Secrets over Sweet Tea (24 page)

“Well, I thought I’d leave you my card, in case you start needing your windows done. I’m living with an aunt over in Spring Hill, but I do windows in Franklin and Brentwood too. Give me a call, and we can work out a schedule.”

Right now she was still trying to figure out how to afford toilet paper. “Thank you, Mr. Parton. I will certainly remember that.” She looked up at how high her windows went. “I’m thinking this might be a job better suited for someone other than me,” she said.

His chuckle accentuated the deep creases in his face. The sun hadn’t been kind to Mr. Parton, nor had the years, it seemed. “Well, I do have everything I need to do a good job, and I’m real reasonable. So if you decide you need some help, just call.”

“I’ll do it. Thanks.”

He nodded and walked away.

She went back inside and found her little pad and pen.
Buy window paper!
she added to the top of her list.

Zach saw Caroline in the distance as he made his way up the street toward Baskin-Robbins. He realized he had two choices
in that moment. Hide. Or seek. It took him a while to decide, but he chose seek.

She had avoided him since that day at Jackson’s. When he went to pick up the girls, she was nowhere to be found. When he dropped them off, she was not to be seen. He left voice mail messages most days, and she responded in texts or ignored them altogether. And even though they both worked downtown, she had somehow managed to keep from bumping into him.

Until now.

She was in front of her store, struggling to drag a huge box through the door. He hurried to the other end and lifted it. She looked up, and for an instant her face said “thank you”—until she realized who he was and the “thank you” gave way to disdain.

She set down her end of the box. “I don’t need your help, thank you very much.”

He shifted his grip and picked up the entire box. “Desire and need are two totally different things. You may not desire me, but you do need me right now.” He carried the box inside and set it down in the back. “Why did they leave a box in the front?”

Frustration was evident in her tone. “New driver.”

She wasn’t going to make this easy.

He straightened. “Where are the girls?”

“Home.”

“Do you need help opening it?”

“No.” She just stood there.

“Do you want to grab a coffee? Ice cream?”

Her jaw pulsed. “No.”

“Want me to leave?”

He could have sworn he saw her eyes twinkle at that. “Yep.”

He pressed his lips together and nodded. “Okay, well, I can take a hint.”

“I wasn’t hinting.”

He let out a soft laugh, though it wasn’t really funny. He headed toward the front door, reached for the handle, then turned back to her. “I’m really sorry, Caroline. I wish I could rewind it all and put Humpty Dumpty together again. But we still need to talk, get counseling . . . do something.”

She offered nothing.

He turned and walked out the door. He might get the triple scoop.

Ten minutes later, the chocolate-mint ice cream made its way to the edges of the napkin wrapped around his cone as he started back to his office. He crossed the square and realized he had to pass Caroline’s store again to get there. He rounded the edge of the building and peeked inside the windowpane of the front door, just to make sure everything was secure and okay.

What he saw shocked him. Caroline sat on the floor in a heap. And from the way her body was shaking, he knew her pain was fierce and hard.

He wanted to ditch the ice cream and run inside. But Caroline wasn’t ready for ditched ice cream and extended arms. And honestly, if his healing was affording him any insight, it wasn’t his place to rescue her from what she needed to feel. The sad thing was, the walls inside her were as old and stubborn as the stone walls that lined so many of Franklin’s back roads. He didn’t know how long it would take her to breach them—if she ever did.

But seeing her there, weeping, took him back to when she had broken down right before their wedding. That had been a tense time. Her mother had dictated every detail of the planning, down to the color of the bridesmaids’ dresses, and her constant criticism of Caroline’s choices had finally been too much. He didn’t remember what the argument had been about—probably something small—but it had left Caroline in tears. Zach had held her then and suggested she appease her mom, that it was just a day and they would have the rest of their lives with each other.

That was now officially one of the dumbest things he had ever said. Who knew what would have happened if in that moment, before they were ever man and wife, he had stood up to Adele and said, “Here is the line. You can only cross it if we invite you.” But they’d both known that if things didn’t go her mother’s way, she wouldn’t pay for the wedding. Another thing he should have realized back then—money was a powerful motivator.

