Spring Fever (2 page)

“Not at all,” Annajane replied. “I’m happy for them.”

“Yippy-fuckin’-skippy,” Pokey drawled. “Happy, happy, happy. It’s fine for you. In less than a week, you’ll pack up your U-Haul and head for Atlanta and your nice new life without even a glance in the rearview mirror. New man, new job, new address. But where does that leave me? Stuck here in stinkin’ Passcoe, with my mama, my evil brother Davis, and good ole Mason and his new bride, Cruella de Vil.”

“Poor, poor Pokey,” Annajane mocked her right back. “Richest girl in town, married to the second richest man in town.”

“Third richest,” Pokey corrected. “Or maybe fourth. Davis and Mason have way more money than Pete, especially since people quit buying furniture made in America.”

“Speaking of, where is Pete?” Annajane asked, craning her neck to look for him. Instead of spotting Pokey’s tall redheaded husband, Pete, her eyes rested on another tardy couple, Bonnie and Matthew Kelsey, hurrying up the right-side aisle of the church.

Bonnie Kelsey’s eyes met Annajane’s. She blushed, and looked away quickly, clutching Matthew’s arm and steering him into a pew as far away from Annajane’s as she could manage in the overcrowded church.

Pokey saw the maneuver for what it was. “Bitch,” she said.

“It’s all right,” Annajane said smoothly. “I mean, what do you expect? Matt and Mason play golf every week. From what I hear, Bonnie and Celia get along like a house afire. Best friends forever! Anyway, Bonnie’s not the only one to sign up for Team Celia. Every woman in this room has been staring daggers at me since I walked into this church. I knew when I agreed to come today that it would be awkward.”

“Awkward?” Pokey laughed bitterly. “It’s freakish, is what it is. Who else but you would agree to show up at her ex-husband’s wedding?”

2

Out of the corner of her eye, Annajane saw more people eyeing her with undisguised curiosity. She gave a tight smile and looked away.

“I had to come today,” Annajane reminded Pokey. “For Sophie. She made me promise. In fact, it’s the only way she’d agree to be in the wedding. It’s also my last official company function.”

“I still can’t believe you’re leaving Quixie,” Pokey said. “After how many years?”

“Too many,” Annajane murmured. “I never should have stayed after the divorce. I just didn’t have the gumption to get out and start a new life for myself. And then there was Sophie, of course.”

“You spoil that child rotten,” Pokey said, tsk-tsking. “And Mason is even worse.”

But before she could launch into her lecture about the kind of strict parenting her niece really needed, the soft strains of organ music that had been playing as guests drifted into the church segued into harp music.

“A harp?” Pokey turned and craned her neck to look in the direction of the choir loft. “Where the hell did she find a harp in Passcoe?”

Annajane gave a little shrug. “The harp made its first appearance at the rehearsal dinner last night. Which you somehow managed to miss?”

“I had one of my migraines,” Pokey said quickly. “I was all dressed and everything when it hit me. Pete gave me one of my pills and put me to bed at eight o’clock.”

“Migraine or not, you are officially on your mother’s list today, as if you didn’t already know that,” Annajane told her.

“I do not understand why Mama and my brothers have suddenly allowed Celia free reign with the company bank accounts,” Pokey said. “If Daddy were alive, he would be shittin’ kittens at the way they’re throwing money around. Pete doesn’t like it either. He says…”

Suddenly, the harpist was joined by a violin and a flute, the tempo of the music quickening.

“Shh,” Annajane said. “It’s starting.”

A door beside the altar opened, and three men in dark tuxes emerged following the pastor, a personable young priest from Boston, Father Jolly, who’d only been at the church for a few months. He even looked the part, Annajane reflected bitterly, short and stout, with a fringe of dark bangs and a beaming choir-boy countenance. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

But it wasn’t the priest Annajane was staring at. She involuntarily held her breath at the sight of Mason Bayless, in his flawlessly cut charcoal-gray Armani tuxedo. At thirty-nine, he still had the build of an athlete, broad shoulders, narrow hips, long, muscled neck. He looked like the baseball player he’d been in his college years. His dark blond hair had been carefully combed back from his high forehead, slicked into place with some kind of hair goo, a style he’d adopted only recently, since Celia came into his life. He was paler than usual, and those cornflower-blue eyes and ridiculously long curly lashes seemed focused on the floor, and not on the congregation eagerly awaiting the upcoming ceremony.

