A few seconds ticked by, and Tennyson hoped that her old friend might offer her the forgiveness she never knew she craved so much. But Melanie didn’t. Instead she looked down at her fingernails. “I should go. I’m sure people have been texting and calling asking where I am and if I’m okay. It was super irresponsible to leave everyone. It was selfish.”
Tennyson shook her head. “Don’t do that. You needed a moment to deal. They are not the only people dealing with a loss, Melly. It’s okay to need some time, to be a little selfish.”
Melanie shrugged. “Maybe so. I probably shouldn’t have smoked a joint, though.”
“I don’t think it hurt.”
“It’s illegal.” As Melanie said those words her eyes widened a little as if she truly realized that she’d not only been a little selfish, but she’d also broken the law.
“Not in some states.”
“But here it is.”
Tennyson smiled. “You can get it medically. I think.”
“I don’t have glaucoma, Teeny,” Melanie said, her mouth tightening back into that now familiar disapproving line.
“But you have Anne for a mother.”
Melanie stared at the refrigerator for a few seconds and said, “Well, that’s true.”
The sound of the front door opening made both of them turn. Andrew called out. “Hey, anyone home?”
“In the kitchen,” Tennyson shouted.
Her son appeared in the doorway, still wearing his suit sans the tie and the tucked-in shirt. His hair stuck up in a few places, and his mouth looked tight. His gaze landed on Melanie, his eyes widened, and then his shoulders sagged in what she could only guess was relief. “Oh, here you are. Emma’s been calling you for the last half hour.”
“My phone’s in the living room,” Melanie said. She looked away, guilt reflected in the brown depths of her eyes.
“They’re all at the hospital and—” He stopped and made a face. Then he inhaled. “Has someone been smoking weed?”
Tennyson wasn’t sure how to answer that.
Melanie brushed the crumbs from the counter, sweeping them into her hand. She tossed them into the sink. Looking at Andrew, she lifted one shoulder. “We may have.”
“You may have?” He looked at Tennyson with a gobsmacked expression that was both endearing and irritating. “I don’t know what you two have been doing at a critical time for this family, but we really need to get back to the hospital. Everyone is really upset.”
“Melanie needed a few minutes away,” Tennyson said. Melanie remained quiet, studying her fingernails.
“Do you even know what has happened while y’all were here drinking and doing illegal drugs?” Andrew sounded very much like a parent.
“I know what happened,” Melanie said, straightening and heading toward the living area where she’d left her clothes and purse. “I was there by myself when my sister died. None of my family was there. My husband’s in Florida, my mother is more concerned about being right than present, and my children are obviously more concerned with lattes, so don’t lecture me or your mother on where I should have been.”
Andrew stared at her wide eyed as she passed by him. Then he looked at Tennyson. “What’s happening here?”
“I think your soon-to-be mother-in-law is telling you to get your head out of your ass. Does anyone ever think about her? She does so much for that family, and they just take and take.”
Andrew tilted his head. “I thought you two didn’t like each other?”
Melanie breezed back in. “We don’t. I went with her because she had weed.”
Her reply was so saucy that Tennyson turned around to hide her smile. Then she schooled her features into something more suiting the situation and turned back to her son. “Take Melanie back to the hospital. You’re right. It’s time she was with her family.”
Melanie had her dress over her arm, but the only shoes she had were a pair of pumps, which looked ridiculous with the workout pants and T-shirt.
“Hold on,” Tennyson said, jogging toward her bedroom. She entered her enormous closet and flipped the custom shoe cabinet back to reveal her sandal and flip-flop collection. She snagged a pair of flat Tory Burch thongs she’d never worn and went back to the kitchen. “Here’s a bag for your clothes and a pair of sandals. You can’t go out in those heels.”
Melanie gave her a small smile. “That’s nice of you.”
“I can be nice. Every full moon or so, once I make a sacrificial offering.”
“It’s not a full moon,” Melanie said, tugging off the pumps and sliding the thongs on.
“Eh, the weed made me do it,” she said, eyeing Andrew on the phone, most likely with Emma.
Melanie shoved the dress inside. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And if you need anything, call someone else,” she joked, feeling suddenly vulnerable in front of the woman she’d once known better than anyone.
“Yeah,” Melanie said.
Then Melanie reached out and gave her a quick squeeze. It was the first time she’d voluntarily touched Tennyson, outside of zipping her up in the dressing room weeks ago. Tennyson closed her eyes briefly against the wave of emotion that engulfed her.
Then her old friend released her and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Tennyson with a full bottle of wine, half a bag of Tostitos, and a small sprig of hope uncurling in her heart.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Almost nine weeks later
Melanie studied the basil planted in the galvanized bucket and tried to remember if Hillary had said to pinch off the blooms or let it go ahead and seed. Hillary had always helped her plant the herbs in her kitchen garden every early March. Her sister had been brilliant when it came to gardening and using herbs in cooking. She always knew what a pinch of rosemary or a dash of oregano could do for a dish. Sad thing was, her sister hadn’t been able to overcome her own roadblocks to use the homegrown tomatoes for a savory red sauce or batter the eggplants for crispy chips. And now her sister was dead. And had been for eight weeks, five days, fourteen hours, and a few minutes. Not that she was keeping track.
“Mom?” Emma called from the kitchen.
Melanie shoved the trowel into the rich loam and made sure her pack of cigarettes was tucked into Jerry the frog’s butt. She wasn’t sure why she was still hiding her habit other than she didn’t want to deal with exposing it days before the wedding. Besides, she didn’t light one up often. She usually smoked maybe a single pack in three or four months. Of course, since Hillary died, she’d smoked a pack every two weeks. The only time she felt peace come was when she sat alone in the garden, taking a drag on a cigarette, pretending everything would be okay.
Of course, relying on something that gave people cancer to feel better was dangerous, ridiculous, and selfish on her part. Her sister had died because she’d refused to deal with her feelings. Hillary ate them and then vomited them up. Melanie knew she, too, was using something unhealthy as a coping mechanism. She should join Pure Barre with Emma. Or do Jazzercise or Zumba. Those activities should be her coping mechanisms, not sucking in tar, nicotine, and whatever else they used to make the addictive little devils these days.