Princess Ever After

FOUR





On Friday nights, Reggie held court. At least that’s what Al called it. Reggie’s Court. And he dubbed the crowd of friends and family who gathered at the barn the courtesans.

But Reggie was no queen. Just an ordinary girl sharing her life with the people she loved. The weekly “court” happened rather spontaneously one week right after she and Al opened the shop. A few of Reggie’s colleagues from Backlund & Backlund happened by to see if her blind leap into the car restoration business was worth sacrificing her future as a well-paid CPA.

They had their doubts, but Reggie had a feeling the success of the Challenger restoration would bring them around. Then friends started coming by to watch the transformation of the car. And perhaps Reggie. Could she do it?

Rafe mounted speakers outside the barn, under the eaves, and around five o’clock on a Friday night, Reggie turned up the music—a blend of country and soul—and ordered a dozen pizzas.

Six months later, it wasn’t just her court anymore. Al’s friends and family came by. Wally’s grandkids. Lately, car enthusiasts and friends of friends joined the Friday night throng.

Tonight Reggie walked out of the barn with a cold bottle of root beer in her hand. She’d ordered the pizzas and looked forward to an evening of music and laughter.

And maybe, just one or two “I told you so’s” when she recounted the Challenger’s success. Maybe she’d talk Al into dropping a few hints to the courtesans about the Duesenberg.

Perching on the picnic table, Reggie took a swig of her drink and grinned at Carrie, her best friend since forever, trying to teach Rafe a line dance. He moved with the grace of a lumberjack after a long hard day. He went left when he should’ve moved right. He was a soldier, not a dancer.

“Give it up, Carrie,” Reggie called.

“Never,” she called back, grabbing Rafe around the waist and steering him along.

He laughed and glanced down at the petite, dark-haired Carrie. Well, well, lookey here. Something more than friendship was developing between those two.


Good for you, Car-bear. Good for you. Rafe is one of the good guys.

Reggie shifted her gaze to Al as he came out of the shop with an armload of folding chairs. Wally followed with a wicker basket of chips and, hopefully, his famous onion and horseradish dip.

“Great night for holding court, Reg,” Al said, leaning the chairs against a tree.

“Don’t start with the court business, Al.”

“Why not? I find it rather fitting.”

“You’ll get everyone saying it.”

But it was a great night for court. If court meant being with people she loved. This evening was the first night of fall and the equinox had graced the Florida panhandle with a crisp, thin breeze.

“Hey.” Mark hopped onto the table next to her, causing the boards to pop. The scent of his Obsession soaked the air between them. “Clear your decks. We’re going sailing tomorrow.”

“Sailing? Mark, I get seasick if the bathtub is too full.” Reggie scooted away from him. Because he sat too close. Because she didn’t want him getting too cozy. She’d kept him within their friendship bounds the other night, but his “I’m not going away” sounded all of her alarm bells.

“You’ve never really tried sailing, Reg.”

“What? I’ve gone deep-sea fishing twice.” What was she thinking when she did a repeat of that disaster? She hung over the side of the boat the first time, puking, trying for six hours not to inhale the smell of cut-up squid bait. “And three times Backlund’s Christmas party was on a yacht. I spent the entire time dancing with the toilet. Don’t tell me I’ve not tried it.”

“Not like this, with the wind in the sails and—”

“Mark, I’m not stepping on a watercraft just to puke over the side all day with nary a piece of land in sight.” Really, did he not know her? See her? “I’m sleeping in tomorrow, eating pancakes,”—it was a spur-of-the-moment idea, but she liked it—“and working on the books.”

As a CPA, it went without saying that Reggie would handle the shop’s finances when she and Al hung out their shingle.

“All work and no play makes Reggie a dull girl.” His voice rose up and down, in a silly singsong, as he hooked his arm around her shoulders. “Come on, live a little. Devin Swain and his girlfriend invited us to St. George. You remember them from the fish fry. Kate really liked you.”

“What about being queasy and sick, wishing I were dead, is ‘living a little’?” Reggie snapped her fingers by his ear, then leaned closer, whispering, “I’m not going sailing.”

“All right. Sheesh, Reg.” Mark moved off the table. “Say, I’ll be back in time for dinner tomorrow night. I can pick up Chinese and meet you at your place . . . eight o’clock?” He regarded her, brows raised.

But what she saw in his expression wasn’t a successful, well-groomed businessman but a skinny kid longing for attention.

“Mark, I, um . . .” Her mercy toward him was not sanctified. Her faux compassion allowed him to foster romantic hopes. Saying they were just friends, holding up the physical barriers to keep him from stealing her first kiss. The one she was reserving for her very own Prince Charming.

