Treasure Borrowed and Blue (Palmyrton Estate Sale Mystery Series Book 4)

by S. W. Hubbard

  Properly! Instinctively, I snatch my hand away. I see Mary’s expression change from pleading to pugnacious. The alteration is fleeting. In an instant she composes herself and resumes her effort to cajole me. But just for a moment, the veil was ripped away.

  “Now, I know a wedding performed by this pastor is right as rain, but it’s so hard for my father to accept. I’m afraid the stress will destroy his weak heart.” She lays a broad hand over the spot on her wildly flowered blouse that covers her own ticker.

  “Mary, you know Sean and Patty feel strongly that they can’t pretend their marriage never happened. It’s part of who they are.” I repeat the argument that Sean has consistently used to resist the annulment.

  “Pish!” Mary waves off this reasoning. “What do I care what Patty thinks? Sean’s marriage to her was a youthful mistake. You’re the girl the good Lord always intended for our Sean.”

  In any other setting, I’d be flattered to hear this, but I know her statement is pure emotional blackmail. I’m not biting. Resist now or forever be at the whim of Coughlin family demands.

  I stand up and speak firmly but pleasantly. “Sean’s faith and his previous marriage are none of our business. He’ll resolve the issue with his grandfather on his own.”

  The phrase “none of our business” might as well be words in ancient Greek—that’s how unfamiliar it is to Mary’s ears.

  And the matriarch is not used to being dismissed.

  Have I crossed a line?

  Mary rises and slings her purse over her arm like a warrior’s shield. “I’m disappointed to hear you cannot do me this one little favor, Audrey.”

  Ah, let’s play the guilt card. She doesn’t realize the lapsed Episcopalian daughter of an agnostic mathematician doesn’t really roll that way.

  Sean’s mother yanks her blouse down over her hips. “So, I have no choice but to do what’s best for my dear father. I made a promise to my ma on her deathbed that I would always look out for him, and I can’t break that.”

  Hmm. Veiled threat? She’s boycotting the wedding too?

  I smile sweetly. “I understand. I’d never expect you to break a promise.”

  Mary turns away, directing at Ethel the ferocious glare I know is intended for me. The dog scuttles into the safety of the laundry room with her tail drooping.

  I walk with Mary to the door. “Thanks for visiting, Mary. Sean will be sorry to hear he missed you.”

  Not.

  WHEN SEAN GETS HOME from basketball practice, I’m primed for battle. I’ve reviewed the episode with my future mother-in-law several times, and I’ve concluded she was the one who was out of line. If I don’t set some boundaries now, she’ll be steamrollering over me for the next thirty years. If Sean sides with his mother, we’ve got big problems.

  No sooner has he kicked off his basketball shoes by the back door than I am recounting the story of his mother’s visit. He listens in silence, leading me back to the living room and sitting on the sofa with his gaze cast down.

  I sit across from him, still talking nonstop. “So then she said she promised her mother she’d always take care of her father, and I said I’d never ask her to break a promise. So we were in a stand-off. And then she left.”

  I brace for Sean’s reaction.

  He continues to study the pattern in the carpet. Then he lifts his eyes. “I’m sorry, Audrey. She shouldn’t have come here. Was my father with her?”

  My agitation ratchets down when I realize Sean is on my side in this battle. “No, she was alone.”

  “Huh. That’s a sign of how bad she wants this. Normally, she won’t drive after dark.”

  “Why does the annulment matter so much to her, Sean? Why is some rule made thousands of miles away in the Vatican more important than her son’s happiness?”

  Sean offers me a rueful smile. “My mother is an old school Irish Catholic, Audrey. I can’t explain the hold the Church has on her. She sees priests as gods. Nothing would have made her happier than if one of us boys had become a priest. I think if her cousin Francis had been a cop or a teacher or a banker, she would barely give him the time of day. But because he’s a priest...”

  Sean kneads his temples. “Mom doesn’t know I went to visit Granda today.”

  I lean forward. “How did it go? Did you convince him?”

