you? Oh, I'm so glad to see you, sweet pea. Your father was right—he always said you'd take care of me.”

*   *   *

Lila pressed her back against the bathroom door, dabbing the sweat off her forehead with a fluffy white hand towel made from the finest Egyptian cotton.

She could hear her mother bustling around the kitchen, making tea and cutting up a single apple, which was Daphne's idea of a decadent late-night snack. The water heater was still inoperable, but Daphne's relief was evident. Because her daughter was here to take care of everything.

Lila rattled off a string of obscenities into the Egyptian cotton and resolved to be the daughter her mother needed her to be. She had been fired from the land of late-night TV shopping and ruthlessly litigated out of her marriage, so helping her mother was her full-time job for now. She would strive to uphold the image her father had always had of her as the gifted golden child. She would use whatever weapons she had in her arsenal.

She would fix this damn pilot light if it was the last thing she did.

After splashing her face with cold water, she emerged from the powder room with what she hoped was an air of calm capability.

“Let's take a look at the water heater.”

Daphne offered her an apple slice, then handed over a three-ring binder labeled “House Instructions.”

“What's this?” Lila flipped through the laminated papers, which were full of notes and diagrams in her father's blocky handwriting. There were colored dividers marked “bathroom,” “kitchen,” “furnace,” and “A/C system.”

“Dad left you a book of instructions?”

Daphne broke into tears. “He put that together years ago, so I could do things like light the pilot lights when he was out of town.”

That was typical of her father—always taking care of “his girls.” Lila waited for the wave of emotion to pass, then asked, “So you must have dealt with this stuff before, right?”

“No. I always just waited until he came back to fix it or called one of the neighbors.”

And this time, her father wasn't coming back. Lila closed her eyes for a moment, then forced them open and flipped to the page marked “water heater.” She found her father's explanation of how to rekindle the pilot light and read it several times. “Okay . . . okay . . . This doesn't look so hard.”

Her mother regarded her with a mixture of hope and despair. “So you can do it.”

“Yes.” Lila took a deep breath. “I think I can do it.”

*   *   *

“I can't do this.” Fifteen minutes and two singed fingers later, Lila gave up.

“But you're following the instructions.”

“I know! Which is why the pilot light should be lit.” Lila, crouched on the epoxy-coated cement floor in the garage, shoved her sweat-drenched hair back from her face. “And yet.”

Her mother collapsed against the hood of the pickup truck with expired tags and started to sob.

“Don't cry, Mom. Don't cry.” In desperation, Lila flicked the cigarette lighter's spark wheel one more time. But she couldn't even get a flicker of flame.

“What are we going to do now?” Daphne choked out.

Lila considered this for a long moment, then resigned herself to the inevitable. “Now we move on to plan B. How late is the hardware store open tonight?”

“How on earth would I know? I've never set foot in the hardware store.”

Lila led the way back into the house and checked her watch: quarter to ten. “Well, let's hope they're open till ten, because there might be someone there who can talk me through this.” She located her handbag on the kitchen counter. When she pulled out her phone, a white business card fluttered out.

Daphne snatched it up. Her jaw dropped when she spied the name embossed on the card. “Ben Collier?”

Lila's mood lifted at the memory. “Yeah, he's back in town. I just ran into him at the gas station out on Highway One.”

Daphne's shock turned to horror. “Looking like that?”

“Well, I wasn't all sweaty, obviously.” Lila recounted their reunion, leaving out the part where she had been drenched with rain and reeking of gasoline.

“Why didn't you tell me this earlier?”

“Because I got distracted with the water heater drama. Now let me call the hardware store before—”

“Forget the hardware store.” Daphne's dark eyes gleamed. “You're calling Ben Collier.”

“Mother. No.” Lila grabbed for the business card.

Daphne skittered out of reach, putting the limestone-topped kitchen island between them. “Yes! Don't you see, Lila? This is a sign. You and Ben, back together after all these years. It's perfect. It's meant to be!”

Lila held up both palms. “No way. I am not calling him to fix the water heater when he had to fix my car two hours ago.”

“Fine;
I'll
call him.”

At this, Lila planted her hands on her hips. “Don't you have any shame?”

“I don't need shame. I need hot water.” Daphne picked up the landline and started dialing. “Now stop talking back and go clean yourself up. Your hair's a mess, your fingernails are filthy, and you need to change your shirt. That shade of pink is too pale for you.”

I
n the twenty minutes it took Ben Collier to arrive at the Alderses' front door, Daphne managed to comb out Lila's hair, shape her eyebrows, apply fresh foundation and mascara, and outfit her in a low-cut red top.

“This is overkill,” Lila protested. “I look like Scarlett O'Hara about to throw herself at Ashley Wilkes.”

“Stop talking and hold still so I can put on your lipstick.” Daphne hummed a little tune while she selected a shade from her vast array of lip color options. The master bedroom featured a makeup alcove separate from the bathroom, and mirrors and lighting had been strategically located around the vanity table.

“I thought you always said I shouldn't call boys.” Lila tried to talk without moving her lips. “That it makes me look desperate.”

“If
you
called Ben, it would look desperate. But when
I
call him, I'm just a helpless widow in need of rescue.” Daphne exchanged her bathrobe for a cream georgette tunic and black leggings. “And he's such a nice boy, he couldn't have been sweeter about it.”

“Appalling.” Lila stuck out her tongue at her relentlessly well-
lit reflection. “Do you really not see how embarrassing this is? For me to fall over my high school boyfriend the second I get back to town?”

“Don't worry.” Daphne slipped a chunky gold statement necklace over her head. “I'll do the talking. You just make a cameo when I tell you, then make yourself scarce. Always leave him wanting more.” Daphne stopped humming. “Are you aware that your roots need a touch-up?”

