Sweet Tea Tuesdays Read online

  Georgia cocked a meticulously plucked eyebrow. “Now you’ve got my curiosity up.” She reached for the deck of cards she’d brought out on the tray. She shuffled the deck several times and set it facedown on the coffee table. They took turns choosing a card. Midge drew the highest card with a queen of hearts. Lula came in second with a ten of spades, and Georgia lost the round with a five of clubs. Back in the day, when their children were little and their husbands were working late, there’d been many times when the tea sipping had led to wine guzzling and they’d ordered four or five large pizzas for dinner for their rowdy little group. They’d spent so much time together in those years they knew everything there was to know about one another. But now that their lives were so busy and independent, most Tuesdays they all had tidbits of news or gossip to share. Instead of trying to talk over one another at once, they adopted the card method as a fair means of taking turns.

  “Looks like I get to go first.” Midge straightened herself, holding her blonde head high and sticking out her perky breasts.

  Midge had a physical advantage over most women their age. She’d never carried an eight-pound baby to term or nursed it for six months afterward. Even though Georgia aspired to have a toned figure like Midge’s, she didn’t envy her friend her inability to have children. Being infertile was the single biggest disappointment in Midge’s life. The years of trying to conceive had taken its toll on her marriage and led her husband to seek comfort from another woman. Much to her credit, Midge had slammed the door shut on her unfaithful husband, taken up marathon running, and launched a new career as a real estate agent. Lacking the connections to break into the downtown market, she’d ventured out to the residential areas west of the Ashley River and made a name for herself there.

  “Bennett asked me to marry him.” Midge held out her left hand. Rays of afternoon sunlight reflected off the large diamond on her ring finger.

  Georgia gaped at the ring. “Good gravy! Did that rotten rascal chisel that stone off the side of Mount Rushmore?”

  Midge’s body went rigid. “For your information, Georgia, the ring belonged to his grandmother.”

  Georgia stared her down. “Bennett has been married and divorced three times already. You mean to tell me he’s just now getting around to using his grandmother’s engagement ring?”

  Midge lowered her hand to her lap. “You’ve been mean about him since we started dating, Georgia, and I’m tired of it. He’s actually a very nice person. He’s not perfect, but name someone who is.”

  She shook her head in disgust. “He’s really done a snow job on you. You’ve only been dating him for two months. I’ve known him his entire life. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Georgia had grown up in the same neighborhood as Bennett Calhoun. His family lived on Legare Street, and hers two blocks over on Gibbes. Bennett ran around in the same crowd as her younger brother. She had enough firsthand knowledge of his unscrupulous behavior to legitimately call him a scoundrel. All the parents had loved him. “Such a nice boy. Such polite manners. Did you know he’s a direct descendant of John C. Calhoun?” The neighborhood children had worshipped him as well. Bennett was the go-to guy when they’d needed a parent’s signature on a bad report card. Or when they’d wanted to get high.

  Lula grabbed Midge’s hand, holding it far enough away so she could inspect the stone without needing her readers. “I think it’s lovely. When’s the big day?”

  Midge flashed her a radiant smile. “Sometime next month. Or we may wait until August. Neither of us wants a big wedding. We’re thinking of flying down to the Caribbean and having a private ceremony, just the two of us, at one of those destination wedding places.”

  Hard as she tried, Georgia couldn’t keep her mouth shut. “What’s the big rush? Why not take some time to get to know each other better?”

  “I’m fifty years old this year,” Midge said. “And Bennett is almost forty-nine. Why have a long courtship to prove we’re perfect for each other? We both know what we want out of life. Why wait when we can be together now?”

  “I see a lot of point in waiting,” Georgia said. “It’s only a matter of time before that rotten rascal shows his true colors. Then you’ll wish you’d waited. Mark my words, Midge. Once a scoundrel, always a scoundrel.”

  “Georgia, stop!” Lula said. “You’re spoiling her moment.”

