Save the Date (36 page)

“You’re not listening to me,” he said, his voice low and deadly serious. “You have two weeks to vacate the premises. You and your dog and the rest of your stuff? I want all of it out of there. Two weeks. If you’re not gone, I call the sheriff.”

Cara rocked backward on her heels, singed by the intensity of his animosity toward her.

“Why?” she whispered. “Why are you doing this to me?”

Kane’s phone rang. He picked it up immediately. “Cullen Kane,” he said smoothly. He looked over at Cara—his glance telegraphing just what an insignificant nuisance he regarded her as.

“It’s nothing personal.” He swiveled his chair around so that she was facing his back.

*   *   *

She stalked back to the reception area, where Bert was wearing a telephone headset, typing away at the computer. He didn’t look up, although she knew he’d seen her coming.

She reached down and yanked off the headset. That got his attention.

“What now?”

“Answer me one question,” Cara said. Her voice quavered so much that she could barely trust herself to say more. “How did he know my building was on the market, when I didn’t even know?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t play dumb, Bert. I asked you how Cullen Kane knew that Sylvia Bradley might be interested in selling Jones Street. Did you tell him?”

“I don’t … what are you saying? Are you saying Cullen is the one who bought your building?”

“You know he bought it,” Cara said angrily. “And the only way he could have known it was available was from you. Pillow talk, huh?”

“No!” Bert protested. “I mean, he could have seen old Mrs. Bradley’s obituary. It was in the paper. That’s how we found out.”

“Yeah, but we knew who my landlady was. There was nothing in the obituary about that. So how would Cullen Kane figure out? You told him, right?”

Bert’s right eye twitched. “I told him the old bat died, and her daughter wouldn’t fix the air-conditioning, and the place was like a furnace. Yes! Okay? Big deal. I had no idea he’d go out and buy the place. I swear, I didn’t know he’d bought it until you just told me.”

“Did you also tell Cullen I owed my father a lot of money, and that he was bugging me to repay him? Did you tell your new boyfriend I was in dire straits—until Brooke Trapnell decided to hire me to plan her wedding?”

“He already knew you were broke,” Bert said. “He was at Breitmueller’s the day they put a hold on your credit, remember?”

“But you told him the other stuff, didn’t you?”

Bert looked down at his computer terminal, and then out the window, anywhere but at Cara. “I might have mentioned it. In passing.”

Cara grasped the edge of his desk with both hands. “How could you? I trusted you, Bert. I thought you were my friend. It’s bad enough that you snuck around behind my back, sleeping with somebody we both know wants to put me out of business. He’s kicking me out of my building in two weeks. Did he tell you that? Then you go blabbing my personal financial information to him. I just … I just can’t believe you’d betray me this way. And for what? A hookup? A job answering his phone? A free Cullen Kane T-shirt? That’s all this is, Bert, I guarantee it. He’s using you to destroy me. And when he’s done, he’ll toss you aside, the same way he mowed me down.”

Bert’s face hardened. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Cara. Cullen and I … you don’t know anything about him. Or us.”

The front door opened then, and a young couple walked in, holding hands. “You need to go, Cara,” Bert said. He looked over her head, dismissing her the same way his lover had earlier.

“Hello! Welcome to Cullen Kane Floral Design Studio. You must be Kimberly and Stephen. Can I get you a Perrier? Some champagne?”

44

—I am very innerested in you job. I like flowers. Can start immediately. What is pay?

Cara stared down at the flood of responses to her Craigslist ad. She’d placed it six hours ago, and her inbox was jammed.

Dear Sir: I am the person for this situation. I don’t know much about flowers, but that’s cool. I learn fast and at the job I’m at now, people say I am an all-around awesome worker. Your ad said something about a driver’s license. The thing is, I should get mine back in three months. Is that cool?

She shook her head. Not cool.

Hello! I am currently working as a floral designer in Indiana, but am looking to relocate to your area. I have 28 years experience as a florist. Am seeking a top-notch opportunity with an industry leader. My salary requirements are as follows: $70K annual minimum salary with bonus incentives, and company vehicle. I would also expect to be reimbursed for moving expenses. When can I expect to hear from you?

“Never,” Cara muttered, hitting the Delete button.

