Queen of Broken Hearts (29 page)

Grimacing, I told her the truth, knowing what I was in for. “I did tell Lex I'd go with him, but Rye reminded me I'd already promised him.”

Dory blinked. “You told
two
men you'd go to the party with them?”

I nodded sheepishly. “Not intentionally, of course, but it turns out I did.”

She clapped her hands in glee. “La-de-da. Cinder-priss-butt-rella going to the ball with two gentlemen callers!”

“Cinderella went to the ball alone, remember? Which is what I wish I were doing.”

Oblivious to the shocked face of the elderly seamstress, Dory studied me for a long moment, then said in all seriousness, “Something I've been meaning to say to you, Clare. This abstinence thing of yours has gone on way too long. Maybe the dress will do the trick, but if not, I might have to put a bug in Rye's ear.”

“So help me, Dory,” I said, “if you say one word to anybody, I'll never speak to you again.”

I'd barely gotten home when Haley called me. “Hot damn, Mom!” She laughed. “Dory just told me about your two dates. Not bad for an old broad, huh? I feel bad for Lex, though. Probably hurt his poor old Yankee feelings, but it serves him right for two-timing you with his ex.”

“I'm hanging up now. And you, young lady, are out of my will. Disinherited. I'm never speaking to you or Dory again, and I'm leaving everything to Abbie and Zach.”

“Uh-oh, I'd better behave, then. If you marry Rye, you'll be rich, and I'll be sorry. Hey, will I inherit twice, since you'll be both my mom and my cousin?”

After we leave the mile-long buffet line at the party, I try to maneuver Rye in another direction so we won't be seated with Dory and Son, but Dory's having none of it. As soon as I sit down, she puts a hand to the side of her mouth and whispers, “Told you that dress was sexy. Rye can't keep his eyes off you. Tonight's the night.”

“Don't you dare start that,” I hiss.

Rye, who's sitting on the other side of me, turns his head our way, and I stop midsentence. “I heard my name, Dory,” he says, and I hold my breath.

She smiles at him and flutters her lashes. “I was just saying how terribly handsome you look in your tux, darling. But you always do, whatever you wear. Clare's a lucky woman.”

“Hey, what about me?” Son cries indignantly.

“You're a lucky man, too, Son,” she says, then turns her attention back to me. “I expect a full report in the morning,” she whispers in my ear. “Salacious details for my next meditation.”

Son glances around the table at the other couples, mostly his and Dory's relatives, and chuckles uneasily. “Looks like Dory's not gonna let us in on her and Clare's secret, folks.”

Dory puts her hands to her cheek in mock horror. “I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to be rude, but I didn't want to embarrass you, love. I was telling Clare that you look almost as handsome as Rye tonight.”

“Aw, really?” Son grins. “Thanks, sugar.” Holding his glass high, he says, “Hey, y'all, I'd like to propose a toast to the best wife any man's ever had.” His face aglow, he turns toward her. “Talk about lucky! I'm the luckiest man alive that Dory has put up with me for twenty-five years.”

“Amen to that,” I mutter. When we click our glasses, Rye smiles at me knowingly. Both of us have been reluctant to admit that so far, Dory has been right about Son's miraculous conversion. Except for the time he burst into my office, he's behaved admirably. Rye said if Son keeps it up, we'd better be careful, or hell will be freezing over.

I turn my attention to my dinner plate, even though it's difficult with Rye watching me so closely. I'm not sure if it's the daring neckline or what, but Dory's right—he's been staring at me all night. After the plates are cleared away, I join in the light chatter around the dinner table, and he continues to regard me. My cheeks burn when the others at our table glance from me to him curiously. Dory keeps smirking and nudging me under the table until, pretending to straighten my chair, I shift out of her reach. Finally the endless dinner is over, and the toasts begin. With a sigh of relief, I turn my chair to face the podium where Jackson and Son stand, trying to get the attention of the noisy crowd. Thankfully, I don't have to make a toast. Dory had been so thrilled that I'd agreed to stand up with her at the ceremony, she'd granted me a major concession by saying casually, “Let the guys handle the toasts, okay?”

