Queen of Broken Hearts (19 page)

“Where's the party?” Jasmine mutters, and I reply, “Oh, she always dresses like she's having tea with the queen of England.”

“Wonder if she's meeting a lover?” Haley pronounces it with a fake accent, emphasizing the last syllable. Her face lights up, and she leans over to whisper, “Hey, I've got it, Mom, a way you can kill two birds with one stone. Fix her up with Rye.”

“I wouldn't wish her on anyone,” I say with a snort.

“Probably wouldn't work unless you can convince him that they're related somehow.”

“Hayden Jordan, you should be ashamed of yourself! Ever since your dad died, Rye has tried to be like an uncle to you. He'd be hurt to hear you talking like that.”

“Oh, Mom, you know I adore Rye. I just can't resist teasing you.” Haley follows Elinor's progress with her eyes. “Aha. Now she's prissing her fanny over to that little table for two by the window. So she can spot her lover as he approaches, I guess. Don't turn your head, Mom, or she'll see you.”

“I'm not, don't worry. But I've got to go in a minute. How am I supposed to get out of here without her seeing me?”

“You can't,” Haley informs me. “Besides, you don't want to leave before you see who she's meeting, do you? Oh, look, she just took out her compact and put on more lipstick. Wonder if it's that stuff she sells in her store. Thirty-seven dollars a tube!”

“For lipstick?” Jasmine screeches. “Honey, I didn't spend that much on my last dress, and you know how much material that takes.”

Grimacing, Haley motions for her to lower her voice. “Shhh! She's going to hear us.” She hunches over like a spy in a movie and whispers, “She's purring like a cat with a bowl of cream, so I guess she just spotted him.” I watch in surprise as both Haley and Jasmine gape. They turn to look at each other, eyes wide, then turn back to me. Sotto voce, Haley says, “Whatever you do, Mom, do
not
turn around.”

Of course I can't resist, and I look just in time to see Elinor greet the man she's meeting, tilting her head prettily toward him. Like Haley and Jasmine, I'm surprised to see that it's Lex. He sits down heavily, his back to our table. It's obvious that he's just come from the marina, still in his khakis, Docksiders, and a windbreaker with the marina logo on it.

“See, told you that all men are pigs,” Haley hisses. “Even old farts like him. That son of a bitch.”

“Haley!” I say sharply. “Don't be absurd. As I tried to tell you, Lex and I are not romantically involved, so it's not like he's two-timing me or something.”

“Huh. That's exactly what he's doing, sneaking around meeting his ex like that.”

I laugh lightly. “Nonsense. First of all, nobody's sneaking around; they're sitting right there for all of Fairhope to see. And Lex has been very open about his efforts to be on better terms with his ex. I think it's good that he's speaking to her again.”

“Looks to me like she's wanting him to do more than just speak,” Jasmine says. “Got her skinny old white hand on his arm, and she's leaning way over, almost in his face. Probably trying to give him a look-see down her blouse. Like he ain't seen what she's got a million times.”

I glance down at my watch. “My dears, this has been a riot, but I absolutely have to go.”

“You can't!” Haley reaches for my arm to stop me. “No way you can get out of here without walking by their table.”

I stand up, even though both of them motion frantically for me to sit back down. “It will not bother me one whit to walk up to them, say hello, then walk right out the door,” I say, getting my purse. “Matter of fact, I have to. I'm going to Dory's while Son's at a vestry meeting, and I sure don't want to be there when he gets home.”

“Is he behaving himself now?” Haley asks, frowning. “And more importantly, is Dory okay?”

I hesitate, then say, “She's doing well, but I'll tell you about it when I come by tonight, okay? I really have to go now.”

“Wow, Aunt Clare!” Jasmine's face glows with admiration. “Are you actually going to walk over to your boyfriend while he's out with another woman and say hello? Takes a lot of guts. If it were me, I'd slip out the back door.”

“Oh, well, Mom,” Haley says with a wink. “There's always Rye, who's looking better all the time. At least he's family. And not a Yankee.”

