CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Camellia and the Epiphany.

The Camellia Avenue Boutique used to be Veronica’s go-to place for cocktail dresses and formal wear. The shop was sectioned off—Dressy, Sporty, Fun, Bohemian, Casual, Loungewear, Accessories and Footwear, etc. Like a miniature department store, including a cosmetic counter and one whole corner devoted to Vera Bradley bags and accessories and Lilly Pulitzer dresses and tunics.

Floral seemed the thing apparently, winter and summer.

The coffee bar in one corner offered lattes, cupcakes and muffins, and a few bistro tables scattered here and there to encourage conversations and trunk shows.

Right now, the Camellia, as the locals called it, had most of the holiday wear on clearance. Veronica took a deep breath and entered the shop she’d avoided since her very public fit and bypassed all the sparkling Christmas sweaters to head for the dresses. She wanted something pretty but a bit sexy too. She’d need a wrap or pretty jacket to ward off the chill.

She checked all the dresses, shaking her head at each one. Then Marcy Whitaker saw her and let out a scream, causing the few shoppers to lift their heads to stare.

“Hush my mouth, it’s Veronica Cearley in the flesh.” Marcy rushed over to engulf Veronica in a gardenia-rich embrace. “How in the world are you, suga?”

Veronica tried to hold her breath and speak, because she didn’t want to sneeze on Marcy’s St. John suit, so she backed up and smiled. “I’m fine. I don’t get in much anymore.”

Marcy put a pink-painted fingernail to her mouth. “Not since that day—”

“I was in a bad mood that day, Marcy,” she admitted. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”

“Embarrassed?” Marcy let out a snort of a giggle. “Honey, I was so proud of you. Freda is as blunt as a cheap carving knife. She criticizes everything.” Marcy had drawn out the word everything into about four syllables. “And hardly buys anything, except the costume jewelry we carry for people like her.”

“That makes me feel better,” Veronica admitted.

Marcy gave her the pity face. “How ya really doing, sweetie?”

Cringing at the “sweetie” part, Veronica remembered to show grace. “I’m okay. Better. Trying to get back into the swing of things.”

“That’s good, so good.” Then Marcy leaned in. “I hear you’ve been out and about more these days. A new man in your life?”

Apparently, The Walkers were still also The Talkers. “I’m making new friends.”

“Well, I think that’s awesome. No matter what anyone says, right?”

Veronica didn’t take that cleverly concerned bait. “Exactly,” she said. “I need something dressy for tomorrow night.”

Marcy glanced at the dresses, then back to Veronica. “You need a dressy pantsuit, darlin’. It’ll shout power and confidence, but also edgy and interesting. And you won’t freeze to death.”

“I hadn’t thought of a pantsuit,” Veronica said, surprising herself. “Show me what you got.”

Marcy tugged her to a row of colorful wool suits. “You can do red, of course. But honey, with those eyes and that Farrah hair, you should pick this cool-blue wool crepe. It flows so pretty. Wear the jacket with a white silk camisole and some silver pumps. You’ll need some understated earrings and no other jewelry.”

Like a doctor’s prescription, Veronica thought. Wear this for four hours and call me in the morning. “I also need a clutch.”

“Of course. We got in some Badgley Mischka and a couple Judith Leiber bags.”

Veronica spotted a Judith Leiber way over her price range. “This is lovely, but I have to be practical.”

“Then go with this one,” Marcy said, her tone professional and sure. She held up a sparkling silver rectangular clutch that snapped together with a butterfly-shaped clasp. Veronica glanced at the price. Expensive, but with only three digits instead of the four on the Judith Leiber. “That will be perfect.”

“Go on in and try on everything,” Marcy said. “Then we’ll talk hair and makeup.”

“Thank you, Marcy,” Veronica said, meaning it. She hadn’t really thought about hair and makeup, but she had to put some paint on the old barn door, as her mama used to say.

“Honey, today, I am your fairy godmother,” Marcy said with pride. “This ain’t my first rodeo.” Then Marcy, her St. John suit the creamiest of winter white, her pearls pure Mikimoto, called out to the barista. “Tiff, bring Mrs. Cearley a nice latte.”

