Sisters and Husbands

by Connie Briscoe

Genres: General Fiction

Synopsis

New York Times best-selling author Connie Briscoe finally delivers the novel fans have waited 10 years to have. The sequel to Sisters & Lovers, Sisters & Husbands picks up with Beverly well into her 30s and finally engaged to the perfect man. But when her sister's marriage falls apart days before Beverly's wedding, she starts to fear that marriage just doesn't work. Can Beverly pull herself together, or is she destined to call off yet another engagement?

Release date: June 2, 2009

Publisher: Recorded Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

I can’t do this.” Beverly slipped out of Julian’s tight embrace and backed away from the queen-size hotel bed. With those simple
words she had abruptly altered the course of her life. She had put an end to “I do.” To bridal showers and wedding bells and
honeymoons.


Julian sat up, and the muscles in his bare bronze chest rippled softly as he reached for a pair of dark-rimmed eyeglasses
on the nightstand. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked as he put the glasses on. “Is it my breath? My underarms?” He lifted
an arm and sniffed playfully. That was Julian, always joking around and making her laugh. It wasn’t going to work this time.


She pulled her sleeveless black dress over her auburn shoulder-length hair, walked to the picture window of the Baltimore
Hyatt, and stared at the lights shimmering on the harbor. “I’m serious, Julian. This isn’t the time to be funny.”


She gripped the gold brocade drapes on the window, and her voice grew faint as she forced the words from her lips. “I can’t
go through with the wedding tomorrow. I can’t get married.” The corners of her eyes stung, and she closed and opened them
to fight back the tears. Somehow the lights on the harbor seemed to have grown dimmer across the night sky.


He was out of bed and standing behind her in a flash. He touched her bare shoulders gently, spoke softly. “You’re nervous,
Beverly. It’s normal to get cold feet the night before you get married, you know? Especially with all the problems your sisters
are having with their husbands lately.”


She nodded. “I admit that’s getting to me. Both of their marriages are suddenly falling apart, and it’s scaring me silly.
Instead of hearing wedding bells ringing in my head, I’ve got alarms going off like crazy. I tried to shake it and I—”


“You’ve done this before, Bev,” he interrupted anxiously. “Before me, you broke off two engagements.”

“Yes, but—”

“But nothing.” He squeezed her shoulders firmly. “I’m not like either one of the brothers you were with before. I’m not your
sisters’ husbands. Things are different with us. We talked about this.”


Beverly bit her bottom lip silently. Yes, she had broken off engagements twice before. And she had been right to do it both
times. She couldn’t go through with marriage unless she felt sure it would work out.


“I know. I thought it was different this time too,” she said. “And it is in a way. At least that’s what I tell myself.”

“Is there someone else?”

“What? No, no. It’s nothing like that.”

“You sure? You’d say so if there was?”

“Yes, I’m sure. There’s no one else.”

“Then what is it? I don’t get it.” He paused. “Is it marriage or is it me that’s the problem?”

Beverly shook her head. Julian had been nothing but sweet to her ever since they met at a party a year earlier, and she was
crazy about him. He was loyal, trustworthy, dependable. Best of all, he cherished her. And he had the kind of good looks and
charisma that crept up slowly and reeled you in before you knew what had taken hold of you. All that made for a solid, loving
relationship, and they had settled into a soothing rhythm together.


Still, her sisters had no doubt felt the same way when they got hitched and look at them now. Both of their marriages were
crumbling. Beverly didn’t want to go through the nuptials only to end up in divorce court. She knew the grim statistics, especially
for African Americans. She had read that two-thirds of marriages among black couples ended in divorce, and she had every reason
to believe it was true. She could see it all around her now with her sisters and friends. One divorce right after the other,
whether they’d been married for two years or twenty. If those were the odds, why take a chance?


She turned to face Julian to make her point. She wanted him to understand where she was coming from. “I still love you, Julian.
I still want to be with you. I’m just saying that we don’t have to get married. If we’re so happy now, why change things?”


