Patricia Johns - A Baxter's Redemption

“I hate to intrude on your brunch,” Isabel said as they sat down.

“You aren’t intruding, right, Brit?” Carmella rolled on without waiting for a response. “Carlo, let’s start with some mimosas. What do you say, girls?”

“Make mine virgin,” Britney sighed. “You want one, too, Izzy?”

“Sure.”

Carlo winked, mostly for Carmella’s benefit, it seemed, and disappeared once more, leaving them in quiet.

“Britney said you were back in town,” Carmella said, “but you didn’t call.”

“I’m sorry,” Isabel replied. “I meant to. I’ve been busy getting things set up.”

“Set up for what?” Carmella’s brows rose.

“I’m moving back. For good.”

This didn’t seem to be news to Carmella, and she and Britney exchanged a look. Then Carmella leaned closer. “I see there’s no ring on your finger, but is there a guy in your life at all...?” She let the question hang there.

They didn’t have much else to talk about. That was the problem with leaving town for several years—you were no longer part of the same rumor mill. Carmella was trying to make conversation, but the question still grated.

“No. Not at the moment,” Isabel replied.

“Well, Britney and I could take care of that,” Carmella suggested. Her gaze went to Isabel’s scars once more and she cleared her throat. It was a friendly offer that Carmella couldn’t make good on. Not anymore, at least. Besides, the implication that the kind thing was to “get her a man,” chafed.

“Let’s just get this out into the open,” Isabel said. “I’m badly scarred. Things are different now. And I’m not looking for a boyfriend.”

Just as the words came out of her mouth, Carlo returned with three champagne glasses filled with mimosas—just orange juice for Britney—and set them in front of each woman at the table. They all smiled weakly up at him, and when he’d left, stared at each other in uncomfortable silence.

“What about plastic surgery?” Carmella asked at last.

“I’m not doing any more of that. I had one reconstructive surgery done after the accident and I had a bad reaction to the anesthetic. I just about died. So this is me. I’ll just have to get used to it.”

The table went silent, and Isabel glanced at the tables around them. Most people were engrossed in their own conversation, but an older woman across the dining room was looking at Isabel, an expression of pity on her face. She dropped her gaze when she was spotted.

“Maybe some good makeup?” Britney asked weakly.

Isabel wasn’t pleasantly disposed toward Britney on a good day, and she held back her desire to snap in response.

“It would take a pound of foundation to cover this up,” she replied with a wry smile. “And the men that we’re talking about wouldn’t be interested anyway.”

“That’s not true,” Carmella protested, but her tone said even she didn’t believe it.

“Sure it is,” Isabel replied. “These guys can get any woman they want, and they want a beautiful wife. That boat has sailed.”

Britney’s cheeks blushed pink, but Carmella shrugged coolly.

“They aren’t all that shallow,” Carmella replied. “Besides, you’re still a Baxter. Don’t lower your standards now. If you want a comfortable life, you’d better marry a man who knows how to provide it.”

Isabel understood Carmella’s sentiments perfectly. She’d been the same up until the accident, expecting to “marry well” so that her lifestyle wouldn’t change. That meant marrying money that could match her own. She used to look down on plain girls, pitying them because she knew that she had something they could only dream of. Well, now she’d joined their ranks, and she was intimidated.

“You both still have your looks, and you’re married to wealthy men,” Isabel replied evenly. “I’m playing in a different game now.”

“I didn’t marry for money.” Britney’s voice was low, and she was clearly offended.

Isabel regarded her young stepmother evenly.

“I didn’t!”

“My dad is old enough to be your father,” Isabel retorted. “There was a teeny, tiny incentive there.”

“I love him.”

“Would you have married him if he had no money at all?” Isabel asked.

The atmosphere around the table got uncomfortably silent again. This had been a bad idea. If she couldn’t make nice, she shouldn’t be sitting around drinking mimosas.

“What about Greg Cranken?” Carmella asked. “He comes from a good family.”

Greg Cranken was short, balding and narrow-shouldered. He was the pariah of dinner parties since none of the women wanted to be stuck sitting next to him. His father was in the beef business, but even all that family money hadn’t been enough to entice a woman to marry him. Isabel shook her head.

“I’m not looking.”

“So what are you doing,” Carmella asked, lifting her drink to her lips, “if you aren’t looking?”

“Starting a business.”

Carmella choked on her mimosa and coughed delicately into her napkin. “You’re what?”

Carmella had been privy to a couple of her past business schemes, and Isabel felt a wave of mild embarrassment rising. Friends from her youth weren’t going to see her any differently now than they’d seen her then. But then again, she hadn’t exactly done anything to change their view, either.

“Starting my own business,” Isabel repeated. “A chocolate shop.”

“And having someone else run it, of course...”

“No, running it myself.” Isabel chuckled. “Is it so shocking?”

“That’s just wrong.” Carmella leaned back and shook her head. “I mean, if you really like running a business, do it. But don’t let it take over your life. That’s what men do, and they drop dead from the stress. Look at it this way—” Carmella put her glass down onto the tablecloth and leaned forward again. “You could work your fingers to the bone, or you could marry a nice but boring guy like Greg Cranken, and live a comfortable life. I mean, starting a business might be fun at first, but before you know it, it turns into actual work. Do you remember those scarves? Actual work. Trust me. I tried making purses and selling them online. I don’t like to speak of it. You’d think I’d have learned from your scarf debacle.” She shuddered. “I made, like, three purses before I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“I’m not husband hunting,” Isabel replied with a shrug.

Britney cleared her throat. “She knows what she wants to do, Carmella. Let her be.”

“Thanks, Britney.” It wasn’t often that they were on the same side.

“Fine, fine.” Carmella heaved a sigh.

“So how are you and Brad?” Isabel asked, changing the subject.

“We’re good. He’s in New York for a couple of weeks on business, and when he gets back, I’m going to London for a bit of shopping. You should totally come.”

“Thanks, but I’ll be busy,” Isabel replied.

“With the business. See?” Carmella shot her an annoyed glance. “Your sudden interest in making money instead of spending it is already getting in the way of a perfectly good shopping trip.”

Isabel laughed. “I love how you just say what you’re thinking.”

“Someone has to,” Carmella muttered.

Carlo came by their table once more, a pad of paper in hand and a smile on his lips. “What can I get you ladies today?”

Carmella sucked in a deep breath and half closed her eyes in thought. “I’ll take a green salad with goat cheese and olives, quiche and a side of quinoa.”

“And for you?” He turned to Isabel. His smile flickered, his adoring attention slightly more difficult to maintain when it came to her. This was the way it would be from now on. While she’d been used to the fawning attention of every man within a mile’s radius, she was now no more than a plain woman with pretty friends.