Possibilities: A Contemporary Retelling of Persuasion Read online

  “Sure,” Frederick replied. “I’ll have to. I’m the one on the insurance. I’ll just need to take some ibuprofen first. Shouldn’t take long. It’s in the glove box. You wouldn’t happen to have a Coke, would you?”

  “Still haven’t broken that habit, have you?” she joked.

  “You remember?”

  Allie looked into the woods and avoided an answer. “Macy’s refrigerator is full of Cokes and Dr Peppers and 7 Ups. I don’t know why the twins’ teeth aren’t rotting out. Why don’t you get Louise or Helena to get you a Coke while I go for the car.” Allie gazed toward the young ladies who were just catching up behind them.

  “I’ll go,” Helena offered and dashed toward Macy’s house before Louise had the chance to take one step.

  “I’ll stay here and help.” Louise patted Frederick’s shoulder. “Poor baby,” she purred.

  “I’m fine,” Frederick insisted. “I just need time to recover. I’ll be good as new tomorrow.”

  “I should have never jumped at you like that, but I didn’t know,” Louise said.

  Frederick nodded and cut Allie a worried glance that she decided to try to interpret later.

  Right now the clock was ticking. The boys would be waiting. “I need your keys,” Allie said.

  “Right.” When Frederick reached into his pocket and extended the keys, the filigree note flittered to the ground—lipstick-side up.

  While Allie would have loved to pretend she didn’t see the note, she lost the ability to fake indifference this time. Her gaze latched on to the lips and wouldn’t falter. Finally Frederick’s cowboy boot covered the note. Allie jerked her focus up to him, only to detect more worry mixed with the pain.

  “This is my brother-in-law’s jacket,” he explained. “The note is from my sister to him.”

  You’re lying! Allie thought. The note is from somebody named Annie. Your sister is Sophia. Not only was Frederick a womanizer, he was a lying womanizer! When she’d known him before, he never lied. Her dismay grew to greater heights.

  He slowly bent down and picked up the note and put it in his pocket. He extended the car keys to Allie.

  “It’s the white Mustang. You can’t miss it,” he explained.

  Allie took the keys, gripped her purse, and ran down the lane.

  Thirteen

  “Are you enjoying your stay in the guesthouse?” Frederick asked as he steered the Mustang from the country toward the city.

  “Yes,” Allie replied. Her attention rested out the passenger window, so her subdued answer was barely discernible. Furthermore, she was exerting no effort to even glance at him.

  Okay, Frederick thought and shifted in his seat. His back was killing him, but he tried not to show it.

  “Mind if I listen to some music?” he questioned.

  “No, not at all,” Allie replied, still not looking at him.

  Frederick pressed a button on the radio and welcomed the saxophonist’s rendition of “In Christ Alone.”

  After glancing toward Allie three times in as many minutes, Frederick decided to concentrate on the winding road. When he’d agreed to going home with Louise, he never imagined he’d be in a vehicle alone with Allie within a couple of hours. Frederick lightly tapped the steering wheel with his index finger and racked his brain for something to say.

  So what have you been up to the last ten years? he sarcastically thought. How many more hearts have you broken since mine? That thought process did nothing but remind him of the old anger. He decided to abandon that vein before he actually blurted something he’d regret.

  Even though the invisible wall between them was as dense as stone, Frederick was determined to engage Allie in conversation. He refused to allow this opportunity to pass by. As the music swelled and flowed, Frederick thought of several more questions, all of which would reap a yes or no answer. Finally he stumbled upon a query that would hopefully bring results.

  “So . . . how long are you planning on staying with your sister?”

  Frederick felt her cautious glance, her hesitancy. “I don’t know, really,” she admitted.

  “Your father and sister are in Atlantic Beach, right?”

  “Yes,” she replied with a How did you know that? edge to her voice.

  Frederick decided if he had to answer the unspoken questions to have a conversation, he would. “Mrs. Grove mentioned where they were earlier today,” he explained, and didn’t tell Allie that he’d also picked up the clue when he visited Elton Mansion with Darren and Sophia. “They seem really glad to have you.”