  “Ha! I made it worse. He went into a long list of sins we’re all committing: adultery, fornication, worshipping false idols, failing to honor our parents. We can expect the earth to open up and swallow us into a fiery pit at the moment we say ‘I do.’ “

  “So now what?”

  Sean flings himself back on the sofa and stares up at the ceiling. The silence stretches on. Ethel begins a weird whine in the back of her throat.

  “I am so freakin’ tired of this drama.” Sean’s right foot shoots out and a throw pillow sails off the sofa. “When my marriage to Patty was breaking up and I was so depressed, all everyone in my family said to me was, ‘We’re here for you, Sean. We just want you to be happy.’ Now, I’m coming up to the happiest day of my life, and it turns out what they really meant was ‘we’re here for you only if you can be happy in the way we want you to be happy.’”

  He sits up and takes my hand in both of his. “This is our wedding. We planned it to be what we wanted. I’m not changing it to make other people happy.”

  Those are brave words. But what if the Coughlins start peeling away one by one? No Father Frank means no Granda means no Mom. No Mom means no Dad, and no parents probably means no Deirdre and none of her kids. Soon there won’t be anyone at our wedding but Dad, Natalie, Ty, and Jill.

  Months ago when Sean gave me my engagement ring, I suggested slipping away to get married by a justice of the peace at a country inn somewhere. It sounded romantic. After all, an introvert like me doesn’t enjoy being the center of attention. But Sean had rejected that scenario immediately. He said the point of a wedding ceremony was for us to make a pledge in front of all the people we care about. I didn’t want to point out that he’d already made a pledge like that once, and it hadn’t helped his marriage to succeed. Now seems like the perfect time to reevaluate the elopement scenario.

  “Let’s elope,” I whisper.

  This time, Sean doesn’t embrace the idea, but he doesn’t reject it out of hand either. “You just bought a great dress. You wouldn’t get to wear it if we elope.”

  I shrug. “Adrienne says I could sell it for five grand. We could get started on the kitchen remodeling as soon as we return from our elopement.”

  “You’d trade your wedding gown for new appliances?”

  “I’d trade it for the imported Italian tile we saw in that showroom last week.”

  “But we’d lose the deposit on the reception and the band.”

  “Who says we have to cancel the party? It’s the ceremony your family objects to. We’ll run off early, get married, and come back in time for the party. The deed will be done. They can join us in Sodom and Gomorrah or not.”

  I can see that Sean is truly warming up to the concept. “But what about your family? Won’t your dad care?”

  “You know my father’s not religious. I’ll stop by their apartment tomorrow to talk to them, but I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

  Sean pulls me into his arms and whispers in my ear. “You know why I love you?”

  “Tell me.”

  “Because you’re the antidote to drama.”

  Chapter 8

  The world seems shiny and new when I wake up. The knot of tension that’s been a constant presence since we first started planning our wedding has disappeared. I realize now that even before all the conflict with Sean’s family, the wedding was stressing me out. Too many rules. Too many decisions. Too many opinions from everyone on the planet.

  I decide to stop by my father’s and Natalie’s place on my way to work at the Carnahans’ house. The two of them always look like lost tourists in the Kasbah when they have to go to Coughlin family gatherings. I know t
hey’ll sympathize with our predicament and see the wisdom of our solution. But I do feel I should tell them in person.

  Natalie answers the door with a welcoming smile. “Hello, dear. Was Roger expecting you? He went off to Tai Chi and didn’t mention you’d be coming.”

  Tai Chi! I still can’t get my head around the fact that my father has joined a senior men’s Tai Chi group that meets in Palmyrton Park. I’d love to hide behind a tree to watch my eternally skeptical father making those slow-motion bows and poses. But he says it’s done wonders to improve his balance after his stroke.

  “Oh, I forgot all about Tai Chi. Well, I’ll tell you my news and you can tell him.” I launch into the tale of Father Frank and Granda and Mary, and Natalie chimes in with appropriate sympathy and tut-tuts. My stepmother is the least interfering person I’ve ever met, so I can tell that she’s appalled by all this Coughlin family micromanagement. Finally, I conclude the sorry tale with, “So, we’ve decided it will be easier if we just elope.”

