Wedding Belles. Beth Albright

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      I still can’t believe Myra Jean, the trailer park psychic, was right about everything! We wouldn’t have even talked to the psychic in the first place if Vivi hadn’t insisted on a reading as her wedding present. I mean, really, who asks for a visit with the town clairvoyant as a serious wedding gift from her matron of honor? And matron of honor would be me: Blake O’Hara Heart, attorney and lifelong best friend of the bride.

      It all blew up after Vivi hung up from the “sample reading” phone call with Myra Jean. We were sitting in Vivi’s kitchen at the oversized oak table that took up most of the room. She lived on a gorgeous plantation that had been in her family for generations. It was hot as hell in the middle of a Tuscaloosa summer. The air outside felt as if a dog were breathing on your face. Sweltering is too mild a word to describe the Deep South in early August. Still, nothing was hotter than Vivi’s temper at the moment—and with a redhead, that’s usually a dangerous thing.

      “What the hell does Myra Jean mean, there’s another woman?” Vivi slammed her hand on the table, fixin’ to pitch a bridal hissy fit, which is actually in a category between hissy fit and conniption fit. Much worse than a plain ol’ hissy, but not all day long like a conniption.

      I watched Vivi jump up and start pacing. The sample reading had only been five minutes long, but Miss Myra Jean had given Vivi an earful, and it was enough to get her fuming. She blew a bright red curl from her eyes in frustration. Vivi Ann McFadden has been at war with her mop of red, wiry hair since childhood, always pushing it from her face or fighting with relentless tangles. But it looked striking against her year-round sheet-white skin. And she had sparkling emerald-green eyes, which she consistently paired with the reddest lips. I always thought she was just beautiful. She and I were best friends and true Sassy Belles. We’d made our little club called The Sassy Belles way back in junior high. We even had a motto: Be sassy, classy and a tad smart-assy. We’d done a pretty good job upholding that motto ever since, and considered ourselves Sassy Belle sisters in every way—except in the looks department. I’m taller by an inch—all of five foot four—brunette and busty and tan. My eyes are blue-green just like my grandmother’s. But I love Vivi like she’s my own flesh and blood. And I hated to see her upset like this, especially with her big day on the way.

      In less than two months, Vivi was getting married to the love of her life, the Alabama Crimson Tide’s star football announcer and my brother-in-law, Lewis Heart. She was due to have a full, proper psychic reading at her bridal-baby-bash shower later this month—yes, it was a combo shower since the bride would be nearly seven months pregnant at her wedding. She had thought it would be fun for everyone to have a reading as part of the shower festivities, but if this was Vivi’s reaction to the sample, I knew we were in trouble.

      Vivi stopped pacing long enough to get two glasses down from the cabinet and slam them on the counter. “I can’t wait till my shower to see what else that woman has to say.”

      “Honey,” I said, “she’s all booked up till then.”

      “Well, she’s just gonna have to unbook somebody.” Vivi yanked open the refrigerator, whipped some ice into the glasses, then sloshed some tea on top. Some of the tea even made it into the glass. “I won’t sleep a wink till I know what the hell she’s talking about.”

      Vivi tore off a couple of mint sprigs from her plant in the kitchen window like she was ripping off Lewis’s limbs. “He wouldn’t do this to me,” she said, slam-dunking the sprigs into our glasses. And I had to agree, after all these two lovebirds had been through, it was hard to imagine Lewis being unfaithful. I hadn’t always been his biggest cheerleader, though. When he and my husband, Harry, had their falling-out years ago, I took Harry’s side immediately. I’d spent years viewing Lewis through Harry’s eyes, but I’d learned recently what a mistake that had been. It took a long time for me to realize just how jaded Harry was, but now that we’d separated, I’d finally begun to think for myself again. And that’s when I began to see what a good man Lewis really was.

      “This other woman... Maybe it’s the baby,” I said, trying to throw something out there that would settle Vivi down. “You’ve been saying all along that you just know it’s gonna be a girl. Maybe Miss Myra Jean is talking about that other woman—your baby girl.”

      “A woman and a baby are two different things.” Vivi sat at the table and crumpled up a cloth napkin before finally exhaling. “Oh, you’re probably right. It’s gotta be the baby. What other female would my Lewis have in his life besides me...”

      Vivi’s voice trailed off and she looked out the huge kitchen window above the sink. She didn’t look completely convinced, and, in my heart, I wasn’t so sure I was right. I was just hoping Vivi could get past this news from the reading. Otherwise, that’s where her mind would be till she got her answer—and right now I needed her mind on better things.

      See, in the Deep South, women can wring your neck, hug your neck and bless your heart all in the same day. So I was hopeful we’d be moving away from the whole “wring your neck” mood pretty quickly. At least if she’d just say, “that ol’ Myra Jean—bless her heart,” then I’d know she was moving past this. I tried to change the subject.

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