"Don't worry about a thing," Vivien interrupted, taking Melanie by the shoulders, turning her around, and pushing her gently out of the room. "I'm going to help Shelby get dressed. Really, I think a nice cold shower is all she needs."

Shelby's groan was louder this time.

Vivien smiled a Machiavellian smile that Melanie remembered from their childhood. Good things had not always come of it.

"Really, Mel, go ahead and take care of whatever you need to. Shelby and I will be down in fifteen minutes."

Melanie looked at her sister and then at her daughter. It was clear something was up, but Vivien shook her head slightly and mouthed, "trust me." And oddly enough, she did.

It hadn't been easy, but fifteen minutes later Vivien did, in fact, guide Shelby down the stairs and into the kitchen where Ruth and Melanie were fussing with the food and Clay Alexander was mixing a pitcher of mimosas.

At Vivi's nudge, Shelby smiled wanly and hugged Clay, Ruth, and Ira h.e.l.lo before slumping onto a barstool between Trip and Ira.

"Are you all right?" Both Ruth and Melanie asked in a motherly chorus. Melanie leaned across the counter to put the back of her hand to Shelby's forehead. "You don't feel like you've got a temperature."

"Do you need to go back to bed, Shel?" Clay asked as he poured a mimosa into a champagne gla.s.s for Melanie.

Vivien bristled. She was rumpled and water stained from her tussle with Shelby while he was perfectly turned out in chinos and an open-collared shirt with a trim alligator belt at his waist. She took exception to how comfortable he looked in Melanie's kitchen and how easily he a.s.sumed the father-figure role. She'd read Shelby the riot act and risked life and limb to get her down here; she was not about to allow Clay Alexander to let her off the hook.

"She's fine," Vivien said. "Nothing to worry about."

"Duly noted." Clay's smile was both amused and superior. As they carried their plates into the dining room, he claimed the head of the table and throughout the meal, he played genial host, pulling Ira and Trip into a debate about that day's bowl games and praising Ruth's blintz dish. "They're delicious," he said smoothly. "And unbelievably light."

Ruth blushed with pleasure. And regardless of what Melanie said, her sister did not seem immune, either. Irritated, Vivi kept an eye on Shelby, ready to provide another "come to Jesus" meeting if necessary, but as the meal progressed Shelby's eyes became less gla.s.sy and she began to join in the conversation. When Melanie stopped eyeing her daughter with concern, Vivi figured the aspirin and gla.s.ses of orange juice must have kicked in.

A cell phone rang and they all looked up from their plates. Ira pulled his iPhone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. "I'm sorry, but I have to take this," he said as he left the table.

"Aaach." Ruth's face flushed as she placed her fork on her plate. Vivien didn't understand why Ira taking a call was such a big deal, but then what she didn't know about Ira and Ruth Melnick could fill a couple of libraries.

"How was the party last night?" Melanie asked Shelby.

Shelby stopped chewing. With all eyes now on her she swallowed. "Good. It was, um, good." She nodded her head for emphasis.

"You must have been pretty wiped out. You were already asleep when I got back from the studio."

Shelby blinked rapidly and ran a finger underneath the rim of her turtleneck. "Yeah. I was . . . tired."

Ruth looked between the two of them. So did Clay.

Vivien piped in. "You didn't say how the party at Magnolia was, Mel. Did you have a good crowd?"

"Yes, thank goodness." Successfully distracted, Melanie smiled. "We had one hundred fifty people, even more than had RSVP'd. I'd been so worried we wouldn't break even, but it was a great way to end the year."

"What did you and Josh do last night?" Clay asked Trip, who'd been plowing his way through the mounds of food on his plate.

"Ordered pizza. Played Call of Duty." The question answered, Trip turned his attention back to his plate. Vivi had counted three trips to the buffet. Vivi was sure of this because she'd been right behind him.

Melanie seemed to realize how vague Shelby's answer had been and circled back to the topic. "Who all was at the party, Shel? What did Mrs. Barrett serve?"

Vivien had to bite back the "You mean, other than the rum and c.o.ke?" that sprang to her lips. But, of course, it was unlikely the mixed drinks had been an official part of the menu. Shelby had refused to tell her who had supplied the alcohol.

Before Shelby could come up with an answer to the first questions, Melanie asked, "Was Ty there?"

Shelby blushed, and Vivien thought, Bingo! remembering the boy from the Pemberton football game.

"Yes," Shelby finally responded. "He, um, asked me to the prom."

"That's great, sweetie," Melanie said, apparently unaware of the boy's reputation. "When is it again?"

"The middle of March," Shelby said.

"Perfect," Melanie said, and Vivien wondered if she'd made a mistake in hiding Shelby's transgression. If Melanie knew that Shelby had come home drunk, would she be as pleased about Shelby's date? Would it have made her watch Shelby as carefully as someone apparently needed to? "That leaves lots of time to find a really great dress," Melanie said.

"I thought maybe Clay could take me shopping," Shelby said.

Vivien's head snapped up. She'd been so busy second-guessing herself she'd only been half listening. "What did she say?"

