Clara nodded and bopped her head to some imaginary music on her way back to the living room. Alice applied one more coat of lipstick. Finished, she packed her pocketbook. She heard her mother's tongue click against her teeth, but she ignored the sound.
At the door of their old house, Alice turned. The entire place was packed with boxes. All the walls were empty. It felt like she was leaving, almost like she'd never come back to her parents, though she had another week until she could move into her new condo. The bare walls held no sign of her childhood. "Bye, Mom."
With the first step onto the porch, the hot South Florida air warmed her skin. The smell of citrus eased her nerves. Naval season would be over in a month.
She headed to her white SUV, caressing the eighteen-carat gold necklace. Today she'd show up for the funeral out of obligation, and love of her dead friend.
Waiting for the air conditioner to cool her down, she reviewed her plan. Peter Morgan, the oldest, would likely take over and she'd deal with him for business. Her family needed to keep that contract with Morgan Enterprises—to lose it would be a death knell to the Collins farm, since the House of Morgan had their hands in almost everything. No other corporation would touch them if they were deemed unfit in any way. The Morgan bank holdings stretched far beyond the stores they invested in and she didn't want to answer the questions that might naturally arise if she ended with a bad rating.
She rubbed the back of her neck. The full blast of air cleared her mind and Alice drove down the dirt road headed toward the paved roads and Coral Gables, which would be an hour or more with traffic.
Tonight she'd stay at a hotel so she didn't have to do this drive twice. Perhaps she'd go to the spa for a massage to ease her tired muscles, a welcome change from packing boxes. The wake and the funeral would be spectacles in and of themselves.
At the funeral home, she drove past so many people in the press she wondered if this was a world premiere of a Hollywood movie and not a funeral for a business tycoon. Cameras took her picture in the car. Alice covered her face to avoid direct eye contact and slid into a parking spot.
Her heels clapped against the pavement as she hurried toward the funeral home, and the press called out for smiles. Alice cringed. Victoria had been a poster child for fashion and elegance, the friend who had taught her how to put on makeup. She was plain with hair that wasn't truly brown but not blonde either.
At the door to the funeral home, Alice stopped. Jennifer Gonzales, the television beauty, held Peter Morgan's arm like they were an item. Jennifer was always sharp with her insults. Alice swallowed. The two of them probably laid in bed together and made fun of the less fortunate, a.k.a. everyone who wasn't them. Alice never understood how sweet Victoria Morgan had such a friend as Jennifer.
Alice stood in line to say hello until she reached Peter and Jennifer. Peter was still speaking to whoever was in front of him in the line, but Jennifer tilted her head. "Oh, look, the help arrived."
Jennifer's beauty would someday melt off her face, and she'd be left an old, wrinkled hag. Alice bit back her retort, and smiled. "I came out of respect for Victoria. She was my friend."
Jennifer shrugged and gazed at her up and down. "Hard to remember what she saw in you. She died years ago. Did you buy that off a rack?"
"Most people do." Alice hugged her waist and chose to ignore anything else Jennifer said. She continued down the line despite her goose bumps. "Peter."
He glanced at her and then spoke to the man behind her in line, like he was someone important and she was not. She pressed her lips together and prayed this had no significance to her own contract renewal.
As she stepped aside, Alice's stomach knotted. Jennifer's jabs still ate at her, even now. Alice's mind reeled with memories of how Jennifer made her life hell back in school. Alice rolled her eyes every time she saw another telenovela starring that woman.
She turned the corner and walked straight into a wall of muscle. Hard arms wrapped around her waist and then steadied her. Alice stepped out of the man's embrace, though her legs were weak, and gazed upward. John Morgan leaned back, and her mouth opened in surprise. His hair was slightly darker now, though it still had strands of pale blond, but those piercing blue eyes, and his huge dimples, were the same. He had lost all pretense of boyhood. The man before her was gorgeous. He was two years her senior, but had never been this hot.
She swallowed and told herself that "they" would never happen. She was country and the Morgans were players in a game of "rule the world" with their banks. Alice steadied her feet as anchors because her head grew light near him. With bravado, she smiled. "John, it's been a long time."
At least she'd coughed out a sentence that made sense. She took a deep breath.
"Thank you for coming…”
It was clear he didn't remember her name. Alice sucked in her bottom lip, embarrassed. They'd spent hours together at Vicki's funeral, where he'd clearly tried to forget his past with numerous shots of whiskey. She sighed. "I'm Alice Collins. I was a friend of Victoria's."
"The tomboy." John smiled and showed twin dimples just on each corner of his mouth. "I heard what Jennifer said to you. Don't listen to her. You fill out a dress nicely."
At least someone liked her dress. John's face showed sophistication as he scanned the room, studying all the doors and windows. Her jaw clenched as she guessed he was either a cop or a mobster. In this family, was there any difference? She had no idea what to say or how to excuse herself. She was like a groupie with a rock star. His hand settled on her back and her body melted like butter. "Will you escort me to get a drink, Alice?"
Her lips wouldn't move. Not good. John Morgan wasn't supposed to be attractive anymore. She'd thought she was over her crush on the former high school football captain. She curled her arm around his. She tried to say something intelligible but instead she blurted, "Didn't you recognize me a minute ago?"
"From Vicki's funeral, but I tried hard to forget everyone in this city after that. You were the only other person genuinely upset. The only real person there."
Alice understood. They progressed in step. "She wouldn't want you to suffer all your life."
"My father did something to her." He stopped at the bar. "I don't know what happened, but I haven't been able to forget."
Alice pointed to the Sauvignon Blanc. John tugged his ear and nodded to the waiter. She stared at him, unsure what to talk about besides the past. "There was nothing any of us could do. Vicki disappeared without a word and then she was dead."
"What do you remember about her?"
"Her kindness. And her laugh." Alice looked toward the room where a few heads of state gathered around Mitch Morgan in his practically royal casket. John's gaze contained a firestorm of emotion. She tilted her head. "You going in there?"