She Woke Up Married (9 page)

Paris was on a flight to Las Vegas with her new husband, Turner Pruitt, the Elvis-impersonating minister. Anton had said the words to Marla on the phone, but he still couldn’t believe it. Something was afoot in Parisville. Anton’s mind spun through their last weeks together like a search engine, looking for links and clues. He was Googling through Paris’s words and actions, looking for
something.

“I can hardly believe our Paris letting some guy be nice to her on a long-term basis.” Marla finally filled up the gap in the conversation.

“I don’t know what it is yet, but there is definitely something not right here.” Anton flopped on his down comforter and let it poof around
him. He was still in his pajamas, and it felt great. Besides, he needed to get grounded.

“You don’t think the guy is a phony, do you? You don’t think she’s in trouble?” Marla asked.

“No, I met him. He’s like…Mr. Wonderful. He’s patient, he actually loves her, you can see it on his totally gorgeous face. And you should hear the guy sing. And responsible? Oy. He did fill-in for Stephen at Dolan’s Pub like you wouldn’t believe. He sang Irish and poured beer like a champ, and the regulars loved him. His bar was a regular confessional. He even got Moss McGuity to stop drinking and go back to his wife in a mere four weeks. And his aura was bright as a saint, I
swear
.” Anton fluffed up his pillows and got comfortable for a big, fat gab with his Marla pal. Damn the long-distance bills, full speed ahead.

“Did you ask Rita about Paris?”

“All she had was the same story. Paris is going to take a year off and be with her new hubby. But let me just say there was not a shred of kissy-kissy going on there between Mr. and Mrs. Pruitt. Gawd, can you even believe that name? Paris Pruitt. Talk about your karma. She sublet her place and put most of her stuff in storage, I hear.”

“She was very strange on the phone a while back. I thought maybe it upset her that Tom and
I are expecting again. Like maybe she turned thirty and she was feeling, you know…her time was passing her by.”

“I really don’t think Paris has stopped to listen to her biological clock. It could have a nine bell alarm go off and she’d just throw it across the room,” Anton said.

“Well, whatever it was, she sounded strange. Maybe you and I should take a little jaunt to Las Vegas. Just a surprise visit from the folks, you know.”

“Marla, I never thought of you as that sneaky.”

“I write mysteries.”

“That’s clever, not sneaky. I like sneaky on you.”

“We better go soon before I get as big as a house. They don’t like you to fly in the last trimester.”

“I’ve got a big show coming up at the end of this month.” Anton reached for a celery stick and crunched into the phone. He’d been trying to slim down from all the pasta fungili and pub food he’d been consuming lately.

“I’ve got a book due at the end of the month, too. Can we wait that long?”

“We just need a quick weekend. I’ll check with Rita and see what’s coming up.”

“I’ll check with Tom and see if he minds me taking off for a few days. He’s awfully overprotective when I’m pregnant.”

“Oh, bring the big lug. He’s fun.” Anton
crunched. He hated celery. Maybe some prosciutto and Gorgonzola would improve it.

“Tom will be so thrilled to hear that.” Marla laughed. “I’ll e-mail you. Watch your inbox.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll watch. And congrats on the new bambino. Love ya, hon. Kiss, kiss and kiss to Tom and Lizzy and Max.” Anton made kissy noises into the phone, then hung it back on the station.

He lay in his pillow world for a while, thinking. This was the first time he couldn’t just nail whatever it was that was making him nuts in the head. He was going to have to get out his tarot cards and his I Ching and whatever the heck else was in the house until he figured it out. Maybe he’d call his favorite psychic, Susan Sanderford, and have a phone reading.

If he was going to do a phone reading, the card, the coins, and whatever else, he better get something on this celery and a fresh vodka tonic, because this was going to take all his concentration.

Turner would have carried her over the threshold under normal circumstances. Instead he managed to twist the doorknob and push the door open with his foot. His hands were full of Paris’s suitcases. She sauntered in front of him carrying a round hatbox with one finger and her handbag, which looked like a miniature version
of most handbags he knew. The rest of her purse stuff must be in the hatbox. She did make a pretty picture, with her tight black skirt slit up the back, her tight crisscross knit top, her sort of forties high-heeled shoes, her huge picture hat, and her big sunglasses. Very Rita Hayworth, Turner thought.

