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Authors: Emily Liebert

When We Fall (18 page)

BOOK: When We Fall
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“I couldn't agree more.” Priscilla indicated the chiseled bust of a woman sitting on top of a shelf at the far end of the gallery. “That one's mine. It's not for sale, though. I'm just learning.”

“Wow.” Allison approached. “Unbelievable. Is that you?”

“My mother.”

“Striking resemblance.”

“Thank you. I take that as a wonderful compliment. My mother was extraordinary both inside and out. I wish I was half the woman she was.”

“I know the feeling.” Allison had been missing her parents, specifically her mother, lately, especially with Charlotte's recent chilliness. Sure, they talked on the phone at great length at least once a day, but it wasn't the same. Another month and her parents would be home where they belonged. Where Allison and Logan needed them.

Together, Priscilla and Allison stood staring at the sculpture, lost in their own thoughts, until the telephone rang, cutting through the silence. “What did I tell you? We have an event this weekend with three new artists, and it's been nonstop. I'll just be another minute.” She glided across the room, muttering under her breath, “Now, where did I put that phone?”

Allison drifted around some more, for a solid ten minutes, until Priscilla reappeared, looking visibly frazzled. “Is everything okay?”

“No, actually. One of those new artists I mentioned had to back out. Something about the flu.”

“Oh, that's awful. I'm so sorry.”

“This just leaves me in such a bind. I'll have to reorganize everything or else there will be two vacant spots on that wall.” Priscilla pointed animatedly.

“I wish I could help.”

“Me too. It's just a terrible predicament.” Priscilla twisted her elegant features into a grimace and then all at once inspiration spread across her face. “Unless . . .” She turned to Allison, grinning expectantly.

“Unless what?”

“What if we show two of your pieces?”

“Mine? Oh, no, I couldn't.”

“Why not?”

“I don't usually do big exhibits. My work is for private clients. Plus, you've never even seen any of it! For all you know, I can barely draw a stick figure.”

“Well, I highly doubt that.” Allison could practically hear the wheels in Priscilla's mind turning at warp speed. “Do you have a portfolio?”

“At home.”

“Can you bring it by tomorrow morning?”

“I guess.”

“Then it's settled. Problem solved.”

“Wait, no, I'm not sure—”

“You wouldn't want to let an old lady down, would you?”

“Old lady!” Allison laughed. “Hardly. But if you're
desperate
 . . .”

“Oh, I am.”

“Okay, then. I can come back around nine tomorrow, after I drop my son off at school, if that works.”

“Perfect.” Priscilla hugged her spontaneously. “And do invite all your friends!”

They said their good-byes and Allison walked out onto the street, wondering if she'd made a dreadful mistake. She hadn't exhibited her work in years. Which pieces would she even show? Not the new one, which was as yet unfinished and still slated for the Wincourt gala, if she gathered enough nerve. She'd have to go through all her archived paintings and find the two that best represented her talent. Maybe they'd even bring in some good money.

As she approached her car, Allison noticed Missy sitting on a bench with her face buried in her hands. “Hey.”

Missy jumped. “Oh God, you startled me.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Not exactly.”

“What's up?” Allison sat down next to her.

“My mother fell in her bathroom yesterday. Broken hip. She has surgery in two hours.”

“Oh no.” Allison rubbed Missy's back softly. “That's not good news. But at least a broken hip is fixable.”

“I know. But I really want to go be there with her before the surgery and sit with my dad during it.”

“Do you need a ride?” Allison still wasn't sure what the predicament was.

“No, thank you. The problem is that Sabrina promised to pick Miley up at school with Gabriella and she just backed out. She got a last-minute appointment with Serge.”

“Who's Serge?” Allison never trusted people who went by one name only.

“Serge?” Missy's face registered shock. “He's only the
premier hair colorist in Wincourt. It's impossible to get in with him. Still, it's kind of bad timing.”

“Sure.” Allison didn't bother to suggest that perhaps Sabrina should get her priorities straight and that no hair appointment, with Serge or otherwise, could possibly be as important as helping out your best friend in her time of need. She knew it would fall on deaf ears or, even worse, that Missy would run back to Sabrina with a word-for-word recap of their conversation. “I can get Miley if you'd like.”