So here they were, fifteen years later, with Adele still telling them what to do and Caroline trying desperately to hang on to control. In all their years of marriage, he hadn’t seen her come apart like this, and he thought it was a good thing. Maybe it would help her come apart in a different way—break free from those old patterns that had robbed them of so much. He had to do that too. Because until they dismantled what had been put together so poorly, they could never hope to reassemble it the right way.

Scarlett Jo leaned over the open box and pulled out another china cup. She rubbed the lower part of her back. “If I weren’t so big on top, this wouldn’t hurt so bad.”

Rachel stood on a ladder on the far side of the room, holding a strip of pink toile wallpaper. She aligned the top edge of the wet paper at the ceiling, straightened the strip, then pressed hard with her smoothing brush. “If you weren’t so big on top, you’d be up here on the ladder instead of me. Don’t want to risk you toppling over or anything.”

Scarlett Jo glanced down at her grimy smock. “Well, I say we all need a break. I’m craving ice cream.”

Grace came around from behind the counter that had been built last week. Constructed from distressed white beadboard, it provided just the girlie, shabby-chic look she was going for.

She raised her eyes to Rachel and waited. It wouldn’t take long.

Rachel scooted down the ladder, pressing the wallpaper strip firmly against the wall as she did until she got to the molding. She slid the razor across the bottom until she had the perfect edge. Grace had given her exacting friend the best job for her personality.

“I hate you, Scarlett Jo,” she said. “You know I can’t refuse ice cream.”

“Oh, I knew it.” Scarlett Jo jumped up in the air and clapped her hands together.

Rachel eyed her bouncing figure. “You jump much higher, you’re going to give yourself a black eye.”

Scarlett Jo made her hand a claw and swiped at Rachel while letting out a bobcat-style hiss. “Kitty likes to scratch.”

Grace laughed. “Rachel doesn’t always play well with others.”

Rachel went to the counter and grabbed her purse. She stuck her tongue out at Grace.

Grace rolled her eyes. “They’re so cute at that age.”

Rachel walked straight for the door. “Well, come on, you two. We don’t have all day. If you’re forcing me to go get ice cream, let’s make it snappy.”

Grace and Scarlett Jo picked up their handbags and snickered as they followed her out into the pleasant September night.

“So where to?” Rachel asked. “Baskin-Robbins or Sweet CeCe’s?”

Grace loved them both, though Baskin-Robbins’s plain chocolate was still her all-time favorite. That and the chocolate-dipped vanilla cone from Dairy Queen. Both of those reminded her of childhood.

Scarlett Jo raised a hand in the air. “I vote for Sweet CeCe’s. I want toppings!”

Rachel wrapped an arm around Scarlett Jo’s waist. “This isn’t
Braveheart
, honey. You’re not William Wallace leading your men to war. It’s just ice cream.”

Scarlett Jo put an arm over Rachel’s shoulder and pulled her tightly up under her, so tightly that Grace was concerned Rachel’s right shoulder might be permanently dislocated.

“Good grief, woman.” Rachel shook herself loose. “What do you eat in the morning? An entire box of Wheaties?”

“I’ve been lifting children since Jack was a baby.” Scarlett Jo flexed her bicep. “That’s how I got these.” Scarlett Jo gave Rachel a push, and she tumbled sideways, almost knocking Grace over. “You’re so jealous.”

Rachel laughed. “Yep, you found me out.”

They crossed Fifth Avenue when the little green man on the crosswalk sign told them they could and made their way to Sweet CeCe’s. “Please do not hurt the children on your way to the ice cream,” Grace said as she opened the door. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Rachel gently shoved past Scarlett Jo, who countered with a flick of her broad hip. “That’s cheating,” Rachel protested.

“All is fair in love, war, and ice cream.” Scarlett Jo laughed and reached for the stack of large plastic cups that sat next to self-serve frozen yogurt dispensers.

