Page 1 of Keeping My Wife
Prologue
Maxine
It was a blustery day in October when my grandmother was buried. Halloween, of all days to be exact.
I stared at the mausoleum on the edge of Indigo Valley’s St. Christopher’s cemetery. The structure was hidden in the trees and yet could be seen from every gravesite on the sprawling piece of land. Typical of the Delacroix family.
Always on display and yet apart.
She had a good turnout. At least eighty people had showed up to pay their respects to my mother and me.
I glanced over at my mother with her big black sunglasses and far too tight black dress. At least she’d had the good sense to wear a black coat to cover most of it. Didn’t help that the front of the coat was open to show her abundant breasts. Not to mention the insolent mobster want-to-be with his arm around her waist propping her up.
As usual, my mother was either drunk or high. Probably both.
Her current man of the hour—Brian? Benny? Whatever—stood beside her.
She always found a rich guy to take care of her. At least for a little while. Until they passed her over for a newer, shinier model. Marcella Delacroix was still a beautiful woman and she played the elegant, helpless heiress for all its worth. She attracted men who wanted to take care of her and liked the prestige of our name to elevate their own status.
I wasn’t sure what she was going to do now.
My grandmother, Lucinda Delacroix, was the last of a legacy. My mother certainly hadn’t added to the lore of our family. She’d just used the generational wealth to keep her in the lavish lifestyle she’d grown up in.
I didn’t realize the ceremony was over until my mother’s priest, Father Gentry, stood in front of me with his hands outstretched. I blinked out of my thoughts and took his hands. “Thank you, Father.”
“Of course. Lucinda will be missed. If you need anything, simply ask.” He had a kind, lived in face. I vaguely remembered going to Christmas mass with my grandmother and enjoying his sermon.
Then came the barrage of townspeople. The mayor with her fake smile and shrill voice. The people from the congregation who always showed up to a funeral. I recognized faces over names and took the condolences like tiny punches. I couldn’t tell the difference between people showing up for optics versus those who actually cared about my family.
Oh, there were a few who were simply kind, like Mr. and Mrs. Murdock, my best friends since high school Gus and Eloise, and my grandmother’s caregiver. However, I was intensely glad I’d opted out of a gathering after the funeral.
I didn’t know any of these people anymore. I’d escaped Indigo Valley the minute I was able to. And now I was back and nothing felt real or right. Finally, when everyone was gone—including my mother—I stared at the massive stone structure.The Delacroix name etched into the marble slab over the opening like an echo to a long-ago time.
Much like my grandmother.
“Are you okay?” My best friend’s voice was soft and uncertain.
My eyes were dry as I patted, Eloise Cross’s hand on my arm, but didn’t look away from the massive stone structure. “I just need a minute.”
“I’ll be at the car.”
I wasn’t sure if I nodded or not. The last three days had been a blur. I tucked my hands into my black coat, needing a moment as the wind and decaying leaves whirled around me.
Lucinda was now resting with her beloved Henry. She’d lived a good long life. For all her faults, she’d been a cornerstone of support when I’d left this small town to pursue my dreams. My mother never understood my need to work, nor the need to prove I was more than just a Delacroix.
In Georgia, no one cared who I was which had been both good and bad.
Back here, I was one of the founding families. My grandfather had made his money in textiles and then the stock market. He’d made several lifetime’s worth of money and helped to build up this town into what it was.
Now, somehow, the legacy was just this stone mausoleum and the grand house on the hill.
I stepped up to the door and placed my palm on the marble. “Bye, Gram.”
The tears were trapped inside my chest. I still had so much to do.
And now, I had to deal with the will.
I walked across the headstone dotted landscape to the black limo waiting for me. When I opened the door, I found my mother slumped against the man who was idly scrolling on hisphone. Eloise sat on the bench across from them, her hands folded in her lap, her usual riot of strawberry blond curls tamped down in a simple French braid.
