The Young Wives Club Page 4

  “Just one,” he said.

  “Should you be drinking before your class today?” She walked over to him and put her hand on her hip.

  He looked at her blankly. “Who cares?” he said with a shrug, letting out a burp that echoed through the apartment.

  “Brian Hunter Landry, that’s disgusting.” Laura headed to the fridge and grabbed him a Natty Light. “My shitty salary isn’t going to support this drinking habit for long,” she added, handing it to him.

  “I won two hundred bucks today on online poker,” he said opening the can. “I deserve to drink.”

  Laura raised her head. “Really? That’s amazing! I didn’t even know you were playing.” Brian sat in silence for a minute. Uncle Bradley was on ESPN, talking about the upcoming Florida/Alabama game. A thought occurred to her. “How many times have you played before?”

  “A couple.” He chugged a few sips. “I just started.”

  Her eyebrows furrowed. “So, how much money have you lost?”

  Silence.

  “What time are you heading to class?” Laura called from the kitchen as she started to prepare lunch. She was making red beans and rice for the third day in a row, trying to save money for the surgery. Their consultation with the surgeon had gone well. He’d said Brian was a good candidate for the surgery, and with intense physical therapy, he could even be ready to play as soon as next year. But first they had to come up with $40,000.

  “I need to make money,” he said, focused on his laptop. “So I’m not going.”

  Laura frowned. Brian hadn’t been to class in over a week. “I understand that, but don’t you think it’s important to stay in school?”

  He chuckled slightly. “That sure is rich, coming from you.”

  Laura threw him the middle finger. “In case you’ve forgotten, I dropped out to marry you.” The decision hadn’t bothered Laura too much at the time; they were getting married, and Brian was starting at LSU. It didn’t make any sense for her to stay in Toulouse and finish high school when her whole life was waiting for her elsewhere. But it didn’t help her case now. She dried her hands on a dish towel and walked out into the living room. “If you want to play for them when your knee is better, don’t you still have to pass your classes?”

  “Nah.” He cleared his throat. “I talked to Coach. He says if this surgery works, they’ll take me back. I’m the best they’ve got.”

  “But can he really guarantee that if you aren’t enrolled?” Laura asked. “Not to mention that you’ll lose your scholarship and your health insurance. . . . What if something else happens to you? What if you decide you want the other surgery, the one they will cover?” The water from the pot started boiling furiously and spilled out onto the stove. She grabbed a ratty dishrag and began cleaning up the mess.

  “I’ve got this game down,” he said, glancing up. “I’ll take care of us. And I can go on my parents’ insurance; it’s not a big deal.”

  She twisted the towel in her hands anxiously. “I just don’t think you’re thinking this through, Brian. We’re going to have to move out of this apartment.”

  “So, I’ve been thinking about that. . . .” He closed his laptop. “My parents said we can stay with them rent-free to save some money for the surgery. As much as I don’t want to do it, it makes sense.”

  She paused for a moment, processing what he’d just said. Then a sinking feeling hit her stomach. “No. No, no, no. I am not going back to Toulouse, and I sure as hell am not going to live with your parents. What, are we in high school again?”

  Brian ran a hand through his messy blond curls. “We stay with them for a few months—tops—and I’ll dedicate myself full-time to this poker thing, and I promise we’ll have enough money for the surgery in no time. Don’t you want me to play football again? Don’t you want me to play in the NFL like we planned? You’re not gonna get that mansion or those damn shoes with the red soles on them if I don’t do this. You know you want this as much as I do.”

  Laura leaned her hip on the cabinet, shaking her head. She stirred the food, allowing the smell to wash over her. The scent reminded her of her mom’s cooking, except that her mom’s meals were always homemade, and Laura was lucky if she could make a successful dish from a box. She’d even screwed up a Zatarain’s mix; the rice had come out gummy the night before. She wanted to call her mom and ask for advice—about the food and about Brian—but she reminded herself she was an adult and quite frankly should be able to figure out what to do. “There’s got to be another way,” she finally said, an edge of desperation in her voice. “We can’t just go from living alone to having chaperones twenty-four seven.”