The toasts go on and on, and after each one, a beaming Son bends over to kiss his bride. Just when I think I can't stomach it a minute longer, Father Gibbs takes the floor and launches into a long-winded tribute to the happy couple, the perfect opportunity for me to study the guests. Directly in my line of vision is the table where Lex sits with Elinor. When I'd called him to explain how I unintentionally accepted two rides to the party, he'd pretended to misunderstand me and said, “Since there's not room for the three of us in my Jeep, guess we're taking his Mercedes.” When I admitted that Rye had asked me first, Lex said with a snort, “Well, hell. I'll take Elinor, then,” and hung up.

The table where I tried to steer Rye before we were intercepted by Dory is positioned by the door, where Zoe Catherine sits with Cooter. Zoe hadn't wanted to come, though Dory had begged her so piteously that she'd given in but said she was leaving after dinner. She'd confessed later that she was nervous about bringing Cooter to such an elegant function with all of Fairhope society in attendance, especially with the free-flowing booze. In the buffet line, I did a double take when I spotted the two of them entering. Zoe was in a getup I'd never seen before, something she and Cooter must have found at one of the flea markets they frequent, searching for material for her nature sanctuary. Flung dramatically around her shoulders was a black-and-turquoise shawl embroidered with a huge sequined peacock, and her white hair was piled high into a bun and secured with chopsticks. Or they looked like chopsticks. Knowing Zoe, they could be anything. And I wouldn't have recognized Cooter. I'd never seen him in a suit before, though Zoe has assured me that he keeps one on hand for funerals. With his long gray hair slicked back in a ponytail, cowboy boots, and a string tie, he looks like a desperado who hitched his mount outside and meandered in to see where the noise was coming from.

Another table I keep eyeing is Haley and Austin's. A hopeless romantic, Haley was aghast that I'd dreaded the renewal ceremony, saying even though I didn't like Son, I had to agree it was a sweet idea, didn't I? I most certainly did not, I informed her shortly, but it didn't dampen her enthusiasm. On the contrary, she hoped to convince Austin that they should do the same for their tenth anniversary next year, and she couldn't wait for the service. At the church, I'd entered from the side door with Dory and Son, Jackson, Shaw, and Father Gibbs, so I hadn't been able to see the folks in the candlelit chapel until afterward. As Rye and I were leaving, I'd been surprised not to see Haley there. I feared their sitter hadn't shown up, and regretted that she missed it. At the Grand Hotel, Rye was gallantly helping me out of the car when I spotted Haley and Austin at the front door. I was about to call out to her when I realized they were hissing at each other furiously. “Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise,” Rye murmured. He's far from the fatherly type, but to give him credit, since Mack died, he's made a clumsy effort when it comes to Haley and the kids. Inside, I'd sought Haley out, but she'd been sullen and noncommittal, glaring at Austin out of the corner of her eye. I beat a hasty retreat, reminding myself that I was off duty tonight.

After the buffet dinner is cleared away and the toasts completed, the jazz band plays “Tenderly,” and Dory and Son lead off the dancing. With her hair in an elegant chignon, Dory looks stunning, as only she could in an altered wedding dress, and the soft lights overhead catch the sparkle of the diamond anniversary ring Son gave her, with a rock the size of an ice cube. When the band starts up a bluesy version of “Sitting on the Dock of the Bay,” Rye grabs my hand and leads me to the dance floor.

I'll always be grateful to Rye for bringing dancing into my life. Mack hated to dance, and I'd always been labeled uptight and studious, so I didn't consider myself much of a dancer. A year after Mack died, Rye called to say by damn I'd grieved long enough; he was coming over to take me out. I'd been too downhearted to protest. We ended up at Mobile's ritzy country club, and Rye, who'd been my dance partner in the past when Mack wouldn't, pulled me onto the floor. Listlessly I'd let him drag me through a couple of waltzes but had frozen when the music changed to a fast song. The only fast dance I knew how to do was the dirty bop, since no one raised in Panama City could escape learning to bop at the Hangout, a dive on the Miracle Strip. With a shrug, I began dirty-bopping all around the highly polished ballroom floor, much to the horror of some of the staider members of the country club. Once he recovered from the shock, Rye followed my lead, and soon a crowd of onlookers encircled us, applauding. Since that night, Rye and I dance regularly, and I love it so much that I've recently incorporated a session of folk dancing into the retreats.

