"Frustrating, isn't it?" Stone asked, reminding her again that it was much more than miles that stood between them. "Sometimes you have to wait for people to tell you things. Even when what you really want to do is wring it out of them."

17.

TWO DAYS BEFORE Thanksgiving, Vivien, unlike Shelby, awoke to the blare of Shelby's alarm clock. Pulling on an old robe of Trip's decorated with cowboy boots and lariats that she'd found in the back of her closet, she pushed her feet into a pair of ancient slippers and rooted around in the back of her closet for the pot and spoon she'd hidden there. Her eyes popped fully open when she realized they were gone.

In Shelby's room, Vivi crossed her arms in front of her chest and considered the sleeping teenager. "Verrry tricky," she said to the tip of Shelby's nose, which was practically all that stuck out from beneath the covers. "But not tricky enough." After a check of both closets, Shelby's laundry basket, and a pile of dirty clothes that Vivien had to hold her own nose to get close to, she was forced to acknowledge that Shelby had done a better job of hiding the ejection device than Vivi had.

Still, there was a mission to accomplish. With a flick, she silenced the alarm clock so that she could think. In the resulting quiet she could hear Shelby breathing, the sound of Trip's shower and Melanie in the kitchen below. Unwilling to resort to brute force, she scanned the bedroom for a new means of ejection. Her gaze landed on a long discarded New Year's Eve party hat. The feather in its crown drooped beneath a heavy layer of dust. Smiling evilly, Vivien applied it to the tip of Shelby's nose.

"Aaaaaacchhhhooooo!" The force of the sneeze jack-knifed Shelby's body upward into a sitting position. The second sneeze forced her eyes open.

"Bless you." Vivi hid the feathered hat behind her back. "And good morning! Time to rise and shine!" Knowing just how annoyed Shelby was by perkiness of any kind, Vivien laid it on thick. "Today is the first day of the rest of your life!"

Shelby sneezed in response.

"We're running a little behind this morning, so you might want to get moving." Vivien smiled as she said this, then broke into an ultraperky rendition of "Tomorrow" from Annie. She'd barely belted out "The sun'll come up . . . tomorrow. Bet your bottom dollar . . ." when Shelby threw off her covers and climbed out of bed. "How much would it take to get you to go home?" she growled. "I'll get a job to pay for it. Just tell me how much!"

Vivien laughed, but she didn't move. She'd learned the hard way not to leave the room until Shelby did. On Monday Shelby had doubled back, gotten into bed, and fallen back asleep. By the time Melanie got her to school, Shelby had missed her first two cla.s.ses.

Vivien let herself enjoy today's victory. She was still smiling with satisfaction when she reached the kitchen. The look on Melanie's face wiped the smile from her lips. "What?" she asked, moving toward the kitchen counter where Melanie stood, a section of newspaper clutched in her hands. "What is it?"

"It's not that bad," Melanie said tentatively. "It's just kind of . . . b.i.t.c.hy. Not really damaging or anything."

Vivien held out her hand for the paper.

"It doesn't even mention you by name," Melanie said. "Hardly anybody will know it's about you." She handed Vivien the section of the Atlanta Journal-Const.i.tution, which was neatly folded open to Just Peachy, by Matthew Glazer.

The lead sentence jolted Vivien completely and irretrievably awake.

What investigative journalist from Atlanta's uber-connected political family has lost her network gig? she read.

Oh, s.h.i.t.

It has come to Just Peachy's attention that one of our own is back from her stint with CIN with her tail tucked firmly between her legs. Although the former investigative journalist claims to have quit to pursue other opportunities, this reporter did not just fall off the turnip truck and knows that no sane journalist would willingly give up such a position.

Sources here say she's just home to recuperate from the wound she received when she screwed up her last a.s.signment. But New York folk say differently. Stay tuned for more as Just Peachy investigates.

"Oh, Lord." Vivien dropped the column on the counter and slid onto the barstool. "Glazer thinks he's got some real story here; he won't rest until he makes me the laughingstock of the journalism world." Not that her appearance on YouTube hadn't already achieved this.

Melanie pushed a cup of tea and a croissant toward her. "Don't worry about it, Vivi. No one cares why you left CIN. And I know when you're ready to do something else, you will."

