“I know I should’ve asked you, but Norah needed an answer—”
The woman’s shoulders hunched and her voice got smaller as the guy on the other side continued to talk.
“I thought I could make some good contacts for your campaign. Political wives are supposed to be involved and volunteer. This is a good cause, Garrett.”
Garrett? Corrine tipped her head and caught a flash of blonde hair. Whitney.
“I understand. Yes, I’ll—” The French tipped nails tapped a nervous tattoo on the counter. “But I’m on the tear down committee. I—No. No I didn’t think about your schedule.” Whitney seemed to draw in on herself.
God, Corinne knew that feeling so well.
“No, I don’t need to see the rest of the performances. I’m sorry. I’ll find Norah and make some excuse. A family emergency or something. I promise I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
The man on the other end continued to berate her.
“I’m sorry your dinner isn’t waiting. No, you’re right, I should have—Okay. I’ll be there soon.”
Whitney clicked off. The shuddering breath she took was edged with tears. “Stupid,” the woman muttered. “God, you’re so stupid.”
Corinne stood frozen in the stall. She knew that kind of self-talk. She’d engaged in it herself for more years than she cared to admit.
This is why she’s so harsh with me, because she’s dealing with someone who makes her feel like less, like she has to cater to his every whim.
Something was unzipped and Corinne heard the sounds of plastic compacts and brushes being brought out. Through the whole careful retouching of makeup, she wrestled with herself.
She kne
w what it was to go through this, what it was to be isolated from others, to be desperate to do anything and everything to please him. Everything in her wanted to help, to do something to make up for being so hateful in high school. But because of that history, Whitney would hear nothing she said and would, more than likely, lash out.
Think. Think.
Whitney had volunteered to work on a fundraiser for the women’s shelter. Maybe that was her first step. Maybe she wasn’t making contacts for her husband but for herself. This could be the first part of a plan to escape. If Corinne stepped out and revealed herself or tried to say anything, it could destroy Whitney’s courage and set her back weeks or months.
Better to stay put and say nothing. Wait and see how it all played out. Then, if nothing happened, she could notify Lily Mae or someone else from the shelter. Whitney would take the talk better coming from anybody else but Corinne.
Decided, she stayed put until Whitney vacated the bathroom. She was still a mite shaky herself when she rejoined Tucker, Kurt, and Mama Pearl in the hotel lobby.
Catching sight of her face, Tucker frowned and slid his arms around her. “You okay?”
“Fine. Just tired.” She tipped her head against his shoulder, grateful to feel his solid strength and to know he’d use that strength to protect her, not against her.
With every fiber of her being she wished that for Whitney. If there was any kind of a just God, her former friend would find it, too.
Chapter 11
“You’ve been avoiding us.”
Tucker looked up from the brief he’d been staring at for the past forty-five minutes to find Tyler in the doorway of his office. He automatically saved the file and rose to come around the desk for a hug. “I’ve been busy.”
“We’ve all been busy with our respective rehearsals, but nobody’s seen hide nor hair of you since your talk with Piper last week.”
Which implied everyone else had gotten together without him and discussed the nature of that talk. Super.
“I’m not avoiding you.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Tyler dropped into one of the club chairs. “I can see the smoke coming off your ass, Tuck.”
He rolled his eyes and kicked back against the front of his desk. “I’ve just been focused on the competition.”