As Mason took his place to the right of Father Jolly, his younger brother, Davis, slid easily to his side. Pokey might have been the youngest of the three Bayless progeny, but Davis was now, and always, the baby of the family.

Twenty months younger than Mason, Davis was half a head shorter and easily weighed forty pounds more than his older brother. While Mason and Pokey had the Bayless blue eyes and dark blond hair coloring, Davis, alone among the children, took after his mother Sallie’s people. He had the Woodrow snapping dark eyes; thick, wavy dark hair; and the high cheekbones Miss Pauline always claimed came from their long-ago Cherokee ancestors. Davis looked eagerly around the room, tugging at the collar of his starched white tux shirt, nodding at friends and acquaintances, exchanging a sly wink with somebody, a woman, no doubt, seated on the far left side of the church.

Pokey caught the wink, too, and clucked her tongue in disapproval. “I did not think she would have the nerve to show up here today. Obviously, I have once again underestimated the low moral fiber of another of Davis’s women.”

“Who is she?” Annajane asked eagerly, studying the left side of the church.

“Name is Dreama, if you can believe it. Works at the bottling plant in Fayetteville. Not but twenty-two. Married, of course.”

“Of course,” Annajane agreed. “Does your mama know?”

“Does Sallie ever miss anything? She knows, but she’s choosing to act like it’s not happening. Denial is mama’s religion. She made Davis ask Linda Balez as his ‘official date’ for the weekend. You remember Linda, right? She was in my deb group, went to Sweetbriar? She’s living over in Pinehurst, does some kind of tax planning or something.”

“Tall brunette? Little bit of an overbite? I think I met her last night.”

“That’s the one,” Pokey said, nodding. “Sweet girl, really. Mama insisted that she stay in the guest room at Cherry Hill, but of course Davis has got little old Dreama stashed in the Davis Bayless Honeymoon Suite over at the Pinecone Motor Lodge.”

“So that’s why he left the party so early last night,” Annajane said. “I was walking out to my car at nine thirty, when he went whizzing past me in the Boxster. I did see a woman in the front seat, but it was dark, and I just assumed it was his date.”

“Doubtful,” Pokey said. “I saw Linda at the brunch up at the house this morning, and Davis was nowhere to be found, the little shit. I don’t know why any of us put up with his crap, do you?”

“We just do,” Annajane said quietly.

Annajane returned her attention to the groomsmen. Pokey’s husband, Pete, had taken his place to the left of Father Jolly. His bright red hair had just started showing gray at the temples, and his beard was neatly clipped. His tux fit him like it had been custom tailored, and his broad, toothy smile seemed to take in everybody in the packed sanctuary.

“Gawwd,” Pokey moaned, gesturing at her husband. “Would you look at that man? Could you not eat him up with a spoon? It’s just not fair. After all these years, even after everything he’s put me through, I swear to goodness, if he asked me to, I would take his hand, leave this church right this minute, follow him out to the car, and drop my panties in a New York minute.”

The blue-haired matron sitting beside Annajane gasped, clutched her yellowing pearls, and scooted over another six inches to the right.

“Nice visual,” Annajane whispered, putting her lips to Pokey’s ears. “But could you keep it down? I think you just gave one of your mother’s bridge partners heart palpitations.”

“Serves her right for eavesdropping,” Pokey said. She leaned back and studied Annajane for the first time since she’d arrived at the church.

“You look amazing,” Pokey said. She touched the cap sleeve of Annajane’s dress. “Is this new?”

Annajane looked down at her cocktail dress. The fabric was a thick satin, the color of new ferns, cut close to the body, with a deep squared-off scoop neck and dressmaker details like tiny covered buttons, an inset waist, and a wide, shell-pink satin belt with a large rhinestone and pearl-encrusted buckle.

“This old thing?” she laughed. “It’s vintage. Although I don’t think it had ever been worn. I found it last year at the Junior League Thriftique. It still has the original satin Bonwit Teller label sewn in.”

“Love that bracelet, too,” Pokey commented. “Don’t tell me you found that around Passcoe.”

Annajane flexed her hands for her friend’s inspection. She wore a wide antique cuff bracelet of rhinestones and pearls. “Sallie actually gave me this bracelet for Christmas the first year Mason and I were married. I think it was your grandmother’s.”

“I don’t remember ever seeing it before,” Pokey said.

Annajane’s brow furrowed. “Oh. Damn.” She fumbled with the bracelet clasp. “Bad form, wearing the Bayless family jewels to his wedding, right? I swear, it didn’t dawn on me until just now. Just give it back to Sallie later, after I’m gone.”

