Читать книгу Daughters Of The Bride - Сьюзен Мэллери, Susan Mallery - Страница 8

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“WANT ME TO put vodka in yours?” Kelly asked as she handed Courtney a tray of glasses filled with lemonade.

“I wish,” Courtney told her. “Alas, no. I have a meeting.”

“Uh-huh. With your mom. Just give me the high sign and I’ll start screaming. That will give you a good excuse to come running.” Kelly wrinkled her nose. “I’ll have to think of a reason. Maybe a broken ankle.”

“You’d look adorable in a cast. Tiny and broken. Men would be flocking.”

Kelly grinned. “I could use a good flocking.”

Courtney was still laughing as she walked out of the bar and around to the pool area, where Joyce sat with Courtney’s mother, Maggie, at one of the tables on the far side. A large umbrella protected them from the mid-May afternoon sun. Sarge and Pearl lay on the grass a few feet away.

Joyce wore her usual St. John separates—today she had on black knit pants and a three-quarter sleeve black knit shirt. A blue, black and gray scarf pulled the look together. Maggie had come from her office. Her tailored dark green dress brought out the color of her eyes and complemented her blond hair.

As Courtney approached, her mother caught sight of her and quickly scrambled to her feet. Her haste to get to Courtney and rescue the tray would have been comical if it wasn’t a metaphor for their entire relationship. Assume, no matter the circumstances, that Courtney can’t handle it. Although given her somewhat predictable ability to create a disaster out of thin air, she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised.

“I’ll just take that,” her mother said with a smile. She carried the tray back to the table.

Courtney hesitated only a second before joining them. Too bad Neil hadn’t come along. He was always a calming presence. Courtney and her sisters enjoyed spending time with him. He was sweet, with a quirky sense of humor. But there was no Neil-buffer today, and as Joyce considered herself as much Maggie’s friend as Courtney’s, there would be no help from that quarter, either.

Courtney sat next to Joyce and reached for a glass of lemonade. As she took a sip, she thought that maybe she should have taken Kelly up on her offer of vodka. That would have taken the edge off the meeting.

“As we discussed before,” Joyce began, “the party is going to be out here.” She motioned to the grassy area in front of the pool. “We’ll have an open tent for dinner, but I’m hoping the weather cooperates and we can have drinks and appetizers out under the stars.”

“Sunset’s about eight ten,” Courtney said, putting her drink back on the table and opening her tablet cover. “We’ll be having drinks and appetizers with the sunset.”

“That will be so beautiful.” Maggie smiled at her daughter, then leaned toward Joyce. “What about the food?”

Joyce turned to Courtney and raised her eyebrows. “What are we having?”

Courtney found the menu in her file. “We’ve talked about a buffet. That gives us the most options. You and Neil both like spicy food, so I suggest you serve barbecue jerk chicken and grilled sweet-and-spicy shrimp as the main entrées.”

She listed the side dishes offered and the appetizers, along with the idea of having watermelon mojitos as the signature drink.

“They’re pink,” she told her mother. “We could do cosmopolitans, too.” The latter was much easier and would make her popular with the bar staff. In theory, the catering department didn’t ever want anything labor-intensive like a mojito as a signature drink at an event, but she’d called in a few favors to get it approved.

“I do love pink,” Maggie murmured, glancing between the two of them. “And Neil would say whatever makes me happy. Oh, let’s do cosmos. They’ll remind me of Sex and the City.”

Courtney could practically hear a collective sigh of relief from the bar staff. She made notes on her tablet.

When her mother had first started dating Neil Cizmic, none of her daughters had thought much about it. A widow for nearly twenty-four years, Maggie had dated on and off, sometimes getting involved with a man for a few months at a time. But the relationships had never gotten serious. Then Neil had come along.

On the surface, they couldn’t be more different. Maggie was tall and thin. Neil was at least two inches shorter and much more round. But he’d won her over with his kind heart and honest love. Now they were getting married. Every now and then Courtney poked at her heart to see if she minded that her late father was being replaced, but there had been no reaction. More than enough time had passed. If marrying Neil made her mom happy, then Maggie should go for it.

As for the “until death do us part” section of the vows, well, Courtney wasn’t the one getting married. She was willing to admit she’d never been in love, but from what she’d seen, most romantic relationships ended badly. As for the nonromantic kind of love, well, that hurt, too.

“The cosmos will be so pretty,” Joyce said. “And there’s an open bar for anyone who wants something different.”