“Akk, this place is a nightmare. Who’s
your
decorator, Mary Kate and Ashley? What’s up with the cats?” Paris dropped her hatbox on the floor and took off her sunglasses.

This from the woman with the bears. And Turner figured at least one of these suitcases was full of them—and their brick bear house, by the feel of it.

Millie stepped out of the kitchen into the light of day. She had a cup of coffee in one hand and a spoon in the other. Her hair was in rollers, and she had her famous housedress/peignoir combination on. She waved the spoon at Paris.

“Is this your new wife? Go help your husband with your ten tons of luggage, honey. Unless your arm is broke, he ain’t your packhorse.”

God, have mercy,
Turner prayed. He piled the trunks and suitecases just inside the door and shut it behind him so the neighbors wouldn’t hear the potential screeching of two pigheaded women all the way down the hall.

“Who are you, his mother?”

“I’m his first wife. This is what happens after
you’ve been rode hard for ten years. He done wore me out, and I’m too old to take it anymore. I just sent him out in the world to bring a fresh wife home. I’m so glad he found a sturdy, capable gal like you to take up the washin’ and ironin’. I hope you don’t mind cookin’ neither, because I’m real tired of that. We can share the sex, though. I’ll take even days, you take odd. Tonight’s your night, honey. Lucky you,” Millie said. She stopped and took a long, calm slurp of her coffee.

A long, horrid silence hung all around them like wallpaper about to peel itself right off the walls. Then Paris shrieked with laughter. She laughed so hard that she had to sit down in one of Millie’s old kitchen chairs and hold her sides.

When she caught her breath, she looked at Millie. “Go get me a glass of water, old woman, you and I are going to get along just fine.”

“Say please or you can go to hell.”

“With ice. It’s absolutely stifling in here. Can we crank up the a.c.?”

“Fine.” Millie went in the kitchen and rattled around.

Turner decided to vanish into his bedroom and try and figure out who was going to sleep where.

Once inside his room, he looked around at his serene, simple sanctuary and knew it was never going to be the same again.

“So, you’re going to hide out here and have the baby, give it to Turner, then hightail it back to New York.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, Millie, that about covers it,” Paris said.

“Well, aren’t you just a piece of work. I guess I better stop smoking. We wouldn’t want Turner’s baby to get exposed to that. It’s bad enough it’s exposed to you.”

“Which is my point exactly.” Paris got up and kicked her shoes off on the floor. She stretched like a cat. That flight had been murder. The turbulence had been horrid, the food had been worse, and she hadn’t gotten a bit of sleep. She took her hat off and flung it toward the sofa. “I’m beat. I’m going to take a nap.”

“You do that, Princess. I’ll put a pig on the spit, and we’ll have a feast later in your honor.” Millie got up slowly from the table.

Paris was pretty sure that pig-on-the-spit thing was bull. She’d have Turner order out. As if you could get decent take-out anything in Las Vegas.

There was a small knock at the door. Paris jumped at the sound. Her nerves were shot from flying. She watched Millie move slowly to the door. Maybe it was the rest of her luggage from the airport.

Paris looked over Millie’s shoulder, her curios
ity getting the best of her. There stood a pale young girl dressed in a gray suit. She must be a Watchtower church witness or something. She had pretty blonde hair.

“Turner, there’s someone here for you,” Millie hollered. “Step inside, I’ll fetch him,” she directed the girl. “Set yourself down on that couch. Be sure and sit right on that fancy hat.”

Very funny. Paris went over and picked her hat off the sofa. The room was so small that it was about four big steps across and about eight to the dinette set by the window. The smell of stale cigarette smoke caught in her nose, and she felt a little ill. Not that there was anything in her stomach to yak up after that twelve-hour flight from hell. She really wanted a nap.

Turner came out of his bedroom and looked quite shocked, in Paris’s opinion, when he saw the woman on the sofa. His face went from surprise to a broad smile. She decided to watch.

“Sarah!” Turner went straight for the girl, took her hand, made her stand up, and hugged her. She stood with her hand in his and blushed. “What on earth are you doing here? How did you find me?” Turner asked her.

“Your parents.”

