Listen to Your Heart - Fern Michaels [51]
Both dogs bounded out of the kitchen and up the steps, where they waited, panting for her to get to the top. When she reached the top, they raced down the hall to her bedroom. Zip always took a flying leap and landed smack in the middle of the bed while Rosie had to climb on the little bench Josie had placed at the foot of the bed to make it easier for her to get up and down.
The boxer eyed the wild array of clothing on the bed. He sniffed and pawed everything until he cleared a space for himself and Rosie. One huge paw reached out to an undergarment that was little more than cobwebs and lace. He dangled it over the side of the bed. “Is that a yes or a no?” Josie giggled as she took the teddy and carried it to the bathroom.
“Woof.”
Water gushed into the old-fashioned tub with the claw feet as Josie eyed the array of bath salts in crystal decanters on the shelf over the tub. Honeysuckle, lavender, avocado, lily of the valley, rose hyacinth. She reached for the lily of the valley and poured lavishly. “You’re here, aren’t you, Mom? I can feel your presence. Maybe it’s wishful thinking on my part. Yes, I can talk to Kitty, and yes, she gives me good advice. Most of the time. It’s you I want to talk to. God, I wish you were here. I like this guy. Probably more than I should. He could be the one, Mom. He really could. Kitty’s right: He is rather stiff. Reserved. I see pain in his eyes. I know that sounds stupid, but it’s there. I can feel that pain the way I can feel you’re close by. I want to do everything right tonight. I want him to want to see me again. Not because of the dogs but because of me. Maybe there’s something I should do to let him know how I feel. Maybe I should say something. How dressed up should I get? What if I get dressed up and he’s casual? What if he’s duded up to the nines and I’m casual? I never get it right, Mom. I feel so alone. I don’t know why that is. Did I ever tell you I was sorry about the time I snatched your pearls and broke them? That’s what I mean, Mom. I never got to say so many things. I wanted to. I loved those pearls. I know how much those pearls meant to you because Daddy gave them to you for your first anniversary. You didn’t even get mad. You said you always felt warm and loved when you wore them. You didn’t punish me; you didn’t whip my ass. I never understood that. I did write you a letter, though, but I didn’t give it to you. I’m sorry, Mom. Did you know I cried buckets for days when you gave me pearls for my seventeenth birthday? I wrote you a letter about that, too. I’m not going to do that mango thing, though.”
Josie stopped her monologue long enough to shed her clothes and pour a glass of wine, which she carried to the tub. A fifty-minute soak was going to work wonders.
Ground zero was thirty-five minutes away when Josie added the last pin to the French twist. She peered into the mirror. Stray tendrils of hair curled about her forehead and ears. There was nothing she could do about them, so she let them be. She reached for the perfume bottle, spritzed the air, and danced under the spray. Delicious. Absolutely delicious.
Something was missing. The yellow linen was plain, but perfect. The sandals were just right. If she didn’t sit down for the next thirty-five minutes she would be fine. She loved linen, but it did wrinkle. “What do you think, guys? I need something. I don’t feel finished.”
Rosie circled her feet, trying to lick the lotion on her ankles. Zip romped across the room to widen the circle behind Rosie and in doing so bumped into the organdy-skirted dressing table, upending the little bench Josie sat on to apply her makeup. She watched as her jewelry box tilted and fell open, the contents scattering on the glass vanity table. A single strand of pearls floated to the floor.
Josie whirled around, her arms outstretched as she moved about the room in a crazy wild dance, the dogs behind her. “Mom!” When there was no response—and she knew there wouldn’t be—Josie dropped