  Natalie springs from her chair with such force her immaculately pinned hair tumbles loose to her shoulders. She sinks to her knees in front of my chair and grabs both my wrists. Any pretense of evenhandedness is gone. I’ve never seen my serene stepmother so keyed up. “Don’t even think such a thing, Audrey! Your father is so looking forward to walking you down the aisle. He fantasizes about how lovely you’ll be. He worries about stumbling. He agonizes about what he’s going to say as he gives you away.” Natalie gives my hands a little shake. “You can’t take that away from him. He’d be devastated.”

  Whoa! I wasn’t expecting that! Gently, I slide my wrists out of her grasp. Despite my shock, I feel a funny flutter of pleasure. “Dad is really that focused on my wedding?”

  “Hardly a day goes by without Roger talking about the ceremony. He was disengaged from some of the other big events of your life: your prom, your departure for college, your graduations. This wedding is his chance to make it all right.” Natalie smiles wistfully. “If you’ll let him.”

  The vision of my stress-free, romantic elopement dissolves before my eyes.

  “Of course I will. I wouldn’t dream of disappointing my father.”

  AS I DRIVE TOWARD THE Carnahans’ house, I’m confronted with an undeniable reality: I’m not willing to disappoint my father, yet I expect Sean to defy his parents’ expectations.

  But, wait—my father’s desire to walk me down the aisle is reasonable, isn’t it? Not like Mary’s demand that everyone adhere to her religious beliefs.

  As I’m stewing on this, my phone rings. I answer with Bluetooth, and Ty’s grandmother’s voice fills my car. “Audrey, honey—I’m calling for Ty. He’s gonna be a little late to work because he had to take Lo to daycare for Charmaine. He was mad about it, so I told him I’d call you. I don’t like him to drive when he’s angry.”

  I smile. Grandma Betty will never stop worrying about Ty, no matter how old he is. “No worries. Tell him to relax.” Ty is obsessively punctual, so his half-sister’s loose relationship with time irritates him. But he would do anything for his nephew, Lo.

  Grandma Betty loves to chat, so she keeps talking after delivering her message, asking me about my dress, telling me she bought a new hat to wear to the wedding. Her kind voice takes the edge off my worry.

  As I pause at a traffic light, a thought pops into my head. Grandma Betty is every bit as religious as Mary Coughlin although Baptist, not Catholic. “Betty, what would you do if someone in your family did something that violated your religious beliefs?”

  “Ah, child—the Good Lord tells us to hate the sin but love the sinner. Why you askin’ that?”

  So I give her a brief recap of the annulment impasse. “We’re stuck, Betty. I’m not sure what to do.”

  “Offer it up to the Lord in prayer, girl. He’ll find a way to make it right.”

  I should have known she’d say that. Unfortunately, my faith isn’t as strong as hers. And I don’t see God taking sides in this denominational battle.

  Betty must be reading my doubt through the cell phone signal. “And tell Pastor Jorge. He’ll pray on it too.”

  Pastor Jorge. That’s all I need—to tell that kind man that a big chunk of my husband’s family consider him unqualified to be performing this wedding.

  I say good-bye to Betty, and when I glance in my rearview mirror, realize that Ty is right behind me in the AMT van following me into the Carnahans’ neighborhood.

  We each park, and I cut off his apology for being late with a raised palm. Seconds later, Nancy is out on the porch. “There you are! I have the coffee on, and I made pumpkin nut muffins.”

  While we’re having our customary nosh with Nancy, we hear footsteps on the porch.

  “Oh, look who’s here!” Nancy bustles over to the back door while calling out to her husband. “Lesss-terr! Selwyn’s here.”

  A wiry man with gray hair and half-rim reading glasses enters the kitchen. Nancy gives him a peck on the cheek as he peers at us suspiciously.

  “This is our dear friend, Selwyn Forbes. He and Lester went to college together, and he lives nearby. Sel, these lovely young people, Audrey and Ty, are helping us get ready for the move. They’re simply delightful.”