  While Midge and Lula talked on about Caribbean wedding destinations, Georgia’s mind wandered back to the first time she’d invited Midge and Lula over for tea on a sweltering day in late July of 1991. Lula’s father had recently passed away, and her mother had wasted no time in moving to a chichi retirement community in Virginia. At her mother’s insistence, Lula and Phillip had taken up permanent residence in her childhood home on Tradd Street to await the birth of their first child. Georgia was also pregnant at the time, six weeks away from delivering her second child.

  She was reading on her front porch when she noticed Lula pulling weeds in the flower bed bordering her front walk. As native Charlestonians, their paths had crossed many times before, but they’d never considered themselves friends. She maneuvered her swollen body off the sofa and waddled over to the railing. “Considering your condition,” she called to Lula, “maybe you should hire someone to do that for you.”

  Lula waved Georgia off with a dirty gloved hand. “My parents kept this garden immaculate for thirty years without any help from outsiders.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Georgia asked with raised eyebrows.

  Lula sat back on her haunches. “Now that you mention it, no.” She wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand, leaving behind a streak of dirt. She looked up at Georgia. “You were their neighbor. You should know. Did they hire someone to help with the yard?”

  Georgia hunched her shoulders in a casual shrug. “I may have seen someone other than your father mowing the grass on Wednesday afternoons.”

  Lula slowly got to her feet. “This is hard work,” she said, rubbing her belly. “Maybe I should hire someone. At least until after the baby comes.”

  “You’d be doing yourself and the baby a favor,” Georgia said. “Would you like to come over for a glass of sweet tea?”

  Lula nodded her head enthusiastically. “Iced tea sounds perfect right about now.”

  Georgia saw the new neighbor in the house on the other side of Lula walking toward them, carrying a pie in her outstretched hands. Georgia felt a pang of guilt. The young couple had been in the house since April, but she’d yet to welcome the woman to the neighborhood.

  The woman was petite, no taller than five feet if Georgia had to guess, with shoulder-length blonde hair and attractive features. She stopped at Lula’s gate and presented her a foil-wrapped pie plate. “I brought you a peach cobbler to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

  “That’s so nice of you.” Lula lifted her hands to show the woman her dirty gloves. “Do you mind placing it on the table on the porch?”

  “Not at all.” The petite blonde walked the pie to the porch and returned to where Lula was standing. “I’m sorry for your loss. Your father was helping me identify some of the plants in my jungle when he had his heart attack. I’m Mary Margaret Wilkins, by the way. My friends call me Midge. Not because I’m short. Although, as you can see, I’m definitely below average in height. My parents meant for Madge to be my nickname, but my baby brother had a difficult time pronouncing it. Although I don’t think Madge is that difficult to say. Any more so than Midge. Funny how nicknames get started. I’m sorry for babbling. I get nervous when I meet new people.”

  “No need to be nervous, honey. I promise I won’t bite.” Lula reached out to touch Midge’s arm but quickly withdrew her dirty glove. “My mother spoke of you, of your kindness toward her that day. Thank you for being there for her.” She removed her gloves. “I was just getting ready to go next door for tea. Do you have room for one more?” she hollered over to Georgia, who was still standing at the railing eavesdropping on their conv
ersation.

  “Of course! I’d love for you to join us.” Georgia waved Midge on. “I have plenty of tea and some shortbread biscuits.”

  They’d sipped tea and talked for hours that day. And nearly every day for the next ten years. From Georgia’s porch they observed the seasons change and watched the children grow from toddlers to adolescents to young adults. With no children of her own, Midge showered Georgia’s and Lula’s with affection. As the years went on and their separate lives drew them apart, they reduced their meetings to once a week on Tuesday afternoons at four, so as not to lose touch completely.

  Georgia was brought back to the present by the sound of ice clanking in Midge’s empty glass. “So . . . Lula,” she said as she refilled their glasses. “I’m dying to hear the news that made you faint.”

  Despite her earlier fainting spell, Lula positively glowed as she began to speak. “It’s just the best news ever.” She clasped her hands together. “Brooke is coming home for a visit!”