Melanie's faith in her made Vivien feel even guiltier about using her sister's life as fodder for a column she was too embarra.s.sed to put her name on. Not to mention her plans to look into J.J.'s death. "What is the circulation of the AJC, anyway?"

"Oh, I don't know," Melanie hedged. "A quarter of a million? Maybe a little more?"

Vivien closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands.

"But probably only about half of those know our family well enough to have any idea who he was talking about."

Vivien was still processing this when Melanie went to the back stairs and shouted up. "Hurry up, guys! You're going to miss the bus and I don't have time to drive you to school."

Trip pounded down the back stairs into the kitchen.

"Just grab a breakfast bar or something," Melanie said to her son. "I can get you to the bus but I can't drive you to school today."

Vivien looked up, noticing for the first time that Melanie was fully dressed and made-up. "Where are you going?"

"I've got an eight A.M. doctor's appointment. I'm going to have to run in a few minutes." Melanie poured Trip a gla.s.s of milk, then walked back over to the bottom of the stairs. "Shelby!" she shouted up again. "Get down here!"

Melanie got her things together and began to pace the kitchen floor. "That girl! If I don't leave right this minute, I won't even be able to get Trip to the bus. And I asked for this early appointment because it's the only time you don't end up waiting for an hour to be seen."

Vivien looked more closely at Melanie, who looked ready to hyperventilate. "Go on, Mel," she said. "Drop Trip at the bus stop on your way. I'll get Shelby to school."

"But she'll be late again, she'll have another tardy, she'll lose her incentives, she'll . . ."

"Melanie, stop it!" Vivien grabbed her sister by the shoulders and forced her to stop pacing. "Trip, go with your mother." He looked up at her surprised by the note of command in her voice. "Now."

The boy picked up his backpack. Rummaging through the piles of stuff on the counter, Vivien located Melanie's keys and placed them in her palm. "Go. Stop worrying. I'll get her there as fast as I can, but she's going to have to learn the consequences of her actions, Mel. If all those things you're worrying about happen, then you'll just have to let Shelby deal with it."

Melanie looked stricken, "But the bell is at eight fifteen and . . ."

"Just go." She closed Melanie's fingers around the keys then located her purse and slung it over Melanie's shoulder. "Really."

Melanie and Trip raced out the door at seven forty-five. Shortly before eight A.M. Shelby strolled down the stairs in a black corduroy skirt that barely covered her rear end and a low-cut sweater that she'd failed to put anything under. She seemed surprised not to see her mother or brother.

"Where's Mom and Trip?"

"Your mother dropped Trip at the bus. She had an early doctor's appointment. But I believe she mentioned that to you."

Shelby shrugged as if it was of no concern to her. "What's for breakfast?"

"Whatever you get for yourself after you go up and change."

"There's no time to change." She took in the cowboy robe and slippers, Vivien's lack of makeup. "How am I supposed to get to school?"

It was Vivien's turn to shrug.

"But I'm going to be late. And I'm hungry."

They glared at each other for a long moment.

"Fine, I'll just drive myself," Shelby declared, storming toward the hook where the spare keys were kept.

As she pa.s.sed, Vivien held up her hand, from which Shelby's keys dangled. "Not an option," she said.

Shelby stopped. "So how do you suggest I get to school?"

"Personally, I'd like to see you have to walk after the way you blew off your mother."

Shelby's mouth tightened.

"But I'm prepared to take you after you change. You can bring something to eat with you in the car."

"But I'm going to be late." Shelby's nonchalance had been replaced by panic. "Will you write me a note? Say I had an appointment or something?"

"No," Vivien said calmly, though she was relieved that Shelby did, in fact, care about school, however hard she might try to hide it. "You had plenty of time. And if you didn't have to be dragged out of bed every morning and change your clothes before you left every day, you'd have even more time. You're freaking your mother out every morning for no reason. And it's time for you to stop."

Without another word Shelby stomped upstairs. Drawers opened and shut, doors slammed. Five minutes later she was back to take a granola bar from the pantry and a bottled orange juice from the fridge. "What are we waiting for?"

