Adelaide Confused Read Free Page A

even when I had
unexplainable episodes.
    She’d talked me into
seeing The Time Traveler’s
Wife when it had come to our local
theater. I’d specifically asked if it was a drama, knowing from
experience how bad things could get when a crowd’s strong emotions
were rushing through me. She’d said no, claiming it was probably a
romantic comedy. I’d tried to stay calm, but by the end there was
no hope for it. I had been hysterical. And if you’ve seen the
movie, then you know that a slight sadness did not encompass what I
felt.
    She’d found me in the
bathroom sobbing but didn’t bat an eyelash, just took me home. That
happened just weeks after we’d met. I’d been sure she would avoid
me after that. She didn’t, instead she acted as if it had never
happened. I’d had numerous similar episodes, Francesca witnessing
many, but she hadn’t abandoned me yet.
    A spike of excitement, a
dose of anxiety, and a whole lot of lust—Francesca must’ve been
coming. With a grating screech the passenger door opened and she
slipped inside. “Thanks, Adelaide. I know you’re not one to play
chauffeur, but it’s an emergency. Brock’s leaving in a week and my
carpets need cleaning.”
    “I’ll do that for you,” Stephen offered.
    Francesca turned in her
seat. “Oh, hey Stephen, that’s sweet, but I prefer to take
advantage of men I don’t particularly like.”
    In a backwards sort of way,
she’d paid him a tremendous compliment. I could feel him beaming
all sorts of things, mostly pride and adoration.
    “ So, how do you ask for
that? I’ve had a fun time, will you buy me something?”
    “ See, that’s your problem,
Adelaide,” she accused. “You lack subtlety.”
    “ How do you subtly ask a
man to have your carpets shampooed?” I questioned wryly.
    “ I invite him over for a
glass of wine, which I’ll make sure he accidentally spills. And
while he’s in the throes of guilt, I’ll casually mention I’ve been
meaning to have them redone.”
    “ Wait,” I protested. “I
thought you wanted the carpets cleaned, not redone.”
    “ I’ve changed my mind. Wine
stains you see, so I may as well just change them out, plus, the
current color is somewhat dull.”
    “You’re being fickle.”
    “Brock won’t care.”
    As we neared the Sleeping
Oaks Country Club, I said, “So I’m guessing Brock will drive you
home.”
    “ Yeah, I’ll be al—”
Francesca gasped, cutting herself off. Her hand descended on my
wrist as I put the car in park. No, not a hand, the thing cutting
into my flesh was more of a claw.
    I jerked my wrist, trying
to shake free. “What are you doing?”
    “ What?” She looked at me as
if in a daze, then down at her hand. “Oh.” She let go, turning back
to stare out the window. “It’s Reed Wallace,” she half
whispered.
    Every bit of townie gossip
I heard had come from Francesca, so I prepared myself for some
seedy details. “Who is Reed Wallace?”
    She looked at me, then at
Stephen. “Neither of you have heard of him?” she asked, sounding
scandalized. We looked blankly back at her. “The both of you need
to get out more,” she instructed. “He’s only the richest man to
ever step foot on St. Simons. Hell, he owns half the island! He’s a
business magnate, CEO of his own real estate company. He’s also
unbearably good-looking and a popular socialite. You need to meet
him.” She abruptly got out of the car and came around, trying to
usher me out as well.
    “ No,” I scowled. “I don’t
want to meet some nancy-boy business man.”
    “ Stephen needs to meet him
too. Trust me, both of you, you’ll regret it your entire lives if
you don’t.”
    “That doesn’t even make sense,” I argued.
    But Stephen, aglow from
inclusion, agreed. “If Francesca thinks we should...” He let his
voice trail off, but I saw the pleading look in his
eyes.
    “ That’s just your hormones
talking,” I complained. But capitulating, I got out of the car to
meet some strange man that