“Really?” Missy perked up immediately. “I couldn't ask that of you. . . .” They both knew she could and would.

“It's no trouble at all. She can come back to my house and stay as long as she'd like. I've got plenty of food for dinner. Miley has a peanut allergy, if I remember correctly? And she hates mushrooms.”

“Yeah, exactly. How did you know that?”

“You told me at one of Charlotte's Wine and Whines.” Allison smiled. “Just call me and let me know when you want to come get her. No rush.”

“Thank you
so
much, Allison. You have no idea how grateful I am.”

“It's my pleasure, really.”

Missy exhaled a sigh of relief. “Sabrina was definitely wrong about you.”

Chapter 19

S
he'd gone back and forth a million times. Or at least that was how it felt. One minute she was wholly convinced that Charlie and Allison had engaged in raucous sex on the dining room table while Logan and Gia had been safely ensconced in his bedroom to ensure they didn't witness the spectacle. Charlotte had choreographed and then played out the entire scenario over and over in her head. She'd imagined Charlie clearing the table of dishes, food, and silverware with a passionate swoop of his arm, the way it happened in the movies, when there was no consideration for who would be cleaning up the inevitable mess. Then she'd pictured him drawing Allison toward him in one fluid movement, while undressing her with his penetrating stare. After that, they'd stripped down to nothing, desperate to ravage each other and unleash the raging torrent of lust they'd been denying themselves since the moment they'd laid eyes on each other that first day at school.

The next minute, she'd tell herself she was crazy. They'd
had dinner. That was all. So Charlie hadn't mentioned it. Why would he? As he'd said, he knew she was in Florida preoccupied with helping her parents. And he and Allison were friends.
She
and Allison were friends. They'd had an instant rapport. Not to mention that neither of them had ever given her reason to suspect anything before. Before Sabrina, that is. But why would she lie? Or even stretch the truth? She didn't stand to benefit from it in any way. Was it because she'd seen Allison flirting with her own husband? Charlotte couldn't imagine that. She'd never once seen Allison flirt. Period. Plus, Craig was hardly an Adonis. He wasn't even particularly attractive, save for his substantial bank account.

Charlotte had resorted to snooping through Charlie's things, justifying it to herself every which way possible, though all the while knowing full well she was doing something very wrong. How would she feel if Charlie went through her stuff? Not that she had anything to hide. She'd started with his office, meticulously turning over or unfolding every piece of paper—receipts, bills, solicitation letters . . . whatever she could get her hands on. She wasn't sure what she expected to find, but she was sure she'd know when she found it. His desk drawers had revealed nothing more interesting than his latest credit card bill, which wasn't really that interesting at all. She'd been disappointed, but why? Would uncovering something make her feel better? Highly unlikely. Still, it would be the ultimate fuck-you to Charlie, something she'd never been able to achieve during the course of their regular fights. He'd said it. More than once. But if she'd ever so much as muttered those words under her breath, he'd have left. Who knows for how long.

Feeling thwarted, Charlotte charged toward his closet, rationalizing that of course he wouldn't keep something scandalous somewhere as obvious as in his desk drawer. How could she have been so naive? She'd watched enough crime-solving shows to know better. Charlotte had then pulled down shoe box after shoe box, searching for that something. That something that would give her a jolt of satisfaction before she crumpled under the weight of disappointment and despair, crying her eyes out before confronting both of them with her triumphant discovery. That would show them. But the shoe boxes hadn't turned up anything. Nor had the pockets in every single one of his suit jackets and pants. He was either innocent or smarter than she was, and either way, she refused to believe the latter. She would not become one of those clueless wives blubbering to anyone who would listen about how she'd had no idea that her husband was screwing one of her closest friends, right under her nose. She'd listened to those women. And there had been many of them—the mothers of Gia's friends—who no longer drove luxury SUVs or carried the latest Gucci handbag. They didn't even show their faces at the nail salon anymore, having been downgraded to a life where giving yourself a manicure was not only acceptable, but the only financially responsible course of action. Maybe they'd gotten full custody of the kids, but that came with an unwelcome litany of new burdens for them to struggle with on their own. Charlotte would not become one of those women.

