“Thanks?”
I stare at my phone. Henry’s on standby. My heartbeat picks up and my palms sweat. Will there ever be a good time to do what we’re about to do?
“These goddamn heels are killing me, and I think I need a proper drink before going out to my fundraiser again. I make a killer bourbon with pressed basil. How about one?”
“Sure.” I watch my phone nervously, debating the timing for our plan.
She pulls off her heels, cracking her peach painted toes against the oriental rug before walking over to the bar cart.
Soon I’m sipping the best mixed drink I’ve ever had.
She takes a long swallow. “That’s real good. You know, I made one of these for Philip when he graduated from the College of Charleston. We sat on the front porch sipping them. He told me no one made them like I did.”
“He told me that too. In fact, he said we shouldn’t even try to make one because ours couldn’t top yours. We never even kept basil in our cocktail supplies.”
She smiles. “He was a good son.”
Between the drink and a good memory, she seems more relaxed. But I’m not. Beads of sweat pop out on my forehead. There’s never going to be a perfect time.
Best to pull the Band-Aid off.
I text Henry:Come on in.
Soon Henry and Frank Dubose show up at the French doors.
Mirabel gasps, her drink’s cubes rattling. Henry opens the door, letting Frank walk in first.
“It’s been a minute, Mirabel.”
My chest constricts at his voice. He sounds like Philip. Helookslike Philip, and I see how my husband would have aged if we’d had the chance to grow old together. Endearing sunspots from years in the Carolina sun stand out around his warm blue eyes; Frank’s sandy blond hair is fading in color but still thick. Although he’s close to seventy, he’s still a handsome man.
“Lizzie,” he says, nodding politely, as if we’ve met before.
“Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?” Mirabel snaps.
“Now, please listen, Ms. Wells. This isn’t an ambush. Frank here has some things to say,” Henry says gently, as he and Frank sit on the couch.
Mirabel sets her tumbler down on a porcelain coaster a tad hard, splashing some bourbon on the coffee table.
“Look, Mirabel, I know we had an arrangement years ago to all go our separate ways. But I’ve sure as hell never felt good about it. I’ve had a lot of sleepless nights, and I’ve thought of my son every day. You’ve done a good job with him. Law school, a good career, a successful wife. I just couldn’t be prouder.”
Mirabel’s lips tighten. “What’s your point, Frank?”
“My point is that it’s time to let sleeping dogs lie.”
“AndLila Mae?”
He chuckles. “Oh, she was raging mad. She made me sleep on the couch for a full three months. But if it makes you feel any better, at the time we were in a bit of a rough patch ourselves. I’d just found out she’d been carrying on with Senator McCullom.”
Henry’s eyes widen as he meets mine. I shrug at him discreetly.
“The short fella who looks like Elmer Fudd?” Mirabel asks.
“The one and only.”
“She could have done better than him.” Mirabel picks up her drink and takes a long sip.
“She sure could have. And imagine howIfelt—cuckolded by a man like him.” Frank laughs. “My point is, over the years, my wife and I have had our good and bad times, but especially recently, we’ve both softened. She cried with me when we heard about Philip’s death. And, Lizzie, I came to that funeral, watching from farther back in the graveyard. I felt just sick losing a son I never knew. When Henry started contacting us, we didn’t know what to do. Lila Mae and I clammed up. It took us a minute to open a door we’ve kept shut for years. We were cowards. Then we realized it’s just plain silliness to keep it up.”
