And she never had. Tennyson had always commanded the attention of the room, she’d always turned heads, she’d always won whatever she’d set out to win, whether it was the library’s summer reading contest or head cheerleader. Now it was evident as her former friend stood in the middle of the most ridiculous bridal shower in the history of Shreveport, looking ten years younger than Melanie, splashing thousands upon thousands of dollars around, that Melanie would always be the dark horse.
Sometimes the dark horse won.
And sometimes they broke their leg on the track.
Tennyson took the envelope from Marc and handed it to Andrew. “Congratulations, sugar. I hope you make the best memories in Italy.”
Emma and Andrew beamed at each other as they opened the envelope, gasping over the first-class flight to Rome and the five-star accommodations. Melanie was happy for her daughter for receiving a honeymoon of a lifetime. She wasn’t that petty. But still. The gift was meant to show off what Tennyson could and would do.
It was at that moment that Melanie’s mother appeared beside her. “Melanie, we must go.”
“Wow, when you said you would leave after Emma opened presents, you weren’t kidding,” Melanie said, turning to her mother. Sandy was with her, her cute sequined clutch in hand. Both their expressions alarmed her. “What? What’s wrong?”
“We have to go to the hospital.” Anne’s mouth flatlined with annoyance.
“Someone called your mother from University Health. They just brought your sister there by ambulance,” Sandy said, putting a comforting hand on Melanie’s mother’s shoulder.
Anne brushed off Sandy’s hand and started toward the lit path. “I told you she was ill.”
“Did they say why? Who called?” Melanie asked, looking around for Emma so she could explain. At that moment, fireworks erupted overhead, exploding brilliance against the darkening sky, scaring the hell out of Melanie. She clasped her chest and sucked in a deep breath. “Oh, good gracious.”
Sandy gave her a light squeeze. “I’m not sure who called your mother. Go find Emma. I’ll call for the car.”
“Thank you,” Melanie said, glancing up at the bursts of light followed by heart-stopping booms that rattled the hurricane glass on the tables. Of course there were fireworks. Because that, too, was so Tennyson.
Jesus.
“Prosecco to toast the happy couple?” a waiter asked as she pushed through the crowd staring up at the show above them.
“No, thanks,” she said, looking at where she’d last seen Emma.
Tennyson intercepted her, her smile fading when she read Melanie’s body language. “What’s wrong, Melly?”
“Where’s Emma?”
“She and Andrew went to take pictures out by the oak with the Japanese lanterns. I thought with the fireworks behind them . . . wait, what’s wrong?”
Melanie passed a hand over her face. “They’ve taken Hillary to the hospital. I don’t know what’s wrong. Someone called Mother, and we have to go to University and see what’s going on.”
“Oh no,” Tennyson said, taking Melanie’s elbow and turning her toward the exit. “Don’t worry. Just go see about Hillary. I’ll let Emma know where you’ve gone. She can come to the hospital once the party’s over.”
Melanie nodded. “Thank you.”
Tennyson halted. “Is it serious?”
Melanie felt fear rise inside her. “It’s always serious when it comes to Hillary.”
“Then go to her.”
And so Melanie left without toasting the future happy couple.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Tennyson’s feet felt as if she’d put them through a meat grinder, and her lower back ached, but she couldn’t stop the smile on her face when Officer Joseph Rhett appeared poolside, wading through the staff scurrying around as they broke down the tables and chairs.
“Hello, handsome,” she said, her heels hooked in one hand, a glass of prosecco in the other. “I would offer you a drink, but you wouldn’t take it.”
“I didn’t come for a drink,” he said, his expression intense, his gaze dropping to her breasts. She remembered how fond he was of Anna and Elsa, the nicknames he’d given to her breasts. Obviously, the man had watched a lot of Frozen with his daughters.
“Yeah? Good thing I have what you came for,” she teased.
“Leftovers?” He crooked a sexy eyebrow.
That made Tennyson laugh. “I got those, too.”
Joseph leaned down and kissed her right in front of God and everybody. Okay, just the cleanup crew, but it still made her feel vulnerable. To kiss a man in public sent a message that they were together. And they weren’t together. Just having good sex.
But even as she had that anticipatory thought, another graver one niggled its way into her conscience.
Hillary.
Melanie’s older sister had been the sister that Tennyson had always wanted. Slightly chubby, endearingly kind, and attentive to her younger sister and her best friend, Hillary was the kind of person everyone wanted to have beside them when life got tough. A gentle spirit with calm hands that braided their hair, ready laughter when she and Melanie dressed up and sang karaoke, and whimsical input on the plays Tennyson would write for the girls to perform on long summer nights in the Brevard playroom. It never occurred to Tennyson that the reason why Bronte wanted nothing to do with her and Melanie was because Bronte had a horde of gal pals. Hillary had none, so she was happy to be with the younger girls. When Hillary was in high school, she lost a bunch of weight. After six months, Hillary was thin and pretty, prettier than Bronte even. Suddenly, Hillary had boys coming around, a group of friends who wanted to smoke joints out by the pool and throw weekend parties with Everclear and ecstasy.
Still, even as Hillary became popular, she always treated Melanie and Tennyson with kindness, sometimes looking as if she would rather go back to being their talent show judge and doing makeovers rather than “partying” with her newfound friends.
When Hillary went to college and lost even more weight, it became evident there was a problem. After only a year, she had to drop out, go to a program for people with eating disorders, and enter weekly therapy. Hillary eventually gained some weight and started apprenticing in a salon. After two years, she struck out for Baton Rouge and a partnership in a new salon. She got married, got divorced, and at some point, reclaimed her lifelong struggle with anorexia and bulimia.
After Tennyson and Melanie’s friendship ended, Tennyson tried to keep up with Hillary, but that was before social media was relevant. She hadn’t seen Hillary in many years.
Joseph cradled her face, leveling her gaze to his. “What’s wrong? I thought you wanted me to come by after the party?”
“I did. I do. It’s just I have some things on my mind,” she said.
“Maybe I could distract you?” he asked, his lips at her ear.
The words were meant as seduction, and Tennyson could easily let herself go where her wakening body wanted to go, but there was also part of her that needed to do something. It was this part of herself that she sometimes wished she could ignore, but once a stirring latched on to her thoughts, it became a bit bulldoggish and would give her no peace until she complied. Which was how she’d ended up back in Shreveport in the first place.