Not bothering to dress, Vivien got into the RAV4 and fired it up. She and Shelby made the twelve-minute trip to school in silence, and while Vivien wouldn't go so far as to say that signaled a truce, she did hope they'd reached some sort of meeting of the minds. Melanie let Shelby get away with things because she was overwhelmed and alone and she was so busy racing from obligation to obligation that she couldn't take the time to dig in her heels and make Shelby toe the line. Well, at the moment Vivien had all the time in the world. If nothing else, she could run a little interference for Melanie.

Vivien was on her way back to Melanie's when the car began to slow of its own accord. By the time she reached LA Fitness, she was barely moving. Not understanding what was happening, Vivien pressed harder on the gas pedal, but the car continued to slow. Virtually at a stop, Vivien tried to pull over to the side of the road but glided to a stop straddling two out of three lanes instead. The Toyota's front b.u.mper edged up to the curb. The only open lane was a left turn only. She looked down and realized she was wearing only a cowboy robe and slippers.

Vivien didn't know what she was supposed to do next. The laying on of horns all around her made it impossible to think, but not to forget that she was practically naked. Before she could decide what to do, a siren screamed above the blare of horns. A flashing blue light raced into view.

The line of cars stuck behind her shifted as best they could to let the police car through. Moments later the siren went silent in midscreech. A car door opened and slammed shut. At least the police car's arrival had silenced the blaring horns. In the quiet she could hear boots thudding across asphalt, crunching on loose gravel. Vivien was thinking small, but it didn't seem to be working any better here in the middle of Roswell Road than it had in the Wall Street parking garage. Through the windshield she watched the Vietnamese couple come out of the dry cleaner to see why traffic had stopped. The barber shop beside it began to empty out. A few drivers managed to make a right turn into the strip center parking lot and circle back in the other direction. Everyone else sat in their cars waiting for her-or the approaching policeman-to do something. The stress and irritation emanating from the crowd hung like a cloud in the chill morning air.

The boots made a final crunch against the grit on the road as they came to a halt. She lowered the window and felt the crisp morning air rush over her. There was a short bark of male laughter. "I should have known," a familiar voice said.

Vivien turned to look at the policeman. It was the same one she'd met on her first outing. "h.e.l.lo, officer . . . " she said.

"McFarland," he supplied. "License and registration, please."

She handed them over.

"What seems to be the problem?" he asked.

Careful not to look out her pa.s.senger or rear window or anywhere else where she might have to see the p.i.s.sed-off expressions of those around her, she said, "I don't know. It just . . . stopped and I couldn't make it to the side of the road in time."

"Put it in neutral and let's get you out of the way." He commandeered the driver directly behind her to help him push as she steered over to the side, then he had her turn on her emergency flashers. With a wave of his hand, he started traffic flowing again. She thought she saw Catherine Dennison drive by and considered flagging her down, but the blonde's gaze was fixed straight ahead and she had a cell phone pressed to her ear. Pucci gave her a good look though; she had the oddest impression the dog was laughing.

Officer McFarland leaned in through the window. "There's no sign of smoke or overheating. Turn the ignition on and let's look at your gauges."

She glanced down toward the ignition and saw a bare thigh poking out from the robe. With a groan of embarra.s.sment, she pulled the robe closed just as the instrument panel lit up. Vivien was too fl.u.s.tered to register what she was looking at. Officer McFarland wasn't. "You're out of gas, Miss Gray. It's a funny thing, but these vehicles just don't do well without it." His tone was dry.

Vivien closed her eyes and hugged the steering wheel. So far this morning had completely sucked and it was only eight thirty. She would have liked to put her head down on her arms and cry out her frustration and embarra.s.sment, but with her luck someone would whip out a camera phone and put her right back on YouTube. Or in another edition of Just Peachy.

Vivien opened her eyes and forced herself to look into the officer's face, which bore an almost even mixture of irritation and amus.e.m.e.nt. She sensed he could hardly wait to radio this one in.

"So how do I get some gas?" Vivien had no idea whether Melanie belonged to AAA or any kind of road service, not that she was going to interrupt a doctor's appointment to ask. It was possible if she just sat here long enough Melanie would drive by at some point and rescue her. But, of course, she wasn't wearing clothes. And she didn't think Officer McFarland was going to let her abandon her vehicle here. Or offer her a ride home.

"Well, typically you go to a gas station and buy some. Preferably before the tank is bone-dry," he said. "There's one over on the opposite corner." He pointed toward the far end of the strip center where she could see part of a towering sign and the large shadow it cast over the street. "I'm sure they'll have some sort of container. If you make it quick, I can wait here with the car."