But Mark needed real, truthful words. A clear, distinct expression from her heart about their relationship. Trying to spare his feelings would only hurt him more in the end.

“Eight then?” He backed away, pointing at her. “I see Bob Boynton over there, and I’ve not talked to him in a month of Sundays.”

“Eight it is.” She smiled. Tomorrow she’d sleep in, work the books, and then pray, asking God to help her find the words to convince Mark of the truth.

Rafe fired up the outdoor lights, and Reggie made the rounds among the courtesans, checking in to see how their workweek went and asking if anyone had fun weekend plans. One of the newer courtesans, a legislative aide, had Wally cornered in an intense conversation about an antique Mercedes he’d found online.

A cheer erupted with bottles and cans raised in the air when the pizza delivery car turned down the drive. Reggie pulled a fresh root beer from the cooler and leaned against the side of the barn, watching the pizza huddle, listening to the conversations, loving the bursts of laughter.

“Happy?” Carrie joined her against the wall.

Reggie thought for a moment, then nodded. “Very.”

“I’m proud of you, Reg. For taking a leap, going into the car restoration business.” Carrie was the opposite of Reggie. An FSU sorority girl turned political lobbyist with her eye on politics, she went to spas for a whole day, flew to New York in the spring and fall to shop, and took yoga vacations. “You made believers out of us all, Regina Beswick, quitting your job and following your heart.”

“You dare doubt me?”

Carrie laughed. “Foolish, I know, but even the strong falter once in a while.”

Reggie shot her a sideways glance. “I see you and Rafe are getting a bit cozy.” Rafe was way outside Carrie’s usual taste in men. She dated legislative aides. Fellow lobbyists. Fund-raisers. Men who wore designer suits and had standing manicure appointments.

But the last boyfriend? A narcissistic zombie. Truly.

“Rafe and me? Naw . . .” But even the approaching cloak of night couldn’t hide the pink tint on the woman’s cheeks. “He wanted to learn to line dance. That’s all. He’s not my type.”

“What type is that? Human?”

“Har-har. Very funny.” Carrie shifted her lean body against the wall, one foot propped behind her. “I admitted you were right about zombie man.”

“I’m right about Rafe too. Give him a chance.”

“You assume he wants a chance.”

“Are you telling me he doesn’t?”

Carrie’s blush deepened, sweetening her smile. “We’re going to dinner and a movie tomorrow night.” She pushed off the wall, her finger pointed at Reggie. “Not a word. Not a word.” Carrie fell against the barn again, then hollered to Rafe to bring her and Reggie some pizza.

“Remember how Mama and I used to sit out on the back porch at night, watching the stars?” Reggie said, sentiment waxing over her heart. “She’d ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, told me to dream big.”

“I wonder if she’s looking down over the edge of heaven, busting her proverbial gold buttons with pride.” Carrie glanced at her. “Do you think they have that kind of pride in heaven?”

Reggie shook her head. “I don’t know, but I kind of think God says to all of heaven, ‘Hey, look at what my kids are doing. Aren’t they cool?’ But this,”—she knocked on the side of the barn—“is far from what I claimed I wanted to be.”

“No kidding.” Carrie laughed. “You were going to be a princess.”

“I blame Great-Gram Alice for that wild idea.”

Gram used to make a game of it with Reggie and Carrie, creating construction paper crowns and decorating them with glitter.

“I still have one of the crowns I made with her,” Carrie said.

“Even at ninety-seven, when she could barely see, she still loved to play pretend.” Reggie wove her arm through Carrie’s. Besides Daddy and stepmom, Sadie, Carrie was her only link to those childhood memories, the only other person on earth she could reminisce with about Gram and Mama.

Rafe showed up with two paper plates of pizza, flirting with Carrie who . . . giggled. A twenty-nine-year-old giggler? Definitely, love was blooming.

Reggie made her way back to the picnic table where the courtesans always reserved a space for her. As she stepped over the bench, something between the shrouding oak branches and the top of the barn caught her eye. Made her heart flutter.

What was that? Reggie settled her pizza on the table and scanned the fading twilight patches visible through the tree.

There. A blue flash. Something in the clouds. Reggie squinted, trying to see between the light. What was that? It made her pulse pound.

“Reg, you got enough room?”

She placed her hand on Seth Davis’s shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, you’re fine. I just thought I saw something.” But she didn’t, did she? Surely her imagination was playing tricks on her. With a final glance at the dimming sky, Reggie sat down, pressing her hand over her heart, shivering. Call her crazy, but for a split second, she could’ve sworn Gram’s gentle blue eyes were peering down at her.