Today's Reading
CHAPTER ONE
Posey
Posey Jarvis snatched the newsletter from her mailbox and rushed inside. Maneuvering around a pair of cloisonné lamps, she entered her bedroom, crammed full of ornate furniture that looked as out of place as a ball gown at a square dance. She nodded at the renewal reminder on the envelope: "1966 Membership Fee Due by February 1." If receiving updates on Frances Ryan meant ponying up annual dues to the Nashville Garden Club, she would gladly siphon the money from her grocery allowance and send it in.
She sat at her vanity, digging under her datebook and scarves for the silver flask stolen long ago, a memento from the happiest week of her life. As she unscrewed the cap, she wondered again if CJ had ever noticed it was missing. And why he stayed married to Frances. On her darkest days, she berated herself for not being enough to trigger their divorce, but most of the time, she blamed either CJ or Frances.
After a long pull of gin, she scanned the newsletter. The headline announced "Garden Club Gathers at President's Coventry Circle Home to Discuss New City Garden," with a photo of Frances on her sofa holding a sketch, surrounded by fawning club members peering over her shoulders. Posey read, "Eighteen years ago I traveled to New Zealand on a horticultural tour. Recently I came across a souvenir from that time, which brought back vivid memories. I used my notes and photos from that trip to re-create the gardens here in my beloved Nashville."
Posey smiled wistfully as she recalled what had transpired while Frances was on the far side of the globe. Before Frances's plane had even reached cruising altitude, CJ had whisked the then nineteen-year-old Posey Burch from her dumpy apartment and into his stunning home for seven whole days of uninterrupted passion.
CJ had downshifted the white Jaguar as he turned into the driveway that day, the growl of the engine thrilling her with its power. She gasped as the three-story house came into view, silently vowing to live there as CJ's wife one day. "My God, it's a mansion."
'"Yep. She calls it Eden Hall."'
The last day of their weeklong rendezvous, CJ had been tense. He yelled up the stairs, '"Damn it, Posey, hurry! Her plane lands in twenty minutes."' A love struck Posey lifted the flask from his dresser and tucked it into her suitcase before slamming the lid. Impulsively, she dropped one of her monogrammed earrings among the hand creams, pens, and bookmarks in Frances's nightstand. Her mother had saved for over a year to buy them, but to get what you want to get, you have to do what you have to do.
Sure of her future with the man she was so obsessed with, Posey gave the earring three full weeks to get the ball rolling. When she realized her plan had failed, that there would be no announcement from CJ that he was divorcing, she was equal parts furious and heartbroken. In an effort to lessen the sting, she vowed to possess a house even finer than Eden Hall. How to accomplish that goal was unclear, but if Frances could get a mansion, so could she. And once CJ saw her as a successful hostess in her own magnificent home, it would be only a matter of time before he came to his senses and married her.
Shaking herself from her memories, Posey wondered why Frances was writing about that week now. She frowned at the newsletter. Surely Frances hadn't just found the earring after almost two decades. Even if she had, how would she know it was left there while she was in New Zealand?
Posey was alerted to the arrival of her daughter and husband by the rumble of her husband's truck. Ordinarily she would object to such a jarring sound and insist the engine be fixed, but the distinctive throb served as a warning toll and had proven itself useful on more than one occasion.
She tucked the newsletter and flask in her drawer and covered both with scarves, flinching as Vern called for her. After a quick swipe of her signature Scarlet Scandal lipstick across her thin lips, she stepped into the kitchen, first smiling at her daughter and then addressing her husband, whose deeply lined face appeared particularly pale. "You're home early."
He set a hummingbird cake onto the flecked Formica counter. Posey rolled her eyes. Vern was well-known in town for helping out his neighbors, and they were always repaying her already-portly husband with sweets. If she didn't know better, she would worry about the motives of the ladies so intent on impressing him with their baked goods. And didn't they already have half a cake left over from her birthday celebration?
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