"But I'm not . . . dressed," she said pulling the lapels of her robe closer together and wishing she'd at least put on underclothes beneath the knee-length terry cloth.

"I know." His voice and expression confirmed that amus.e.m.e.nt had clearly won out over irritation. At least he didn't laugh.

Vivien reached across the seat for her purse and waited for him to step back so that she could open her door. They considered each other there on the side of the road as drivers slowed ever so slightly to check out the policeman talking to the woman in the powder blue cowboy robe. She wondered if this could be considered police brutality.

"But you do have your purse with you."

He bit back a smile as she turned and marched away from him, holding her purse up against her robe in an effort to keep it closed, her slippers slapping against the pavement.

18.

IT WAS THE Wednesday night before Thanksgiving and the Magnolia Ballroom felt decidedly . . . empty. The other cla.s.ses were on hiatus until after the holiday and only Ruth, Angela, and the uninjured Shipley sister had shown up for belly dance.

"The holidays are tough," Melanie said to Vivien as they entered to an unnatural quiet that made the s.p.a.ce seem even larger than usual. "People are out of town or they're just too busy. I can't really afford to shut down, but we're not likely to add new students now no matter how many specials I offer."

It was the first time Melanie had even alluded to finances; Vivi had a.s.sumed J.J.'s insurance had been sufficient, but she realized now she had no idea how much Mel and the kids needed to live or whether she made enough from the studio to come out in the black.

They tied the jangly scarves around their hips and formed a very small line in their usual spot.

"I saw Just Peachy this morning," Ruth said as Vivien stepped into line. "At least now we know why you haven't rushed back to New York."

Tweedle Di looked at her more closely, "I thought that was you! I told Dee you were the one who got shot in the b.u.t.t, but she didn't believe me!"

"I saw eet on YouTube," Naranya said. "Oh, my goodness, it looked like it hurt very bad."

Vivien sighed, but didn't comment. Between Matt Glazer's attack and what she'd come to think of as her "semi-naked gas dash" it had been quite a week. At least no one had shot a video of her in Trip's bathrobe; at least not that she knew of.

Angela shot her a sympathetic look. "That was a really nasty piece. He usually fawns all over anyone with a *name.' He once referred to James's dad as one of the ATL's most treasured resources."

"Vivien probably p.i.s.sed him off," Ruth observed as they fell into the beginning stretch routine. "She probably looked down her nose at him and gave him the mistress of the plantation routine."

Melanie, the traitor, giggled.

Vivien drew a deep breath and turned her gaze, pointedly, to Naranya, willing her to begin. She sincerely hoped her parents had been too busy to read today's newspaper. But given the way her luck was running, what were the chances of that?

By the next morning Vivien had to concede those chances were slim. It seemed everyone who had ever met Melanie had driven by the stalled Toyota, then felt compelled to call and find out who the pajama-clad driver was. Vivien vowed to never leave the house again unless she was fully clothed and at least partially made-up. A vow that would be much easier to keep if she had any clothes that still fit.

Her black pants were now held together by a large safety pin, and the black camisole, which had been stretched well beyond its limits, was not completely hidden by the black striped shirt she'd put on over it-probably because it no longer came close to b.u.t.toning. A look in the mirror confirmed what she already knew: her waist no longer existed and her rear end needed its own zip code. The only good thing about her now gargantuan b.r.e.a.s.t.s was that they blocked her view of her swelling stomach.

Despite her dismay, her nose, which in her pregnant state would have done a bloodhound proud, detected a mouthwatering smell. She sniffed again, recognizing the flaky crust and rich warm spice of a freshly baked pumpkin pie. Vivien followed the scent downstairs intent on filling her now-rumbling stomach even though she'd sworn never to eat again. Just as she did after every calorie-laden meal.

At the kitchen counter Vivien came to "point" in front of four cooling pies, two pumpkin and two pecan. Melanie had started baking as soon as they got back from cla.s.s last night and had still been at it when Vivien went to bed. Tins Vivien knew were full of spiced and sugared pecans, decorated sugar cookies, and fudge and rum b.a.l.l.s sat stacked and ready to take to Magnolia Hall for today's Thanksgiving meal.