Dead to Her(25)

Shopping, she decided. She’d go shopping. Buy herself some new clothes. Revamp her look. Something less middle-aged. Something cool like the stuff the kids wore at the club. The kids. They were only a year or two younger than Keisha, most of them. Shopping always made her feel better—adding to her possessions so she didn’t have to face how lonely she was. Jason had brought her into this world, and all she had now was him. She didn’t share the years of friendship the others had. She didn’t have coworkers to laugh with. She really had nothing of her own anymore except Jason, and now they were broken.

She wanted to wear her vintage Hermès scarf tied around her throat like a sixties movie star. She loved that scarf. It made her feel bold rather than a pale ghost of a beauty who once was. Where had she put it?

She groaned. The last place she’d worn it had been to the Mission. Her heart sank. And it was Wednesday today. If she went to pick it up the other volunteers would all side-eye guilt her into staying for her two-hour shift, the one she’d promised Virginia she’d try to do.

Just needed the bathroom.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to go and do the hours. There could come a time when she’d need these friends on her side and as much as there was something snide about Virginia, she’d make a better ally than an enemy if Jason was doing the dirty. Women tended to rally in those situations in a there but for the grace of God go I kind of way.

The Mission then, she thought, leaving her glorious new house that now felt like a paper castle, and then she’d shop. Build a protective wall of expensive clothing around her damaged heart.





16.

“Hey, Marcie!”

She was about to replace the empty tray of mashed potatoes with a fresh one from the kitchen when the voice cut across the room, and she froze, knuckles whitening against the steel.

Keisha.

Her accent was immediately recognizable. Marcie’s veins burned as she handed the tray to Frannie, one of the least irritating of the church volunteers, mumbling an apology before turning to face her glamorous rival.

“What are you doing here?” Marcie couldn’t peel her serving apron off fast enough, as somewhere in the room someone let out a low, appreciative wolf whistle. It wasn’t for her.

“There’s an emergency,” Keisha said. “Nothing to worry about. Just need you to come with me.” She looked over Marcie’s shoulder to the other volunteers. “A water leak. Sorry!” And with that, she’d taken Marcie’s arm and was dragging her outside. “Thank me later,” she whispered. Marcie’s jaw clenched. Thank her for what? Embarrassing her in front of all those good Savannah women? There had been no sense of emergency in Keisha’s tone, only mischief, and they’d see through it. So much for keeping Virginia on her side. This would get reported back in no time at all. Maybe that was the point.

“What are you doing here?” Marcie repeated, pulling her arm free. She looked back. “I need to get my purse. My things.”

“Then go get them. Let’s get out of here.” Keisha leaned over the side of the gleaming red convertible and plucked a bottle from a grocery store bag in the back seat. “I bought tequila. And a load of snacks. We can chill by the pool back at my place and get drunk.”

“I’ve got my car.”

“So what? Follow me to mine and then get Jason to pick you up later.”

Jason. Of course. An elaborate ruse so Keisha could get to see Jason again.

“I’ve got errands to run.”

“Yeah, right. Of course you do.”

The words stung, amused and dismissive. Who was Keisha to judge her? And what did she actually want? She clenched her jaw. There was only one way to find out, and maybe spending a few hours alone with this young pretender to her throne would allow Marcie to do some digging of her own.



All the way to the house Marcie tried to figure Keisha out, her eyes fixed on the little red Corvette ahead. It was one thing screwing around with someone’s husband, but it was taking things to a whole other level trying to be friends with his wife while you did it. What was she playing at? Maybe it hadn’t been Keisha on the phone the other night? But Jason’s furtive behavior. The way he was around Keisha. Even if they weren’t doing anything yet, had they formed a secret friendship? The sort that came before anyone wants to mention sex, but is just as intimate a betrayal as that act? Or was she going mad and the phone call was nothing to do with Keisha at all?

The outside clouds burned away in the heat of her racing thoughts and by the time she parked behind Keisha the sun was brilliant against a clear blue sky.

Keisha thrust a bag of groceries into her arms. “I can’t get enough of all this American shit. The sugar helps with the lack of sleep.”

“Jet lag?” Marcie asked, following her up the drive.

“I’m better in the mornings, but I still can’t drop off until about three A.M.”

Three. The text that got Jason running for her dressing room had come in at two.

“Let’s get started on the margaritas then.” She smiled, trying hard to sound relaxed. “If those don’t knock you out later, nothing will.” If Keisha was behind the mysterious call, then how would Jason react to having to collect Marcie and finding them drunk together? He wouldn’t be happy. She remembered when she’d tried Facebook stalking Jacquie and he found out. He’d hated that. He liked things in his control. Keisha could definitely be marking her card with this move.