She scrolled down the other responses and felt her spirits sink. She counted seventy-four emails. Two-thirds of the respondents either couldn’t spell or apparently did not actually speak English.

Hey my name is Tiki and I seen your ad on Craigslist and I am very interested in the job. I feel like I would be good at this job because I like to drive and talk on the phone. Please give me a call, okay?

Greetings! My name is Evangeline Brody! I am ready to become your new assistant! Everybody says I have a bubbly personality and I really like flowers! I know a lot about computers too, so you should definitely give me a call so we can talk about how I can be an asset to your company!

Cara felt exhausted just reading Evangeline’s email. She deleted it, and the next three responses, too. But the next response? Hmm.

Good afternoon. I have been a stay-at-home mom for the past seven years, but prior to that I worked as an in-house floral designer at Publix in Atlanta. I have basic computer skills, but am willing to learn any programs you need. I have a valid driver’s license, and although my work references are a little out of date, I can offer character references from my neighbors and my pastor. I hope to hear from you soon. Best wishes, Ginny Best.

Cara typed as fast as she could.

Hi Ginny. Would love to meet you for interview. Can you be here tomorrow morning at 9 a.m.?
She added the shop’s address and phone number.

45

Jack and Ryan Finnerty sat on the tailgate of Jack’s truck, finishing off their lunch of convenience-store heat-’n’-eat burritos and iced tea. Jack kicked the dust from his work boots and loudly crunched the ice from his cup.

“Hey, bro, what’s with you?” Ryan asked, balling up the paper burrito wrapper and tossing it into the back of the truck along with the rest of the day’s trash.

“Nothin’. Why?”

“You’re all, like, happy and stuff. Right now, you’re sitting there with this shit-eating grin on your face. And I know it’s not because of the excellent cuisine we just consumed.”

“Probably just gas,” Jack said, thumping his chest with his fist and summoning up a belch on command, a talent he’d possessed since kindergarten.

Ryan matched his belch.

“Mom would be so proud,” Jack said.

“So, back to why you’re in such a great mood lately. Like the best mood you’ve been in since, like, a long time.”

“Since Zoey left you mean?”

“Well, yeah. You heard from her?”

“Nope.”

“You seeing somebody new?” Ryan studied his brother with deepening suspicion. “Wait a minute. I know that look. You’re not just seeing somebody. You’re sleeping with somebody.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jack said, tossing his burrito wrapper at the trash heap.

“Sure you do. You were moping around, moody and grouchy as hell, for weeks after Zoey took off. All during the wedding, you were a total sad bastard. But now, this past couple weeks, you’re Mister Happy Face. Mister Happy Face who’s getting laid on a regular basis. Even Torie’s noticed you were acting different.”

Jack hopped down off the tailgate. “Enough chitchat. Let’s go finish sanding that floor so we can get the first layer of stain put down before we knock off tonight. I told Libba we’d put down the first coat of poly tomorrow morning. The wedding’s less than three weeks away.”

“I’ll get back to work as soon as you tell me who the lucky lady is that you’re getting lucky with.” Ryan leaned back on his elbows and watched his older brother rebuckling his tool belt. “Is it somebody I know?”

Jack tried to look indignant. “I would never kiss and tell.”

“Sure you would. Come on, gimme something here. Some vicarious enjoyment.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You’re the one who’s still on his honeymoon.”

“Tell that to my bride. When Torie’s not barfing up her breakfast she’s locked herself in the bedroom crying about how fat her ass is getting.”

“Morning sickness? How long is that supposed to go on?”

“According to the stack of books on her bedside table, it’s usually for the first trimester. But we’re heading into week thirteen right now, and I don’t mind telling you, it’s been a long dry spell, if you know what I mean.”

Jack nodded sympathetically. “I feel for you.”

“Just gimme some details. It somehow makes my situation more bearable if I at least know my big brother is getting some.”

“Anybody ever tell you you’re a pig?”

“All the time. Who is she?”

“I haven’t even said I’m seeing somebody.”

“You don’t have to. I know the signs when I see ’em. Anyway, good for you. I was almost on the verge of agreeing to let Torie fix you up with one of her girlfriends.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

*   *   *

At the end of the day the two brothers climbed into Jack’s truck and steered it back across the Talmadge Memorial Bridge, home to Savannah. Their skin and clothes were coated with a thick dusting of sawdust, their clothes damp with sweat.