Grace loved the decor in this place. Everything in the room screamed childhood magic. The hot pinks. The bright greens. The big flowers. The Willy Wonka–style array of candies, nuts, and other toppings. It all invited you to feel free, like a child. Which was a good thing because the two women she
had brought with her had no problem acting like children. She watched as Scarlett Jo dispensed a tubful of red velvet cake yogurt. Rachel followed behind, filling hers with the cake batter variety.

“Remember, Grace, assume freedom,” Scarlett Jo advised as she licked some ice cream from her finger.

Grace got herself a bowl. She pulled the nozzle down on the sugar-free chocolate dispenser and watched as a large swirl wrapped once around the bottom of her plastic cup and then began its second rotation. She stopped before it made its way fully around and then moved on to the vanilla. She let it make one full rotation, then stopped it. And then she assumed some freedom and let it make one more round. Scarlett Jo and Rachel were already casing out the toppings by the time she finished.

“I’m craving Froot Loops,” Scarlett Jo announced. She turned a silver dial to release an avalanche of cereal onto her mountain of frozen yogurt.

“Appropriate,” Rachel cracked as she covered hers with chocolate chips.

Grace turned the nozzle for crushed Oreos and watched in horror as Scarlett Jo went on to crushed Reese’s peanut butter cups. Scarlett Jo proceeded to the chocolate sauce and caramel sauce, then finished with a cloud of whipped cream and took the whole thing to be weighed. Before the cashier could announce that the bowl cost almost seven dollars, she had a spoonful of it in her mouth.

Rachel had her beat, though. The pieces of cheesecake and brownie she had crammed into her bowl brought the total to right around eight dollars. Even Grace’s came to just over
six—the most she had ever paid at Sweet CeCe’s. They were apparently all assuming some freedom.

As Grace went to pay, Scarlett Jo stuck her Sweet CeCe’s punch card in the cashier’s face. “Can you give me her punch too?”

The woman eyed Grace, who nodded. “It’s fine. I don’t come here enough for a punch card. She has five children.”

Scarlett Jo took her punch card back. “I can almost fill up a punch card in one visit with my boys.”

“If we had been more strategic, we could have done two cups apiece, and you could’ve gotten two more punches,” Rachel informed her, placing her bowl on a table.

Scarlett Jo’s lips twisted over her spoon as she sat down. “Now why didn’t I think of that?”

Grace pulled up a chair beside them and sat down. She dipped her spoon into her cup, listening to Scarlett Jo and Rachel banter and watching idly as a young mother maneuvered a stroller through the door.

Pain shot through her without warning. It ran swift and fierce, taking her breath away. Tears stung her eyes, and the lump that lodged in her throat made swallowing virtually impossible. She set her spoon down, grateful that Scarlett Jo and Rachel were too preoccupied to notice.

She remembered the first time she’d ever come to Sweet CeCe’s, and the memory now flooded her with the impact of a class IV rapid. She had dreamed of what it would be like to bring her children here and watch them act like Scarlett Jo and Rachel over being allowed to create whatever their hearts desired. She had dreamed of their wide-eyed wonder, their hands in hers as they walked to a park bench across the street from the post office and watched the world go by. She’d dreamed of talking
with them about preschool and puppies and all the things a mother talks about with her own children.

Thinking of all those lost dreams made her soul ache.

“Excuse me. I’ll be right back.” She pushed her chair away from the table.

Scarlett Jo raised her hand in acknowledgment but never looked up. Rachel didn’t even acknowledge her.

Grace hurried to the bathroom and locked the door. She stood over the sink and turned on the faucet to cover the sound of her cries. Her grief mixed with the water running down the drain. But she simply let it surge, surrendered herself to it. Surge and surrender—there was nothing else to do. When it finally let her go, she looked in the mirror.

“Please don’t let this pain last forever,” she whispered to the heavens.

The ache subsided enough for her to wipe her face and gather herself. By the time she returned to the table, Scarlett Jo’s pants were unbuttoned and her own ice cream was virtually a puddle. But it didn’t matter. She had lost her appetite.

“Where’d you go?” Rachel asked, dabbing a napkin at her mouth.

“Just had to go to the ladies’ room.”

“You’ve been crying.”

