Sweet as Pie by Alicia Hunter Pace
Chapter Twenty-Six
If ever there had been a finger sandwich and petit four hell, Evans was in it.
First of all, she’d been late, through no fault of her own. After a sleepless night and a silent phone, the day had dawned with a storm that matched the one in her heart. She’d left in plenty of time and had no trouble finding the address on the invitation. She figured she’d gotten the great parking spot in the driveway of the big Victorian house because she was a few minutes early. After all, didn’t she deserve a little luck?
Apparently not. She was in the wrong place, also through no fault of her own. There was a sign on the door that had been printed out in a whimsical font:
Hello and sorry! Due to the storm we have had a change of venue! (After all, we don’t want mom-to-be out in this rain, do we?) The shower will be held at Channing’s lovely home! Sorry for the inconvenience, but you will get to see baby Grayson’s new room. We can’t wait to see you there!
Due to the hard-to-read font, Evans had to peruse the sign twice before she realized there was no address. Apparently, everyone else knew where Channing lived. She’d trekked back through the rain with her stack of packages and called her mother. Straight to voice mail. No surprise. She would be at Cassandra’s recital by now.
What to do, what to do? Maybe she’d call Jake. Hi. I know you’re upset with me, but would you mind giving me your previous address so I can go to a party honoring your ex?
Yeah. That would go over well. He’d probably never speak to her again—not that he would anyway. At any rate, calling would be fruitless. He was about as likely to give her the address as he was to quit hockey to dance ballet.
For a moment, she’d considered turning around and driving straight back to Laurel Springs. Wouldn’t that have been the irony of the century?
So she’d put on her big girl panties and scrolled through her phone until she found Aunt Cheryl, who was sure to be at the shower and probably wouldn’t answer. But she did. Evans heard the party noise in the background before Channing’s mother tersely demanded to know where she was and if she knew she was late.
Evans hadn’t been so lucky with the parking at Chez Channing. Consequently, by the time she trudged to the massive doors with the stained-glass windows, the carefully wrapped packages were well and truly wet.
Now here she was at Channing’s lovely home—if you liked chalkboard signs that shouted platitudes about love, Edison bulb chandeliers, and Mason jars full of wine corks. She’d arrived during the gift opening and no one had paid much attention to her. She’d just added her soggy packages to the pile and found a seat in the corner, where she’d watched Channing pronounce every little blanket and outfit darling or precious while her posse pandered to her. Did she need more sparkling water? Did she want to put this burlap pillow behind her back?
How did that woman do it? Attract a band of followers everywhere she went? Evans wouldn’t know. She’d certainly never been part of it, hadn’t wanted to be.
Then what are you doing here?
Good question. Daddy had asked her to go, sure—and she was a yes girl. God and Jake Champagne knew that. What if she had said no? Or canceled yesterday? No one, least of all Channing, would have cared. Her daddy certainly wouldn’t have stopped loving her. No, she’d come because she wanted to get good girl points that she was never going to get. She didn’t even know who she wanted them from.
Jake. She wanted them from Jake, and she had sure fixed that, hadn’t she?
She ought to be in New Orleans with Jake right now. Was it raining there? It wouldn’t have mattered. They would have splashed right through the puddles, or holed up in some French Quarter bar where the music was great and the beer was cold.
But it was too late for that, too late for Jake and her.
Or was it really?
Jake was mad at her, sure. Certainly disappointed. Maybe even a little disgusted. She’d felt all those things toward him on occasion, but she had still loved him through it all. The difference was he wasn’t in love with her. But the potential was there, a voice whispered to her. And he was only angry and disappointed because he wanted to be with her. That had to count for something. If she went to see him and told him she was sorry—sorry in the way that she truly regretted what she’d done and would absolutely do differently given the chance—could they get past this? Or would he think it was easy to say you were sorry after you’d done what you wanted?
She didn’t know, but there was only one way to find out.
“Evie? Dear?” Aunt Cheryl interrupted her thoughts.
Evie stood up to greet her, like she’d been taught, and her aunt kissed her cheek.
“It was so good of you to drive up in this terrible storm.” She was probably trying to make up for being short before. “And those girls should have put the address on the note they left at Carrie’s house.”
“It’s fine, Aunt Cheryl. I got here. That’s all that matters.” Except it didn’t matter. Not at all.
“I appreciate that you came and I know Channing does, too. Have you had anything to eat?”
“Yes. It was all lovely.” That wasn’t really a lie. She had eaten in her lifetime, though not today, and she was sure the pretty little tidbits were the best money could buy from the hottest caterer in town.
Aunt Cheryl took her arm. “You must come and see the nursery. You won’t believe how darling it is.”
There was no way she was going to look at that baby’s room. Though he would never know one way or the other, that seemed over-the-top disloyal to Jake.
“Actually, Aunt Cheryl, I think I’m going to slip out.” She gestured toward the window. “The rain, you know.” And I am going to try to mend a fence, a very broken fence.
“Oh, must you, darling?”
Evans almost laughed. She knew that tone and expression. It really meant: I had to ask, but I’m not going to talk you out of it. I need to get on to the next person.
“Won’t you come say goodbye to Channing?”
Evans glanced across the room where Channing was surrounded by women holding crystal flutes and laughing as someone demonstrated how to use a breast pump on a teddy bear.
Evans patted her aunt’s arm. “You tell her for me. I know she must be exhausted and ready for this to be over.”
And she left without thanking her hostess—whoever that was. Miss Violet wouldn’t have approved, but then, Miss Violet wouldn’t have approved of any of this.
It was raining harder than before and lightning flashed, but she didn’t care. Now that she’d made up her mind to try to fix things with Jake, nothing else mattered. The rain could soak her to her underwear for all she cared. The lightning could strike her—well, maybe not that.
She was laughing by the time she got in the car and turned on the heater. This was the first time she’d needed it since last winter. She didn’t know exactly what she was going to say to Jake or when she would say it, but she’d figure that out on the drive home.
She was just about to leave when her phone rang.
She grabbed it. Maybe it was Jake. But no.
“Hey, Ava Grace,” she said.
“Hey. Are you home?”
“No. I’m just about to leave Nashville. I’ve been to my cousin’s baby shower. What’s up?”
“Oh.” Ava Grace sounded disappointed. “Mama wanted to talk to you about the pies for the gala. She just sprung it on me, and she wanted to ask if you could do it today.”
“When? Obviously, I can’t right now.”
“She suggested that the three of us get together at Hammer Time for dinner, but that’s probably not good for you.”
Evans looked at the clock and calculated the time the drive would take. “I could make it by seven, I think.” That settled the when she would talk to Jake. After dinner, she’d track him down—though she should probably go home and clean up first. She didn’t mind seeing Ava Grace and Emma Frances with damp hair and crumpled clothes, but she needed to feel confident when she talked to Jake.
“That would be great,” Ava Grace said. “It shouldn’t take more than an hour.”
“I’ll meet you there,” Evans said. “I’ll call if I get delayed in traffic.”
“Perfect,” Ava Grace said.
And maybe it would be.