  “How lovely.” Forcing her lips into a thin smile, Georgia added under her breath, “The Christ child returneth.”

  None of the mothers Georgia knew would ever admit to having a favorite child. But Lula’s prejudice toward her oldest daughter was apparent. Georgia preferred the easy manner and thoughtfulness of Lula’s younger daughter, Lizbet, to the aloof and competitive Brooke.

  Shooting Georgia a warning glare, Midge said, “That’s so exciting, Lula. How long has it been since she was last home?”

  “Three years. Remember she was home for a month the summer after she graduated from Stanford, before she accepted the job in San Francisco.”

  Lula had been so proud of Brooke when she’d gotten accepted to Stanford. Georgia had often marveled at how different the girls were that one would go so far away while the other had chosen to attend the College of Charleston to be closer to her parents. “When will she arrive?” Georgia asked.

  “I’m not sure of the exact date yet, but she’ll be here for the Fourth. Do you think it’s too late for me to pull together a party?”

  “Not if you hire a caterer. You should talk to Heidi Butler.” A confused expression crossed Lula’s face. “You know, Tasty Provisions, the new catering company your daughter is working for. Surely you’ve been in the shop to see Lizbet.”

  Lula chewed on her lower lip. “Not yet. I keep meaning to get in there. I just haven’t had the time.”

  “You should make the time,” Georgia said. “The store is one of a kind. I loved it so much, I’ve taken a job there myself. I start on Thursday.”

  Lula let out a bark of laughter. “What’re you talking about? You’ve never worked a day in your life.”

  Georgia lifted her chin high. “I beg your pardon. I’ve served on every board in this city at least once. I’ve chaired dinners and organized auctions. I’ve hosted important dignitaries in my home and delivered speeches to rooms packed with people. If that isn’t work, I don’t know what is. At least with this new job I’ll get paid.”

  “What happened to your renovation project?” Midge asked. “I thought you were planning to make an offer on that house on South Battery.”

  Georgia dismissed Midge with a flick of her wrist. “That property was all wrong for us. We’re still looking, though. In the meantime I’ve decided to try something new. There is a glitch, though. I’m afraid my work schedule may interfere with teatime.”

  Lula scowled at her. “I’m sorry, Georgia, but that simply won’t do. You’ll have to figure something else out. We’ve been meeting every Tuesday for as long as I can remember. We can’t stop now because you decided to get a job. Why do you need a job anyway? Don’t you have plenty to keep you busy at home?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Midge

  Midge was surprised, and a little bit irritated, when she arrived home and found Bennett lounging on her sofa, his Gucci loafers propped up on her marble coffee table and her MacBook open in his lap. She snatched her laptop away from him and snapped it shut. “How’d you get in?”

  “You gave me a key, remember?” He held up a single silver house key.

  She looked closely at the key. “All my spares are attached to plastic yellow rings. And no, I don’t remember giving that to you.” That’s not to say she hadn’t given him the key. Her memory had begun to fail her in recent years, along with other parts of her body she was working hard to maintain. Did she mind him having a key to her house? To be honest, she wasn’t sure. He was her fiancé, but she hadn’t shared her living space with anyone since her ex moved out twenty years ago.

  He folded his fingers around the key and flashed her that naughty-boy grin that reached his delicious dimples and melted her heart, sending jolts of electricity to remote parts of her body. She always defended Bennett to Georgia—despite the little things he did that made her question his motives—because she loved him and he made her feel alive again for the first time in twenty years. “Fine, you can keep the key for now. But don’t abuse the privilege.”

  He stood to face her. “Where have you been, anyway?” Burying his face in her neck, he breathed in her scent. “Phew, you’re all sweaty.”

  She pushed him away. “I’ve been down the street having tea with Georgia and Lula on Georgia’s porch. Of course I’m sweaty. It’s summertime in the South.”

  “Why do you waste your time with those women?”

  “Because they’re my friends.”

