Page 46 of The Night the Lights Went Out
Heather tapped an elegant finger against her champagne glass. “Will you be bringing Michael as your escort to the gala?”
Merilee almost choked on her mouthful of champagne. “Oh, gosh. No. Do I need a date? I was planning on going solo.”
Heather moved her head from side to side, as if weighing options. “Well, I suppose youcould, but you would most likely be the only single woman there. Plus it will make my table lopsided. I’ve decided to put you at the head table with Daniel and me and some other VIPs—but it will look out of place if we have an odd number of chairs.”
“Can’t you just put an extra chair at the table? Then we can pretend that my date had to cancel last minute because of some emergency.”
“Surely you have a male friend you could bring,” Heather said, her eyes narrowed in concentration, as if going through a Rolodex of possibilities in her mind. She looked up suddenly, her eyes now wide with excitement. “Or, as a last resort, do you have a brother?”
The champagne in Merilee’s mouth turned suddenly sour. “I did,” she said slowly. “But he died when he was a boy.”
Heather grabbed her hand and squeezed, and Merilee found herself squeezing back. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the look of compassion in Heather’s eyes, but Merilee found herself drawn to her, and maybe even hopeful that this could be her first real female friendship in her new life.
Heather drew back, her head tilted to the side the way some people study artwork. “Just to throw it out there, but what about Wade Kimball? And let me tell you, that man knows how to fill out a tuxedo.”
Merilee drained her champagne glass, more to give herself a chance to come up with a response and less because of her need for more alcohol. She placed her hand over the rim when Heather picked up the bottle to pour more. “Wade?” She shook her head, thinking of a thousand reasons why not and then grabbing at the most obvious. “Wouldn’t that be awkward for you? And Dan? You once had a... relationship with Wade, from what I understand. We’d be at the same table.”
Heather flicked her wrist in the same way she’d done at La Perla when dismissing a particular bra as being too lacy. “We’re all mature adults, and Daniel and I have a very secure marriage—neither one of us will have a problem, and I know Wade won’t. Our relationship was forever ago—when we were practically children. I once thought Wade was the man for me—way back when. Before I realized that who you think you want and need in your twenties isn’t always the same man you want and need in your thirties and forties.”
Merilee wanted to tell her that, yes, it could be. That she’d once imagined being with Michael in the nursing home, where they’d park their wheelchairs next to each other and talk about their grandchildren.
“That may be,” Merilee said instead. “But I don’t really know Wade. And I certainly don’t want to give him the wrong impression by inviting him. It would be like going on a date when I have absolutely no intention of dating. Not for a long while, anyway.”
“Ah,” Heather said, tapping her nails against her glass. “You’re imagining you’re still in love with your husband.”
The way she eagerly nodded in agreement reminded Merilee of why she didn’t drink very often. It was humiliating the way she became such an emotionally open book whenever alcohol was involved. “If he asked me to come back tomorrow, I have this terrible feeling that I’d say yes.”
“The same man who left you for your daughter’s teacher and then knocked her up?” In response to Merilee’s surprise, Heather added, “I read that blog, too, so I know. And I think what they did to you is despicable. He didn’t deserve you and you should be glad to be rid of him.”
Merilee reached for a tissue from a box in the center console and wiped her eyes. “I know. But I still can’t imagine going out with another man. Not for a while. Besides, what would my children think?”
Heather raised an eyebrow. “Well then, it’s settled. You have to invite Wade. I think he’s thedistractionyou need right now. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. I’m sure the children like him and won’t have any objection, and Michael will get the comeuppance he deserves when he hears about it or—better yet—sees photos from the gala on Facebook. You really need a page, by the way. It’s the best way for Michael to see what you’ve been up to without him. I could even set it up for you if you’d like. Just let me know what password you’d like to use, and then all you’ll have to do is post beautiful photos of you having fun at the gala with Wade. And anything else you’d like to post.” Heather sent her a wicked smile that would have made Merilee blush if she’d been sober.
As sick as the entire idea was, it did have a certain appeal. Merilee removed her hand from the top of the glass and allowed Heather to refill it. After taking a healthy sip, she said, “All right. I’ll invite Wade. It’s just one evening, right? And if you and Dan are okay with it, then I say let’s do it.”
They raised their glasses again and clinked them together before Merilee sank back into the seat of the car and let the glow of the champagne and the day wash over her, allowing herself to ignore the niggling thoughts of how Heather knew she didn’t have a Facebook page and how she was going to ask a guy for a date after being out of practice for more than a decade.
Sixteen
THE PLAYING FIELDS BLOG
Observations of Suburban Life from Sweet Apple, Georgia
Written by: Your Neighbor
Installment #6: Biker Chicks and Football
Long before there’s a snap in the air, we here in the South are regaled with SEC football in all its glory. You will be considered unpatriotic if you don’t have your school flags flapping from your car windows or at least an affiliation bumper sticker or license plate to show your allegiance.
To our newcomers from outside the Southeast, learn to live with it. SEC football is as much a part of us as sweet tea and grits. In September, start planning your tailgate party menus, because that’s the only way you can expect any kind of social life on a Saturday for the entire season. Or at least have the biggest TV screen in the neighborhood. The good thing about football is that you don’t have to understand the game to enjoy a good tailgate party.
And don’t dismiss family loyalties. I know of a couple where the husband went to Alabama and the wife went to Auburn, and they had to seek marriage counseling after every season. Their daughter started at Alabama and then finished up at Auburn because she couldn’t take the stress of choosing one over the other. Now, that’s loyalty.
Another thing I’ve been noticing, now that the weather has gone from one hundred percent humidity to only ninety, and the temperature is now safely down from the heatstroke-inducing nineties, is that the bikers are out in force. Not motorcyclists—we don’t have many of those in our little Sweet Apple suburb. I’m talking about the foot-pedaling, Lycra-wearing (whether they can pull it off or not), sweat-covered bike people who love to travel in packs and exercise their right to use the roadways for their recreational use.
Now, I’m all about being healthy and making good lifestyle choices. Obviously, a lot of my neighbors are, too, judging by the number of Pilates, yoga, and fitness studios that have spread like kudzu within our city limits in the past few years. But I can’t help but wonder if these bike people might also have death wishes. In a town where many of our roads are narrow, winding, hilly, and with no shoulders, it does give you something to ponder when you’re coming around a bend going forty-five and nearly run into a herd of them, their little fanny packs shifting from side to side as the riders pump their muscled calves to make it to the top of the hill and, presumably, make their hearts stronger. I wonder if they have any idea how close they just came to making their heartbeats permanently stop.
Luckily, we have a lot of roads with bike paths, and even the Greenway, which goes on for miles, through several counties, with no motor vehicle access. It’s made for those of you who like to exercise outdoors either on foot or on a bike that probably costs more than your monthly mortgage. I’m not judging. Perhaps we motorists should hand out flyers with a map of these locations every time we pass a biker. We could be saving a life.