Veronica giggled as she entered the spacious dressing room usually reserved for VIP clients. She should get out more often.

She’d slipped on the sumptuous, white silk camisole when she heard chatter. Oh, no. Some of her old friends? At this time of day? Could she never get away from them? She listened carefully, then recognized Sarah’s voice. Only one other woman with her, it seemed. Freda Clark again, notorious for spreading gossip like most people spread fertilizer and just as full of crap. How could this be happening twice? Deciding she’d take the high road this time, Veronica went on with getting dressed.

“So, what have you heard?” Sarah asked in a hushed tone as they passed the dressing room. Veronica listened as they started moaning over the new boots in the shoe department.

“Only that they’ve been cozy all over town. And what’s this with Trudy Gladstone? Veronica and she have never been close before.”

They were talking about her.

Veronica glanced around for an escape hatch, but nope. Trapped. She tried not to breathe, but when she heard Marcy ask Sarah if she needed help, Veronica froze. Marcy needed to get them out of here, and soon.

“No, just looking at shoes. Greg and I have this big function in Atlanta over the New Year’s weekend.”

“Well, that’s so special.” Marcy told them to call if they needed any help. “We have a great selection of dressy shoes.”

Then Sarah asked, “Marcy, have you heard anything about Veronica Cearley dating some strange man?”

Marcy didn’t skip a beat. “No, I haven’t. But I sure hope she’s found someone. She’s a good person who’s gone through a lot.”

Silence. Then Freda said, “Well, she’d dropped off the face of the earth and now she’s acting like a schoolgirl. The way she stormed out of here with that dang purse last time I saw her shopping, I thought she was gonna tear my head off. I don’t get her.”

Marcy’s high heels clacked across the floor. “You don’t have to get her. She can hold her own.” Then Veronica heard those pumps making their way to her dressing room. Marcy called, “Come on out now. I want to see you all dolled up. We all do.”

Veronica smiled. Marcy to the rescue. “I’ll be right out.” She slipped on the gorgeous pants and jacket and fluffed her hair. Then she put her feet into the luscious kitten-heel silver pumps and grabbed the sparkling clutch.

With a lot of fanfare, she opened the door. “You were so right, Marcy. This does make me feel powerful and confident. I need those earrings you mentioned.”

Then she glanced toward the now-stunned-to-silence Sarah Sullivan and gave her and Freda-with-the-gaping-mouth a takedown glance. “I think this will work perfectly. And surprisingly, I don’t feel like a schoolgirl at all.”

“Honey, you don’t look it either. He’s gonna grovel at your feet.”

Veronica did a twirl. “That’s the plan.”

Then she did a model walk to the big mirror near where Sarah and Freda stood pretending to look at shoes.

“Wow, I’ve never had such a glamorous suit, Marcy.”

“It’s you, darlin’,” Marcy said with a wink. “And . . . Veronica, it’s good to have you back.”

“Thank you,” Veronica mouthed. Inside, she was shaking with guilt for even considering going out with another man, but she wouldn’t let those two see her fall apart. She’d never know what Marcy might have said if she hadn’t been in the store, but she had a feeling it would have been the same thing she’d said today.

Marcy didn’t suffer fools very well.

And neither did she.

Of course, the next night, with minutes to spare before Cullen was due to arrive, Veronica went into full panic mode. She had on the suit, the dainty teardrop pearl earrings, had her beautiful butterfly clutch in her hand, and had done her makeup and hair exactly as Marcy had suggested. Hair up, but with tendrils falling around her face, red matte lipstick, and not too heavy on the eye stuff.

She’d never felt more beautiful, or more miserable.

Guilt nagged at her soul, shadows played around her, daring her to let go of that guilt, and her mind recoiled from everything she’d done the last few weeks. She’d betrayed her love for her husband and son. She’d laughed and smiled, and chattered, and cared. She’d come out of her exile from life, while they would never be able to come back to her.

How could she stand here all dolled up, and thinking about making out with another man? How? A man she was also secretly trying to investigate. Being careful, or being too curious?

