The Potluck Club—Takes the Cake (6 page)
“But you didn’t do anything wrong. She’s the one who... well, it’s your call.” Lizzie took another bite of coffee cake before continuing. “I can’t say I wouldn’t do anything and everything to avoid her either. One thing’s for sure; she’s as far out of your life as she can get in little Summit View.” She looked down at her watch. “I’ve got to get going. Samuel will get in one of his moods if I’m not home soon.” She winked at me as she stood. “So, you leave tomorrow?”
she asked, taking her plate to the sink. “For Summit Ridge?”
“I’ll get that,” I said, then added, “Tomorrow after church. Jack said he’d pick me up here in the afternoon and we’d go on up.”
“Like I said before,” Lizzie concluded, “just be careful.”
“I will,” I reassured her. “I promise.”
“Charlene Hopefield is out of your life,”
Lizzie had said.
But she wasn’t. Isn’t. Not by a long shot.
Lizzie hadn’t been gone five minutes when my doorbell rang. I’d already stepped into the small bath adjoining my bedroom and begun to scrub my face when I heard the gentle chime. Grabbing a hand towel, I patted my face dry as I moved toward the front of the condo, calling out, “I’m coming.”
When I got to the front door, I switched on the porch light and peeked out the peephole. The hair on the back of my neck stood straight on end. It was Charlene Hopefield.
No store to walk out of
or street to cross
, I thought as I drew back.
“What do you want?” I called through the closed door. I peeked through the hole again.
She wrapped her arms around herself as though she were freezing to
death. “Goldie, I need to talk to you. Please. It’s very important.”
I stared at her for a long moment. What in the world did that woman have to say that would be of any interest to me?
“My name—as far as you’re concerned—is Mrs. Dippel.”
I watched her roll her eyes. Even in the dim overhead porch light, her disdain for me was evident. “Whatever. I need to speak with you. It’s important. I’m being nice here. Nice enough to come to you instead of going over to Jack’s and talking to him.”
I flipped the lock and jerked the door open. “You stay away from
my husband,” I said.
She just stared at me. “May I come in or not?”
I stepped aside. “May as well.” I looked down at her snowcovered boots. “But wipe your feet; I don’t need your slushy mess on my carpet.”
Charlene pounded her feet on the front mat for a few moments, then looked back up at me. “Will that do?” she asked, arching an
eyebrow.
Cocky little thing.
“I guess.”
She stepped over my threshold, pulling her long dark wool coat from her somewhat pudgy body. She held it toward me as though she actually expected me to take it, then threw it across the chair behind her. “Is that coffee I smell?” she asked. “Decaf? Because I can’t have regular.”
“It’s stale,” I answered, crossing my arms over my middle. “What do you want, Charlene?”
She turned toward the sofa and extended her arm a bit. “May I?” she asked.
I arched my brow. “May you what?”
“Sit? I’m exhausted.” And then she sat down, in spite of the fact that I hadn’t invited her to do so. “Not to mention I’ve been waiting across the street for your friend to leave. My gosh, what do you people have to talk about so long? My back end was going numb from sitting in my car that whole time.” She paused. “Please sit, Goldie.”
I coughed out a snicker. “I beg your pardon? I’ll decide when or if I sit down. This is
my
home.”
She nodded and looked around. “So it is. It’s... nice. Certainly not the home you left, but it’s... nice.”
“You know nothing about my home.” I sat in the nearest chair, one I’d picked up cheap at a thrift store down on Dyer Street.
She slid herself back on the sofa like a plump goddess, crossing one leg over the other. “Oh, Goldie, Goldie, Goldie.” She laughed, sounding more like a cat than a woman. “Silly, silly Goldie.”
I flushed red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. If Jack had brought that woman into my home, he could take her and Summit Ridge and all the years we had between us, and choke on them as far as I was concerned.
“I hear you’re going away for the weekend,” she purred. When the question she clearly expected from me flashed in color on my face, she answered without my saying a word. “Oh, you know. One person tells one person and that person tells another. Eventually, it got to me. Summit Ridge, I understand?” I raised my chin before she went on. “Quaint. Not anywhere I’d want to be... least not with Jack... but for the two of you... well, I suppose it could be... quaint. Anyway,” she said, stretching and draping her arms around her knees, “that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because we have a bit of a problem.”
“I can’t imagine what,” I said. “You are no longer a part of my husband’s life and therefore no longer a part of mine.” My heart began to pound as though it knew that life as I’d known it not ten minutes earlier was about to change forever.
Charlene looked down at her groomed fingernails, long and pointy and painted a frosty red. “How do I say this, Goldie? How
do I put this delicately?”
“Mrs. Dippel,” I corrected her in the firmest voice I could muster.
She looked up at me sharply. “Okay, then,
Mrs. Dippel
. Here’s the deal: I’m pregnant,
Mrs. Dippel
. And the father of my child,
Mrs. Dippel
, is none other than your husband.”
As soon as Charlene said the word
pregnant
, the blood rushed out of my head, past my heart, and out my toes. Lord have mercy, I’m surprised it didn’t just pool right there on the dingy living room carpet of my condo, adding stain on top of stain. I’m also a little shocked I didn’t have a heart attack and die right there on the spot. Somehow I managed to live. Somehow, after my vision had all but blacked completely out, it returned, bringing the blood back to my head, though I’m sure it was more like dishwater.
Charlene stood abruptly. “I see I’ve left you speechless,” she said as she reached for her coat. “I’m sure you have a lot to think about, and I’ll leave you to do so.”
As she shoved her arms into the coat sleeves, I stood on legs made of jelly and said, “You can’t just waltz in here and make a statement like that and then leave. I—I don’t believe you. I don’t. You’re just upset because Jack and I are going away together.”