“You look so grown up. I can’t believe it’s you.”

Paris watched the tender scene with interest that lasted about three minutes, then she yawned and headed in to what must be Turner’s
room. The simple craftsman-style furniture and earthy colors were so Turner. So…earthy.

She hardly paused to look at anything—not that there was much to look at. Beige everything. Paris stripped off her clothes and jumped naked into Turner’s bed. The sheets felt cool. The apartment was stuffy and hot. But she was used to New York, and a cold one this year at that. Her thoughts were going fuzzy on her. She pulled up the covers from their neatly tucked in state and gathered them around her.

For just a moment she felt sexy. She thought about Turner’s body next to hers. His hard, excellent body. She was so tired. He had such strong arms. After all, it wasn’t as if she could get pregnant. She yawned again. Then she fell asleep.

Turner took Sarah’s hands up in his again. They sat at the dinette table talking low. Millie had made them some iced tea and gone to do some “phone time” in her bedroom. He hoped they were quiet calls that didn’t involve any sexual sound effects. Millie was great at sexual sound effects.

His whole life was just a long, drawn-out hands-across-the-table-cup-of-tea drama these days. After this all faded down, he was going to go play racquetball with his builder buddy Greg Stauffer and get some exercise. He wanted to
move his body until he felt that great exhaustion you get from running hard or playing hard. The kind of exhaustion that’s followed by a great night’s sleep. In the meantime, now there was Sarah.

“Of course you can stay. Millie has an extra bed.”

Now he had three women on three different time zones, in a ten-by-twelve kitchen, a fourteen-by-twelve living space, including the dinette table at one end, two bedrooms, and three beds. Worse than that, one—count ’em, one—bathroom. Turner shuddered. Maybe he should consider a larger apartment. Or a house.

Obviously, he was going to be on the sofa tonight. He just couldn’t picture Paris letting him cozy up. Maybe they could do that thing where they hung a blanket across the middle of the bed.

She’d made it perfectly clear on their twelve-hour flight that their marriage was in his imagination only from now on and there would be no more sex. He’d believe that when he saw it. She had…an appetite. He’d been more than happy to feed that appetite. It was his husbandly duty after all. He smiled to himself.

Sarah asked so many questions that he ended up explaining more than he wanted to. About the marriage, the pregnancy, and why Paris was here.

“It’s hard to explain exactly, but Paris is Paris. I intend to keep the child myself,” Turner said.

“Oh Turner, how horrible for you.”

“It’s not horrible. I’m very excited to become a father.”

Sarah patted his hand. “Maybe it’s not an accident I decided to come and find you. Maybe I can help. I’ve decided to stay here in Las Vegas and go to nursing school.”

“I wish you’d written me, I could have found you a place to rent, helped with registration and all that.”

“It was a sudden decision on my part. I turned twenty-one and decided I needed to get away from my parents, your parents, and the mission. I didn’t have anything more to offer them until I went out into the world. I did two years of college by correspondence, and I was just aching to learn more than I could get from the mailbox and my computerized classroom. I wanted to know what real college is like.”

“I do understand that. I know my mother and father would have loved for me to carry on with them, but it wasn’t my path to stay there. Even they knew that. They sent me here for my last year of high school so I could be a broader person.

“Who knows about the future. Maybe after the baby is born I’ll go back. I know my parents would be thrilled.” Turner patted her hand and let go gently.

“I know they would be, too,” Sarah replied. She gracefully picked up her iced tea. “And maybe I can help you when the time comes.”

“In the meantime we need to get you settled.”

“I’m afraid I’m being a terrible burden under the circumstances. I was rather foolish just to show up at your door. I don’t have much money. I’d thought to get a job first, then enroll in school for fall quarter. I can send for some money from my parents.”

“If they’re anything like mine, they don’t have much. I’ve been working and saving and investing for quite a few years now, Sarah. I can certainly help you out with a place to stay. You are my oldest friend. You’re like a sister to me,” Turner said. He saw an odd look in Sarah’s eyes, but he was too tired to try and figure it out. Maybe there had been some trouble she didn’t want to tell him about back on the islands. Maybe a boy.

Millie came out of her room with no curlers, a fresh orange housedress, and lipstick. Wow.