Maggie leaned back in her chair. “I’m so excited. I always wanted an engagement party, but my mother said we couldn’t have one.” She looked at Joyce. “I was only eighteen when Phil and I got engaged, and nineteen when we got married. My mother made all the decisions. It was awful. We argued every day for a year. I wanted different dresses for the bridesmaids, a different cake. I hated the flowers she picked. So I swear, this time, I’m going to do everything the way I want. Convention be damned.”

“You have good taste, Mom. No one’s worried,” Courtney assured her. Something she’d passed on to her other two daughters. Sienna could make a paper bag look like high fashion, and Rachel made her living by doing hair and makeup. Courtney knew she was the only one missing the style gene in their family.

Her mother grinned. “You should be a little worried. I started planning my wedding when I was fourteen. I have a lot of pent-up ideas.” She eyed the pool. “Is that treated with chlorine?”

Joyce looked a little startled by the question. “Of course. Why?”

“Oh, I was just thinking swans would be nice. But they can’t swim in chlorinated water, can they?”

Courtney felt her eyes widen. “No, and swans poop a lot, Mom. Cleaning the pool after the fact would be a nightmare.”

Her mother sighed. “Too bad. Because I’ve always wanted swans.”

Joyce shot Courtney a look of concern. Courtney quickly flipped through the files on her tablet, then turned it so her mother could see the photo on the screen.

“I’ve been playing around with some ideas based on pictures I’ve seen on Pinterest. For example, a champagne fountain before the toast. Kelly, one of the waitresses here, knows how to stack the glasses and is going to help me with it. Won’t that be great?”

She figured it was the adult equivalent of shaking keys at a fussy baby, and her odds were about the same.

Maggie leaned forward and nodded slowly. “That’s lovely. Neil and I would like that very much.”

“Good.” Courtney flipped to another picture. “This will be the table runner for the head table.”

Her mother stared for a second, then her eyes widened before filling with tears. “How did you do that?” she asked softly.

“It was easy. I uploaded the pictures to the website, then arranged them. The company prints out the runner and ships it.”

The custom table runner was made up of a collage of photographs. Most of the photographs were of the sisters as they grew up. A few pictures showed Maggie with her daughters. Interspersed were pictures of Maggie and Neil on their various trips.

“Where did you get these?” her mother asked. “They’re wonderful.”

“Rachel had a lot of them on her computer. I borrowed a couple of photo albums the last time you had us over for dinner. I got the ones of you and Neil from him.”

“It’s lovely. Thank you. What a wonderful idea.”

Courtney was surprised by the praise. Pleased, of course, but surprised. This was good. They were making progress. And no swans would be forced to swim in chlorinated water.

“It sounds like we have everything under control,” Joyce said as she got to her feet. “Excellent. I need to go check on some arriving guests. They’re new and, to be honest, sounded a little shady on the phone.”

Courtney groaned. “Did you take reservations? We’ve talked about this. You need to stay off the phone.”

Joyce, while a lovely person, could be overly chatty with new guests. Most people simply wanted to know availability and price. Joyce wanted them to share their life story, and if they weren’t forthcoming with the information, they were labeled “shady.”

“It’s my hotel. I can do what I want.”

Courtney grinned. “That would be true.” She turned to Pearl and Sarge. “Be gentle with the new people. I’m sure they’re perfectly nice.”

“My dogs are excellent judges of character. Don’t try to influence them.”

“I’m trying to keep you from scaring the guests away.”

Joyce grinned. “Where else are they going to stay? The Anderson House has bees.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I know. It’s part of my charm.”

Joyce waved and walked toward the hotel. Courtney turned back to her mother and found Maggie studying her.

“What?”

“I’m glad you and Joyce get along so well and that she looks out for you.”

Courtney carefully pulled the cover over her tablet and braced herself. In some ways, Maggie was harder to deal with than Sienna. Her middle sister thought she was inept and borderline dull-normal. Her mother feared she was...broken.

“She’s a good friend and a great boss,” Courtney said lightly. “I’m lucky.”

Maggie pressed her lips together. “I know. I just wish you had a little more ambition. I worry about you. Is it that you think you can’t do better or you don’t want to?”

Breathe, Courtney told herself. Just breathe. There was no win here. She simply had to endure the conversation, then she could get back to her life.