“Stop,” Pokey said, closing her hand around Annajane’s. “If Mama gave you this bracelet, I’m sure she wants you to keep it. Besides, she probably only gave it to you because it’s costume jewelry.”

“In the back of her mind, Sallie was probably saving back the good stuff for her
next
daughter-in-law,” Annajane said. “Oh. Sorry. Didn’t mean to sound bitter.”

Pokey tapped the thick twist of silver on Annajane’s left ring finger and then twisted her own two-carat diamond engagement band. “I still can’t believe you gave back Grandmama Bayless’s ring.”

“I love
this
ring,” Annajane said, lifting her chin. “Shane designed it himself.”

“Sweet,” Pokey said, with a dismissive sniff. “Although I never heard of an engagement ring without some kind of precious stone. And I still think you should have kept Mason’s ring. You could just wear it on your right hand.”

“It was a family heirloom,” Annajane said quietly. “I’m not a Bayless anymore. I’m not sure I ever was one. It should go to you, or one of your boys. Or Sophie.”

“Daddy would have wanted you to keep it,” Pokey said. “He’s the one who insisted Mason give you that instead of a new ring. He said you’d earned it. And you have. No matter what Mama or anybody else thinks.”

Pokey held up her hand, left pinky extended. Annajane sighed, and linked her own pinky through her best friend’s, just as they always had, since they were six years old.

“I notice Celia didn’t get Grandma Bayless’s ring,” Pokey said.

“No, but she got one with a waaay bigger diamond, which I understand she picked out herself,” Annajane said. “I don’t imagine somebody like Celia Wakefield would want anything as old-fashioned as your grandmother’s engagement ring.”

“Hope she chokes on it,” Pokey said pleasantly.

Without warning, Annajane suddenly began tearing up.

“Are you okay?” Pokey asked, digging in her evening bag for a tissue. “Honey, I really, really think it is not a good thing for you to watch this whole charade.”

“I’m fine,” Annajane insisted, refusing the tissue. “Really. Pinky swear. This is a good thing. For Mason, for Sophie, for the family. This is closure for me. Honestly. Step one, Mason marries Celia. Step two, Annajane marries Shane. End of story. Everybody lives happily ever after.”

“You’re nuts,” Pokey said. She jerked her head in the direction of the altar, where her big brother Mason stood, hands clasped behind his back, legs slightly apart, rocking back and forth slightly on his heels.

“He’s nuts, too,” Pokey continued. “And he is
so
not over you.”

“Wrong,” Annajane snapped. “He’s been over me for years. And I am over him. Finally. Totally. Completely. Over. Him.”

3

Getting over Mason Bayless was easier said than done. How do you stop caring for somebody you’ve loved your whole life? Five years ago, right after their breakup, when she’d cried herself to sleep every night for months and months, Annajane decided loving Mason might be like having some insidious virus. She could go for days, not allowing herself to think of him, ignoring his phone calls and e-mails, or speaking to him coolly, with complete detachment, her emotional firewall firmly intact. And then, one day, for no reason at all, she would have what she came to think of as a flare-up.

He’d swing through the office, with his rolling, loping gait, maybe flash that grin of his to one of the other girls in the office. Oh, that grin. When he gave the slow “hey-howyadoin” smile that exposed the chipped left incisor he’d broken during a teenage wrestling match with Davis, Annajane would come completely unglued. She’d have to get up from her desk, run to the lady’s room, lock herself in, and bawl like a baby.

Sometimes the flare-ups happened in the car. She’d be driving along, and she’d hear their song. “Don’t Stop Believin’” … Journey. Once she nearly ran a motorcyclist off the road, when she was driving home from the plant late at night when the song came on the radio. She’d had to pull off the highway, roll down the windows, and force herself to let the cold damp February air roll over her flaming cheeks and snap her back to reality before she could drive on.

She’d even tried her own version of an exorcism to get over Mason. Three years ago, on the two-year anniversary of their divorce, she’d snuck back to the lake cottage that held so much of their history.

*   *   *

A light winter rain was falling as she navigated the rutted gravel road that led through thick woods back to the lake. Officially the lake’s name was Lake Wesley Forlines Jr., after a local decorated World War I hero. But everybody around Passcoe always just called it Hideaway Lake, because county budget cuts had long ago closed the only public beach and boat ramp. Now the only access to the lake was through the Bayless’s property. Private property.