Facing the Music (7 page)

As a former Auburn player, he’d have to mention to her that this suit needed to be burned. But first things first.

“Blake Chamberlain, you are damn lucky my guest hasn’t arrived yet. I’d hate to have to whip you in front of her.” Her mouth flattened into tightly drawn disapproval.

Blake smiled. His grandmother hadn’t whipped him once in his whole life. Of course, he’d been deathly afraid of her until he was twenty-three. “That’s fine. I’ve already had a public whipping this morning. I’ve had my fill for today.”

Adelia arched a curious eyebrow at him. “I’m quite certain you deserved it.”

“You would be, since you caused it. I went to the first meeting about the fund-raiser today. Turns out there’s quite a bit to the plans I hadn’t heard about yet. Gloria was extremely concerned.”

His grandmother sniffed delicately and straightened the flawless linen tablecloth to avoid his gaze. “Gloria is very often concerned,” she said in a noncommittal tone.

“Turns out that
you
,” he said pointedly, “were supposed to fill me in on the details. Like how I’m supposed to spend nearly every moment of the next couple of weeks with Ivy Hudson.
Ivy Hudson!
How could you not tell me this?”

“Don’t raise your voice at me,” Adelia snapped and met his gaze. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t feel it was necessary.”

She immediately held up a hand to quiet his protest. “Sometimes being a Chamberlain means doing what’s best for the town. Putting Rosewood’s needs above your own. It’s not always the easiest thing to do. I knew it would be difficult for you. So, yes, I left out the offensive details.”

Blake’s hands tightened to fists in his lap. “So you admit you knew it would be hard for me and yet you set me up anyway?”

“I did not ‘set you up.’ I said it would be difficult for you to put the town’s needs over your own. I withheld the parts that would keep you from doing what needed to be done. If you knew everything you know now, would you still have agreed to participate?”

He opened his mouth to say “Yes, of course I would,” but he couldn’t lie to his grandmother. Blake would not have agreed to this. He would’ve felt bad, but he would’ve requested some changes. At least then it would’ve been early enough in the planning stages that the changes wouldn’t wreck the whole plan. He would still have helped Rosewood rebuild. He just wouldn’t have had to bleed for it.

“You’ve proved my point with your silence, Blake. Rosewood is not just a town. It’s our family legacy. It’s the Chamberlains’ duty to watch over the land and the people that call it home.”

Blake crossed his arms over his chest. “If it’s all so important and our family has a responsibility to the town, why not just write a check for the gym and spare me the public humiliation? You and I both know you can afford it.”

Adelia watched him for a moment before delicately taking a sip of her tea. “And what good would that do? While I
will
be contributing to the cause, writing a check for the whole thing does nothing but rebuild the gym itself.”

Blake frowned at his grandmother. “Isn’t that the point?”

“No. This is about more than just a gymnasium. It’s better for the town to work together to rebuild. It generates a sense of pride and community. While Rosewood is still a small town, it grows a little larger every year. The sense of intimacy is being lost. People aren’t shopping downtown; they’re shopping online or driving to Birmingham. They’re getting burgers at the drive-in place on the highway instead of eating at Ellen’s or Pizza Palace. The attendance at the Fourth of July picnic was lower than ever this year.”

She shook her head. “Sometimes I go into town and I don’t even recognize people anymore. There was a time when I knew every family in Rosewood. We don’t just need to rebuild the gym, Blake. We need to rebuild the network that holds this town together. The tornado was a tragedy, but it offered us the perfect project to make that happen. And as the oldest of the Chamberlain children, you’re going to lead the charge. It doesn’t make a lick of difference who’s working with you, because you’re working for the common good.”

Blake sat back in his chair. He reached out for the platter and shoved a butter cookie into his mouth. He might be a teacher, but he’d just been schooled.

“Now, if you’re quite finished complaining, I’d like you to move along. My guest should be here any minute.”

