Read The Strangers on Montagu Street Online
Authors: Karen White
Tags: #Romance, #Psychological, #Contemporary, #Fiction
The Strangers on Montagu Street (25 page)
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I straightened and gently pulled my arm away, understanding exactly what she meant. “I need to discuss it with Nola and her father. I’ll be in touch.”
“You do that,” she said, turning her back on me as Dee wheeled her away. I didn’t wait to see how they managed to fit the old lady and her wheelchair in the Beetle, and hurriedly ran up the steps and closed the door behind me.
I was halfway across the foyer when the radio upstairs blasted on again, “I’m Just Getting Started” playing as loudly as before. Without a word, I detoured to the stairs, knowing that I would find the radio unplugged when I went to Nola’s room to turn it off, and knowing, too, that Julia Manigault’s visit today had nothing at all to do with teaching music.
CHAPTER 15
I
had just slipped on my nightgown when my mother tapped on my bedroom door. After I told her to come in, she stuck her head around the edge of the door and said, “I have a surprise for you.”
had just slipped on my nightgown when my mother tapped on my bedroom door. After I told her to come in, she stuck her head around the edge of the door and said, “I have a surprise for you.”
She walked in, a dress bag from Berlins draped over one arm. “I think I found your dress for the party.”
“Mother! You went shopping without me?”
“We figured it would be better that way.”
“‘We’?”
“Sophie, Nola, and me.”
There was a heavy pause as her words sank in. Slowly, I said, “You took Sophie and Nola to help pick out a dress for me?” I looked at the bag in horror.
“Technically, no. I took Nola shopping—the poor girl needs clothes that fit in a desperate way—and brought Sophie along to help with that. Sophie knows all the young, hip stores and I don’t.”
I was having trouble trying to sort through what my mother was telling me. “So you let Sophie pick out clothes for Nola?” I looked around the room. “There’s a hidden camera in here somewhere, isn’t there?”
My mother turned to the tall armoire behind her and hooked the hanger on one of the doors before unrolling the plastic bag from the bottom. Gradually, something silky and deep, dark red began to appear. “Don’t be ridiculous, Mellie. I said Sophie knows where to shop, not
how
to shop. Nola has a good sense of style. It might not be our style, but she makes it work for her. She knows how to put things together that give her that edgy California-artist look that suits her. Sophie just puts anything together so that she looks like a train wreck, but that somehow suits her, too.”
how
to shop. Nola has a good sense of style. It might not be our style, but she makes it work for her. She knows how to put things together that give her that edgy California-artist look that suits her. Sophie just puts anything together so that she looks like a train wreck, but that somehow suits her, too.”
She finished unwrapping the dress, blocking it from my view as if she wasn’t ready to reveal it yet. “When I told the saleslady at Berlins what I was looking for, she brought me this dress and I knew this was the one.” She stepped aside with a flourish of both arms. “What do you think?”
I stared at the red silk confection, thinking that it belonged more on a starlet on the red carpet than hanging in my bedroom. It was off-the-shoulder, with a plunging sweetheart neckline. The midsection was gathered in to accentuate the waist, then flared in a tango-style hem past the hips. It was . . . exquisite.
“I can’t wear that,” I said, my voice harsher than I’d intended.
“Why not?” She sounded hurt.
More gently, I said, “It’s a very beautiful dress.” My mouth opened and closed a few times as I searched for a reason, not completely sure I knew what it was. I continued. “But I can’t wear it because for one I’d need a turtleneck to wear under it so nobody could see my navel. And for two because it’s, well, it’s . . . it’s not me.”
She crossed her arms and lowered her chin. “This dress
is
you. Or the you that you never allow anybody else to see. You’re not all businesswoman, Mellie. You’re also a very attractive woman who could use a dress like this to build up her confidence.”
is
you. Or the you that you never allow anybody else to see. You’re not all businesswoman, Mellie. You’re also a very attractive woman who could use a dress like this to build up her confidence.”
“I am confident! I couldn’t be successful if I weren’t.”
“Yes, confident at work. But what about with men? You hide behind your power suits and pearls when you’re working. But when you put on a dress like this, you have to rely on your other . . . assets.”
I stared pointedly at the neckline. “I don’t have any other . . . assets.”
My mother threw back her head and laughed. “That’s not what I was talking about, but not to worry. See the ruching here?” She pointed to the gathered silk that wrapped across the breasts. “It gives extra volume just where you need it.”
I shook my head, trying to clear the image of me wearing that dress. And Jack walking toward me . . .
As if reading my mind, my mother said, “I think Jack will like it.”
I stepped closer to the dress, pretending to study it more closely to hide my face. “Why do you care what Jack thinks?”
“Because you obviously do. I’m assuming it was his voice I heard in here last night.”
My cheeks heated. “It’s not what you’re thinking. He came by last night to check on Nola, since she was so upset when we left Julia Manigault’s house. I wouldn’t have let him in, but apparently he has a key.” I looked pointedly at my mother. “What were you thinking, giving him a key?”
My mother feigned innocence. “His daughter is living here with me. I thought it made sense so he could come and go as he wanted.” Fluffing out the bottom of the dress, she said, “There were some delectable shoes in the window at Bob Ellis, but you can do that on your own. They’re carrying Ann Roth shoes there now—remember the tapestry ones I bought that you love so much? Anyway, Sophie and Nola had joined me by then, and I don’t think that store has ever seen Birkenstocks cross their threshold. I didn’t want anybody to get upset.”
Facing the armoire, she slipped the plastic back over the dress. “Go ahead and try it on. It’s your size and I know it will look fabulous on you, but I kept the receipt just in case you want to chicken out and buy something bland that a debutante would wear to the St. Cecilia ball.”