  “I’m enjoying my stay,” she quietly replied, and Frederick remembered how much he’d loved Allie’s soothing personality. She was his opposite, so low-key and gentle, and proved a perfect complement for his goal-oriented traits.

  Of course, the Afghanistan experience had taken the edge off all his goals. A jab of pain shot from his spine, and Frederick caught his breath, then moaned. The pain medication had yet to kick in, and it couldn’t happen soon enough.

  He felt Allie’s gaze again. This time it was more than a mere glance.

  As they entered the streets of Macon, Frederick spotted a gas station and knew he had no choice but to get out and walk around.

  “I need to pull in here for about two minutes,” he explained. He slowed and turned on the blinker.

  Allie remained silent as he parked the vehicle.

  “Want anything?” he asked. “I’m going to get a bottle of Coke. That microscopic can wouldn’t fill up an eyedropper.” He pointed to the empty eight-ounce can in the console’s beverage holder.

  “Yes. A bottle of water would be nice,” she replied and shifted in her seat. “If you don’t mind, the twins will want something if we have drinks in front of them.”

  “Of course,” Frederick said and shot her a glance.

  This time she was looking at him. And Frederick was hit with the impact of the royal blue top and doleful brown eyes that held questions and a hint of accusation. He didn’t need an explanation for the accusation. Her expression had implied that she hadn’t believed him about Sophia’s note. No telling what she was thinking.

  “Know what the twins like?” he asked. Frederick turned off the engine and decided to deal with the note issue later, when his back wasn’t hurting.

  “Anything with sugar and fizz. They’re charter members of ‘Future Addicts of America.’” Her witty remark was accompanied by a smile so faint, Frederick wondered if he’d imagined it. If his back hadn’t graduated to a state of pure agony, he would have replied with a flirtatious remark. But his spine would have no part of it.

  Frederick opened the door, gripped the top of the car, and pulled himself out of the vehicle. He closed his eyes, clamped his teeth together, and pressed his fingers into his back. Once the pain subsided, he closed the door and tried to step forward, but to no avail. Frederick held on to the vehicle’s roof while his legs refused cooperation.

  “Stupid Louise,” he groaned and wished he hadn’t called her stupid, but she was the one responsible for this agony. If she hadn’t tackled him in Allie’s front yard . . .

  The passenger door opened and Allie got out and peered at him over the top of the car. “Are you okay?” she asked, her eyes round.

  “Yeah,” Frederick breathed and gritted his teeth. He offered her the disgruntled crocodile grimace and said, “It’s just the price I pay for being in the war. I’ll be okay.” He took one step, then another.

  “I can go get the drinks if you like,” Allie rushed.

  “No.” He shook his head but didn’t look at her. Frederick directed all his focus and energy on remaining on his feet. “I need to walk,” he panted. “It works out the kinks.”

  Brent Everson sat across the street from Macon Christian Academy as he’d done every day for the last week. The Dairy Queen parking lot proved the perfect place to spy on the middle Elton heiress. He scanned the diminishing line of cars for Allie’s blue Mercedes but didn’t spot her. Brent checked his watch and fro
wned. She’d been early everywhere she went ever since he’d begun “Project Allie Elton.” He looked back at the cars and carefully noted a Honda, a Ford pickup, a Chevy van, and a Mustang, last in line.

  Brent sipped his DQ shake, narrowed his eyes, and decided he must have somehow missed Allie today. No huge loss, he surmised. After only a week of studying her, Brent had already learned quite a bit. The clues he’d gained coupled with the information Penny Clayton was providing was giving Brent major insights into her character.

  Allie Elton was a no-nonsense kind of lady who was methodical to a fault. According to Penny’s findings, her sister Evelyn said she even color-coded her closets. The woman despised empty flirtation and had never really dated that much. While she was attractive, she was a long way from being gorgeous and miles removed from the kind of woman Brent usually found appealing. Therefore, he knew he couldn’t approach her flippantly or without careful research. The persona he presented must be that of a man who would seriously attract her. So far Brent had deduced that the kind of man who would snag Allie’s attention was his absolute opposite.