Blake was sitting forward, gripping the arms of the chair to stand, when he caught a glimpse of movement at the back door. Winston was escorting his grandmother’s guest outside. The hair and the clothes were quite different from this morning, but even from this distance, he knew who it was.

“You know, you could’ve told me you were having Ivy over. I would’ve put off this discussion until later.” He leaned across the table, narrowing his eyes at her and speaking in a lower voice. “Did you plan this?”

His grandmother smiled and folded her hands in her lap. It seemed like a sweet smile, but it was unnerving to Blake. His grandmother was no docile, cookie-baking granny. She was a strategist. He just wasn’t entirely sure what she was planning. She didn’t tip her hand very often. Even when his grandfather was alive it had been she who ran the show. She was more a Chamberlain than her husband ever was.

“I didn’t invite you over,” she said. “You barged in and didn’t bother to ask who I was expecting. How could I have planned it?”

Blake wasn’t sure, but he knew she had. He stood up from his chair, but he had no way of escaping unless he jumped the wooden railing of the gazebo and took off at a sprint across the lawn. He wouldn’t give Ivy the satisfaction of spooking him that badly. That meant standing his ground.

Just then, Winston arrived at the steps of the gazebo. “Mrs. Chamberlain, Miss Hudson has arrived for tea.” He held out his arm, gesturing for Ivy to go ahead.

She looked beautiful, and so different from the other times he’d run into her. At the cabin, she’d been quite literally a blank slate: no makeup, no clothes, no hairstyling. At the bar, she’d been done up for a rowdy night on the town with dark eyeliner and sexy but severely styled hair. Today at the fund-raiser meeting, it was a more casual in-between look with a sleek ponytail and a pink gloss that made her lips look shiny and kissable. That had been nice, but right now, she was just about perfect.

Blake felt like Goldilocks as he looked Ivy over. This look was soft and romantic. The pale cream lace of her top accented the peachy tones of her skin. The dark waves of her hair were pulled into a braided bun at the back of her neck. Soft tendrils fell around her face, highlighting the delicate blush and golden glow of her eye makeup.

She thanked Winston, taking a few steps up before reaching the top and realizing Blake was standing there behind the wooden post. In that moment, the smile that lit up her face faded. In the pit of his stomach, Blake ached for it to return, but how could he witness it when he was the one who chased it away?

“You look . . .” his voice trailed off as he got lost in the depths of her emerald-green eyes. He cleared his throat and started over. “You look lovely today, Ivy.”

“Thank you,” she said, her body language a little stiff. Ivy seemed almost more uncomfortable when he was nice to her than when they were fighting.

She didn’t say anything else to him. Instead she turned to his grandmother and offered her hand. “Thank you for inviting me over, Mrs. Chamberlain. It’s an honor to share tea with you today.”

His grandmother smiled at her, showcasing the smile Blake knew was saved for the public. “Of course I had you over, dear. I drew up the invitation as soon as I knew you had returned to Rosewood. Please have a seat.” She gestured over to the seat Blake had recently occupied.

Blake, of course, was in her way. The gazebo was not very large. She took a step and then had to stop. Her dark green eyes focused on him expectantly until he stepped aside and let her take the seat.

Adelia picked up the silver teapot and immediately poured two cups. “Cream or lemon, dear?”

Blake watched the ladies go through the ritual of building the perfect cup of tea, unsure of what to do.

It must have been obvious to his grandmother that he was at a loss, too. She placed a toast point with smoked salmon and crème fraiche on her plate and looked up at him with amusement lighting her pale blue eyes. “Blake, dear, are you staying for tea or have you said what you needed to say?”

He had a strange, inexplicable urge to stay, and not because he had more to say to his grandmother. He wanted to be close to Ivy for a while in a setting where they couldn’t fuss and he could admire her beauty from the safety of his own wicker chair. Even after all these years, she had this hold on him, like she was a planet and he was a satellite stuck in her gravitational pull. He wanted to . . . hold Ivy’s hand.