Charlene spit out a cackle as she wrapped the sash of her coat around her waist. “Oh, please! Like I could care less at this point.
Do you really think I was in love with that lug?”
I crossed my arms over my middle again, feeling a strange sense of protection for the lug. “So what you’re saying is that you’re the kind of woman who would just run off with anyone’s husband? The kind of woman who would... who would...” I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.
“Would sleep with just anybody?”
Apparently
she
could.
“I’m not like you, Goldie.” She pulled her frizzy blonde hair out from under the collar of the coat. I watched as it lay in stark contrast to the dark wool, reminding me of a witch’s broom against a midnight sky.
“What do you mean?” I choked out.
“I’m not Miss Goody-goody. Never have been. Never will be.” She strolled toward the front door, then turned and peered at me over her shoulder. “Like I said, I just thought you should know.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Does Jack... ?”
I heard the doorknob twisting open. “Does Jack know about the baby?” She pulled the door toward her, then turned back to me. “No. Not yet. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do about all this.” She cocked a brow. “Still, and like I’ve already said, I thought
you should know.”
And with that she walked out of the door without so much as bothering to close it. After a moment or two of standing there staring out at the bleak and the cold, I inched toward the door, pushed it shut, then turned and headed back to my bedroom. I stumbled as I neared the chair where I’d been sitting, falling to the floor in a heap. I attempted to pull myself up, albeit half-heartedly, then collapsed in a torrent of hot tears.
When I’d finally cried all I could cry, I rolled over then sat up on the floor, looking down toward my feet. There, wadded up and twisted, was the towel I’d had in my hands earlier. Apparently, I’d dropped it at some point between Charlene’s swooping in and her life-altering announcement. I reached for it, threw it into the chair, then stood and hobbled back to my bedroom, where I stripped out of my clothes, donned the ratty housecoat Lizzie had teased me about earlier, then crawled into the bed, curling up like a baby.
Charlene’s and Jack’s baby.
I realized I was subconsciously holding my breath. When my chest began to tighten, I exhaled slowly and closed my eyes.
Why,
Lord? Just when things were looking up.
Clay couldn’t help it. With every chance he got, he stole a look at himself in the rearview mirror of his Jeep. Twice he stopped along the short road from Silverthorne to Summit View just to run inside a convenience store and head for the men’s restroom so he could admire himself in the mirror.
He even flirted a bit with one of the salesclerks behind the counter.
“That’s two-fourteen,” she said as he paid for the bottled water flavored with only a hint of peach.
“And well worth it.” He winked.
“You sure are a happy guy,” she said, taking the two bills and change.
“Just had my first pedicure. My first facial. And my first massage.
What
is holding men back, I ask you. Why do we think this is just for women?” He ran his fingers through his hair. “What do you think of the highlights? Eh? Nice, right? For an Irish Native American? You think my ancestors are rolling over in their graves right now?”
The girl—her name tag dubbed her as Kristin—laughed. “You’re right. Men should get prettied up too.”
Clay frowned. “Well, let’s not use words like
pretty
. But I did buy
some pretty good-looking clothes over at the outlets.”
He thought about it all the way home. His bad day—what with David Harris showing up—had turned out to be not so bad. He had a lead story, he was sporting a new look, and even the adorable
Kristin from Rob’s Pump-N-Go thought he was cute.
As he pulled into the city limits of Summit View, though, his mood changed. Passing by 6th Avenue off Main Street, he spotted Charlene Hopefield leaving the front door of Goldie Dippel’s
apartment.
No-good woman
, he thought. He thought of another word too,
but let it go. It didn’t match his new look.
He slowed his Jeep enough to watch the blonde troublemaker scurry to her car parked on the other side of the road. She slid in with a look of... what was that...
triumph
? Nothing good, he thought, could come from her being over at Mrs. Dippel’s. Nothing
good at all.
“No-good woman,” he said under his breath, then headed on toward his home. He needed to get writing on the article, get himself to bed, get plenty of sleep, so he would be well rested to do what he needed to do in the morning.
Donna
On Sunday morning, I woke before my alarm sounded, even before the sun began to glide above the curtain of mountains that rose from my very yard. I sat up in bed and stretched, feeling somehow different, lighter. As a matter of fact, in the past few days it was as if I’d begun to awaken from a deep dream.
I rubbed my eyes at the thought. That was it. I hadn’t had the dream about my failed rescue attempt since my baby’s memorial service.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed then leaned forward and stared down at the floor.
What had Wade and I been, all of seventeen, eighteen? Too young to start a family, though I know Wade would have married me if I’d only said yes to his proposal. But after my pregnancy had... had ended, we’d drifted apart.
I turned to a career in law enforcement, and Wade turned to the bottle.
How many nights had I sat in my Bronco, waiting for Wade to stumble out of the Gold Rush Tavern so I could drop him off at his trailer?
Our routine never varied. “Sorry, Deputy Donna, I didn’t mean to get drunk again,” he’d slur as he’d stumble out of my truck and up the steps to his front door.
I’d roll down my window. “Want me to leave you a note to remind you where you left your truck?”
“Nah. I’ll remember.” He’d laugh. “It’ll be where I always park it when you’re on duty.”
And so it went.
Lately, though, his truck hasn’t been parked outside the tavern.
I figured he’d gotten behind on his bar bill again and taken to drinking alone, that is, till I discovered he’d been having dinner with Kevin Moore.
What an unlikely pairing, Wade and Pastor Kevin from Grace Church.
From what I’d gathered, they’d started sharing an evening meal down at the Higher Grounds Café after Moore’s wife, Jan, had succumbed to cancer.
