Page 75 of The Night the Lights Went Out
Merilee closed her eyes, and Sugar noticed how pale she was, and the dark circles under her eyes, which were more pronounced than usual. “This is not about you, Sugar. My whole life was turned around and inside out and I ended up here. I was lonelier than I’d been in a very long time, yet I was finally starting to make real friends and get involved again. And now...”
Sugar waited for Merilee to open her eyes before delivering the look she’d once reserved for her older brothers, or for the town council when she’d been mayor. The look that gave her the power to believe that she was stronger and braver than she probably was. “It’s not all about you, either, Merilee. Do you think you’re the only woman who’s ever had to live a life she hadn’t planned on? Or even wanted? Life is a hard business; we both know that. Sometimes you’re the bug, and sometimes you’re the windshield, and that will never change, no matter how old you get.”
Merilee’s face had paled and then flushed pink with anger. And then, to Sugar’s surprise, fat teardrops sprang from the corners of Merilee’s eyes. “I suppose I deserved that.”
“Yes, you did. And I’ll be danged if I’m just going to sit here and watch you feel sorry for yourself instead of getting back up on that horse. Don’t ask me what horse—it’s the horse you’ve been riding on ever since your divorce, afraid to fall off. Well, now you have. It’s not a sin to fall, you know. It’s only a sin if you never get back up.”
“I can’t pretend this didn’t happen. Somebody put it in a blog, for crying out loud.”
“There are worse things in life.” Sugar regarded her steadily and Merilee had the good sense to look contrite. Sugar continued. “Regardless, I believe the whole point of the blog was to urge people to learn the facts first before gossiping with half-truths. Whoever wrote that blog is on your side. And Heather did apologize, admitting—at least to you—that you were the wronged party.” Sugar frowned, looking at the enormous bouquet on the kitchen counter that had been delivered to Merilee with a handwritten note of apology from Heather.
“But I’m not you,” Merilee said. “I still claim to have a heart. I can’t just brush myself off and carry on like nothing’s happened.”
Whether or not Merilee had intended it, those words struck Sugar hard. She took a deep breath and straightened her back, listening as it popped in protest. “You and I and your real friends know that you did nothing wrong. Just like everybody knows that I have no business driving a little car. So pull up your big-girl panties and let’s go to the store. I’m out of sugar and if you force me to drink this dishwater one more time, I’ll complain to someone about elder abuse.” She slid her iced tea glass across the table toward Merilee.
Merilee was in the middle of sipping her tea and choked on a laugh, a few drops running down her chin. “Did you really just say that?”
Having succeeded in lightening Merilee’s mood, Sugar leaned heavily on the table and stood. Picking up her pocketbook, she hung it over her forearm and walked to the front door, peering through the screen. “Speak of the devil,” she said under her breath as Merilee joined her at the door.
A shiny halo of blond hair appeared over the steering wheel of a familiar black SUV—foreign, of course—the various country club and neighborhood gate stickers plastered in a row on the side of the windshield. It would be convenient to have those as an easy reference just in case a person ever forgot where they lived.
“I wonder why she’s here,” Merilee said.
Knowing how Heather liked to hear herself talk, Sugar found her way to one of the front room chairs to wait. “Whatever it is, make sure you let her know that you’re madder than a wet hen about what happened.”
Merilee looked at her with surprise. “I’m not...” She stopped, the crease that had formed between her brows not disappearing as she turned to face Heather. She stepped back to open the door as Heather reached her, crossing the threshold with a long garment bag.
“Hello, Sugar,” Heather said sweetly. “Always nice to see you.” She smiled brightly, making something curl in the pit of Sugar’s stomach.
Sugar grimaced in response.
Heather then turned to Merilee and opened her mouth to speak, but Merilee cut her off. “I want you to know that I’m still madder than... uh, very upset about what happened. Mostly because it could so easily have been avoided if you’d just communicated with Daniel. Or anyone, really. Even your beach house neighbor, Rachel Evans. Something so easy as a phone call would have made a world of difference.”
Heather’s shoulders sagged, although she was careful not to let the garment bag sag, too. Instead, she moved forward and placed it carefully across the sofa before turning to Merilee. “I know, I know, I know. I have been beating myself up about it ever since it happened. There’s just been so much going on with the gala and all, and with Brooke being sick I let some of the details fall through the cracks. And I have made a vow to myself to never let my cell phone out of my sight so that I am reachable twenty-four/seven. Especially on days when I’ve given both Claire and Patricia time off. I can’t tell you how awful I feel.”
Heather began to tear up and Merilee hastily grabbed a box of Kleenex off the counter and thrust it at her. If Sugar could move a little quicker, she’d whip the used tissue from Heather’s hand and analyze it for actual moisture. She wondered for a moment if, with all the scientific advances these days, they’d developed a test for crocodile tears.
“I really am sorry,” Heather said, embracing Merilee in a bear hug. Completely unmoved, Sugar just stared at her.
Heather pulled away but kept her hands on Merilee’s shoulders so she could look directly in her face. “All forgiven? We’re still friends?”
Merilee nodded. “Of course. I am upset, but I do understand how these things happen.”
Heather beamed. “Wonderful. We’ll have to plan another girls’ trip when Daniel is at home so we can go and have a truly relaxing trip. Deal?”
With a look of relief, Merilee said, “Deal.”
Sugar just rolled her eyes.
Heather turned around and lifted the garment bag. “Want to see your surprise?”
“Is it my dress?”
Heather nodded enthusiastically as she began to unzip the bag from the top. “Yes. My dress was ready and when I got there they said yours was ready, too. If there are still alterations to be made, I’ll be happy to run you up there for some adjustments.”
She pulled the gown free from the bag and lifted up the hanger. “What do you think?”
The gown hardly looked real. It was something Ginger Rogers or Carole Lombard would have worn in one of the old black-and-white movies or to the Oscars. It was refined and elegant, with a kind of material Sugar had no words for.