Julian took her arms and tightened his grip as he looked down at her. “Bev, listen to me.” His brows wrinkled with anxiety
as he peered into her face. “You’re panicking and you’re not making any sense. Almost a hundred people are coming tomorrow
to see us get married. My family, your family, our friends. Thousands of dollars have been spent.”


She lowered her head. “I know.”

“I love you and I want to get married tomorrow. Don’t do this now. Don’t mess us up like this.”

His voice was so sad, it crushed her heart. But she knew she was right about this. And with time, Julian would come around
to seeing things her way. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Still, she couldn’t get married just because she was afraid she might lose
him. It was the wrong thing to do.


She removed the diamond ring from her third finger, left hand, and reached for his palm. He stepped back, holding his hands
up and refusing to accept it. So she placed it on the wooden table in front of the picture window.


“I’m so sorry, Julian,” she whispered. “But I can’t go through with it.” She reached out to soothe him, but he turned his
back to her and signaled for her to let it go.


She shoved her teddy into her overnight bag, slipped into her sandals, and ran out of the room and down the long corridor.
It felt like she had just dived into the blackness of the Baltimore Harbor.


Exactly four more weeks before her wedding day and Beverly couldn’t believe how calm she felt. She stepped onto the carpeted
platform at Vanessa’s Bridal Boutique on a balmy Saturday afternoon in early June and was startled at what she saw staring
back from the three-way mirror—a svelte but healthy-looking woman, thanks to recent workouts at the gym, appearing fabulous
in a strapless beaded ivory-colored satin gown.


The dress was feminine but not frilly—she couldn’t stand frilliness—and youthful but not too young—she was, after all, going
to be a thirty-nine-year-old bride. It was a staggering transformation from her usual self, dressed casually in blue jeans
or shorts, or a simple skirt and top for the office at the newspaper where she worked. At this moment, she was the picture
of elegant serenity.


The same couldn’t be said for her mother, standing just below, arms folded rigidly across her gray linen suit jacket, eyes
narrowed tightly as she scrutinized every movement of the seamstress. Mama looked perturbed enough for all three of them,
and she could be quite intimidating when she got in that state. It was a wonder the seamstress hadn’t swallowed the pins dangling
from her lips.


“Shouldn’t it be a little higher off the ground?” Mama asked testily.

The seamstress, a petite Latina named Isabella who looked to be in her late twenties, paused, stood up, and removed the straight
pins from her mouth. It was a small fitting room at the rear of the Baltimore bridal boutique, with just enough space for
the platform and three-way mirror, a couch, a coffee table piled high with back issues of Brides magazine, and a rack of coral-colored bridesmaid gowns. The air was filled with lint from fabrics of all kinds—silk, satin,
brocade, lace—and aligned along one wall were a half-dozen pairs of well-worn white heels in various sizes and heights.


“A lot of brides prefer their gowns just touching the ground,” Isabella said with a slight accent and studied patience. “For
a more graceful look.” She shrugged. “But I can make it long or short, whatever you wish.”


“I like it like this,” Beverly said firmly. “It’s perfect.”

Mama touched her chin thoughtfully. “Are you sure? I worry that the hemline will get dirty.”

“It’s not like I’ll be running down the street in the dress, Ma.”

“Hmm. Go ahead, then, if that’s what you want.”

Isabella stuck the pins in her mouth and got back down to business.

“I still can’t believe you’re standing here for your first fitting only a month before your wedding day,” Mama said for the
third time that afternoon. “When your sisters got married they had—”


“Ma, please. We’re not having a gigantic over-the-top affair like they did. It’s just family and close friends. Now why don’t
you sit down and relax?” She and Julian had agreed that they didn’t want one of those three-hundred-guest gazillion-dollar
extravaganzas that left everyone in debt for years to come.


Instead, they would go for something more intimate, with around a hundred people.