  “Oh please . . . You know they’re not like that. You seem to be forgetting the long periods when they left us alone to do all that stuff on the living room couch,” Brian said with a laugh.

  “Brian, this isn’t funny!” Laura yelled. She threw the wooden spoon on the Formica countertop and stormed into the bedroom.

  She had been staring at the ceiling for a few minutes when Brian calmly limped into the room. “I’m sorry,” he said, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “I know this is really hard for both of us, and it’s not fair to you. I’m just asking you to make this one sacrifice for me.”

  Just this one? she wanted to say. Instead she wiped her wet cheek dry. “I refuse to be stuck in that house with them every day.”

  “I’m sure Ricky’ll give you your old job back,” Brian said, patting her head like a puppy. Back in high school, Laura had worked for Ricky Broussard at the Sea Shack. It wasn’t such a bad job because it was where all of her friends hung out.

  “I never thought we’d be going back to Toulouse, that’s for sure.” She intertwined her fingers with his.

  “You and me both,” he said, sinking onto the bed beside her.

  She sat up and shifted her body toward him. “Be serious with me. How long do you think this is going to last?”

  He propped his head up with his muscular arm and leaned into her. “If I have the surgery, I can be back on the field next year. That means we’d be back in Baton Rouge in the summer for training.”

  “I guess that’s not so bad,” Laura said, silently weighing the pros and cons in her head.

  Pro: Saving money more quickly, and being able to pay for the surgery sooner.

  Con: Going back to that Podunk town.

  Pro: Being on track for Brian to play professionally and never having to worry about money again.

  Con: Going back to that Podunk town.

  “So, what do ya say?” Brian asked, his gorgeous blue eyes pleading with her.

  “Fine.” She took a deep breath and grasped his hand. “But only because I love you.”

  6

  madison

  MADISON ROLLED HER mud-splattered blue pickup into the parking lot of Gary’s Fuel Depot. She hoped the weird rumbling noise it was making didn’t mean anything serious; the last time it sounded like this, she wound up stuck on the side of I-10, hyperventilating at the idea that someone could come plowing into her at any moment, killing her before she lost her virginity. That very night, she gave it up to a friend of a friend she met at a bonfire party. Nothing like a brush with death to make you frisky.

  She turned off the ignition and sat for a second as the rumbling turned into a clacking sound. Hopefully it’ll turn on again, she thought as she opened the creaky door and hopped out onto the concrete parking lot. A busted truck was the last thing she needed right now.

  Madison looked down as her phone buzzed with a text from Laura:

  Looks like I owe you $5. Back in town on Saturday. Maybe u can use it to buy me a drink to drown my sorrows :(

  Her heart sank a little. On Laura’s last night in Toulouse, Madison had bet her that she and Brian would move back to Toulouse one day. But she had been teasing; she hadn’t actually wanted to be right. She knew how excited Laura had been to leave.

  In theory, Madison and Laura should never have been friends. Madison was
always making fun of the cheerleaders in high school, and Laura was too busy rooting for the team (and Brian Landry) to notice. But they bonded one night over a joint and a bucket of Smirnoff Ice at a house party. Madison couldn’t believe someone so popular would want to talk to her all night, while Laura couldn’t believe someone so cool would want to hang out with her. The rest was history.

  Madison paused in the parking lot to quickly send a reply.

  Ugh. I’m sorry, love . . . Call when u get here!

  As much as it pained her to hear that Laura was going through a hard time, it was kind of refreshing to know that she wasn’t the only one. As Madison opened the door, jiggling the metal bell hanging on the handle, the store’s smell of ICEEs and beef jerky washed over her. Mr. Gary looked up from the newspaper spread before him on the checkout counter.

  “Hello, my dear,” he said, shuffling the sections together and folding the paper back up. Strands from his thin gray comb-over were going every which way, and his Hawaiian print shirt had a glaring mustard stain right on the front. Madison couldn’t decide which was more tragic.

  “Hi, Mr. Gary!” she said, walking up to the counter.

