For all of her life, Berndette always got whatever she wanted. After her mother’s untimely death when Berndette was only 10, her father never remarried. He dated several women who wanted to marry him for his money. He dated several women who wanted to marry him for his kind heart. He dated several women who didn’t want to marry him but liked to have fun with him. None of them did he date for any length of time, though; Berndette wouldn’t allow it. And, Berndette always got whatever she wanted.
When Berndette had completed her education, she was engaged to be married to Chas Benedict III. Society called it a fairy-tale romance. The banks called it the deal of the century, which joined their families’ companies.
Chas and Berndette appeared to be inseparable. They were spotted at Cannes. They made a splash in New Zealand. They tore up the slopes in Vail. Man nor beast did not slow their jet set lifestyle.
Aside from Chas and her father, Berndette had only one other confidant. Amelia was her personal assistant and had been her best friend since grade school. Amelia had ridden in the limousine with Berndette and her father at her mother’s funeral. Amelia had made midnight runs for liquor, pregnancy tests and Cheetos in college so that Berndette could bypass the paparazzi’s evil eye. And when Chas and Berndette had married and honeymooned in Morocco, Amelia had been by her best friend’s side still catering to her every desire that was directly related to her new life as Mrs. Chas Benedict III.
Months turned into years without an heir to their combined fortunes, and tongues wagged. There was talk of infertility and infidelity and everything in between. Berndette, true to her self-indulgent form, kept mum on the reasons she and Chas chose to be childless. Amelia, ever a faithful friend and companion, had been mum as well. So every speculation about the omitted off-spring in the Benedict home remained just that: speculation.
When Chas suddenly died of heart attack, speculation turned to sympathy. Berndette arranged for a quiet and somber memorial service that was quite out of character for the ever-extravagant socialite and ruthless business woman. Through it all, Amelia was by her side, obviously distraught over the loss of her friend, Chas, but obviously attentive to her life-long friend. It surprised no one that Berndette took a leave that would last all summer. She announced she would release herself from all obligations and retreat to her beach home in Orange Beach with her companion, Amelia.
With only a week between Chas’s death and their arrival at Orange Beach, Berndette pulled her favorite crystal from the cabinet and poured a glass of Amelia’s favorite merlot. “To our endless summer!” She smiled boldly at her friend and handed the glass across the pub table they were sharing in the sunroom to Amelia.
The friends allowed the silence to linger in the room. Berndette, as was always the case, was the first to break it. “He was seeing someone,” she casually mentioned as though she were speaking of the sunny weather and sandy beaches.
Amelia, recognized the tone in her friend’s voice and just nodded her head as she let Berndette continue with her thought.
“Was he fool enough to imagine that I’d never find out? Was he arrogant enough to believe he could have his indiscretions could be carried out discreetly?” Berndette continued her confession; Amelia sipped another swallow.
“It can never be known that he was sleeping with anyone else,” Berndette stoically stated to her friend as she topped off Amelia’s goblet. “Never.”
“Never,” repeated Amelia, echoing Berndette’s tone before ingesting another gulp of her wine.
Berndette leaned across the table toward Amelia and, even though they were alone, she whispered, “It was not an accident.” Amelia’s glass stopped just inches shy of her mouth. “Do you know what that means?” Berndette questioned.
Without moving her glass to her mouth or to the table, Amelia swiftly shook her head no.
“It means Chas’s death was not an accident. It was not an unfortunate event. It was not heart issue at all. I means that I killed him. It means that I can get away with murder,” Berndette took a breath before continuing. “It means that I am not to be played as a fool.” Then she casually turned her body sideways in the embroidered chair she was adorning.
Amelia placed the glass to her mouth where she swallowed once, twice, three times and then placed the empty glass back down on the table. Casually, Berndette filled her glass yet again without even looking at her friend.
With a slight catch in her voice, Amelia broke her silence and spoke. “It was me, Berndette.” Then with a full-out sob she repeated herself, “It was me. I was with Chas. I never meant to hurt you. I, I, I never meant to go down that road. I never thought, never even thought, you’d ever find out. I can’t say this enough: I never mean to hurt you.” Amelia’s face was wet with her tears. Her shoulders slumped and shook with genuine regret and remorse. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed again and again.
Slowly, Berndette turned her body back to face her life-long friend and refilled her empty wine glass. “I know,” she said. “I know all about you and Chas. Now, drink. This whole bottle is for you. Drink”
For all of her life, Berndette always got whatever she wanted.