“The fact that you’re helping out with my engagement party got me to thinking you might be interested in doing something more than being a maid.” Her mother reached into her handbag and pulled out a brochure. “I know you said you weren’t interested in being a dental assistant, but what about a massage therapist? You like people, you’re very nurturing and you’re physically strong.”

Courtney took the brochure and studied the first page. She honest to God didn’t know what to say. Joyce would point out this was her own fault. She was the one who let her family believe she was working as a maid at the hotel. Well, technically she was working as a maid, but only part-time as she continued her education. That was the part they didn’t know.

She supposed she could simply come clean—but she didn’t want to. She wanted to wait until she could slap down her diploma and watch them all stare in disbelief. That was a moment worth waiting for.

“Thanks, Mom,” she said with a smile. “I’ll think about it.”

“Really? That would be wonderful. I’d be happy to help pay for it. I think you’d do well.” Maggie hesitated. “There are so many wonderful opportunities out there. I hate to see you wasting your life.”

“I know and I appreciate it.”

Her mother nodded. “I love you, Courtney. I want the best for you.”

All the right words. All warm, affectionate sentiments. On her good days, Courtney could believe them. On her bad days, well, sometimes it was hard to let go of the past enough to forgive.

“Thanks, Mom. I love you, too.”

* * *

“A glove’s important, Mom.”

“I know it is.”

“I really need a new one.”

Rachel didn’t doubt that. Josh was basically a good kid. He didn’t whine, he didn’t ask for a lot. His passions were simple—anything sports-related and the occasional computer game. That was it. Christmas and birthday presents revolved around whatever sport most had his interest. As they had for the past three years, spring and summer meant baseball.

Los Lobos didn’t have a Little League team, but there was a county league. Josh insisted they sign him up the first hour they could, something she was happy to do. He was eleven—she figured she had all of two, maybe three years before he became a raging male hormone and then all bets were off.

“Dad said he would buy it for me but I had to check with you first.”

At least she was driving and had an excuse not to look at Josh. Because she couldn’t—not without him seeing the rage in her eyes. Damn Greg, she thought bitterly. Of course he could afford to buy his son a new glove. Greg had only himself to worry about.

Her ex-husband made a good living as a Los Lobos county firefighter. He also had excellent medical benefits—something she’d lost after the divorce. Even more annoying, his schedule was a ridiculous twenty-four hours on, twenty-four hours off for six days, followed by four days off. Which gave him plenty of time to play, and play he did. Add in the fact that he’d moved back home with his folks, so he basically had no living expenses, and the man was swimming in both cash and time.

Don’t think about it, she instructed herself. Dwelling on how good Greg had it only made her angrier. She had to remember that the man paid his child support on time. That was something. But as for the rest of it—she couldn’t help resenting how easy he had it.

Yes, she did well at the salon. She was able to support herself and her son. The child support covered the mortgage, and she paid for everything else. But it wasn’t as if there was a bunch of extra cash at the end of the month. She was doing her best to build up an emergency fund and keep current on household repairs. There wasn’t anything left over for things like baseball gloves.

When she was sure she could speak in a happy, excited tone, she said, “Go for it, Josh. You need a new glove. It’s great that your dad can afford to get it. Do you already know what you want, or do you need to do some research?”

“I know exactly what I need.” And he was off, describing the glove down to the kind of stitching.

Oh, to be that young and innocent, she thought with regret. To trust that everything was going to turn out the way it was supposed to. To believe in happily-ever-after.

She’d been that way, once. She’d had hopes and dreams—mostly of finding her handsome prince. And when she’d laid eyes on Greg, she’d known, just known, he was the one. Back then everyone had believed he was the one. Greg had been the guy every girl wanted.

And she’d been the one to get him—right up until he’d cheated on her.

She turned the corner, then pulled into Lena’s driveway. Josh was out of the car before she’d come to a full stop.

“Bye, Mom. See you later.”

He ran into the house without bothering to knock. She was still shaking her head when her friend Lena appeared on the porch. Lena turned back to kiss her husband, then hurried to the car. She got inside and waved the bag she held.

“Great cheese and dark chocolate. Am I good to you or what?”

They hugged.

“You’re the best,” Rachel told her. “Thanks for coming over tonight. I could use some girl time.”

“Me, too. Tell me the wine is red.”

“It’s red and there are two bottles.”

“Perfect.”

She and Lena had been friends since elementary school. They were physical opposites—Lena was petite and curvy, with brown hair and dark eyes. Rachel was taller and blonde.