“How?” she shouted into the mirror.

Even Lulu left the bedroom, the dog’s head down as if she’d been in trouble.

Veronica sank down on the bed and caught her kitten heels winking at her. “I know. I need to get up and do this. I want to do this. But I’m so afraid.”

Lulu, hearing the plea in her words, came back to the open bedroom door and whimpered. Mercy, she loved that dog.

“Lulu, why am I so lost?”

Her dog woofed and whimpered again, doleful eyes lifting.

“He’s gorgeous, huh? And mysterious, and like no one I’ve ever met before. But he has the ability to put me over the edge.” She touched a hand to the crisp lapel of her three-hundred-dollar suit jacket. “I can’t go there again. I’ve loved one man for most of my life, and now, this new man has gotten to me in less than a month, and I still have no idea why he seems to want to keep hanging around. What’s wrong with me?”

She stood and stared in the mirror. “You don’t need a man in your life—not to rescue you or make you feel special. All of that is nice, but mostly, you need to get back into your own life. This is a start. But you can get past this and carry on.”

Could she?

Yes, she could. She could.

At that moment, Veronica Cearley realized she’d been holding back because she’d poured herself, all of herself, into her marriage and her children. She’d given up her job, her own wants and needs, to please Josh and Jay and Elle, and Josh’s prominent, demanding parents. Because she hadn’t felt worthy enough to fight for her own life. Because she’d come from a middle-class, hardworking family from across the tracks. And while she wouldn’t change her love for the family she married into, especially her love for Josh, Jay, and Elle, she should have fought for herself more.

That epiphany hit her hard.

“I loved all of them,” she whispered. “With all my heart. I loved the good and the bad of them. I need to love me again. I need to love the good and the bad of me.”

The revelation floored her. Lulu gave her a look that seemed to say, “Well, it’s about time.”

The doorbell rang, and her faithful companion turned tail and barked in delight.

Veronica’s heart jumped and jingled with all the frenzy of an elf late in loading the sleigh. She stood and took one last look, holding her tears back so her makeup wouldn’t smear all over her new clothes. She glanced toward the lone old coat in the empty closet, and so wanted to hide inside that coat, surrounded by the scent of her husband’s aftershave mixed with the essence of what she had left of him. But if she did that, she’d never find the part of herself she’d given away.

By the time she got to the front door, she’d erased her scared expression and taken a deep breath.

Stick to the plan, enjoy these last few days, try to get to know this man, and even if you don’t—let it go. Let him go. You’re not ready for this.

She opened the door with a smile.

Oh.

Cullen sure cleaned up nicely.

He wore a dark overcoat, a beige cashmere pullover sweater, and dark slacks over polished black boots. His hair was combed and curled and tempting. His eyes seemed even more blue than usual.

He stood there staring at her, beginning with her hair, slipping over her lips, and moving on down to her shoes. “You look . . . amazing.”

Feeling exposed, Veronica fell back on snark. “You ain’t so bad yourself.”

“You’re not sure about tonight, are you?”

So much for putting on a proper face. “I’m fine.”

She moved back and opened the door. “Come in, please.”

Kicking it shut with one booted foot, he gave her an intent look. “Let’s go sit down.”

“I’m ready, really.” She held up her clutch. “See, all butterflies and sparkles.”

Cullen turned her back into the living room and gently tucked her down on the sofa, then sat down beside her and put his arm around her shoulder. “You’re not ready.”

She didn’t move away. Instead, she snuggled against him as if he were her favorite ratty blanket. “But I bought this outfit and shoes, and my cute purse. And Sarah Sullivan and her sidekick, Freda, were mean until I came out of the dressing room looking smokin’ hot.”

Even as she said the words, she felt the hot tears moving down her skin to leave moist sprinkles on the fabric of her jacket.

“Well, you are smokin’ hot,” he said, bringing her tightly against the warmth of his coat. “And those women know that.”

She really didn’t care, but then she did. “Not if we don’t leave this house.”

Cullen turned and lifted her chin with one hand while he pulled her head close with the other. “I’m here and I can vouch for how good you look, luv.” Then he leaned in. “And I think I can make you forget all about leaving the house.”