  The woman was a church hound. Attended three times a week. She didn’t party at all, and she was so uptight about morals Brent wondered if she even believed in sex after marriage. The best Brent could tell, the most exciting thing she did was read Robert Frost. Yawn. If that wasn’t enough, she didn’t drink, smoke, or chew, and she wasn’t about to start going with men who did. The smoking and chewing wasn’t an issue with Brent. Living without alcohol posed the problem.

  Brent set his empty shake cup in the Rolls-Royce’s cup holder, reached toward the glove compartment, clicked it open, and pulled out a small flask of rum. He always liked to chase his ice cream with a little heat. The nip proved exactly the ticket to steadying his nerves. But as the liquid burned into his stomach, he lectured himself about backing off until Allie was wearing his wedding band. Once that happened, Brent would only be good enough to keep her . . . and her money.

  He chuckled under his breath. Shouldn’t be a problem, he thought. I’m the king of sneaky. His first wife, Richard Elton’s niece, never suspected Brent’s long line of mistresses or his penchant for gambling. He frowned as regret nibbled at him. Now that Chrissy was dead, Brent was sorry he’d cheated on her . . . sort of. Just not enough to discontinue the relationship with Penny Clayton, the mistress who’d been in his life when Chrissy died.

  Last year when Brent received news of his wife’s killer-bee attack, he had been with Penny. At that point, he and Penny had only been an item for a few weeks. Now, Brent couldn’t say he was in love with her or ever would be. Furthermore, their relationship hadn’t stopped him from enjoying a few flings. But Brent could say he and Penny thought too much alike to be without each other. They were both too practical to let anything like love or the lack of it stop them from pursuing their goals. Their pact was simple. They would each try to enable the other to marry into the Elton clan. If only one succeeded, they both would benefit. If both succeeded, they would have twice the money.

  Brent relished another nip of rum, replaced the lid, and stashed the flask back in the glove compartment.

  When he glanced toward the school again, he noticed Allie getting out of the white Mustang’s passenger side. He frowned, leaned forward, and fumbled for the miniature binoculars lying in the passenger seat. While Allie greeted her fair nephews, Brent examined the guy behind the wheel. He was a dark-haired cat with the kind of chiseled features many women found appealing. He looked like he should be dressed in a flannel shirt and holding an ax in one of those outdoorsy spreads so many advertisers loved.

  “Great,” Brent mumbled and pondered his own appearance. While many women found blond hair and pale green eyes highly appealing, especially when coupled with silver-tongued flattery, Brent was a long way from brandishing an ax. And the closest thing he owned to a flannel shirt was the Ralph Lauren ribbed sweater he now wore.

  “I couldn’t be an outdoorsman even if I tried,” he worried.

  Brent lowered the binoculars and watched as Allie hustled the twins into the Mustang’s backseat. She settled into the car. Brent lifted the binoculars and studied the competition’s body language. The driver barely glanced toward Allie and didn’t exactly look like he was enamored with this little chore.

  “He almost looks like he’s in pain or something.” Brent focused on Allie. She clicked on her seat belt and gazed straight ahead, as if the hunk of a driver weren’t present.

  “Hmm.” Brent tossed the binoculars back into the passenger seat and decided not to worry about the driver. At least not yet. Not until he talked with Penny. If she didn’t have the scoop on the outdoorsman, she could get it. Allie’s body language didn’t suggest he was anyone who’d romantically interest her. The driver appeared to hold the same opinion of Allie.

  Probably just a cousin or something, Brent decided and began to brainstorm ways to casually enter Allie’s life. The timing must be perfect; Brent’s cover complete. She need never know that the Rolls was one of his last luxury items or that his gambling had eaten up all the wealth from his previous marriage.

  Fourteen

  Three weeks later Allie sat on her back porch with her friend Sarah Hamilton. The two had done next to nothing for two days except get new haircuts. Now they were doing nothing again except sipping tea and watching the wildlife in Allie’s backyard. Sarah had a few days off from her pediatric practice. Her husband, owner of an upscale sporting goods store, had taken a skiing trip to Colorado with a group of his friends. That left Sarah with nothing to do, so she’d driven to Macon.

