Page 23 of The Marriage Sham
His bushy eyebrows bunch together like only an old man’s can. “If I wasn’t so sure Earl wanted to visit with me, I’d march right out of here and leave you two. Forget my offer!”
“Yeah, right. You’re just looking for an excuse to get away from Betty and drop some serious cuss words.”
His face morphs into a huge grin like he’s a little kid again. “You got that right, son! My buddy Earl would never give up my secret cursing habit.”
“I don’t think it’s much of a secret…” I mutter, shaking my head.
“What did you say?” He cups his ear like that’ll really help him hear me better.
“I’m ready! Let’s go.” Francie slides into the room, much like she did the first day I saw her back here in Love. She grabs her wedges by the door and jams them on her feet. I like it when she wears those tall shoes. They make her almost eye-to-eye with me and turn me on in a way I can’t explain.
“See ya’, Harold.” Francie kisses him on the cheek and gets a big grin in return. I go to do the same, and he glares at me with his beady eyes. I step back, hands raised in surrender, and turn around to attend to my girl. Yes, she can open the door herself, but I was raised a Southern gentleman. As long as I have breath in my body, I’ll open the door for her. Besides, my work here is done. I’ve riled up Harold, and I’ve got the prettiest girl in Georgia going to lunch with me.
The food is delicious, and the scenery is superb. We’re sitting outside on a patio, fragrant trees providing shade and the foot traffic on the sidewalk providing plenty of people-watching opportunities. But mostly, I’m watching Francie.
Her eyes are darting around, searching every passerby for a familiar face. She’s been back almost a month, and she hasn’t gone out with any old girlfriends or had anyone over. I asked her once if I was in the way. If she wanted to have someone over, I was happy to vacate for the evening. She shut me down in a hurry and changed the subject. So I added “old friends” to the growing list of things we didn’t discuss.
“Frances Ledbetter?” An annoying voice, like nails on a chalkboard, breaks the peaceful silence.
Francie and I both look over to find a tall woman standing next to our table, her eyes holding a calculating gleam. I groan inwardly, recognizing her as Helena, an old friend of Francie’s and a very brief ex-girlfriend of mine. I haven’t seen her in a while, thank goodness, but I have to admit she looks good. Ten years hasn’t aged her much, only added more expensive accoutrements to her appearance. The make-up is artfully done, but still looks over the top to me.
“Helena?” Francie looks shocked, the beautiful blush to her cheeks completely gone, leaving her unusually pale.
“I could see that red hair of yours from the parking lot. I knew it was you!” Helena leans down to hug Francie, who gives me a wide-eyed look of terror over her shoulder.
I don’t know what the deal is, but clearly Francie wants her gone.
“We were just about to leave. It’s too bad we missed you.” I fold my napkin on the table, ignoring my half eaten pulled pork sandwich that lay on my plate, exposing my lie.
Helena looks pointedly at my plate. “Are you dieting like Frances, too? Gosh, I remember you always being on a diet, girl. Some things never change, right?” Helena is smiling at Frances, like she doesn’t even care that we aren’t joining in. Why had I never realized how nasty she can be?
“Frances is perfect just the way she is. I hope she never changes.” I scrape my chair back and rise, intending on getting Francie out of here as fast as I can.
“That’s so sweet. Oh, that’s right, I heard you two got married. Congratulations!” Helena gushes, clasping her hands together like it’s the best news she’s heard all century. “I mean, it was a bit of a surprise, especially since we dated in high school.”
Helena puts her hand on my chest, and I barely restrain myself from slapping it away.
I grit my teeth. “If you call one week in high school ‘dating.’”
She tosses her head back and spews a practiced, throaty laugh that seems to snap my patience. Add in the fact that Francie hasn’t moved, hasn’t uttered a word during this exchange, and I’m done playing nice. I lift her arm by the wrist and move her hand off my chest before standing behind Frances.
“Let’s go, love,” I whisper before urging her up and out of the chair. I pull her into my side and wrap my arm around her shoulders. We’re two steps away from the devil in a pretty pantsuit when she lobs her final dart.
“Have fun with my sloppy seconds!”
I feel Frances jolt, like the words actually landed on her physically. Pulling her with me, we walk out of the restaurant in a hurry. I need to get away from Helena before I do or say something I’ll regret. Small towns don’t forget easily.