Then he kissed her, and her thoughts went from, “Oh, no, smeared lipstick,” to “But this is the twelve-hour-stay-on-lipstick,” to “Forget the lipstick. I want to kiss Cullen. A lot.”

So she did that. She kissed him, over and over, until her lips were swollen and tingling. Then he kissed her face, her tears, her hair while he tugged it down, and his lips moved to her neck.

Until Veronica had to come up for air.

She lifted away, a foggy, lethargic feeling settling over her like a shimmering blanket. “I thought we were going to dance.”

“Do you have music?”

She heard songs in her head. She nodded.

“Then we shall dance.”

Veronica shook her head. “Elle is coming home tomorrow and just overnight, and I don’t have the tree up and I tried to string lights on the porch, and they got all tangled. I’m a mess. I should just stay here and get things done.”

“Okay, you stay right there.”

He pulled away, took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves and stoked the fire. Then he went into the kitchen. She heard noises, cabinets opening, a cork popping, packages rattling. Then she heard the radio playing soft jazz music.

Veronica sat with her hands in her lap, tear spots drying on her new outfit, the hair she’d spent an hour on now tumbled and tossed. She touched a hand to her lips. Still warm, still moist. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she form a single thought?

Lulu roved back and forth between the kitchen activity and the lone woman sitting shocked on the sofa.

Cullen came back with a tray full of cheese, fruit, crackers, and chocolate, and two glasses of white wine. He put the tray on the coffee table and told Lulu, “No, this is not for you.”

Lulu sniffed and then saw the treat he’d hidden in his hand. She jumped high when he tossed it in the air, satisfied as she ran to a corner to enjoy it.

“Shall we?” he asked, as if nothing had happened, as if they’d planned this whole night to turn out exactly this way. As if Veronica hadn’t just seen her life flash before her and found her soul again. How could she explain that she wanted to be with him? She wanted to explore him, but she also wanted to be left alone to explore herself—find herself—again.

“Shall we what—dance, kiss, sit here?”

Cullen handed her a glass of wine. “First, I’ll help you trim the tree. Second, don’t worry about the porch. Your daughter isn’t here to see decorations. She’s making the effort to see you, Veronica.”

He got up and dragged the ornament box over by the feeble little tree she’d found standing alone on the Christmas tree lot in town. Then he grabbed a glass ornament and put it on the tree.

Veronica got up and automatically started trimming the tree. “I know. That’s why I’m so scattered and . . . I took down the For Sale sign and hid it in the garage. I have to tell her first, before she sees that sign. She wants to get married here, Cullen. In the spring.”

“You’ve obviously been thinking things through,” he said. “And you’ve come to some conclusions?”

“How do you do that?” Veronica asked, still sizzling.

He handed her a goblet of wine. “Do what?”

“Go into my kitchen and find exactly what you need, without even asking where I hide my groceries. Start decorating the tree and putting the ornaments in the best spots. How do you fix everything?”

He touched a finger to a miniature ballerina ornament. “That’s what I do. I fix things.”

“I mean, really, Cullen. I have come to some conclusions.”

The kisses were wearing off and reality began to return. Seeing another man hanging all her treasured ornaments brought back all her angst.

“Who are you? Tell me about your life, why you bought the lodge and came back now to do something with it, why that’s so important to you. Why you came walking up this particular street. I need to know the real you, because this is all new to me and frightening, and I’m riddled with guilt.” She moved her hand in a gesture that included him from head to toe. “All over you. All because of you.”

Cullen stood still, his gaze moving over her again with a new appreciation, with a different intensity. “Wow, you have come to some conclusions. I think I need to figure you out too.”

“Yes, you do.” She turned back to the tree, each glistening ornament a bright reminder that she was leaving one life behind, but that didn’t mean she had to dive right in with another man.

Because this Veronica, the one she’d discovered hiding behind the pallor of her grief and shame, could easily send him packing. And that would be okay with her. She’d survive. She’d thrive. She could enjoy the moment with him until the moment he was gone, and even then, she’d be okay with that. She had to be.