in a fishing lodge, and I’m going to see a lawyer and file for divorce so I can look for a new partnership. Someday. Right now I have too much to do.”
“Okay,” Camille said. Prue was prepared for more argument. Her mother never gave up on anything. “But I think you’re making a big mistake. It isn’t easy for women like us to find the right man. They feel overwhelmed by us, even intimidated. We attract them all right, but holding them is harder because sometimes…we’re just too much.”
“The right kind of man,” Prue repeated her words with a roll of her eyes, “wouldn’t be found in a compromising position with a stripper.”
“I understand he had his clothes on,” Jeffrey said.
Both women turned to him in surprise.
“Well, Paris and Randy sat with us this morning while the two of you were in the cab, and she and your mother talked about it.” He shrugged. “I just think if a man’s as eager as all that to make love to a woman, he’s going to get naked, too.”
Feeling besieged, Prue needed to get away. She snatched her jacket and purse off the arm of the sofa and drew a steadying breath. “I’m going to the studio,” she said politely, though her emotions were hot and turbulent. Anger and pain and bitter disappointment gave her a heartburn that had nothing to do with digestion. “I have a lot of orders to fill and I have to make a plan, try to hire some help.”
Jeffrey stood. “Prue, I’m sorry if I…”
She came back to give him a quick hug. “You didn’t do anything, Jeffrey. I just need to get to work and think about other things.” She went to her mother, who sat curled up in an overstuffed chair, and hugged her, too. “I know you have my best interests at heart, Mom. Don’t worry if I’m late. I have a lot to do.”
Camille patted her cheek. “I’m so happy for you that the fashion show went well. Soon the whole world’s going to know you’re a brilliant designer.”
That was a nice thought.
Jeffrey tossed her his car keys. She tossed them back. “Thanks, but it’s a beautiful day and I’m going to walk.” She’d sold her Porsche when she’d moved back home to help contribute to the household. The fact that her sister owned a cab company had helped her get around, but after Paris and Randy were reconciled this morning, she imagined Paris would have better things to do than drive her to her studio.
She blew a kiss into the room and walked out the door, breathing in the sharp, clear air. She set a steady pace and headed off toward town, thinking that the two-mile jaunt would probably take her half an hour or better.
It was just after noon when she reached town. Colonial homes and small businesses stood in the sun-dappled early afternoon, Halloween decorations on the windows, a black cat–shaped windsock puffed out in front of the hardware store.
Traffic picked up as she reached the square, groups of women and men from City Hall or businesses downtown hurrying to lunch appointments. The trees on the common caught the sunlight that also glossed the curved lines on the statue of Caleb and Elizabeth Drake, a couple who’d fought off redcoats. Prettily painted two-hundred-year-old buildings framed the square.
She tried hard to concentrate on her surroundings rather than think about Gideon and his sudden appearance this morning. Though everyone else seemed to think his visit was noble to try to clarify what had happened and an indicator that he still cared, she thought of it as just another attempt to convince her of a fiction she just couldn’t swallow.
She didn’t think she was being difficult. She simply needed to hold on to her self-respect. What woman in her right mind would have believed him?
She’d just reached the far side of the square, when a horn honked behind her. She turned to see Paris’s cab pull up to the curb. The station wagon had magnetic signs on the front doors that read Berkshire Cab in tall yellow letters. Her sister reached across the front seat to open the passenger door.
“Where you going?” she asked.
“To the studio.” Prue ducked down to reply. “Why aren’t you and Randy making out somewhere? What’s wrong with you?”
“One of the other EMTs’ mother died and Randy was called in to cover for him.” Paris shrugged. “So, I thought I may as well drive. Get in.” She pulled a bottle of 7-Up and a package of saltines off the passenger seat.
Prue complied, fastened her seat belt, then took the bottle and crackers from her. “How’s the nausea?”
“Comes and goes,” Paris replied, watching her rearview mirror as she pulled out again. Taking her place in the busy traffic, she grinned at the windshield. “I’m feeling too obnoxiously happy to notice, really. Can you believe it? I’m in love! And I’m going to be a mother.”
Prue patted her sister’s arm, sincerely pleased for her, while her own heart reacted with a silent whimper. “A lot’s changed since you woke up at five this morning, sick as a dog and determined to leave Maple Hill and Randy to go back to law school.”
Paris nodded, still smiling. “I know. I can’t believe that only hours ago I was so sure that all the wonderful aspects of my life were over, except for the baby. And here I am.”
“Obnoxiously happy.”
“Yes. And you know why?”
“Why?”
They’d passed downtown now and the Breakfast Barn sign was visible in the distance on the left side of the highway.
“Because I was forced to listen to reason. Randy came after me and made me listen to him.” She spoke amiably, then added with pointed emphasis, “Just like Gideon tried to do with you this morning.”
If Prue wasn’t wearing her favorite red wool jacket, she’d have leaped from the moving car and taken her chances. But this fabric had been the devil to work on and she wasn’t going to endanger it to escape her sister’s advice.
“Do you want to hear what he told me this morning?” she asked Paris.
Paris sent her a quick and frankly interested glance. “Do you want to tell me?”
Prue recounted Gideon’s story complete with the members of the ethics committee hitting a moose and the stripper harboring a lifelong desire for higher education.
Paris considered a moment, waving at the driver of a police car that drove past. “I don’t think that’s so unbelievable. Parts of the story are a little outrageous, but then Mom always says that truth is—”
“Stranger than fiction,” Prue finished for her. “I know. Well, I don’t believe it. There’s been nothing about the incident in the paper.”
“He said it was an ongoing investigation.”
“That’s what he said.”
“Prudie…” Paris gasped, obviously frustrated with her. That came as no surprise. They’d learned to deal with each other since they’d each returned home a year ago, but they would always be two very different women.
Paris was levelheaded and practical, and if it hadn’t been for a shocking discovery about their mother’s history that redirected her entire life, Paris would probably be about to take the bar exam right now. Prue had always thought Paris took after Jasper O’Hara, their father, who’d been an accountant and the voice of reason in their lively family. But it turned out that Paris was the result of a traumatic event in her mother’s life, and whatever she’d inherited from Jasper had been by osmosis rather than genetics.
Prue, on the other hand, was artistic and mercurial like their mother, and tended to operate on emotion rather than reason, which oddly seemed more reliable to her. Reason was so black and white and allowed little scope for creativity. Emotion, however, could take one in a million different directions and always seemed to open doors rather than close one in.
“You know,” Paris started again.