“I’m fine.” Mama smacked her lips, glanced at her watch, peeked behind the curtain toward the entrance to the bridal shop,
and whipped her cell phone out of her purse practically all at once, which told Beverly she was not fine. Not even close.


“Who are you calling, Ma?”

“Your sisters,” Mama said, dialing anxiously. “They’re already fifteen minutes late. I want to make sure everyone gets here
for their fitting before I leave to go see the florist about the flowers for decorating the reception area.”


As if on cue, Beverly heard the front door of the boutique squeak open, and a few seconds later, her oldest sister rushed
into the fitting room looking slim and chic in a buttery yellow pantsuit and a pair of cute black patent-leather sandals.
Beverly always found it hard to believe that Evelyn was forty-seven years old. People often thought that Evelyn was younger
than their middle sister, Charmaine, who had just turned forty-five. Of course, being asked if she was the oldest always thoroughly
pissed Charmaine off.


Beverly suspected that Evelyn’s youthful looks had to do with the way she always managed to seem so calm and collected, so
sure of herself. Beverly liked to joke that a tornado could strike, tossing and turning everything and everyone in its path,
and when it was over, Evelyn would be standing with her neat pixie haircut and little designer suit perfectly in place. Even
now, as Evelyn darted into the fitting room, she looked totally put together, as if she were about to take a front-row seat
near the runway at a fashion show in New York or Paris.


“Sorry to be so late,” Evelyn said. “Traffic was backed up coming into Baltimore like you wouldn’t believe.” Evelyn eyed Beverly,
placed her hands on her hips, and smiled broadly. “You look absolutely stunning in that dress, girl. It’s gorgeous.”


Beverly smiled. “Thanks.”

“Designer?”

“Uh, no name that you would recognize, Evelyn.”

Evelyn cocked her head to the side. “Isn’t it a little too long?”

Beverly threw her hands in the air.

“That’s what I told her,” Mama said as she paced the floor and dialed another number on her cell phone.

The seamstress paused again, looking bewildered.

“Just ignore them and continue, please,” Beverly said to Isabella. “The length is fine,” she said with pointed finality to everyone else.


“If you say so,” Evelyn said, looking doubtful. “Don’t mind me, then. Who are you calling, Ma?”

“Charmaine,” Mama said as she put the phone to her ear.

“Oh, I meant to tell you,” Evelyn said as she placed her Fendi handbag on the coffee table. “Charmaine called just before
I left the house. She’s running late because Valerie called crying and carrying on.”


“Uh-oh,” Mama said. She snapped her cell phone shut.

“What happened?” Beverly asked.

“Valerie and Otis had a big blowup last night, and now Valerie’s too upset to come here today. She wants to be fitted another
time.”


Mama sighed loudly.

“That sounds serious,” Beverly said, frowning. “Wonder why she didn’t call me.” Valerie was Beverly’s somewhat kooky, motor-mouth,
astrology-loving best friend, and they told each other just about everything.


“She probably didn’t want to upset you by talking about having a big fight with her fiancé on the day you’re being fitted
for your wedding dress,” Mama said. “She’s trying to be a good friend to you.”


And she might also be embarrassed, Beverly thought. Valerie was forty-one years old and had been itching to get married again
ever since her first marriage right after high school fizzled within two years. She and Valerie had both recently gotten engaged
at about the same time and had originally planned a double wedding. Then about a week ago, Valerie changed her mind about
them getting married together, saying she thought the whole idea was too corny for a couple of mature brides.


Beverly had suspected that Valerie was actually worried that Beverly would call off her wedding at the last minute. Valerie’s
decision not to have a double wedding had disappointed Beverly at first, but she got over it. How could she argue? She had broken off no less than two previous engagements—one about five years ago, the other a year before she met Julian. So Beverly
and Valerie decided that Beverly would get married at the end of June, and Valerie would walk down the aisle a few weeks later.
Now it looked as if Valerie’s wedding might be the one called off, and Valerie was too ashamed to tell her.