  “They have nothing to offer you. If you stick with me, you’ll have a whole new set of friends in six months’ time. You won’t miss those old bags one bit.” He aimed his thumb at the stairs. “Now go get dressed. We have cocktails with the Lelands tonight.”

  Confusion crossed her face. “What’re you talking about? And who are the Lelands?”

  “I sent you an e-mail about it three days ago. They’re having a party tonight to show off their recently renovated condo on the waterfront.”

  She paused to search her memory but came up empty. “I must have forgotten to add it to my calendar.”

  “Go!” He nudged her in the direction of the stairs. “And be quick about it. Wear that black dress I love. The one that shows off your fine ass.” He gave her butt a little squeeze.

  Midge tucked her laptop under her arm, retrieved the stack of mail from the table beside the sofa, and dashed up the stairs to her room. She placed the laptop and mail on her bedside table and opened the double doors to her closet. Running a finger down the row of cocktail dresses, she skipped over the black dress that showed off her butt and stopped at a pink silk sheath that hung straight from her shoulders. Slipping the dress over her head, she eyed her queen-size bed as she struggled with the zipper. She longed to put on her nightgown and spread out on the pillow-top memory-foam mattress with a carton of yogurt and a glass of white wine and binge-watch a series on Netflix.

  No, Midge! She turned her back on her bed. You need to enjoy tonight. You finally have a date to the ball. She went to the window and peeked through the blinds. Night after night for most of her adult life, she’d watched Georgia and Lula leave for social engagements. Georgia to her charity functions and dinners with her husband’s doctor friends and their wives, and Lula to neighborhood gatherings that Midge was never invited to. The other wives stopped including her in their backyard barbecues and holiday cocktail parties after her divorce. She was the pariah, the woman no one wanted to associate with for fear their husbands might be tempted by the attractive, young divorcée.

  Midge knew Bennett wasn’t perfect, but she did her best to ignore gossip about his failed marriages and shady business dealings. She and Bennett were meant to be together. They dreamed of opening a boutique real estate firm where she would handle the residential and he the commercial transactions. Their model would provide their wealthy clients with a one-stop shop for all their real estate needs. They planned to manage the firm for ten years before retiring and turning it over to a trusted employee to run while they traveled the world. Midge had worked hard in her
career, and she had a considerable portfolio to prove it. They couldn’t go wrong with his name and her business acumen.

  Their relationship wasn’t all about business. Bennett had a soft side to him that he seldom let show, and the glimpses she’d seen of his compassion and vulnerability had endeared him to her. She’d dated several men since her divorce. Too many to count, in fact. But few had asked her out a second time, while only one had ended in a relationship, which lasted exactly one month. She’d never connected with anyone the way she connected with Bennett. The only other man she’d ever loved was her childhood sweetheart, and their love was based on friendship. Desperate to get away from her overbearing parents, she’d married Taylor right out of high school and supported him while he attended college. She trusted him with her heart and her future, and he’d jumped ship when it became clear she would never be able to give birth to their child. He refused to consider adoption or surrogacy. After years of therapy, she finally realized he’d used her infertility as a convenient excuse to divorce a woman he had never really loved.

  Midge had no interest in attending college, but with no children to take care of nor a husband to support her, she did find herself in need of a career. Selling houses didn’t feel like work. Finding the right home for her buyer was a game—one she never gave up on until she won.

  She smeared shimmering gloss across her lips, slipped on her low-heeled sandals, and grabbed her Tory Burch clutch. Midge loved to shop. In the absence of a husband or children to spoil, she rewarded herself for all her hard work by buying beautiful clothes.

  “You look like you’re wearing a shopping bag from Victoria’s Secret,” Bennett said when he saw her in the pink sheath. “What happened to the black dress?”

  She waved him off. “It’s too hot for that cling wrap. Pink is more summery, don’t you think?”

  “Your summery is not the right kind of hot.” He picked his keys up off the coffee table. “Don’t blame me when none of the men look at you.”