He had to fight his instincts and walk away from her. Blake joining his grandmother for one of her famous teas was as preposterous as her joining him at Woody’s for chicken wings and football.

“I’m going. Enjoy your tea, ladies,” he said before leaping down the stairs two at a time and cutting across the lawn to his truck.

Chapter Seven

Ivy watched Blake
make a quick getaway. She wasn’t sure what was going on between him and his grandmother, but she was relieved to see him go. The butterflies in her stomach were already fluttering around at being invited to tea. His presence was certain to agitate them further. She didn’t need him here flooding her mind with inappropriate thoughts and spiteful insults while she was trying to focus on not making a fool of herself in front of his grandmother. As it was, she felt a flush rising up her neck that made her want to fan herself.

“That boy.” Miss Adelia sighed, watching him leave. “I love him, but he’s stubborn like his father was.”

“I can’t speak as to Mr. Chamberlain,” Ivy replied, “but I can unequivocally say that Blake is one of the stubbornest people I’ve ever met.”

Adelia chuckled and used a pair of silver tongs to place a fruit tart on her plate. “I can’t complain, really. It’s my doing. I’m certain the stalwart gene came from my side of the family. Of course, without it, I never would have made it from my parents’ veritable shanty of a house to a mansion like this.”

The Chamberlain matriarch watched Ivy’s eyes widen in surprise over the rim of her teacup. “You didn’t know that, did you?” She laughed softly. “I did not come from a fine southern family. We were poor. We still had an outhouse in the fifties, if you can imagine it.”

She couldn’t imagine it. Miss Adelia was so firmly ingrained in the Chamberlain family, it was hard to think of her as ever being anything else, much less poor. Money certainly looked good on her. “How did you and Mr. Chamberlain meet?” Ivy was almost afraid to ask the question, but more afraid to sit there with her mouth agape.

“We met in school, like you and Blake did. I always thought he was sweet on me, but Charles was shy and wasn’t the kind to go against his father’s demands. You see, I wasn’t the right kind of girl for Charles. His father wanted him to court one of the Whittaker girls, but I could tell he only had eyes for me.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Adelia said with a shrug that made Ivy’s heart sink despite knowing how the story would end. “Charles did as he was told and courted one of the Whittaker girls until he left for college. He was going to law school to take over his father’s practice, like our son Norman did, so he was gone to Tuscaloosa for years.”

“You waited all that time for him?”

“Not exactly. I went on with my life, as a girl with any sense does. I graduated and got a job working at the bank as a secretary. I enjoyed working and I was good at what I did. I earned enough money to rent an apartment over the shoe store and bought my own car. Around here, it was nearly unheard of for a girl to be unmarried and working at my age, but I didn’t care what anyone thought. I was happy.”

“Did you ever see or hear from him while he was away?”

“Charles would write me letters from time to time, telling me about school and asking how I was doing. He was busy with his studies, but I knew that because he took the time to write, he still thought of me fondly. Time seemed to fly by and the next thing I knew, Charles showed up in the bank one day, looking as handsome as ever. Blake takes a lot after my Charles. He told me that he’d graduated and moved back to Rosewood to practice. When he noticed I was still single, he asked me out on the spot.”

Ivy held her teacup steady in midair, too focused on the story to either take a sip or put it down.

“We were married the next year, and I had Norman the year after that.” Ivy watched her glance down at her wedding ring and smile. “We were very happy together.”

“That’s a wonderful story. Whatever happened to the Whittaker girl his father wanted him to marry?”

A wide and decidedly devious smile broke out across the older woman’s face. “Well, you see, working at the bank, I had access to a lot of personal information about the residents of Rosewood. I made a few offhand comments to her about the large bank account of a single architect who was in Rosewood to assist with the design of the new high school. Like a fly to honey, she went right after him. They married, and when he completed his work here, he moved and took her with him. By the time Charles returned to Rosewood, Martha was on her second baby and living in Des Moines.”

