Char turned off the hair dryer and studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror.
“Happy birthday.” She cocked her head and grasped the collar of her hot pink terrycloth robe. “Well, so far forty looks the same as thirty-nine. Maybe even thirty-four. Not bad.”
There were three factors to thank for that. One: her mama’s genes for a Georgia peach complexion and a size two figure. Two: regular workouts at the gym. And three: the perfect hairdresser with a knack for keeping her blond hair very near its original shade without too many chemicals. He knew how to style it as well. The wind-tousled look had been his idea and suited her to a tee.
She opened a jar of moisturizer, SPF 25, and applied it, trying not to think of Cam’s nonreaction to her haircut, her toned body, her success as chair of the Women’s Club annual fund-raising gala last July, her—
She secured the jar lid with a quick twisting motion and surveyed her array of cosmetics. A hint of eye shadow would be appropriate for Rodeo Drive. The taupe color to enhance her almond brown eyes. Her outfit, too, should be understated. Probably the taupe slacks with a white silk blouse. She’d take along the new embroidered jacket in case they were gone late. Jo said Friday traffic might be extra heavy. Perhaps they would stay put in L.A. and have dinner before driving back.
Friday.
Todd was probably at the gym now. They sometimes rode together on Friday mornings, parting ways at the door as he went to the weight room, she to an exercise class made up of women who kicked and punched the air while savage music pulsated loudly.
Eye shadow brush poised midair, Char paused, her face close enough to the mirror to see the beige flecks in her irises.“Mama would never approve.”
But then, Mama was dead and gone, long gone. Twenty-seven years long gone. Char had known her for only thirteen years.
Still, Ellen Cummins Stowe née Wentworth’s impact permeated. Char knew she would not approve of the flirting with Todd Brooks. There was Southern belle charm that encouraged a general sense of well-being in a man, and then there was something else. Truth be told, they’d been into the something else for quite some time. As a matter of fact, she could identify the precise night it happened.
It happened on her birthday, one year ago. Cam treated friends to dinner at her favorite restaurant. The evening ended in their home. They’d scarcely begun a game of charades when Cam excused himself and went to bed. It was not unusual behavior, but for some reason it particularly stung that night.
Todd noticed. Not that he said anything. On the surface things remained even-keeled between them. He must have known, though, as she did, that their banter had taken on an edge. His recent phone conversations proved it.
A realization dawned within her. Todd Brooks wanted more than a flirting relationship.
She blinked.
What did she want? At forty, with two teenagers well on their way and a couch potato for a husband, who did not notice or seem to care whether or not she even breathed? What did she want?
She pursed her lips and shook her head. No, her mama would not approve at all.
Char heard a wail and opened the bathroom door just as Molly hurried past it, Jo on her heels. She followed them into the living room.
Molly strode toward the front door, her arms upraised. “This cannot be happening!”
Jo said, “I’ll come with you.”
“No!” Without a backward glance Molly pushed open the screen door and stepped outside. She was halfway to the boardwalk before it slammed shut.
Char asked, “What’s going on?”
Jo turned to face her. “The test results came back.”
Char caught her breath. Obviously Molly was upset. Would tests for menopause show something like cancer? “What is it?”
“Molly’s pregnant.”
“Oh.” Stunned, Char went to the couch and sat down. “Oh, my. She’s forty years old! With four kids already!” She herself would absolutely die. But then Molly was different. “Were they planning it?”
“From her reaction, I’d say no way.” Jo sat in an armchair.“She figured she was in menopause.”
“Where did she go?”
“A walk down the beach.”
“What should we do?”
“I don’t know. She said she needed time alone. I imagine she’ll call Scott when she calms down.”
Char recalled seeing a cell phone in Molly’s raised hand. Char’s cell phone, the one with the number that friends would soon begin calling to wish her a happy birthday.
With a sigh, Jo stood. “She’ll get used to the idea and postpone full-time teaching a little longer. I’d better get back to my calls.”
“Where’s Andie?”
“Walking to the pier. See you in a bit.” She headed down the hall.
Char glanced about the empty room. Cool, calm Molly was borderline berserk—with Char’s phone—somewhere down the beach for however long it was going to take her to get used to the idea that she was pregnant. Plump Andie—who’d been content to sit for the past fifteen years massaging feet—was off walking all the way to the pier after already swimming. Jo—who had adamantly unplugged from work—was suddenly plugged back in. Two of the three still wore their early morning attire—dreadful sweat suits not fit for public viewing. More than likely Andie still wore hers as well; Char hadn’t heard the other shower running.
And in less than an hour they were to leave for Hollywood!
Char crossed her arms.“Happy birthday to me.”