Allison had called half a dozen times. The last attempt had been to invite them to an art exhibit at the Alexander Gallery in town. When Charlotte had failed to reply to her
message, Allison had e-mailed her again, copying Charlie. It had annoyed Charlotte, but she'd admitted to herself she'd have done the same thing in Allison's position. The position of being oblivious as to why—seemingly out of nowhere—Charlotte was ignoring her. Naturally, Charlie had answered immediately saying that they'd love to come! He never responded to her e-mails that quickly, and when he did, he never used exclamation points. Further proof? The devil on her shoulder said yes. The angel said this was classic self-sabotage. Charlotte was caught in a paradoxical purgatory, and with each passing day she was slowly driving herself mad.

Tonight would be a good litmus test, if nothing else. She'd be able to observe them. To watch the way they interacted. Would Charlie's gaze follow Allison around the room? Would he find ways to brush up against her? To whisper in her ear when he thought no one was looking? She'd have to stick to him like glue but still leave room for him to wander off from time to time, let up on the leash so the dog could dig its own hole. Charlotte would have to pay careful attention to Allison too. If Sabrina's notions were accurate, Allison was a sly one. Playing the wounded widow. How dare she? Had it been her plan all along to lure him with a protracted to-do list of household chores? To fill his belly with gourmet fare, crafted with love by none other than the tragic widow herself? Charlie had come home raving about Allison's culinary prowess. But had he also enjoyed her aptitude in the bedroom? Or did they seek out off-the-beaten-path hotels? The real seedy kind. That had actually made her laugh. If she knew anything about Charlie, it was that he did not do seedy.
He'd sooner be caught red-handed in a suite at the Four Seasons.

These were the thoughts that plagued her in the darkest hours of the night, while she lay awake in her marital bed, tossing and turning, unable to silence the boundless turmoil turning her mind faster than the wheels of a Mercedes convertible whizzing down The Autobahn.

Charlotte examined herself in the mirror. She'd told Charlie she'd meet him at the gallery, not that he'd offered to pick her up. She wanted to arrive on her own terms and with her own car, in the event that she needed a quick and dramatic escape.

“Just another dab and you'll be gorgeous,” she said to her reflection, pursing her lips and dotting them skillfully with Chanel's Insolence gloss.

Insolence.
How appropriate,
she thought, before snatching her Prada clutch, smoothing her hair into place, and walking out the door.

•   •   •

Charlotte
scanned the room for a familiar face. She'd never been to the Alexander Gallery, though she must have passed it a zillion times when shuttling Gia to and from school, not to mention all her errands and appointments around downtown Wincourt. She wasn't particularly interested in art, other than for its value. She knew that she and Charlie had some significant and expensive pieces gracing the walls of their home, thanks to Charlie's sound investing skills, but she couldn't tell anyone the first thing about them, not even the name attached to the hand that had painted them.

“Hey there.” Elizabeth tapped her on the shoulder and she spun around, startled. She hadn't expected to see her sister. But why? Elizabeth and Allison were probably the best of friends by now, oblivious to the fact that they'd completely sidelined Charlotte. “Wow, you look really nice.”

“Thank you. So do you.” Charlotte had taken extra care when getting ready for tonight's event. If she was going to be in the same company as both Charlie and Allison—who already had the spotlight shining on her—she wanted to make sure she looked and felt beautiful. She'd achieved the former, if not the latter—how she would
feel
this evening remained to be seen.

“Where's Charlie?” Elizabeth browsed the throng of guests, most of whom were pointing and nodding at the various sketches, paintings, photographs, and sculptures scattered around the open space.

“He's meeting me here. I didn't want to be late.” She was curious to see what time he'd show. He'd never once made it to a party, no matter how big or small, before eight o'clock, which would be close to the end of this one. But for Allison . . . “I'm sure he's caught up at work. What else is new, right?”

“Ooh, I see mini egg rolls. Want one?” Elizabeth took off into the crowd before Charlotte could answer. And then she spotted Allison across the room, with Logan at her side, talking to an attractive older woman. Allison turned around at that moment and caught her eye, smiling and waving and then excusing herself from the conversation to make her way in Charlotte's direction.

Allison looked stunning, as always. But tonight, her long
blond hair was flatironed into thick, glossy sheets and curled ever so slightly at the ends to give it just the right amount of bounce. And her face was made up, drawing out her most striking features—her light gray eyes and defined cheekbones. She was dressed in a floor-length, navy blue chiffon dress with a racer back that showed off her toned and tanned arms. She was, in a word, perfection. How silly, Charlotte thought, appraising her own simple black shift dress, that she'd dared to compete with that.

