“Chief Quartermaine.” She shook her head. “Isn’t that a kick in the ass?”
He felt that kick ten days later when he formally accepted the job as chief of police of Tranquility Island.
*
In the spirit of fence mending, Simone agreed to a fancy girls’ lunch at her mother’s country club. She’d have preferred spending the blustery November afternoon in her studio, but her relationship with Natalie had improved.
Natalie wanted the lunch, and pushed. So here they were, eating elaborate salads, drinking Kir Royales, and making chitchat about a wedding that was still nearly a year off.
She’d already gotten her mother’s eye for the short, shaggy do in a color her adventurous hairdresser dubbed Burning Embers. But the fact that Tulip held her tongue, for once, helped keep the interlude civilized.
Besides, she couldn’t deny she’d chosen the over-the-knee boots, suede pants, and a bold green leather jacket to push her mother’s buttons.
In any case, she liked seeing Natalie so happy, even if a lot of it stemmed from debates on wedding dress designs and wedding colors.
When she felt her mind melting over the perfect signature drink for a fall wedding, she steered the conversation toward the house Natalie and Harry had just purchased.
“So the new house. That’s exciting. When will you be ready to move in?”
“There’s certainly no rush,” Tulip began. “Especially with all the holiday festivities coming up. Simone, you really must attend the Snowflake Ball next month. My friend Mindy’s son Triston’s coming in from Boston for Christmas, and I’m sure he’d be happy to escort you.”
“Yes.” Glowing, happy, Natalie all but bounced in her seat. “You could double-date with Harry and me!”
Under the table, Simone gave Natalie’s leg a quick, firm squeeze.
“My calendar’s already full, Mom, but thanks for the thought. About the house—”
“For once I’d like to have my whole family present at an event that’s important to me.”
Simone picked up her glass, took a careful sip of a drink that struck her as too sweet and silly. “I know the Snowflake Ball’s important to you. So’s the Winter Gala, the Spring Ball, the Summer Jubilee in July, and so forth. I’ve come to several of them over the last few years.”
“You haven’t once come to the Jubilee, and we raise money for the arts with the proceeds.”
“It’s a bad time of year for me, Mom.”
Tulip started to speak, then looked away. “It helps to do something positive.”
“I know, and I do. For me. I really want to hear about the house.”
“Haven’t you hidden yourself away on the island long enough? If you’re not there, you’re off somewhere else. You’re never going to create a social network or meet someone as wonderful as Harry on that island.”
Here we go again, Simone thought. “I have the social network I want, and I’m not looking for someone like Harry. And he is wonderful,” Simone added with a smile for Natalie. “Mom,” she said before Tulip could speak again. “Let’s talk about things we can agree on. Like how happy Natalie is, what a wonderful wedding she’ll have. How fabulous her new house is.”
“About the wedding—again,” Natalie said, so obviously trying to right the ship, Simone gave her knee another squeeze, a grateful one. “Will you be my maid of honor?”
It surprised her, touched her, and both showed on her face. “Nat, I’m so honored. Really. It means so much to me you’d ask, and if it’s what you truly want, of course I will. But…”
Now she took Natalie’s hand on the white tablecloth. “Cerise has been your best friend for a decade. The two of you are so close, and she knows exactly what you want for your wedding. She’ll know how to make it happen for you. She should be your maid of honor.”
“People will expect—”
Simone looked at her mother, so fast, so fierce, the rest of the words died. “What matters is what Natalie wants. Ask Cerise, and let me do something special for you instead.”
“I don’t want you to feel slighted. You’re my sister.”
“I won’t. I don’t. I’d like you to have Cerise stand for you. I’d like to make the topper for your cake. I’d like to do a sculpture of you and Harry. Something you’d keep to remember the biggest day of your lives. Something that shows not only how happy you were on that day, but how happy I am for you.”
“We’ve already started looking at cake designs and toppers,” Tulip pointed out.
“Mom.” Natalie reached for her mother’s hand, effectively joining the three women together. “I would love it. Honestly, I’d just love it. Could you do something fun for the groom’s cake? Like Harry putting on a golf green, or swinging on the tee?”
“Absolutely. You get me the cake designs once you have them. And when you have your dress, I’ll do some sketches and photos—same with Harry when he’s got his groom clothes. We can brainstorm ideas for the groom’s cake if you want, but the wedding topper’s going to be a surprise.”
She looked back at her mother. “I won’t disappoint or embarrass you. I want to give something to Natalie, something that’s a part of me. How about the two of you pick a couple of desserts to share and order me some black coffee? I’ll be right back.”
She wound her way through the dining room, escaping to the restroom and vowing no matter how many fences needed mending, she would never agree to another ladies’ lunch at the club.
To counterbalance, she decided she’d pick up some of her grandmother’s favorite veggie pizza on the way home, and they’d gorge while drinking some good wine.
She had to push herself mentally to go into the bathroom stall—she always did. But the little flutter came and went, as it always did.
When she came out, she barely glanced at the blonde carefully touching up her lipstick in the mirror over the long silver counter with its line of deep vessel sinks.
She needed to figure out how to put a cheerful smile on her face, get through dessert and coffee. And escape.
“Simone Knox.”
She looked over at the blonde. She heard the sneer in the voice, saw it on the deep rose lips. Before she realized the physical sneer was caused by the pull of carefully masked scarring.
The left eye—boldly blue—drooped just a fraction. A casual observer might not have noticed, but an artist who’d studied facial structure and anatomy couldn’t miss it.
She kept her own face as neutral as her voice.
“That’s right.”
“You don’t recognize me?”
She hadn’t, in those first few seconds. But it all flooded over her. All.
“Tiffany. Sorry. It’s been a long time.”
“Hasn’t it just?”
“How are you?”
“How do I look? Oh don’t be shy,” she continued, waving her hands on either side of her face. “Eight surgeries over seven years. Add years of speech therapy, some brain bleeds. Totally reconstucted left ear,” she added, tapping on it. “Of course, the hearing’s pretty well shot in it, but you can’t have everything.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Sorry? The fucking bastard shot me in the face! They had to put it back together. You walked away without a scratch, didn’t you?”
None that showed.
“But all these years later, they’re still talking about the brave, quick-thinking Simone Knox who hid and called for help. While I lay there under my dead boyfriend with my face in pieces.”
She didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to see the flashes of gunfire through the door wedged open by a dead body. She didn’t want to hear the screams.
“I’m sorry for all you’ve been through.”
“You don’t know anything about what I’ve been through.” The drooping eye twitched as Tiffany’s voice rose up another register. “I was beautiful. I was important. And you were nothing. A castoff. You got lucky, and they call you a hero. Why do you think people buy that crap you make?
“You’re sorry? You should be dead. I’ve waited twelve years to tell you exactly that.”
“Now you have.”
“It’s still not enough. It’ll never be enough.”