Melanie laughed. "She wants Clay to help her find a dress." Seeing Vivi and Ruth's doubtful looks, she explained, "Clay has the best taste of anyone I've ever known, plus he's dated two or three Miss Georgias and one super-model. He's helped me choose pretty much every ball gown and all of the campaign wardrobes I've ever bought. He knows all the best boutiques."

Clay smiled; was she just imagining that it was taunting? "You can come with us if you want, Vivi. We could make a few stops at some of the better maternity shops."

"Thanks," she said, the nature of his smile now confirmed. "I may take you up on that." She a.s.sumed his fashion prowess was overstated, but spending more time with him might yield answers, a.s.suming she ever figured out the right questions.

Clay clanged a knife against the champagne gla.s.s that held what remained of his mimosa. "Since the new year seems like the right time to share new things, I have an announcement to make."

Everyone at the table fell silent. Clay's gaze sought Melanie's.

"J.J.'s state house seat is coming open," he said. "And I've been asked to run for it."

Clay continued to watch Melanie. "What do you think, Mel? Do you think I should do it?"

Melanie's eye's shone with unshed tears as they often did when J.J.'s name came up. But Vivien had no idea whether they were tears of sadness or of joy. Vivi, who'd been watching Clay usurp more and more of what had been J.J.'s, was pretty creeped out.

"I think J.J. would be pleased," Melanie said finally. "He always said no one was more in synch with what drove him politically than you." She smiled softly despite the sheen of tears. "There's a certain symmetry in having his best friend carry on what he began."

Vivien studied Clay Alexander, once again looking for some clue to what drove him. Professor Sturgess claimed Clay was most comfortable in the background, but now that J.J. was gone, he seemed prepared to move front and center. Had he been chomping at the bit while J.J. was alive, angling for an opportunity? Had J.J. been an obstacle to his own ambitions?

"You know, I've been trying to figure out why you left Asheville, where you were already running statewide campaigns, to run J.J.'s first campaign," Vivien said.

He looked at her as if he didn't understand what she was asking.

"I mean it was a step backward, wasn't it?" Vivi asked. "In political terms?"

Clay dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin, and Vivien sensed him regrouping. "J.J. was an old friend," he finally said. "And I knew he had what it took to get elected to a lot more than a county commission seat." He looked over at Melanie, adding, "And, of course, there were other incentives. I'm sure Mel would confirm that J.J. was not an easy man to say no to."

Vivien watched Clay carefully. He was so smooth that anything he said sounded plausible; yet there was always some sort of subtext underlying his words.

"Truthfully," he said now. "I don't see how that would be any bigger a step backward than leaving a network television job in New York to come back to Atlanta and have a baby."

Melanie's eyes flashed surprise, but Vivien actually appreciated the lack of subtlety. It was hard to land a good punch when you were fighting with gloves on.

She didn't get a chance to strike back because Ira chose that moment to return to the table. "Sorry," he said, running a hand through his gray hair. "There was a mechanical breakdown at the Alpharetta plant, and I had to track down the head of our maintenance department."

"That's because no one but Ira can handle anything at his company," Ruth said. "After all, he is the Bagel Baron."

"My wife seems to forget that it's those kinds of efforts that feed and clothe all of us," Ira said.

"And my husband seems to forget that we already have more than enough food and clothing. And that if he would even talk to the people who want to buy his company, we'd have enough food and clothing for the rest of our lives. Not to mention actual lives."

The two glared across the table at each other; everyone else shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

"More coffee?" Melanie reached for the carafe she'd set on the table and held it up, but n.o.body took her up on it.

"I just can't get it through his thick head that there could be more to life than running that d.a.m.ned company." Ruth grimaced in an apparent effort to hold back tears. "I'm so tired of trying to make him *get' it. I don't even see the point of being married anymore." She grabbed her linen napkin and pressed it to one eye, held it there.

"Ruth, you're embarra.s.sing yourself," Ira said. "And everyone else, too."

Slowly Ruth lowered the napkin. The sheen of tears was unmistakable, but not a single one was allowed to fall.

"Well, I'd rather be embarra.s.sing than . . ." Ruth paused, apparently looking for the right word and finally coming up with "Obtuse!"

It wasn't a word one would expect to hear from Ruth Melnick, but Vivien thought it was pretty dead-on. She felt a grudging admiration for this woman who didn't like her. At least she was speaking out and trying to get what she wanted.

Ira, who also seemed surprised by Ruth's word choice, stared at his wife as if he didn't recognize her, his face awash with confusion. Vivien leaned closer and said, "Obtuse means simpleminded, thickheaded, dull-witted . . ."

"Vivi!" Melanie shushed her even as she put an arm around Ruth.

"I know what obtuse means!" Ira snapped. "I just don't know how I'm supposed to deal with her. She's always kvetching and complaining these days; she won't let this thing go."

"Maybe you should try actually listening to what she's telling you," Vivien suggested. "Maybe she has a valid point."

Clay, the consummate politician, excused himself and led Trip and Shelby down to the bas.e.m.e.nt to watch the game.

Melanie helped Ruth stand and then directed a lot of head movement and eye action Vivi's way; she was not any better at it than Evangeline. Vivi shrugged, palms up. "How many syllables? Is it a movie or a book t.i.tle?"

