Need You Now (4 page)

“No help. It keeps me young.”

I'll say
. Darlene watched her eat another cookie, feeling her own hips expand. She loved to bake, but seldom partook. She was short, and she had to work at not being short and fat. “My kids love chocolate chip cookies, so I make them a lot.” She paused. “Do you have children?”

Layla swallowed. “No.”

Hmm .
. .
No husband. No children. Lives in the mansion on the hill. And looks like a forty-plus supermodel dressed in cowgirl gear.

“Okay, well, I just wanted to bring you the cookies. Thanks again.” Darlene gave a wave. Layla was taking off her other glove and didn't look up. Darlene had taken about four steps toward her car when Layla called her name. Darlene turned around.

“You don't know how to sew, do you? I mean, you kind of look like the sewing type.”

The sewing type?
“Um, yeah. I sew.” Maybe the fact that she'd been a homemaker for almost twenty years showed.

Layla ran her sleeve across her forehead, which further smudged the dirt already there. “I have a formal event to attend.” She sighed. “I've lost twelve pounds, and my dress is swallowing me. I'd pay you to alter it for me.”

I should have such problems
. “Uh, okay.” Darlene pushed her glasses up on her head. “You don't have to pay me, though.”

“Okay.”

No argument?
She stuck her hands in the back pockets of her Capri jeans and stood tall, but no amount of stretching would bring her any higher than Layla's shoulders.

“Can you come in and pin the dress now?”

Now?
“Uh, yeah . . . sure.” At least she'd get a chance to see the inside of Layla's house.

Layla started walking toward the house, so Darlene followed. Before Layla opened the door, she turned to Darlene. “Can you give me just a minute? I wasn't expecting company.”

Darlene smiled. “No problem.” She felt somewhat relieved that Layla's house might not be in top condition since Layla had seen Darlene's house on the back end of the cleaning schedule.

It still seemed odd that Layla would leave her standing on the porch. Usually folks just had to deal with an unexpected guest, clean house or not.

Layla moved like a tornado through the living room and kitchen, clearing the areas of evidence. Last thing she needed was a nosy neighbor getting in her business, but at least she'd get her dress taken in. It was a great gown. Seemed a waste to go buy a new one for an event she didn't even want to attend. She reminded herself it was for a good cause and a way to unload some money for tax purposes.

She piled everything in her arms, dumped it on her bed to deal with later, then closed her bedroom door. Down the hall, she went into the extra bedroom and found her emerald-green gown. She draped it over her arm.

“Sorry about that,” she said as she opened the door for Darlene.

“That's okay.”

Darlene was a petite little thing with blond hair and a much-too-friendly smile, as if the world hadn't sucked the life out of her yet.
Give it time, Darlene
. Layla sighed, then motioned for Darlene to sit down on the couch. “Just give me a minute, and I'll go put the dress on and round up some pins.” She went to her bedroom and closed the door.

A few minutes later, Layla stared at herself in the mirror. Wearing the gown reminded her of times past. She closed her eyes and pictured herself in Tom's arms, swirling beneath the twinkling lights in the Grand Ballroom of the Waldorf Astoria in Manhattan. Those days were gone, and agreeing to attend this gala alone was probably a mistake. But she'd already committed. The peppy woman who'd come calling a few weeks ago had promised that the plaza at Festival Hill would be transformed into an exquisite venue, and she'd said, “Your presence would make a huge impact on our event.”

It better
. Layla was just glad that Darlene hadn't figured out who she was yet, or so it seemed. Because then she'd want to be Layla's best friend, and Layla didn't have the energy for that.

Darlene took the opportunity to look around Layla's living room. Every antique was purposely placed and adorned with expensive-looking trinkets, the inside décor matching the early 1900s style of the outside. Shiny wooden floors were partly covered with patterned rugs, and several glass hutches were filled with exquisite pottery and china. Darlene didn't know a lot about antiques, but it seemed a hodgepodge of old collectibles and vintage pieces. There was a certain warmth throughout Layla's home but also a chill that Darlene couldn't quite put her finger on.

When Layla walked in wearing the gown, Darlene homed in on the tiny lines feathering either side of Layla's eyes. The woman had to have six or seven years on Darlene, but it hardly mattered. Layla had gorgeous features. And Darlene was sure she could never wear a dress like that. She just didn't have the figure for it.