“I agree with Ma,” Evelyn said. “She’s trying to be considerate of you.”

Beverly nodded with understanding. “She’s probably crushed. I’ll have to call her as soon as we’re done here.”

“Girls, my heart goes out to Valerie,” Mama said. “But I don’t think this is the time or the place to dwell on that. This
is Beverly’s moment. We should think happy, positive thoughts. And you need to get into your dress, Evelyn. It’s up there
on the rack.”


The seamstress paused and stood to help Evelyn pick her gown out from among the three coral satin bridesmaid gowns hanging
on a rack.


“Ma is so jittery,” Beverly said to Evelyn. “I think she’s afraid I’ll chicken out.”

“Can you blame her?” Evelyn asked, folding her dress over her arm. “You have commitment issues.”

Beverly’s hands flew to her waist indignantly. “I don’t need you to tell me that.”

“Anyone who’s thirty-nine years old and never been married has commitment issues,” Evelyn said. “You’re as bad as Julia Roberts
in Runaway Bride.”


“Did you hear me?” Beverly asked. “I’m agreeing with you. At least I’m doing something about it. I’m committing for real this
time. And I need to remind you, I never waited until days or hours before the wedding to call it off.”


“No, only two weeks,” Evelyn said sarcastically, just before ducking behind the curtain leading into the dressing room.

“The last one was eleven days before,” Mama added.

Beverly smiled guiltily. “That’s better than going through with it if I’m not sure.”

Mama nodded. “I agree. It’s still nerve-racking. Not to mention expensive. Be glad you have such a loving father.”

Now that made Beverly feel bad. Both times she had backed out before, her parents lost a couple of thousand nonrefundable dollars
that they had put down on the reception hall. Beverly had offered to reimburse them, but her father refused to take her money,
saying he’d rather lose a few bucks than have his daughter marry the wrong man. Still, her folks were in their mid-seventies
and living on retirement plans. They didn’t need a confused daughter wasting their money. “Sorry about that, Ma, but you don’t
have to worry this time. Julian’s a keeper.”


“It’s not Julian I’m worried about,” Mama said, giving Beverly a pointed look. “I can see how much he loves you.”

“I’m definitely not going to change my mind this time. I think I finally got it right. No, I know I did.”


“I sure hope so,” Mama said.

Isabella stepped back. “All done. What do you think? Everything okay?”

Beverly twirled around slowly as her mother looked on proudly.

“It’s beautiful,” Mama said.

“I’m definitely feeling this,” Beverly said as she admired the dress. “You do outstanding work, Isabella.”

“So how many more fittings today?” Isabella asked as Beverly stepped down from the podium.

“We have her two sisters for the bridesmaid dresses,” Mama explained. “Evelyn just went into the dressing room, and Charmaine
is on her way. Unfortunately the matron of honor won’t be coming. We’ll have to reschedule her.”


Evelyn exited the dressing room in her bridesmaid gown and stepped up onto the podium as Beverly went in to change. Beverly
walked out a few minutes later in jeans and a blue-and-white-striped top just as Charmaine parted the curtains and blew into
the fitting room wearing a black form-hugging skirt slit up to the thigh.


Beverly always thought of Charmaine as a force of nature. One didn’t just see Charmaine or hear her talk. You felt her, breathed
her, experienced her. Beverly suspected that today would be no exception as Charmaine placed her hands on her hips and struck
a pose in the entryway, à la Dorothy Dandridge or Marilyn Monroe.


“I’m here, ladies!”

Beverly pointed at her watch in mock indignation. “And late as usual, I might add.”


“Sorry about that.”

“At least you’re here,” Mama said. “Now I can get going. Will my girls be all right?”

“Go on to the florist, Mama,” Beverly said as she handed her gown to Isabella. “We promise to behave.”

“You promise to behave,” Charmaine said, smiling slyly, her brown eyes twinkling beneath her short curly hairdo. “Just kidding,
Ma.”


