Page 40 of Heart of Dixie
I rose and poked my head into the pantry, then into the refrigerator, then resumed my seat at the table. Beth’s eyebrow flew up again.
“Making sure there’s Gatorade and aspirin for our hangovers, and bacon and eggs for breakfast. We may still be sitting here.”
“Which again begs the question . . . Why would you want to spend the night—and subsequently, breakfast—with me instead of Deke?”
My heart couldn’t decide if it wanted to race or plummet at the idea of being separated from Deke now that we had been reunited. “Can I just say that we spent some wonderful time together but he and I both know it can’t go anywhere so it’s better to just let it drop? Are we supposed to try the long-distance relationship thing? I don’t see that working out. Am I supposed to go back to California and wait for him to follow me, pledging his undying love?”
The dreamy look Beth wore came naturally to her. As natural as the disbelieving grunt that erupted from my lips.
“Beth, the more time I spend with him, the more I believe I was right to leave. It led to him leaving, and look what he did for himself. He’s wonderful! He’s brilliant, and empathetic, and caring. He may have been all that if he stayed, but he wouldn’t have the career he has now.” This was a certainty. “And you know I’m not talking about his career as a teacher. I’m talking about the work he does with automotive technology.”
Beth’s dreamy look was back. “You always did have a crush on him. For as long as I can remember.”
Yeah, okay. I could safely admit that. “I did, didn’t I? He always was cute. And nice to me when others treated me like trailer trash. He helped my mama plant her geraniums the spring before she left. It was the last time my daddy was nice to him . . .” I let my voice trail off as I rose to throw what was left of my dinner in the trash. My appetite was gone.
Beth stood and followed me to scrape her plate. “I just got a new face mask that’s supposed to give my tired skin new life.” She pinched her cheeks. “Let’s try it out, then take the rest of the wine into my walk-in closet and you can help me pick outsomething to wear on Tuesday while we trash Olivia and her evil ways?”
I gestured toward her attire with a Groucho Marx leer as I mimed wagging a cigar between my fingers. “And maybe you can slip your sexiness into something more comfortable?”
She lost no time shedding clothes along the hallway as I followed behind. “Sure. And you can show off whatever designer outfit you brought to wear to pay your respects to your daddy.”
I let my arms drop to my sides. Crap! Chances were good I’d get the stink eye once she got a look at the dress I brought along for Cooter’s funeral.
Minutes later,Beth reclined on the floor of her walk-in closet, dressed in her cotton underwear and a pair of beige designer studded sandals we picked up in the garment district last summer, surrounded by every item of clothing she owned. But it wasn’t her wardrobe that had captured what was left of her focus. It wasn’t the glass of red she held, either—her fourth. It was my dress that she grasped in her free hand in blatant disbelief. And her inability to form coherent speech.
“Dixie . . .” I’d run for a glass of water when she first dropped to the floor, and shoved it in her mask-encrusted face. She waved it away. “Bless your heart, darlin’, but this simply won’t do.” She gave my dress a one-handed shake, then held it before her as if hoping it had magically changed. “You understand that, don’t you? You’re pulling my leg, right? This is your idea of a practical joke?” She drew the dress in to her chest, her eyes beseeching me.
She was taking this far worse than I’d expected. I gave it, and thenher, a narrowed glance. “Still planning to wear that, Beth. It’s a pretty color, it’s not slutty, it’s—”
“Red! Cheese and rice, Dixie, your dress isred! You can’t wear that. What were you thinking?”
I bought it to dance at Cooter’s funeral, that’s what I was thinking.But after only a few days back in Kissing Creek, the idea didn’t sit as well.Dammit!I stuck my chin out. “It’s flattering, and I hate black.” I reached for the wadded bundle. “Now, give it back before you tear it and I have to show up naked. That’ll give you a scandal, all right!” I tugged at the fabric in her hands.
She yanked back.
Riiiip!
Her eyes went as big as the peonies planted out back. Then she slumped forward in a fit of giggles.
For a moment, I could only stare at the dress in my hands. It seemed fine. But the jagged sleeve that dangled from Beth’s fingers told a different story. Laughter bubbled up in my throat, and the corners of my mouth wanted to curve up in a frivolous grin. How many times—how manyhours—had we spent being silly and foolish and young. This reminded me so much of those times. This felt good.
“Ilikedthat dress!”
“I liked that dress, too, but it wasn’t right. Just like that prissy business suit you’re wearing to our pajama party isn’t right. Don’t you ownanythingcasual or fun? You used to live in jeans and boots.” She assessed me head to toe from her position on the floor. “Do all your shoes have pointy heels? They might be good for taking out a mugger, but other than a recent outbreak of petty vandalisms, we don’t have much crime around here.”
I considered everything I had packed away in my luggage down the hall and gave my hair a toss to cool my neck. It was warm in the closet. “You already know I own a pair of jeans, even if they are of the designer and well-embellished variety.” And Imight have a dirty little secret buried in my closet back home, but it wasn’t quite time to sharethatwith anyone.
“One pair of jeans. I’m not impressed. You must have something else that doesn’t make people think you have a pole permanently lodged up your butt. Cute little dresses or shorts, maybe? What do you wear when you go out with your girlfriends? You need to bust out the fun stuff around here. And your boots.” She made a slashing motion. “No more high heels.”
I drew my eyebrows together. “I wear yoga pants around the house; does that count? I even wore a sundress the other day.”
She seemed to consider it. “It’s a start. But seriously, you can’t wear those suits all the time. They’re too stuffy for you. And if you do, stop that!” I did wear my suits every day. My clients expected to work with a professional.Even though they usually acted like teenagers.
The nudge I gave her with my toe was meant to annoy her, as she’d been gradually irking me with her poking and nagging. “Hell, Beth, you’re pretty bossy when you’ve been drinking. I don’t remember that.”Or maybe we never got wasted before.She tossed off the layer of clothing she was buried under and struggled to her feet.
Her arm was pointing me out of the little room before she was completely upright. “Go put on something that doesn’t make me think of you sitting at a fancy desk doing work you hate; I’ll search through my clothes and find something to replace your torn dress.”
Her words stopped me as I left the closet I’d kill to have. “I love my job. Madelyn and I worked hard to build our clientele.” Beth lowered her chin and raised her brow.What did I care whether she believed me?“You won’t find anything for me to wear in here.” The notion was preposterous. I was at least four inches taller than her, and the last time we shared even a bra size we also shared Agnes Philburn’s sixth-grade classroom. Butthe business suit I wore to her house for a casual evening just seemed starchy. Maybe she had something more casual I could slip into. On a lark, I sorted through the clothes strewn around, then flipped through those still hanging from the rods. Beth could have been in Tahiti for all the notice I gave her.