“Yep.” She had no intention of hiding it from them.

Scarlett Jo touched her arm. “You okay, sugar?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Just have to get it out when it sweeps over me like that.”

“That’s good, honey. That’s real good.”

“I can’t believe you’re crying over him. He’s a jerk, Grace. You should be nothing but angry.”

Grace felt anger all right, but not at Tyler. Not in that moment. Words came out of her mouth before she could restrain them. “Rachel, you can’t tell me how to feel. Don’t tell me when I should be angry and when I shouldn’t. I’m doing the best I can. And if I want to feel sad, I’ll feel sad. This is my journey to walk, not yours, and not anyone else’s. And last I checked, there was no book called
Being Divorced for Dummies
. I promise you, there’ll be days I’m angry with Tyler, but right now I’m sad, and if you’re my friend, you’re going to have to accept that.”

Rachel’s shock at the outburst was evident, but her apology was immediate and genuine. “Grace, you’re right. Forgive me.”

Grace shook her head. “It’s okay, Rach. Nothing to forgive.”

“You’ve never spoken to me like that before.”

“It wasn’t planned,” Grace assured her.

“Hey, I liked it,” Rachel said. “You need that feisty in you. You’ve always said you admired how I was able to tell Jason whatever I felt. But you’ve never done that, Grace. You’ve just sat there and taken whatever was thrown at you. Unless of course it had to do with your faith. Now, don’t let someone attack that. You’re like a pit bull with that one. But anything else, you’d give them all the ground they wanted. I’m proud of you. This was a huge step for you.”

Grace smiled. “It kind of was, huh? Maybe I’ll yell at you some more. Want me to?”

“Don’t get crazy. I can still whoop you. Come on, we’ve got more work to do. Get up, blondie.” Rachel motioned to Scarlett Jo as she stood.

Scarlett Jo pushed herself from the chair, her pants still unbuttoned.

“Oh no,” Rachel said. “I’m not walking down the street with your pants like that.”

Scarlett Jo threw her cup away and looked at Rachel. “Let me tell you something, my sweet sister. I’ll wear my pants on this street however I want to. You can walk three steps in front of me or four steps behind me. But sister ain’t buttoning these pants.”

Rachel shook her head as they walked out the door. “Great. Now I get two of you with attitude.”

Scarlett Jo snorted and punched Grace. “That was good, wasn’t it?”

“I couldn’t have done it better myself.”

“Scarlett Jo, what is that on your back?” Rachel’s voice was suddenly urgent. “I think it’s a cicada!”

“What? Where?” Scarlett Jo’s hands started slapping at her shirt as she danced in frantic hops down the street. She finally stopped when she heard Rachel’s belly laugh.

They ambled back to the store in a comfortable haze of sugar and freedom. Grace was pretty certain she couldn’t think of two better companions.

Zach closed the sunroof and moved the visor to the side to block the glare of the setting sun as he drove north past stands of trees that were just beginning to change colors. He flipped on the radio and searched the channels. He wanted music. He usually listened to sports talk radio, but this evening he felt like a change. When the dial landed on a country station, Brad Paisley’s voice came over the speakers, and he turned it up. He liked that guy because, well, he was a guy. Had a song about it
and everything. But this song he hadn’t heard. It was all about finding yourself.

That was what he was doing. He was finding himself. He exited at CoolSprings Galleria and pulled his car into a parking space in front of the Belk store. On any other day he would hate the mall. Boycott it entirely. But he needed it tonight, just like he needed music. Another piece of finding himself.

He opened the door and stepped into a vortex of high-priced jeans and slip-on shoes. The sights and sounds momentarily overwhelmed him. He didn’t shop for clothes. Oh, he had before he and Caroline were married and for a while after. But gradually, over the years, he’d let Caroline take over. He’d convinced himself he was too busy to shop for clothes, that he didn’t want to do it. But in this moment he knew that wasn’t it. The reason he didn’t shop was that Caroline had convinced him he couldn’t dress himself. That what he picked out wasn’t good enough, cool enough, right enough for wherever it was she wanted them to go or how she wanted them to be perceived.