“On that note, I'm definitely leaving.” Picking up my briefcase, I hug both young women and kiss their cheeks before turning to walk out. When I pause at the table by the window, Lex starts to get to his feet, but I motion for him to stay put.

“No need to get up. I've got to run but just wanted to say hello.” Forcing a smile like the hypocrite I am, I tilt my head toward Elinor. “How are you, Elinor?”

“Good, thank you, Clare. And you?” She says it nonchalantly, but a self-satisfied smile turns up the corners of her lips, shaded a deep ruby red with her thirty-seven-dollars-a-tube lipstick.

“And there's Haley and her friend.” Lex waves at Haley and Jasmine but doesn't appear to notice their frosty nods in return. Looking up at me, eyes troubled, he says, “Haven't you checked your cell today? I left you a message.”

“Actually, I haven't. It's been one of those days. I'm off to Dory's, so I'll give you a call later, okay?” I've taken a step toward the door when Elinor's question stops me, and I turn back to her reluctantly.

“Ohhh, that's your daughter?” She's looking at Haley and Jasmine with such avid curiosity that I wonder if she's going to ask which one is mine. “She's quite lovely, isn't she, Lex? Her hair color is so unusual.”

I resist telling her that Haley's blond hair doesn't come from a bottle, unlike some I could mention. Instead, I hear myself saying in a quiet voice, “She gets her coloring from her father.”

Elinor is still staring at the girls, and when I look their way, too, I'm relieved to see that their heads are bent together as they talk, so they don't see her. “I'd heard that you had a daughter, but we haven't met,” Elinor says, turning her gaze to me.

No way I'll risk taking her over to meet the girls, considering what they might say to her. That's all I need today! I mutter something inane about Haley being a schoolteacher, so she probably hadn't been in Elinor's shop, but her next question catches me off guard.

“A schoolteacher? But she looks so young! Surely she's about Alexia's age?”

I glance at Lex, but if he notices anything snide about Elinor's question, his expression doesn't give him away. He's watching his ex, but rather glumly, it seems to me. “No,” I say finally. “Haley's several years older than Alexia. She's almost thirty and has children of her own.”

Either Elinor is innocent, and she hasn't heard Haley's and my story—which I very much doubt—or she's an accomplished actress. I suspect the latter, because she blinks up at me in what appears to be complete surprise as her hand goes to her throat. “Good heavens! You must have been, what, eighteen when she was born, Clare? A mere child yourself.”

With a smile, I nod at her. “Eighteen when she was born? Yes, as a matter of fact, I was, Elinor. Now, if you'll excuse me, I really have to run.” To pay her back for her probing, before leaving, I put a hand on Lex's shoulder and give it a proprietary squeeze.

Outside, I wonder if Elinor could possibly look more smug. Heading toward my house to get my car for the drive to Dory's place, I recall something that had slipped my mind after the crazy day I've had. Although I'd hoped to catch up on some paperwork yesterday, I'd been unable to resist going back to the Landing. Now that I knew the retreat site was really going to happen, I returned with paper and pen to take more notes for the remodeling. Before leaving the house, I called Lex to see if he wanted to come along, saying I'd pick him up on my way. He hem-hawed around before blurting out that he couldn't go because he'd promised to spend some time with Elinor. Surely the fool hasn't let her talk him into anything stupid—like getting back together? But if not, then why did Elinor appear so pleased with herself? And Lex looked really drawn and tired, his brow furrowed. He was just getting back on his feet after the divorce when Elinor came back into his life and threw him for a loop. It's another thing I see often in my practice, when the partner who wanted the divorce starts playing mind games with the other. It can get quite unhealthy, with both partners unable to let the other go. Shrugging, I pick up my pace. Oh well—if Lex refuses to see Elinor for the sly, devious woman she is, there's nothing I can do to help him. After all the years in my line of work, I shouldn't need more proof that love is truly blind.

