His wife died about five years ago now, but he doesn’t want to go anywhere—refuses, actually, to leave the house.” Ruby lowered her voice for this part, like Mr. Cranston was eavesdropping outside.
“I can imagine it’s hard,” Martha said.
“It would be easier if he went somewhere with more care, but he wants to stay in his house, so what can you do? The children can’t talk him out of it, and Lord knows, he has the means, so here we are.”
Martha and Jaz talked for almost two hours. Jaz told her about Ruby’s teenage years, how she ran away, stole some of her mother’s jewelry, crashed a car. “That child caused her parents so much heartache,” she said. She told Martha about Billy and Ruby, how they weren’t on speaking terms anymore, how she was the only way that they got messages to each other. “Despicable,” she said. “Their father is in the last part of his life, and they can’t even get over themselves to come together for him.”
Martha told Jaz about nursing, how she wanted to get back to it, how she had failed at it before. She told her about J.Crew and how she excelled there but wasn’t happy. Jaz listened, nodding her head and saying, “Mmm-hmm” every once in a while. When Martha was done, Jaz set her cup of tea down and put her hand over Martha’s.
“Child, listen. You’re on a journey. You didn’t like the way life was going, so you’re rewriting your own story. That’s what you have to do. You don’t see it now, but this is the most important part of your life. If you don’t like the story that’s being told about your own life, you’ve got to change it. You’ve got to tell a different story.”
When Martha got home that day, she took out her notebook and wrote down Jaz’s words. You’ve got to tell a different story. She looked at it before she went to bed that night and smiled. Who needed Dr. Baer? She had Jaz, who seemed much smarter, was nicer, and gave her tea to boot.
CHAPTER 8
It was Weezy’s secret. No one needed to know. She wasn’t hurting anyone, not even a little bit. It was just something to fill her time, something to lift her spirits. But if Will found out, he’d think she was crazy. And her kids—well, they would probably call the nuthouse and make her a reservation right then and there. That’s why she kept it to herself. No one needed to know.
It wasn’t like she meant to do it. No, it had all been innocent enough. Weezy had been smack in the middle of planning Claire’s wedding when it was called off. Just like that, it was over. She’d been talking to caterers and venues, had meetings set up, had been enjoying all the research, and then one day Claire called and it was all done.
She’d never thought she’d be the type of person to get so involved in wedding planning, but she was wrong. It was a whole different ball game since she and Will had gotten married in the Starlight Room, with a lovely, simple lunch reception. For her own wedding, she’d made her dress, worn her hair straight and down. They’d all eaten and danced and that was that.
But when she started researching for Claire’s wedding—oh, the excess! There were photo booths to be rented, personalized match-books and napkins to be had. Caterers sent her sample menus, with wonderful descriptions of bacon-wrapped dates and Boursin-wrapped snow peas. They sent pictures of the food, names of signature cocktails, options for monogrammed cupcakes and chocolate fountains. And that was just the food! There were also blogs of local brides, detailing every step of their weddings. There were forums of angry brides, trashing photographers and caterers and florists. It was a whole new world, and Weezy was fascinated.
Claire called off her wedding on a Monday. Weezy had already arranged to meet with one of the caterers the very next day, and she was too shocked to call and cancel. How do you explain a thing like that over the phone? That morning, she found herself driving toward the offices. She didn’t tell Will where she was going. No, he wouldn’t have understood. He would have picked up the phone and canceled the appointment himself, just said she couldn’t make it, with no explanation. But he didn’t understand. She’d been dealing with Sally Lemons, the owner of Lemons and Limes, for