They’d played together, dreamed together, and when they’d grown up, they’d been each other’s maids of honor. They’d married young and then had sons within a few months of each other. But things were different now. Lena and Toby were still happily together.

“What?” her friend asked. “You’re looking fierce.”

“Nothing. I’m fine. Just the usual crap.”

“Greg?”

Rachel sighed. “Yes. Josh needs a new glove and his dad is going to buy it for him.”

Her friend didn’t say anything.

Rachel turned onto her street. “I know what you’re thinking. I should be grateful he’s an involved father. That the extra money he has could be spent on women and drinking, but he spends it on his kid.”

“You’re doing all the talking.”

Rachel pulled into her driveway. “I just wish...”

“That a really big rock would fall on him?”

She smiled. “Maybe not that, but something close.”

Because it was Greg’s fault their marriage had failed. He’d chosen to have a one-night stand with a tourist. She’d known the second she’d seen him—had guessed what he’d done. He hadn’t tried to deny it, and that had been that. Her marriage had ended.

When they got back to Rachel’s, they poured wine. Rachel eyed the beautiful wedge of Brie and knew there had to be maybe five thousand calories in that chunk of soft goodness, and she honestly couldn’t care. Had she put on weight lately? Probably, but so what? Her clothes still fit, at least the loose ones did. She worked hard and deserved to reward herself. It wasn’t as if she had anyone to look good for.

She sipped her wine and knew that the right response was that she needed to look good for herself. That she was worth it and all those other stupid platitudes. That if she wanted to feel better, she had to take better care of herself. All of which didn’t get the laundry washed or the bathrooms cleaned.

“You need to get over him.”

Lena’s comment was so at odds with what Rachel had been thinking that it took her a second to figure out what her friend was saying.

“Greg? I am. We’ve been divorced nearly two years.”

“You might be legally divorced, but emotionally you’re still enmeshed.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Did you have too much waiting time in a doctor’s office? Did you read some women’s magazine? Enmeshed? No one actually uses that word.”

“You just did.”

Rachel made a strangled noise in her throat. “I don’t want to think about him,” she admitted. “I want to move on with my life.”

“Find a man? Fall in love?”

“Sure.”

A lie, she thought, but one her friend would want to hear. Fall in love? She couldn’t imagine going out with someone who wasn’t Greg. He’d been her first date, her first time, her first everything. The world still divided itself neatly into Greg and not Greg. How was she supposed to get over that?

“You’re so lying,” Lena said cheerfully. “But I appreciate that you’re making the effort to humor me.”

“I want to move on,” Rachel admitted. “I just don’t know how. Maybe if I could get away from him. But with us having Josh together, there’s no escape.”

“You could move.”

The suggestion was spoken in a soft voice, as if Lena knew what Rachel would think. Rachel did her best to remain calm when on the inside she wanted to start shrieking.

Move? Move! No way. She couldn’t. She loved her house. She needed her house and all it represented. It was proof that she was okay. She would take a second job to pay for the house, if she had to.

None of which made sense. She understood that. She also knew she was reacting to a traumatic event in her childhood—the death of her father and the fact that her family had been forced out of their house a few months later.

Rachel remembered hating everything about living at the Los Lobos Hotel. Looking back, she knew she should be grateful that they’d been taken in, that they hadn’t had to live in a shelter. But she couldn’t get over the shock and pain the day she’d come home from school to find her mother sobbing that they’d lost everything and it was her father’s fault. She’d been so scared. Daddy was dead—how could he continue to be in trouble?

When she’d been older, she’d realized their father hadn’t been a bad man—just financially careless. There hadn’t been any life insurance, no savings.

When she and Greg had married, she’d been focused on buying a house. They’d been young and it had been a financial struggle, especially with a baby, but they’d made it. This was her home—she was never leaving.

But the price of that was living with the ghosts of her lost marriage. Greg’s memory still lingered in every room.

“Maybe I could get someone to do a spiritual cleansing of the house. With sage. And salt. Do you need salt?”

Lena briefly closed her eyes. “I love you like my best friend.”

“I am your best friend.”

“I know, so please understand why I’m saying this. The problem isn’t the house, Rachel. It’s you. And there isn’t enough sage or salt in the world to get you over Greg. You’re going to have to decide once and for all to emotionally move on. Until you do, you’re trapped. Forever.”

The truth, however lovingly delivered, could still hurt like a son of a bitch.

Rachel blinked a couple of times, then reached for the wine. “We’re so going to need another bottle.”