“Hey!” Allison beamed, pulling Charlotte into a warm embrace. “You look amazing!”

“Thank you.” Charlotte's smile was flimsy. “And you look spectacular. No surprise there.”

“Where have you been? I've practically been stalking you!”

“Busy, busy. You know how it is.”

“Yeah, sure.” Allison didn't seem sure, which afforded Charlotte a shock of satisfaction. “Well, congratulations on tonight. You must be very proud.”

“Honestly, it was a last-minute thing, but thanks.” Allison smiled feebly. Charlotte could see that she knew something was up. Something beyond Charlotte's busy, busy life, which definitely wasn't so busy that she couldn't have found time to return one of Allison's many calls. “Listen, I really want to show you my progress on the piece for the school gala. It's been a bit of an emotional roller coaster for me, and I trust your opinion. Do you have time this week? You could come over for lunch, if you'd like. I feel like it's been forever since we've had time for girl talk. I miss you.”

She was trying. Too hard? Charlotte swallowed a pang of
guilt. If Sabrina was wrong about Charlie and Allison, Charlotte hoped she wasn't past the point of no return in the way of their friendship. Standing here with Allison now, part of her wanted to say,
Yes! A girls' lunch sounds fantastic! What can I bring?

But what she actually said was, “Let me check my calendar and get back to you.”

“Okay. Yeah, that sounds good.” Allison appeared instantly deflated, and Charlotte felt like the mean girl. It was her inner Sabrina. And it came out only from time to time. Mainly when she was with Sabrina and Missy. Although every now and then, even when she was on her own, she might ridicule a salesclerk at Neiman Marcus or snap at the well-intentioned bagger at Whole Foods. Her mother called it entitlement. It wasn't a trait Charlotte was proud of. But everyone had their faults. At least she wasn't swigging white wine from her Klean Kanteen like so many of the other moms at Gia's school.
Sure it's water. Then why are you teetering on your Jimmy Choos at eleven a.m. on any old Tuesday?

“Have you seen my husband?” Charlotte took a sip of the champagne she'd been handed on the way in.

“Oh yeah, he's here somewhere.” Allison turned around, standing on her tippy-toes and craning her neck in search of him.

“Charlie's here already?” Charlotte couldn't mask her surprise.

“He was one of the first, actually. I think he was talking to Priscilla, the owner, about purchasing one of the pieces. And then I saw him talking to Missy after that.”

“Missy's here?”

“Yup.” Allison nodded. Since when had she and Missy become friends?

“So Sabrina is coming too?”

“Uh, no.” She shook her head.

“You invited Missy and not Sabrina?” Charlotte was incredulous.

“Well, I mean, Sabrina and I aren't really friends. In fact, I'm fairly certain she doesn't like me, so I didn't see the point. Is that a problem?”

“Not for me.” Charlotte laughed nervously.

Obviously Allison hadn't gotten the memo that no one put Missy on a guest list without Sabrina's name ahead of it. And the fact that Charlie, Charlotte, and Elizabeth were all there too . . . well, it was almost too good to be true. She couldn't help but be endeared to Allison all over again, even if just a little. If nothing else, she had guts. Not that Sabrina would have come. Allison was correct in her assumption that Sabrina wouldn't be heading up her fan club in the near or distant future. Still, it was definitely a bold move. Charlotte couldn't help but wonder what the repercussions would be when Sabrina got wind of the snub.

“I'm not scared of Sabrina,” Allison said.
That makes one of us,
Charlotte thought. “Oh, here comes Charlie.” He was walking toward them with Logan in tow, his hand placed firmly on Logan's back to help guide him through the mob. Charlotte felt an immediate twinge of affection for him. Would he have been a more present father if only she'd been able to give him the son he'd always wanted?

“Hey, babe!” Charlie leaned over to kiss Charlotte on the
lips. She let him linger for longer than usual in the presence of Allison, who wasn't even watching them. “You look great.” A shiver ran up her spine as Charlie's eyes feasted on her from top to bottom.

BOOK: When We Fall
13.27Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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