Miss Adelia was a shrewd woman. Ivy liked that. She just didn’t want to be on the woman’s bad side. “It sounds like everyone ended up happy in the end.”

The older woman smiled and patted Ivy’s hand. “Oh yes, but it very easily could’ve ended differently. Say, if Charles had bent to his father’s wishes and married Martha while he was still in college. Or if I had been impatient and married the first man who looked my way after graduation. Despite the ups and downs, things worked out the way they were meant to.

“The Chamberlain men . . . are often slow to act,” Adelia continued with a weary sigh. “Even when they have what they want right in front of them, they don’t always reach out and grab it the way they should.”

Ivy took a bite of a butter cookie, but her mouth was suddenly so dry, she had to chase it with a sip of tea to keep from choking. She realized now that this was no idle chatter over tea. The elder Chamberlain had brought her here for a specific reason.

“It took forever for Blake’s father, Norman, to settle down. Helen was perfect for him, but he hesitated to pull the trigger. It was the eighties, and he was more interested in living an exciting, glamorous life than in settling down and starting a family. Blake is the same way. Sometimes I wonder if he didn’t go after that cheerleader on purpose.”

Ivy’s eyes widened as she sat back in her seat and gently placed her teacup on its saucer for fear of dropping it. Was she really discussing Blake’s infidelity with his grandmother? The fact that Miss Adelia even knew the details of their breakup was mortifying enough, but she got the feeling that the woman knew everything that happened in this town. “Wh-what makes you say that?”

“Blake loved you very much. I could see it in the way he carried himself when he was with you. I think he knew he had a good thing with you, but he was too young and scared by the idea of it. All that fame and attention can cloud your ability to see things clearly. Sabotaging the relationship might not make sense to you or me, but in his twisted male mind, it allowed him to put off taking the next step.”

That was one way to look at it. Ivy had always blamed it on his being drunk and horny and feeling sorry for himself. “What’s done is done,” she replied, trying not to give away too many of her own thoughts and feelings on the subject. After the past few confusing days in Rosewood, she’d started to question what those feelings even were.

His grandmother was obviously trying to explain Blake’s actions to her, but why? Was she trying to diffuse the tension between them so the fund-raisers were successful? To avoid the scandal of another public fight? Her stomach ached as she considered the last option—was she trying to get them back together again?

“Yes. It was a huge mistake, of course, and he realized it immediately. Blake was an absolute mess over the holidays. It’s no wonder the Tigers lost the BCS championship. His heart just wasn’t in the game. But as you say, it was too late and he couldn’t change what he’d done. Although sometimes I wonder . . . what if you and Blake are like his grandfather and I? What if you’re just taking the long, winding road to happiness?”

“I don’t know about that,” Ivy replied slowly, looking into her lap to avoid the pointed blue gaze aimed at her. It felt like Miss Adelia could look right into her and see the darkest secrets she kept hidden from everyone. “I think we’ve both hurt each other too much to ever go back to where we were.”

“Perhaps,” she said thoughtfully. “Perhaps not.”

“Anyway,” Ivy argued with a nervous smile, “from what I’ve heard, I think he’s dating Lydia Whittaker.”

At that, Miss Adelia frowned into her teacup. “I doubt that’s truly the case. But even if it were, no matter. You and I are a lot alike, Ivy. I didn’t let a Whittaker girl get in between Charles and me. I suggest you don’t, either.”

“That’s it?” Pepper sounded
extremely disappointed.

“Pretty much.” Ivy pinched her iPhone between her ear and her shoulder so she could steer her shopping cart with both hands through the narrow aisles of the Piggly Wiggly.

Ivy had relayed the high points of her afternoon tea party to Pepper over the phone, specifically leaving out the conversation about Miss Adelia’s history and how it paralleled Ivy’s relationship with Blake. She had left the Chamberlain mansion with her head spinning. Their discussion had been both enlightening and miserably confusing.