I barely have time to catch my breath before the band moves into “On the Sunny Side of the Street,” and Rye grabs my hand again. He and I have danced together so often we've perfected our movements, but I'm still flustered when the other dancers on the floor stop and watch us do our showy fox-trot. Afterward Rye, a shameless show-off, asks the band to play a Latin song so we can demonstrate the tango he's taught me. Tango has become such a hot dance that I'm given a much needed rest when everyone lines up for Rye to teach them as well.

Sinking into my chair, I gulp down half a glass of water before saying to Dory, “So Son's learning to tango.” Having been an agile athlete on Bama's tennis team, Son is a good dancer, and I see him among the crowd waiting for Rye's demonstration. “You should try the tango, Dory. It's hard but really fun,” I say.

She shakes her head. “I'm a spazz when it comes to fast dancing. I'd rather watch.”

“As graceful as you are, you'd be great at the tango. Watch them—it's like a ballet.” When she turns her attention to the dance floor, I study her over the top of the water glass, and she catches me.

“
What?
”

“You look so happy, honey,” I say softly. I've known Son too long to concede, but it's impossible to deny her new contentment. She's been hard at work designing a website for her garden design business, which Son is helping her with. So far, so good.

“Things are going so well that it scares me,” she admits. “I figure the gods are lying in wait, thunderbolt in hand.” Something on the dance floor catches her eye, and she turns her head quickly. “Look who Son's dancing with.”

After her teasing about Rye, I can't resist turning the tables on her. “Well, well. Whose prayers did the gods answer, mine or yours?”

Son is locked in a sexy tango embrace with Elinor Eaton-Yarbrough, who is dressed for the part in a sultry dress of shimmering black with a slit designed to reveal a long shapely leg with her every move. A part of me—the worse part—notes that the ever elegant Elinor is an awkward dancer, and I have the unkind thought that she's gotten on the dance floor only to show off how great she looks in the dress and mile-high heels. Every man on the dance floor watches her bug-eyed, tongues hanging out.

Dory whispers, “After landing a dance with the goddess, Son will be so full of himself, he'll be unbearable.” When I suggest “More unbearable?” she and I laugh together as we'd always done before the disturbing events of last summer. Raising a hand, Dory motions to Lex, who is sitting alone at a nearby table. He joins us, pulling up a chair.

“You're not going to give the tango a try, Lex?” I say, my eyes on the dance floor. Rye is dancing with Elinor now, sweeping her so far backward that he appears to be mopping the floor with her long blond hair. When she comes upright, her eyes are wide and her face is flushed, and I hide a knowing smile. As I've discovered, dancing with Rye requires letting go of one's inhibitions.

“Me do that?” Lex rolls his eyes. “When's the last time you've seen a moose doing the tango?”

“Stop it,” Dory cries, punching him on the shoulder. “You're always putting yourself down that way.”

“Oh, I wouldn't say moose,” I say, deadpan. “Bull, maybe, but moose, no. Lots of bull, actually.”

“Ha ha,” Dory drawls. “Pay her no mind, Lex. She's miffed because your ex just took her boyfriend.”

I give Dory a look, but Lex laughs it off. Then, with a nod of his head, he indicates Jasmine dancing with Tommy McNair. Haley told me that Tommy and Jasmine are taking a couples' exercise class at the Y, and it appears to be having some results. Jasmine's smiling up at Tommy, and his doe eyes are tender as he gazes down at her.

“Speaking of dancing moose, get a load of my dock boy,” Lex says. “Big as he is, if he can tango, there's hope for me.”

“That's enough,” I say sternly. “The three of us sound awful. No more politically incorrect comments, okay?”

Lex eyes me. “Better not get around Jasmine's brothers-in-law, then. I was jawing with them a little while ago, and they're sure cracking on poor Tommy.”