They listened to the radio and discussed the plan for the next day’s work.

“Other than not too much going on in the bedroom, how’s everything else going with you guys?” Jack asked.

“Good,” Ryan said. “I promised Torie we could go pick out a crib for the nursery this weekend. Which reminds me, I’ll drive myself tomorrow. I’m supposed to meet her at the doctor’s office at three. We’re going to see an ultrasound of the baby.”

“Cool. So you’ll know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

“That’s what they tell me.”

“I got five bucks says it’s a girl,” Jack said.

“That’s what Mom says too,” Ryan said. “I don’t care either way. Boy, girl, just so it’s healthy—and looks like her but has my temperament.”

“I heard that,” Jack said. “Do you guys see much of Torie’s folks?

“Not as much as they’d like. Torie talks to Lillian all the time. I try to keep my distance. Her old man’s all right—but Lillian? What a mouth that woman has on her. Swear to God, she wakes up every day and has a beef with somebody.”

“Like who?” Jack asked, trying to sound indifferent.

“Anybody. Everybody. The dry cleaner who melted a button on her favorite jacket, the neighbor whose cat keeps crapping in her garden. Oh yeah, her current obsession is with some silver piece she claims our wedding florist stole.”

“For real?”

“Yeah. It’s crazy. Remember Cara, from our wedding? Real cute gal. You danced with her at the reception.”

“I think I remember her,” Jack said vaguely.

“Anyway, after the reception was over, Torie’s folks went to the Bahamas for a getaway. When she got back, Cara returned all the silver they used at the reception. Except this one antique doohickey went missing. Apparently it’s pretty old, belonged to her grandmother or somebody. Lillian went ballistic. She went over there, accused Cara of stealing it, called the cops and everything.”

“Wow. That’s pretty radical.”

“Torie told Lillian that Cara wouldn’t do anything like that. You met Cara. She’s no thief. But once Lillian gets something in her head, she’s like a damn bulldog, keeps chewing and tussling, and nobody can call her off.”

“So what happens now? After she called in the cops?”

Ryan shrugged and wiped the sweat from his dust-caked forehead. “Some detective came over to talk to Lillian, then went to see Cara. They’ve talked to the assistant too. And I guess they’re checking pawn shops around town to see if it turns up.”

“But the cops aren’t gonna arrest the florist, right? I mean, they can’t prove she stole the thing, like you said.”

“For all we know, somebody took the damn thing home from the wedding with ’em. You were there, everybody was blitzed. In the meantime, Lillian is bad-mouthing poor Cara all over town.”

“Seems like a shame,” Jack said. “Can’t Torie do anything to calm Lillian down?”

“She’s tried. In fact, they had a big fight over it last weekend. Now Lillian’s not talking to Torie, which is fine by me.”

“In-laws.”

Jack turned the truck onto East Forty-sixth Street and pulled alongside the curb in front of his brother’s Craftsman bungalow. “Porch railing looks good,” he said, nodding toward the house.

“Yeah, it worked out okay,” Ryan said. He gathered his tools and stepped out of the truck. “See you in the morning. Remember, I don’t need you to pick me up.”

*   *   *

As soon as he’d dropped his brother off, Jack headed north, toward downtown. He found himself smiling, and whistling. Mister Happy Face, Ryan had called him. Maybe he was. Maybe he had something to smile about these days.

He found himself cruising slowly past Bloom, on West Jones Street. It was nearly seven, but Cara hadn’t brought in the garden cart full of plants she kept outside the shop. He halfway considered stopping and offering to help her bring it in, then, glancing down at himself, thought better of it. Maybe he’d go home, shower, then call and ask her out to dinner. Between all the weddings she always had on weekends, and his amped-up timetable for the Strayhorn project, they still hadn’t had what he considered a real date.

He picked up his cell phone and tapped her number. It rang three times, and then went to voicemail. Jack frowned. She must be working on something. He knew she had a wedding over the weekend, and that her assistant was slacking off.

“Hey, it’s me,” he said. “I just rolled past your place and it looks like you’re working. How about I take you out to dinner tonight? I’m headed home to shower. Call me, okay?”