Beverly and Evelyn laughed as Mama picked up her shoulder bag from the coffee table and headed for the doorway. “Don’t forget,
after you all leave here, you need to go the hotel to finalize the menu with the chef.” Mama shook her head and pinched Beverly’s
cheek playfully. “All this last-minute stuff. I swear, you better not change your mind again, girl.”


Beverly smiled, a little embarrassed, as Mama blew kisses to Charmaine and Evelyn and waved good-bye.

“Don’t you dare say a word,” Beverly said, narrowing her eyes and pointing to both of her sisters as soon as Mama left the
shop. She knew what was coming from them, especially Charmaine—relentless teasing about breaking off two previous engagements—and
she was having none of it if she could help it.


Charmaine smiled thinly. “I guess I can behave myself for one afternoon, since this is a special day for you. But you have
to let me see your dress.”


Beverly took Charmaine to the rack and showed her the gown that Isabella had just hung up.

“Nice! Put it on so I can see it on you,” Charmaine said.

Beverly shook her head. “It’s a lot of trouble getting in and out of that thing. You should have been here on time if you
wanted to see it on me.”


“It’s not my fault I’m late,” Charmaine protested. “Blame that silly-ass girlfriend of yours.”

“What happened with Valerie and Otis?” Beverly asked as she and Charmaine sat on the couch and watched Isabella pin Evelyn’s
gown at the waist.


Charmaine sat next to Beverly and kicked off her black stilettos. “She called just as I was going out the door and said they
argued last night. He shoved her and walked out.”


“You mean he put his hands on her?” Beverly asked.

Charmaine nodded. “She said she fell back and hit the wall hard enough to bruise her arm.”

Beverly gasped.

Evelyn frowned.

Even Isabella got in on it, shaking her head with stern disapproval.

Beverly knew that Otis had a hot temper, but Valerie had always said it came out only in yelling fits. “That’s just wrong.
He’s never touched her like that before.”


“Don’t be so sure,” Evelyn said. “All you know is what she tells you.”

“I think she would have told me if he had hurt her,” Beverly said.

Evelyn looked doubtful. “You never really know what goes on in a relationship behind closed doors. Trust me.”

Beverly figured that Evelyn was speaking from her experience as a psychologist, and she supposed she couldn’t argue with that.
“You’re probably right,” Beverly said. “She could be too ashamed to tell me if he’s been smacking her around.”


“It could be shame,” Evelyn said. “Or it could be something else entirely. There’s all sorts of reasons someone might not
tell you about something like that.”


“I told her, be glad that sucker is gone,” Charmaine said. “Hope he stays gone.”

“They should try therapy,” Evelyn suggested.

“You would think that,” Charmaine said, waving her hand in Evelyn’s direction. “But some relationships aren’t worth trying to fix. He’s
a lost cause, if you ask me. Once they put their hands on you in anger, that’s it.”


“I agree,” Beverly said.

“Still, I think she’s going to go back to him,” Charmaine said.

“I should hope not,” Beverly said. “Why do you say that?”

“I couldn’t get out of the house ’cause she was crying so hard on the phone,” Charmaine said. “Talking about how she was over
forty and not married. And how she wants the hubby and the picket fence, just like me and you, Evelyn.” Charmaine made quotation
marks in the air with her fingers. “I reminded her that I’m definitely no role model when it comes to wedded bliss. I’m on
my fourth marriage mainly ’cause I don’t take a lot of crap off these crazy brothers out here. I might put up with it for
a while, but if you keep screwing up, I’m going to kick your ass to the curb.” Charmaine snapped her fingers to make her point.


“Kevin and I are not perfect, either,” Evelyn said. “We have our share of problems.”

“Most of us would kill to have your problems, Evelyn,” Charmaine said. “Your husband is a lawyer. You live in that big fat
house. You lead a charmed life, sister.”


Evelyn shrugged. “Hones. . .