Melanie gave up on the charades. "Vivi, please take Ruth to the bathroom so that she can freshen up. I'd like to have a word with Ira."

"Oh!" Vivi stood and walked around the table. "Sure." She took Ruth by the shoulders and realized just how distraught Ruth must be when the older woman aimed a grateful look her way. "Come on, Ruth," she murmured as they walked down the hall. "Mellie will set him straight."

When she and Ira were alone at the table and the guest bath door had clicked shut, Melanie pulled out the chair next to Ira and sank into it. He looked at her warily, but there was no fight left in him. As she watched, his normal buoyancy seeped out of him like air escaping a punctured tire. He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You see what I'm dealing with here," he said more quietly than she had ever heard him speak. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"I can't really tell you that, Ira," Melanie said carefully. "But if you love her, you need to really listen to what she's saying to you."

"I know what she's saying. She wants me to sell the business and retire. I understand. But she doesn't. She knows me better than anybody, and she still doesn't understand that if I'm not the Bagel Baron, I'm n.o.body." He looked away and drew another breath. "I'm just some old altakaka who was somebody once. I'd rather die than be that."

"Ira you're going to die whether you're the Bagel Baron or the incredibly smart businessman who created the Bagel Baron and is now living happily off the proceeds. But the bottom line is either way you're going to die. And I have a little insight about that."

She felt her own eyes well as she let herself think about J.J., something she'd been trying not to do all morning.

"You really never know how much time you have left with the people you love. They can be gone in an instant. Losing someone you love is . . . unbearable. But throwing them away? I can't even imagine how horrible that must feel."

She reached out her arms and hugged Ira Melnick and felt whatever air had remained rush out of him. Eyes closed they rocked gently for a moment. When they separated, she left her hand on his arm and looked directly into his eyes. "She's an incredibly good woman. And she's trying to do what she thinks is best for both of you. Don't just blow her off, Ira. It's not that easy to find someone we can really love and who loves us."

Ira nodded and gave her shoulder a fatherly squeeze. "You're a good girl, Melanie. Thank you for the brunch." He stood slowly, straightening his shoulders. "Could you see if Ruth is ready to go?"

"Well, that was quite a kickoff to the new year," Vivien observed as they stood on the front walk watching the Melnicks drive off.

"It certainly was," Melanie agreed. "I hope they can work things out."

The day was clear and cold, the sky a gentle blue. The pansies in the matching pots that bracketed the front door provided a welcome pop of color.

"Well, I learned a few things today," Vivien said.

"Oh?"

"I learned that even someone as seemingly transparent as Ruth Melnick is not really what they seem."

"Is that right?"

"Yep," Vivi said with a smile. "To put it in candy terms, I used to think Ruth was just a jawbreaker. Now I know that she's actually a Tootsie Roll Pop. All hard and crunchy on the outside, but with a soft chewy center."

Melanie laughed as they stared out over the sleeping lawn and the naked limbs of the trees. The sun on their faces was weak but welcome. "Well, you're a bit of a Tootsie Roll Pop yourself," Melanie said. "You've got a lot more heart than you like to let on."

"Oh?" Vivien asked as they went back inside, stopping in the dining room to begin to gather up coffee cups and dessert plates.

"Yeah," Melanie said. "And I think you're going to be a great mother, too."

They carried what they could to the kitchen, where Melanie prepared to load the dishwasher while Vivi began to wrap and put away food. "G.o.d, I hope you're not just saying that," Vivien said. "Because I'll be happy if I can be even half as good at it as you."

26.

IN EARLY JANUARY not long after Wednesday-night belly-dancing cla.s.ses resumed, two journalists, a reporter and his cameraman, were abducted from a small village to the north of Kabul. The initial report was sketchy and even the networks didn't seem sure whose people were missing for a tense twenty-four hours.

Vivien left messages on Stone's cell phone but couldn't reach him, which only frightened her further. She didn't eat or sleep until the call from Marty came before dawn the following morning. "It's not Stone," were his first words and so great was Vivi's relief that she didn't hear anything that came afterward.

"Wait. Go back and start over," she said shakily. "I wasn't . . . I couldn't listen."

With her eyes closed and her attention now split between Marty's voice and the act of drawing and releasing air from her lungs, she tried to focus on the details, but the only thing really going through her brain was, "Thank G.o.d! Thank G.o.d! Thank G.o.d!" and "It's not him! It's not him! It's not him!"

"Anyway," Marty was saying when she was finally able to process words again, "He was right near the village, but his guide had heard something was up and got him and Jake the h.e.l.l out of there." As Vivien knew, this was not always the case with the guides the journalists depended upon so heavily. Even the best of them were somewhat conflicted. The journalists' money was important, but sometimes not as important as the guide's family connections or unspoken political affiliations.

"Obviously, he'll be following the story. It was Deke Slater from CCN and his cameraman who were taken. Deke and Stone go way back. Stone asked me to tell you not to worry and that he'll get messages out when he does his live shots, but he's not going to be able to reach you until he's back in Kabul."