  Allie lazily watched a doe eating from the grain box near the woods. After a morning shower, the early afternoon was turning into a delightful spring experience. The smell of fresh rain still lingered in the air, and Allie tilted her head back and absorbed the April sunshine that warmed the earth. In the distance, the blue-black clouds and rumble of thunder suggested another shower might be on the way.

  She opened her eyes, looked toward Sarah, admired her new hairstyle, and only hoped hers looked as good. Their cuts were supposed to be similar, but Allie’s lacked the body Sarah’s had. “You look like Diana Ross with that ’do,” Allie said and sipped her warm cinnamon tea. “You remember her hairstyle when she was singing in the ’60s.”

  “I can be Diana Ross any day.” Sarah touched the back of her bobbed hair, then started singing “Stop, in the Name of Love” at the top of her voice. With every beat she moved her neck and shoulders for the whole Diana Ross experience.

  Allie giggled and finally said, “Stop! Stop! It’s just not the same!”

  Sarah fell back against the lawn chair and laughed. “You don’t look half bad, either. Now we just need to get you some war paint. I wish you’d let Louise talk you into going to her Mary Kay party today. It would have been my treat.” Sarah checked her watch. “It’s still not too late.”

  “You’re a hypocrite. You know that, don’t you?” Allie teased. “You never wear makeup. And look at you. You look like a model—or at the very least, Diana Ross.”

  “No, I don’t, and you know it, girl.” Sarah waved her hand. “I’m just not pale like you are. You white women need more . . . I don’t know . . . something. So what do you do? You go lie on the beach for hours trying to get browner . . . like us!” Sarah lifted her hand as if she were the Queen of Sheba. She certainly had the royal look with a ruby-colored sundress complementing her dark, smooth skin.

  “That’s a low blow,” Allie shot back with a sassy grin and eyed her pale legs where her shorts stopped. “You and I both know I’ve never worried about getting a tan.” Sarah always lovingly harassed her because of their racial differences, but the two adored each other. Her lifelong friend was one of the few people Allie could really relax around, and she was always happy to engage in Sarah’s witty banter.

  “Really, Allie, I love you to death,” Sarah said as she leaned forward. “And I’d never say a word to hurt your feelings. But if I wer
e you, I’d get a tan or some makeup or something. With that Frederick Wently on the loose again, it wouldn’t hurt to spruce up a little.” She wiggled her eyebrows and then winked.

  Allie waved her hand in an attempt at nonchalance. “Like I already said, he’s after Louise.”

  “Oh . . . so that’s why he watched you all during dinner last night,” Sarah responded.

  Peering into her cup, Allie didn’t move. She’d possessed no idea that Frederick even noticed her last night. As always, she thought he was too engrossed with Louise. He and his friend Jim Bennington had driven down yesterday for a long weekend in Macon. Frederick had claimed that Jim, who was suffering from depression, needed to get out of Atlanta. But Allie and everyone else in the family suspected Frederick’s motive lay completely with Louise.

  Nonetheless, Allie and Sarah had been roped into the dinner outing. They’d spent yesterday evening talking to Jim about his fiancée’s death while they ate steaks and baked potatoes. As usual, Helena and Louise had sandwiched Frederick between themselves. But before the evening was over, Sarah and Jim were talking medicine, and Allie was left to stare out the window at nothing and relive the last few weeks.

  Neither she nor Frederick had said much after they picked up the boys from school. On the way back home, the twins had been so intrigued by this new man and the cool Mustang that they dominated the conversation. Frederick’s strained features during the return trip had bespoken his pain, and Allie truly felt sorry for him.

  She knew the story behind the pain. He’d sacrificed himself trying to protect his crew in Afghanistan. But Allie hadn’t realized the injury still caused him so much trouble. After all, he was the outward picture of health. On the drive back home, Allie’s respect for his sacrifice had grown as swiftly as her pity for his pain. But later that day, when Louise had draped herself on his arm and Frederick looked like a satisfied tomcat, Allie’s concern had ceased to exist.