  “How’s your daddy?” he asked, looking concerned.

  “Can’t we just talk about me instead?” She flashed a cheeky grin.

  The old man chuckled. “You’re definitely your daddy’s daughter.”

  “Thank you for confirming that. I was starting to get worried,” she teased but then grew serious. “He’s doing okay. I don’t know if you heard, but he had to quit working.”

  “I didn’t,” he said, taking off his thick plastic-framed glasses and cleaning them with his shirt. His specs were so old that they were actually on trend again. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It is what it is, I guess,” she said, leaning her elbows on the counter. “I’m actually looking for work right now, so I can help out.” She made her voice soft but strong, a trick she learned when she was little. “You don’t happen to have anything available, do ya?”

  Mr. Gary stroked his patchy beard for a second. “I’m sorry, Mads. I ain’t got nothing right now.”

  She sighed and flashed a smile. Coming here had been a last-ditch effort; if even Mr. Gary wouldn’t give her a job, who would? “No worries. If anything comes up, you’ll call me, won’t ya?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  Madison quickly changed the subject, trying to ease the sting of rejection. “Well, while I’m here, can I get a scratch-off? One of the lucky shamrocks, please.”

  He nodded and turned his back to her, moving slowly as he grabbed the lottery ticket behind the counter. Madison put her bag up against the candy display in front of her and shoved a few Snickers bars in it. She had been doing this for years. She loved the thrill of taking something and knowing she’d gotten away with it.

  “That’ll be two dollars,” he said, finally turning back around with the ticket in hand.

  She reached into her bag for her wallet. “Thanks, Mr. Gary!” she said, putting the exact change on the counter. “Have a nice day.” She walked back to her beat-up truck, praying it wouldn’t die on her way home. At least she’d have some Snickers bars to survive on if it did.

  The truck continued to make the rumbling noise on the six-minute drive back to her house. She pulled into her driveway and got out just as the front engine started smoking. The last time this happened, it had meant a six-hundred-dollar mechanic bill and a week of bumming rides from her friends. That should make the job hunt even more fun, she thought bitterly to herself.

  Inside, Madison followed the smell of coffee through the foyer, past the living room, straight to the kitchen, where her parents were sitting with a man she didn’t recognize. He put down his red HANDSOME DEVIL mug—a present from her mom for her dad’s birthday one year—and looked up at her with striking green eyes. Madison was just relieved they hadn’t given this guy the MY DAUGHTER IS A GENIUS mug she so humbly made in middle school art class for Father’s Day.

  “Hi, honey,” her mom greeted her. “This is George Dubois. He works with your dad.” She paused. “Worked.”

  The man ran his fingers nervously through his neat brown hair and stood up. “Nice to meet ya,” he said with a thick southern drawl, shaking her hand with a firm grip.

  “You, too.” She gave him a once-over as their hands met. He had to be in his early thirties at most, but dressed like he was already someone’s embarrassing dad. His jeans were high-waisted—and not in a cool retro way—and he’d tucked in his ill-fitting red button-down shirt. But his shirtsleeves were rolled up, and Madison’s eyes lingered on his tan, muscled forearms . . . and the gold and silver Rolex glinting on his wrist. She cleared her throat as they let go of each other’s hands.

  “George is the CEO of your dad’s company.” Her mom took a sip of coffee.

  Madison watched as he sat back down at the table. So this was the “youngun” her dad was always griping about. . . . “Young spoiled rich kid gettin’ the company from his daddy . . .” he’d say.

  “He just came to pay a visit to your dad to see how he was doing,” her mom continued. “Isn’t that nice?”

  “Sure is,” Madison agreed, voicing the extent of her thoughts on the subject.

  “I was tellin’ your daddy the crew really miss him.” George tapped his fingers awkwardly on the table. “Some guys are even raising extra money for him with a Ping-Pong tournament next week.”

  “Did you know I was the Ping-Pong champion over there?” her dad asked with a proud, goofy grin.

  “You learn something new every day,” Madison said, grabbing a Coke from the fridge.