“I'm aware,” Lila said. “I'm also aware that I look like a hussy in your shirt.”

“Don't blame me for that. You're the one who shoved all your clothes in a wrinkly heap in the back of your car.”

The doorbell rang and Daphne flitted downstairs. As instructed, Lila remained up in the master suite, waiting for her cue.

“Ben Collier!” Daphne's voice soared up to the handmade French chandelier hanging above the open foyer. “Come in, honey! It's so great to see you again and you're just as handsome as ever. How
are
you?”

Ben's reply was lost in a flurry of Daphne's high-pitched exclamations.

“I can't tell you how happy I was to hear you're back in town. How's your sister? Where are you staying?” Without even pausing for breath, Daphne half turned and called up the grand, curving staircase. “Lila, baby, look who's here!”

Lila made her appearance at the top of the stairway, waving and smiling down. Ben looked up, so much taller and stronger and stubblier than she remembered, and smiled back.

And the old feelings came rushing back. The giddy anticipation of dates on Friday nights. The thrill of breaking curfew. The warmth and pride of knowing that she was young and beautiful and worthy of adoration.

And yes, she had been a cheerleader and Ben had played
varsity football. Yes, they had been elected prom queen and king their senior year. Yes, they embodied every cheesy high school stereotype. So what? That hadn't detracted from the sincerity of their feelings. Their love had been pure and strong and steadfast.

Maybe her mother was right. Maybe feelings like that never really went away.

Lila tucked her hair behind her ear and mouthed, “Thanks” at this stranger she had once gone parking with in her mother's Mercedes.

He threw her a charming, heart-melting smile, and winked. Then he turned his attention back to Daphne, who chattered all the way into the garage.

“Our Lila's a celebrity now, you know. A
very
popular shopping channel host on a
very
popular station. Doesn't she look stunning as a blonde?”

*   *   *

Four minutes later, the water heater was working and Daphne's dossier on Ben Collier was up-to-date.

Mrs. Alders sent him off into the night with a kiss on the cheek and a promise that he'd let her bake him cookies in gratitude. The moment the door closed behind him, she beckoned Lila down to the foyer. “He's single, he's taking over his father's property management company, and he's renting a house by the golf course for the summer. Never married, no kids. His manners are still excellent, he's got a good sense of humor, and he knows his way around a toolbox. You officially have my blessing.”

Lila blinked. “For what?”

“For living happily ever after.” Daphne dusted off her hands and headed back to the kitchen. “Now, I know second weddings are supposed to be subdued, but we could host the whole thing
here at the house. You could wear my ecru Alexander McQueen coatdress, very tasteful.”

Lila laughed. “Easy on the marriage talk. I just finished paying off my divorce lawyer, remember?”

Daphne's smooth forehead wrinkled with worry. “You didn't say that to him, did you?”

“No, but I'm not going to lie about it. I'm divorced. It's a fact. I know you don't like to think about or talk about it, but it's the truth.”

“Sweet pea, I just don't want you to dwell on it.” Daphne's brow furrows deepened. “And divorce, well, it's so unpleasant. It makes people uncomfortable. Part of being a good conversationalist is putting people at ease.”

“I know, I know.” Lila had heard that phrase repeated a thousand times since childhood. “But before you call the florist and the caterers, keep in mind that he hasn't even asked me out.”

“Only because your mother was standing right here.”

Lila opened the refrigerator and scanned the shelves for a snack. “Promising to bake him cookies. Yes, I heard that. You are shameless. Not to mention a liar.”

“How dare you! I'm a wonderful baker.”

“Really. You know what I see in your refrigerator? Bottled water, eight kinds of lettuce, coconut oil, and yams. You know what I don't see? Butter, eggs, anything with refined sugar or white flour.”

“Fine, so I won't bake cookies. But I'll let him marry my daughter. He's coming out ahead.”

Lila grimaced as she dug through stacks of spelt bread in search of a bagel. “I'm done with this conversation.”

“Just promise me one thing. If he does ask you out, promise me you'll say yes.”

Lila gave up foraging and decided to choke down a slice of spelt bread. “I don't have to promise that.”

“Now you're being contrary. Why wouldn't you go out with him? Don't try to tell me the old flame isn't still burning.”

Lila kept her head hidden behind the refrigerator door so her mother wouldn't see her grin.

“Wait and see.” Daphne opened the cabinet doors and handed Lila a plate. “I'll try not to say I told you so. But we both know you loved him.”

“I did love him.” Lila paused, trying to sort through all the nostalgia and trepidation. “When I was sixteen. But it's been like thirteen years. He's probably a totally different person.”

“Haven't you learned by now?” Daphne turned her eyes to heaven. “Men don't change.”

“I'm going to bed.” Lila managed two bites of spelt bread, then decided she'd rather go hungry. “But before I do, why did you ask about how much I got for my rings?”

Daphne was suddenly consumed with the need to empty the dishwasher. “Oh, just curious.”

Lila moved closer. “Are you having cash flow problems?”

“Don't be ridiculous.” Daphne hunched lower, fiddling with the silverware rack. “I merely happened to be thinking about money this afternoon because I was looking over my property tax bill, and—”

“I thought you didn't open the mail.”

Daphne practically climbed into the top-of-the-line, stainless steel Bosch. “Let's talk about all this tomorrow. I'm desperately tired, and I need a hot shower and a good night's sleep.”

“But—”

“See you in the morning.” Daphne kissed her cheek and fled up the stairs.

“Tomorrow,” Lila said. “We're going to talk. Summit meeting. State of the Union.”

“Sweet dreams!” Her mother's voice echoed down the hall.

Lila cupped both hands around her mouth and called, “What time for the summit meeting?”

All she heard in response was the slam of a bedroom door and the hiss of the shower water.