When she’d returned to her cabin that evening, Ivy found herself stir-crazy. The house was too quiet and there were too many thoughts fighting for her attention. It seemed to her as though Miss Adelia was pushing them to reconcile. The older woman had seemed completely lucid during the conversation, but the idea of getting back together with Blake was crazy.

Too crazy to share, even with Pepper. As far as her friend and anyone else needed to know, she’d had a nice time. The food was very good and she ate too much. But it was just a polite tea.

When the cabin had suddenly felt too small, Ivy had gotten into her car and driven into town. She didn’t really need anything, but she found herself at the grocery store. The lights, the sounds, and the wide aisles of products were a happy distraction.

“People in town talk up these teas so much, I kept expecting her to tell me the secrets of the universe. Or at least to tell me an embarrassing story about Blake as a child. But I got nothing but polite banter. We covered the weather, traveling, a couple of her favorite singers . . . Nothing to write home about. Or call to tell you, which is why I didn’t.”

Pepper groaned in her ear. Apparently she’d waited all evening to hear from Ivy. Around eight thirty, she’d given up and called herself. “Sounds like a waste of a good hair day.”

“Eh,” Ivy said noncommittally. “It wasn’t a total waste. I could tell Blake liked it. Whenever I can look really hot and make him miserable, it’s a good day.”

“Now, wait a minute,” Pepper complained. “You didn’t mention Blake was there.”

“He wasn’t. At least not for long. He was there when I arrived and quickly made an exit.” Ivy opened the door to the refrigerated case and pulled out a carton of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia. It went into the cart next to her twelve-pack of Diet Coke and a giant bag of jelly beans—fuel for writing more songs.

“What did he say?”

“Nothing, at first. He just looked at me.”

“So how do you know he liked your hair?”

“Because of the
way
he looked at me. I dated the man for over four years. Trust me, I know.”

His gaze had raked over her body, sending a shiver of awareness down her spine and tightening her belly. Her reaction had been instant and powerful, which pissed her off when she thought back on the moment. She never reacted to anyone the way she reacted to Blake. Singers, actors, models . . . not even the sexiest men on earth could evoke the same reaction with just a look.

Why did her body have to respond like that to Blake of all people?

“He looked at me like a five-year-old staring through the window of a candy store. He practically had his nose pressed against the glass. Then he told me I looked lovely and left.”

Someone at the grocery store came over the loudspeaker requesting a price check at register three.

“What was that?” Pepper asked. “Where are you?”

“I’m at the Piggly Wiggly,” Ivy answered, feeling quite pleased with herself. “I am wearing yoga pants, flip-flops, and no bra. My hair is in a ponytail and I washed off all my makeup.”

Pepper gasped, the soft noise barely audible over the hum of the freezer section. “Tell me you aren’t serious.”

“I am. I have to say, it’s the greatest thing I’ve done in a long time. Better than tea at the Chamberlains’.”

“Did someone slip you acid? Why on earth did you go to the store like that?”

“Because I
can
, Pepper. There are six people in the store and three of them work here. Mr. Thompson’s eyesight is getting so bad he greeted me as Becky, whoever that is. The other woman shopping is dressed kind of like me. It’s like a shopping sisterhood. No one has so much as batted an eye at me.”

“I really don’t get it.”

Pepper subscribed to the rule most southern women lived by: you should never go out in public without your hair done and your face “on.” It didn’t matter if it was for a PTA meeting, dinner at Ellen’s, or a run to the post office. The pick-up line at the elementary school could be a beauty pageant. The bigger the hair, the closer to God, after all.

Ivy had lived that way in California and New York, but mostly because she was a celebrity and she had to. Here, she couldn’t care less because it was
safe
.

“No one cares, Pepper. It’s the greatest thing ever. There’s no one here from the press to snap my picture and put me in one of those ‘Celebrities without Makeup’ specials. To you, it’s just me going to the grocery store dressed like a slob, but to me, it’s pure freedom.”