  “So, I heard you just graduated from Toulouse High,” George said, turning to her.

  “I did—a few months ago.”

  “Congrats.” He shifted his eyes from Madison, to the kitchen sink, to her dad, back to Madison in the span of one second. “Heard that’s a mighty fine school.”

  She paused. Was he being serious? She was able to pass all her classes despite skipping approximately one-third of them. Her teachers didn’t even notice she was missing. “Um, thanks,” she said, opening the can.

  “Why don’t you have a seat, sweetie?” Her dad pulled out the chair next to him.

  “Just for a minute,” she said, plopping down reluctantly. She knew the visit was important to her dad. “So, where do you live?” she asked George politely.

  “I used to be in Lafayette, but I just bought a little place over here on Darby Lake.” He took another sip of the coffee. “I needed some fresh air.”

  “Fresh air?” She chuckled. “You know there’s a paper mill five miles away? Smells like fart all the time in this town.”

  Her mom shot her a disapproving look.

  George let out a nervous laugh. “You know, I actually like the smell of paper mill. I smell the pine . . . not the poot.” His smile turned into an awkward wince, as if he were silently yelling at himself for saying that.

  She grinned. “Well, to each his own, I guess. So you just moved here, huh? My cousin Claire’s in-laws live on Darby, too. Sometimes we go over when they’re out of town and have bonfires and parties. They have a really awesome pool . . . do you have one, George?”

  Her mom shot her another look.

  Madison shrugged her shoulders and shot her a “What?” look. This was a very important question.

  “I don’t.” George shook his head. “Do you think I should get one?”

  “I do,” she said, matter-of-factly. Madison locked eyes with him and held his gaze, trying to see if she could make him blush.

  “Well, we’ll all have to go fishin’ one day,” her dad said, quickly changing the subject.

  “I sure would like that.” George turned his wrist to check the time. “Geez, it’s already five. I better get going. Got a Mardi Gras krewe meeting tonight in New Orleans.”

  “You’re driving all the way there just for a meeting?” Madison couldn’t grasp that concept. In the ninete
en years she’d been alive, she had never once made the three-hour drive to the city. Her idea of getting out of town was driving forty miles to Cash’s grandfather’s hunting lodge in New Iberia to smoke pot. In fact, she was looking forward to their date there tomorrow.

  George chuckled as he stood to leave. “Well, yeah. It ain’t that bad. I make that drive about every week.”

  “Why?” she asked bluntly.

  “That’s where all the action is! Sometimes I have meetings, other times I just want some beignets from Café Du Monde.”

  Jealousy overcame her. George grew up only miles away, and yet his life was so different from hers. He got to travel while she was left to dream about far-flung places while reading the National Geographic subscription she’d been forced to buy during a school fund-raiser. He had black-tie parties, she had blacked-out friends. He had everything handed to him, and dammit, she wanted that, too.

  “Pleasure meeting you,” he said, reaching for her hand.

  “I can walk you out,” she said, standing up. An idea had just occurred to her.

  “Sure thing.” After hugs and handshakes were exchanged with Madison’s parents, George joined her on a walk through the house, grabbing his briefcase and slipping on his brown leather loafers, which were sitting by the front door. How odd that he took them off . . .

  Outside, his silver Porsche was parked across the street, practically gleaming in the late-afternoon sun. How had she missed it on her way in? She could almost smell the new-car scent just by looking at the clean, crisp leather interior. She’d never seen anything so nice.

  George caught her staring. “Wanna sit in it?” he asked, unlocking the door with a remote control.

  “Obviously,” she said, smiling. He opened the door, and she crawled into the driver’s seat. She rested her right hand on the stick shift, her left hand on the steering wheel, and imagined herself speeding out of town. “Maybe one day you’d let me take it for a spin? I’ve always wanted a car like this.” It was a little white lie; she didn’t necessarily want a Porsche, just a car that worked. And she didn’t necessarily care about riding around in it; she just wanted to see George again—not because she liked him, but because she liked the idea of him. She liked the idea of his easy life, and the idea that maybe he’d share some of it with her.