The Wrong Wife. Carolyn McSparren

tumor.

      Maybe Ben was at the bottom of it. She’d been in Memphis for almost a month now without anything worse than bad dreams. Then suddenly Ben Jackson drops out of a tree, and the craziness starts. Was it her hormones?

      Was her body finally betraying her for all the years of militant asexuality?

      She didn’t know what was going on, but something was definitely out of whack.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      THE GUESTS WERE STANDING at the front door air kissing and saying their goodbyes when Ben walked back into his mother’s dining room.

      She turned a concerned face to him. “Is Annabelle all right?”

      He smiled cheerfully. “A touch of migraine. She says she doesn’t get them often, but they come on suddenly. She was afraid she was going to throw up.”

      “Poor kid,” the professor said. “I’m sorry about the wine on the tablecloth, Elizabeth. That chime startled me.”

      “My birthday clock from Phil,” Elizabeth said. “It’s antique ormolu.”

      “Too damn noisy,” Phil said comfortably. “I can disconnect the chime mechanism if you like.”

      “Please. It’s beautiful, but a bell ringing every fifteen minutes is a bit much. Do you mind?”

      “Not a bit. I’ll do it tonight if you like.”

      Elizabeth smiled at Phil. Ben caught the relief in her eyes. His mother would never say anything unpleasant about a gift. But he knew she’d go nuts listening to that thing, and would probably end up hiding it in the broom closet and only bringing it out when Phil was around.

      “I’m just glad I didn’t cause her migraine,” said Gene.

      “Lucky, you mean,” his wife said.

      He seemed to have sobered up quickly.

      “Please tell her we’re sorry and look forward to seeing her again,” May added, and squeezed Ben’s arm. “She really is a lovely girl, Ben. So different from the girls you usually squire to these things.”

      He kept the smile pasted on his face as he stood at his mother’s shoulder and waved everyone away except Phil Mainwaring, who stood in the doorway with his arm around Elizabeth’s waist.

      “Well,” Phil said, giving Ben a lift of the eyebrow. “Time for another cup of coffee?”

      Ben shook his head. “I’ll get out of the way and leave you two kids alone. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

      Elizabeth laughed. “We wouldn’t dream of doing half the things you do, would we, Phil?”

      “We would if you’d let me.”

      “And besides,” she said, ignoring Phil’s comment, “I want to know what really went on tonight with Annabelle.” She slipped out of Phil’s grasp. “Sit down for a minute. I feel responsible for Annabelle. If she’s in any trouble I want to know about it.”

      “No trouble that I’m aware of,” Ben said as he followed his mother and Phil into the living room, where they sat down. He stretched his legs in front of him and slouched on the back of his neck.

      “You look awfully grumpy,” said his mother. “Surely she didn’t dump you quite that soon.”

      “She didn’t dump me because she hadn’t taken me,” Ben said. “Frankly, I don’t know what went on tonight either, except that she warned me she’s not at ease with people. At school she was an outsider—far outside. In high school there’s always somebody who’s considered weird, who bears the brunt of the jokes and the snickers and the innuendo. She was that somebody.”

      “I certainly hope you didn’t join in,” Elizabeth said.

      Ben shook his head. “No, but I didn’t do much to interfere either. Hell, Mom, she was four years younger. In high school that’s practically a generation. I mean, we grew up as neighbors, but we weren’t ever close. She’s much nearer Steve’s age.”

      “And your brother was off at military school,” Elizabeth said with a touch of sadness. “He’s never really been home since the eighth grade.”

      “You did what you had to do. Don’t blame yourself.”

      “Maybe if I’d been a better mother…”

      “Since your younger son has turned from a blossoming juvenile delinquent into a model citizen, you apparently did the right thing,” Phil added. “Actually, Ben, it’s not surprising that Annabelle is a bit dysfunctional, growing up as she did in that mausoleum with Mrs. Langley trying to convince her she was a bad seed. Maybe she should have stayed in New York.”

      “No, she shouldn’t have!” Ben said with such vehemence that both the others stared at him. He stammered, “I—I mean, she’s got to face this town if she’s going to move from dysfunctional to functional.”

      “She functions perfectly well when she’s working,” Elizabeth said.

      “She needs to be at ease with people, learn to handle sticky social situations, entertain graciously…”

      “Oh my God,” Elizabeth said, and sank back against the cushion of the peach sofa as though she’d been slugged. “Not Annabelle? Ben, I know what I said, but I never dreamed it would be Annabelle’s name on that arrow.”