I frowned as she kissed me good night on the cheek, wondering why I couldn’t shake the image of Jack seeing me in that red dress, and why the thought didn’t horrify me as much as it should.
I was in the kitchen making myself a cup of cocoa and finishing off a box of doughnut holes before I went to bed when Jack brought Nola home. When Jack had said earlier that he was taking Nola out to dinner to get Julia Manigault to leave, I’d never expected it to really happen. I suppose that Jack’s valiant defense of Nola in front of a roomful of people made her decide to lighten up a bit where he was concerned and actually agree to spend time alone with him.
I peered out of the kitchen in time to see Nola, with a deep scowl on her face, stomping up the stairs while Jack stood at the bottom frowning as he stared up at her.
“Good night, Nola,” he called up to her.
She slammed the door in response.
“So dinner went well,” I said, leaning against the doorjamb and taking a sip from my mug.
He saw me for the first time. “Better than a sharp stick in the eye, anyway.” He spotted my mug. “What are you drinking?”
“Hot cocoa.” I jerked my head in the direction of the kitchen. “Come on; I’ll make you some.”
“You do know it’s summer, right?” he asked, following me into the kitchen.
“Yeah, but there’s never a wrong time for hot cocoa.”
“I was actually talking about what you’re wearing.”
I filled the kettle and set it on the stove. “We got the air conditioner fixed, so my mother feels like she needs to make up for lost time by cranking it down to subzero temperatures.”
“It actually feels pretty good in here to me.”
I dumped four teaspoons of cocoa into a large mug, then remembered it wasn’t for me and returned two teaspoons back to the container. “I’m pretty cold-natured,” I said, licking the spoon before remembering I needed it to stir in the water.
“I’ve heard that before,” he said, smiling innocently at me as I dumped the spoon in the sink and took a clean one out of the drawer.
I waited for the kettle to whistle, then poured the hot water into the mug before handing it to Jack with the spoon. “Don’t burn yourself.”
“I’ve heard that before, too,” he said quietly as he blew on his mug.
I took a long sip of cocoa, needing something to open my throat again. “So, where did you go to dinner?”
“Cru Café. I hadn’t been there in a while but thought Nola might like it. They’ve got a great menu and a cool atmosphere.”
“Yeah, but do they have vegan choices?”
He leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips on his mug. “Not exactly. They were very accommodating, however, and came up with a pasta-and-risotto dish that Nola seemed to like. She even ordered dessert, which surprised me.”
“Good. So the dinner itself wasn’t a disaster.”
“It wasn’t. The food was great, and I actually thought that we were getting along. We stayed away from sore subjects—like her mom, and why I wasn’t there while she was growing up. We talked about things like her favorite bands, the differences between California and South Carolina, palmetto bugs.” He flashed his award-winning grin at me. “Important things like that.”
“So why was she so angry just now?”
“Because I made the mistake when I was standing out on the porch with her of telling her that I thought her mother would want her to pursue her musical talents.” He shrugged. “She’s obviously gifted—we all heard her, so it’s not like I’m the only one who thinks so. And she told me something tonight that explained a lot about why she runs away every time somebody wants to tell her how musically gifted she is.”
I leaned forward, my hands cupping the cooling mug. “She says it’s because she hates music, but she’s never without it—either singing it or listening to it. When she thinks I’m not around, she’ll listen to the classical music station. The one thing she won’t do is pick up her mother’s guitar. I’ve yet to hear her strum a note.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. That’s sort of what I figured out tonight. Nola told me that music made her feel like the ugly stepsister. That’s all she’d say on the subject, but it spoke volumes. I think Nola considered music to be her mother’s favorite child. It was the one thing Bonnie sacrificed everything for—including her flesh-and-blood daughter. Nola didn’t fail her; her music did. Bonnie always had dreams of driving along and hearing one of her songs on the radio. I guess after so many years of trying, she finally gave up, feeling the music had failed her. And that’s when she killed herself. Nola must believe that she wasn’t enough of a reason for her mother to stick around. That without the music, Bonnie didn’t see anything else worth living for.”
I regarded Jack silently for a long moment, watching as he drained his mug, then slid it away from him. “I didn’t expect that from you.”
He looked at me warily. “Expect what?”
“For you to be so astute. For a guy, that was pretty insightful”
His eyes met mine, making me nervous. “I’ve said this before, Mellie, but I think it bears repeating. There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
My leg started jiggling, a nervous habit I’d had since childhood, and I stood quickly so he wouldn’t notice, then picked up both mugs. “For what it’s worth, I think you might be right. Obviously, there were the drugs and alcohol that heavily influenced Bonnie’s decision, but Nola’s only thirteen. It would make sense that somebody that young who’d lived the life she did would reach that conclusion.” I placed the mugs in the sink. “So what do we do now?”
“We?”
I paused, wondering why I’d said that inclusive word as well. And why it had come so naturally. I told myself it was because I liked Nola and I wasn’t ready to let her start navigating her life without me, but even I wasn’t so adept at lying to myself that I actually thought that was the only reason. Plastering a smile on my face, I turned and leaned against the counter, my arms crossed in front of me. “Jack, you have a teenage daughter. In the not-so-distant future she’ll be dating boys. Boys like the boy you used to be. Do you really want to handle it alone?”
His face sobered. “I’m sure there are convents in Ireland where I can send her until she’s ready to date. Around the age of thirty or so.”
My own smile faltered as I considered something else. “Unless, of course, Rebecca wants to step in.”
Jack slid back his chair and snorted. “Who do you think gave me the convent idea?”
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