She stared blankly at him and then it clicked: the whole wedding night thing. “Yeah,” she agreed. “I’ll take the guest room.” She felt a twinge of guilt about it, but after all, he’d offered.
George leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. “G’night, Mads,” he said, getting up to head to bed.
“Hey, George . . .” she said as he walked up the stairs.
He glanced back at her, an almost-hopeful look in his eye.
Madison swallowed, looking down at her hands. “I know this is a really unconventional marriage, but I just wanted to let you know I’m excited to be your wife.”
He smiled, and went upstairs alone.
Madison considered her options for the night: she could check out the pay-per-view channels on George’s TV, or she could take a dip in the hot tub, or she could rummage through the kitchen and eat a couple more slices of cake. But before she could make a decision, her phone buzzed. Cash.
U up new wifey? Wanna smoke?
Her heart lurched. She hadn’t realized how much it would hurt to have Cash call her “wifey” . . . and not mean that she was his own. She shook her head, as if to disperse those thoughts, and picked her phone up.
Yeah, meet me at the dock in an hour?
Once she was sure the house had gone still, Madison snuck out. The evening was cool and dark, and she pulled her sweatshirt closer to her body as she walked to the dock. About a half mile down the road from George’s house, Madison sat down on the wooden planks. After a few minutes, she heard them creak with the weight of someone’s footsteps. She looked up, smiling.
“I cannot believe you went through with it,” Cash said with a laugh. The full moon illuminated his grin. “And I can’t believe you actually snuck out to meet me on your wedding night. You’re one devious little girl.” He sat down next to her on the dock and lit up a cigarette, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
Madison shrugged. She wondered if she should have felt guiltier for what she had done. But it’s not like George would really care, she tried to convince herself.
“Why did you meet up with me?” Cash asked.
She stared at him in silence for a moment. “I don’t know, really.” Intrigue . . . the fact that I’ve never been able to say no to you, perhaps.
“Second thoughts?”
The crickets chirped and the lightning bugs glistened. She’d been trying so hard to not think about Cash. But once he’d texted, she remembered what Claire had said earlier—that she was being naive. She thought of Gabby, who put on a brave smile at the reception, but Madison had seen her wipe tears from her eyes when she thought no one was looking. Not being able to be with the man she loved had turned her into a shell of herself. Would Madison feel that way, too? Would she feel trapped in a dead-end marriage with a person she didn’t love?
“No,” she lied, her attention returning to Cash. “No second thoughts.”
He leaned back on the post and looked up at the starry night, his long hair brushing his shoulders. “So, what about us?” Cash asked. “What’s going to happen to us?”
She stared back at him and bit her lip. “I really don’t know.”
33
claire
“SO, HOW ARE you holding up?” Claire asked Gabby. “You put on a good show, but I could tell you were kind of upset last night.” The girls sat side by side in plush leather pedicure chairs at Winnie’s Nails and Spa on Frontage Road. Somewhere during their third glass of champagne at Madison’s reception the night before, they’d made plans for this catch-up date—though neither had anticipated what awful headaches the bubbly would give them.
“Kind of?” Gabby said, her sunglasses still on. “I’m a hot mess, Claire. Every time I force myself to stop thinking about him, Tony texts me, asking to meet up.”
Claire’s whole body tingled as the pedicurist tickled her feet with a scrub. “So, why don’t you?”
“What would I even say?” Gabby said under her breath. “I’m not allowed to tell him the truth.”
Claire glanced over at her friend. “Well, if you’d been honest in the first place . . .” She trailed off. Honest. Ha!, she thought to herself as she flashed to her problems with Gavin. Good one, Claire.
“If I’d told him that in the first place, I would’ve never been with him at all. Guys like Tony don’t date girls like me.” Gabby fanned herself with a copy of Us Weekly.
Claire leaned her head back on the vibrating neck rest. “He did date a girl just like you—and he asked you to marry him. I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Gabby said. “My mom is getting out of jail soon and we can concentrate on trying to be a family again.”
“I guess just learn from this and go into your next relationship with complete honesty,” Claire said.
The technicians began painting the girls’ toenails—hot pink polish for Gabby, ruby red for Claire.
Gabby pushed the sunglasses on top of her head and squinted in the fluorescent light. “So, how’s that whole honesty thing working out for you? You talked to Gavin about everything?”
There it was. Claire squirmed. The technician steadied her foot with a firm grip and gave her a stern look. It had been almost a month since she caught Gavin at the club and, no, she still hadn’t confronted him about it. “It’s a completely different situation,” she said evasively. The last thing she needed was gossip spreading about her and her husband around town.
“You’re right,” Gabby whispered back. “But I don’t see how pretending like that didn’t happen is going to solve anything.”
Claire crossed her arms. She knew she couldn’t ignore what she’d seen forever, but confronting him could lead to things she wasn’t ready for—like the truth . . . or divorce. “I’ll do it when I’m ready.”
Gabby frowned and began massaging her temples with her fingers. “So you’re just pretending like nothing’s wrong?”
The technicians placed the plastic sandals on Gabby’s and Claire’s feet and motioned for the girls to follow them.
“Nothing is.” Claire walked over to the manicure table, wishing with all her heart that what she said was true.
? ? ?
@Pastor_Gavin: “Decluttering isn’t just for closets. Clean out your life. There’s no room in it for people who bring you down.”—3 hours ago
Claire stared at her phone as she got into her car at the nail place, her French tips tapping on the notifications from her tweet earlier that morning. She had gotten the idea for the line from Gavin’s sermon that day. He had talked about the importance of choosing the right people in your life.
The Twitter followers were eating it up—105 retweets and 240 likes. As she sorted through some of the replies, a call from the 337 area code showed up on her caller ID.
“Hello?” She rested her hand on the steering wheel.
“Claire?” a high-pitched woman’s voice asked.
“This is she,” Claire responded, unsure of who it was on the other end.
“It’s Kimmy . . . from The Saddle.” Her voice sounded hesitant.
Claire’s heart sank. “What is it?” she asked, her voice shaky. Her palms began to sweat. She’d been praying that Kimmy would never use her number.