Pulling up and stopping the car in front of the Rodgerses' house, I'm blown away, as always, by the perfection of the location. When they married, Dory and Son settled in Fairhope, as they'd always planned, moving into the Rodgerses' summer cottage a few miles away. It was a temporary living arrangement until they found their own place, and Son located a perfect piece of waterfront property, halfway between Fairhope and Point Clear. Son opened a branch of the family real estate business, and even though he was no stranger to wealth and privilege, no one could've predicted the astonishing housing boom that hit the Gulf Coast then, or known how Son would profit as a result. Once real estate agencies began to spring up along the coast like forest mushrooms, Son's company was never as prosperous, but he's remained one of the wheelers and dealers of the Fairhope area.

The Rodgerses' house is without question the most spectacular one on the bay, yet it has an entirely different effect than Zoe Catherine's property. The Landing has a wild, sweeping grandeur, but here, the serenity is as palpable as the mist over the bay behind the house. It's odd that such a setting has brought so little peace to its occupants, a thought that strikes me as almost unbearably sad as I park the car and turn off the ignition. The house and surrounding lawns have been featured in several gardening magazines because of Dory's unusual landscaping, with the startling indigo expanse of Mobile Bay as a backdrop.

A unique feature of the house is the tower, which boaters often mistake for a lighthouse, the way it stands amid the live oaks on the shoreline. Dory originally designed the tower as a kind of playhouse for their two boys, Jackson and Shaw, with a game room upstairs for Ping-Pong and billiards. But because of its spiral staircase and rounded walls, I've always viewed the tower as Dory's magic circle manifest in cedar and glass. The bottom floor, which has an attached greenhouse, is reserved for her gardening projects and is also the location of the infamous workshop that Son trashed. Once Shaw left for college, Dory began the project of converting the tower into her own space, changing the game room into a home office and modernizing the bottom floor, turning it into a studio rather than a workshop.

I knew trouble was looming when Dory began the project and Son claimed that Jackson and Shaw would be devastated at the loss of the game room they'd had since they were little boys. Jackson, who's worked with his dad since finishing college last year, lives with his girlfriend in an apartment downtown, and Shaw's in a frat house at Georgia Tech, so it was ludicrous of Son to claim that the young men cared about the childish game room. Dory outsmarted Son—not a difficult task—by converting a large guest room into a game room and moving all of Jackson's and Shaw's stuff into it. Then she and I raised a glass of champagne in celebration while Son lurked in the hall, pouting.

Standing outside the double front doors of the main house allows me to see all the way to the glass sunroom in the back, elevated to overlook the bay. I let myself in once I see Dory there, perched on a mat and meditating, her head bowed and hands folded as though in prayer. I was hoping she'd be in the tower, but she'd said to look for her in the kitchen, since she'd be cooking dinner soon. I tiptoe down the hallway, trying not to disturb her meditation, but the cypress floor creaks under my feet. Dory opens her eyes, and her face goes soft at the sight of me standing there. The dying light from the late-afternoon sun streaming in the windows behind her gilds her silhouette, and she looks as lovely as an Aztec goddess.

“I was trying to sneak in without interrupting you,” I say as she gets to her feet with the grace of a swan.

“If you're doing it right, you can't be interrupted,” she informs me with her sweet smile as we hug. She then nods toward one of the white leather sofas strategically placed to get the most of the view of the bay. “Let's sit down, okay?”

I obey, but Dory kneels in front of a low, enameled table and reaches for a decanter of ruby-red liquid, the pomegranate juice that is one of her more recent health-food kicks. She pours some into the bottom of two goblets, then fills them with soda water. Squeezing a lime wedge into each, she hands me mine and clinks hers against it as she says, “Not exactly champagne, but at least it bubbles and fizzes.”

I raise my glass and say, “To your tower, the magic circle you've always talked about.”

“It is, isn't it?” Dory says in surprise. We look at each other, and she asks me, “Remember when I first told you about my obsession with circles? You must've thought I was a fruitcake.”