“I wish you’d tell me what else bothers you.” Daisy drilled Corina with her gaze, one friend detecting another’s sorrow. “I can’t help it, I just see something else in your countenance. Is it because you left a twin? Does that make it worse?”
“Yes, twins . . .” There. Nice and safe. And true. But with no need to expose her journey with Prince Stephen.
“Corina, I cannot imagine . . .” Daisy gripped her hand. “You know I’m always here for you.”
“And I love you for it.”
Daisy had been patient since Carlos’s death, giving Corina space, filling her days with her own life and family. But always, during the dark years of grieving, Daisy popped around the house a few times a year, trying to draw Corina out.
But Corina found it hard to shower Daisy’s joy with her dark rain.
“I had a dream about you,” Daisy began, slow, staring off, remembering. “You were . . .” She laughed. “You’ll love this . . . A princess.”
Corina made sure she laughed. Loud and quick. “Oh, that’s rich.”
“I mean, what made me have such a dream? But it was so real.” Daisy’s merriment faded as she turned a serious eye toward Corina. “You were so happy. Your eyes radiated this glow . . . of joy. You were married to Prince Stephen of Brighton.”
Daisy’s last words sucked the air out of Corina. She faltered backward, trying to breathe, chills racing down her arms despite the Georgia heat.
“Oh my!” She jammed her hands on her waist and tried to laugh, but the thin air in her lungs only produced a shallow exhale. “Th–that’s something . . . anightmare. . . that’s what. Me, a princess? All those photographers chasing you about, blogs and newspapers picking on your clothes and hair. Duchess Kate is a saint if you ask me.”
“No, Corina,” Daisy said, more somber than before. “You’d be a perfect princess. You’re practically one now. But what struck me was how happy you were. I woke up in tears, really.”
From inside the SUV, one of the girls screamed while the other called, “Mama!”
Daisy angled down to see through the open window. “Betsy, sugar, I told you not to open your juice lid.” Daisy smiled at Corina. “She spilled it all over herself, and she hates being wet. She’ll cry all the way home.”
“Go, you have better things to do than stand here with me.”
“I don’t know about better, but . . .” With a smile, Daisy pulled Corina into a hug. And for a fleeting second, Corina cradled her cheek on her friend’s shoulder and left a piece of her burden there.
Daisy gave her signature horn toot as she crept down the drive. Corina waved, her bags at her feet, the reality of Daisy’s dream the first kiss on her heart that God heard her prayers.
Did it mean she’d reconcile with Stephen? She had no idea, but for now she had an ounce more courage, and that was worth something.
Ida Mae, Mama’s maid, with her tan, fleshy arms pumping, opened the door, a smile on her broad face. “Land sakes alive, get in here, girl.” She snagged Corina in a bosomy, vanilla-cinnamon hug. “Why didn’t you call ahead? I’d have made dumplings.”
“I’m only here for a few hours.” Corina peered into the aging woman’s snappy brown eyes. “How about when I get back? Dumplings and apple pie.”
The maid’s eyes misted. “I’ve been missing you.” She wiped her tears with the edge of her apron. “Tell me, how’s Florida? It’s just not the same since you’ve been gone.” She paused for a silent beat.And Carlos.
“Florida is fine.” Corina looped her arm around her old friend. “I’m here for my passport and the Diamatia. I’m flying out of Atlanta to Brighton tonight.”
“T–the Diamatia, you say?” Ida Mae’s eyes enlarged and she angled away from Corina. “W–well, ain’t that nice? I–I could’ve sent it down to you.”
“Just found out I needed it on Monday and it’s been crazy . . . You okay, Ida Mae?”
The woman nodded, inhaling deeply. “What you be needing the dress for?”
“I’m covering a movie premier in Cathedral City Monday night.”And winning back my husband.
Ida Mae sighed, folding her hands over her heart. “I sure do miss our summers on Brighton’s shores.”
The maid had been a part of the Del Rey family since Daddy and Mama were newlyweds. Never married, she traveled with them to their homes in Hawaii, Colorado, and Vermont, and the every-other summers in Brighton. She was family. Mama’s best friend, if her mother was honest.
More than the aristocratic society ladies with whom she luncheoned and ran charities. Because in Mama’s darkest hour, Ida Mae had been her comfort. Her friends were nowhere to be found. Grief manhandled some folks.
“I miss Brighton too.” Truth? She did. “And oh, Ida Mae, you’ll like this. I’m working on an interview with Clive Boston.”