“That's an amazing dress.” Darlene stepped closer and squinted as she leaned down and took a closer look at the tiny crystals encircling the base of the gown. A light emerald-green, the sleeveless, floor-length gown had a flattering V-neck, and when Layla turned to the side, Darlene saw the open-draped back. She stood straight, put a hand to her chest. “I'm not sure I should even touch this dress.”

“I thought you said you could sew.” Layla frowned.

“Well, I can, but . . . this looks like a very expensive dress. I'd hate to mess it up.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Are you sure you don't want to have a professional seamstress alter the dress for you?” Darlene could see where it needed to be taken in around the waist and in the bust.

Layla folded her arms across her chest. “Have you forgotten where we live?”

“I know there isn't anyone in Round Top who can alter it, but maybe go to Houston or to—”

“If you don't want to do it, just say so.”

“I'm just worried. What if I mess it up?”

“Then just don't mess it up.” Layla handed Darlene a box of pins. “I don't want it too tight. If I have to attend this gala, I'm going to enjoy the food.”

Darlene took the pins and set to work. What a transition, from working cowgirl to glamour queen. “What's the event?”

Layla sighed. “Another one of the many fund-raisers I'm asked to attend.” She paused. “But this one is for a very good cause.”

“Why don't you just send a donation if you don't want to go?” Darlene carefully pinched the delicate fabric near Layla's waist and prepared to pin it.

Layla chuckled as she tossed her hair, causing Darlene to lose her grip on the fold. “They are expecting me there . . . in person.” She shifted her weight, and Darlene wondered if she'd ever get the dress properly pinned.

After another few minutes, Darlene was finally done, and Layla walked to her bedroom. She returned with the pinned dress on a hanger. “The gala isn't for three weeks. Can you have it done by then?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“You
think
so? Yes or no?”

Darlene wanted to tell Layla that she wasn't her servant, but instead she just smiled and said, “Yes, I can have it done.”

Later that evening, Darlene crawled into bed next to Brad. Her husband had his laptop in his lap and papers scattered all over the place. She'd be glad when tax season was over. She waited until he took a break before she told him about her time at Layla's.

“She's just . . . different. I can't figure her out.” Darlene pumped lotion into her palm, then breathed in the aroma of lavender as she spread it up and down her arms.

“So why try so hard to be friends with her?” Brad took off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. He'd probably needed the glasses for much longer than he would admit, but when he turned forty last year, he'd finally stepped out of denial and purchased a pair.

“I'm not trying hard to be friends with her, she's just . . .” Darlene shrugged as she smoothed the last of the lotion on her neck. “Interesting, I guess.”

Brad put his glasses back on and focused on the work in front of him. Darlene reached for a book on her nightstand and started to read, finding it difficult to stay in the story. Her mind kept drifting.

In Houston, she'd worn herself out by volunteering for too many things—Girl Scout leader, band booster sponsor, softball mom, room mother, T-ball coach, and the list went on. She'd been happy to do it, but her kids were older now and didn't need her as much. Even though she'd been enjoying a quieter life for the past two months, an idea had been rooting around in her mind.

“I was thinking about maybe getting a part-time job.”

“What?” Brad turned to her and grimaced, a reaction she'd expected. “Why? I told you I think I'll make partner soon, and we'll have plenty of money to do everything you want with the house.”

“It's not the money. I think if I was out and about, I'd meet more people in the community. The kids are older now, doing their own things, so I don't meet their friends' parents like before.” Darlene knew Brad was a proud man, and she'd need to tread carefully around anything to do with money. Her husband was old-fashioned in that way, believed the man should take care of the family. She gave him a playful nudge before saying, “But you have to admit—any money I make would help.”

He pulled off his glasses, leaned down, and kissed her on the mouth. “If you want to get a part-time job, you go for it. But
not
for the money. Do it for you. I'll take care of us financially.”

“I know that. And it would be for me.” She thought about having play money in her pocket, not a bad perk either. Then Layla's dress came to mind. She'd noticed earlier when she hung it in the closet that it was a Versace. Darlene couldn't imagine purchasing a designer dress for two or three thousand dollars, and she wished more than ever that she'd never agreed to alter the gown. She and Brad led a comfortable life and had never gone without, nor had their children. But her formal attire came from a local department store, and spending anything over three hundred dollars seemed extreme. She was worried about ruining Layla's expensive dress.

Brad closed his laptop, picked up two file folders, and gathered up some loose papers.

“Done for tonight?” She put her book on the nightstand, then edged closer to him.