  Despite Nancy’s effusive introduction, Selwyn scrutinizes us like we’re minions of Bernie Madoff here to fleece Nancy and Les out of their life savings.

  “That your van in the driveway? Another Man’s Treasure? What kinda operation is that?”

  “They organize estate sales, Selwyn. You know we can’t take everything with us to Edgemere, so Audrey and Ty are helping me decide what to keep and what to sell. Thank goodness Becky found them because I’d be totally overwhelmed without their help.”

  “Hmmm. You’re going to run a big garage sale here? How did Bec find you? Yellow Pages?”

  Yellow Pages? Do those even exist anymore? I don’t allow myself to sound irritated as I explain my business and my references to the Carnahans’ friend. After all, he may need my services one day himself.

  Selwyn seems somewhat mollified by my mention of Isabelle Trent, Palmyrton’s most successful real estate agent. But he’s not done giving me the third degree.

  “I suppose your goal is to clear everything out as cheaply as possible. Just bear in mind these folks are living on a fixed income. They need you to maximize their profits.”

  Nancy’s forehead furrows under her platinum curls. “Lester says we’re in good financial shape. Still, I’d like to have enough to leave a little nest-egg for our grandchildren.”

  Selwyn seems flustered by that remark and gives Nancy an awkward pat on the shoulder.

  By this time, Lester has made his way from the den to the kitchen. If he’s heard Nancy’s last comment, he chooses to ignore it.

  “Thanks for coming, Sel.” Lester’s face creases in pain as he speaks.

  “No problem whatsoever. I’ll get you to the doctor, and then we’ll go out for lunch at the deli.”

  “Only if he feels up to it.” Nancy twists her seashell necklace through restless fingers. “Otherwise you come back here and I’ll make you both a nice turkey club.”

  Nancy stands at the back door and watches as Selwyn maneuvers Lester into his car. Then she waves as if they’re departing for Europe on the Queen Mary.

  Ty and I trade a glance and a shrug. Then we head down to the basement to work.

  The rec room has a pool table and a ping-pong table, both of which should sell. Ty opens a closet and discovers a tangle of skis and poles.

  “Think these are worth anything?”

  I come to look, and shake my head. “Look at those bindings and that length—these are really out-of-date.”

  “Maybe a beginner would want them.”

  “Nope. If you’re rich enough to afford a three-day lift-ticket, you’re rich enough to rent decent skis. We’ll stick a five-dollar price tag on them, but I predict they’re headed for the dump.

  “Guess these won’t add to the grandchildren’s n
est egg.” Ty shifts the poles to see if there’s anything else worthwhile in the closet.

  I stand just outside staring at a faded photo of two teenagers in eighties outfits who share the same smile. Bec and her brother. They look very close in age. Once again, I have a stab of curiosity about what happened to him. I wonder how and when he died. Was it after Bec came out to her parents? “How would you react if Lo were gay?” I say to Ty’s broad back.

  His hands stiffen on the closet shelf. “He’s not—”

  Ty catches himself. His nephew Lo isn’t even two years old. There’s no way to know his sexuality. “He can be whatever he wants to be. I’ll always love him.”

  I pat Ty’s shoulder. “I know you will. And I don’t doubt that Nancy loves Bec. But I think she wishes Bec were more like her. I guess it’s human nature to want your kids to be like you. After all, you bought Lo a toy basketball hoop, right?”

  “He likes it! It’s not too soon to teach him to shoot.” Ty shoves a picnic cooler out of the closet.

  ”He can barely walk!” Somehow I can’t stop needling poor Ty. “What if Lo doesn’t like basketball?”

  “He could play football, baseball, even soccer—I don’t care.”

  Now I’m laughing. “What if he wants to play violin? Or chess? Or design houses?”

  Ty emerges from the closet and faces me. “Who says only gay guys play violin? Or only straight guys shoot hoops? You ever heard of Jason Collins? He played for the Nets after he came out.”

  Ty arranges a line of fishing poles against the wall. “Sure, I’m lookin’ forward to playin’ basketball with Lo. It’ll be a way for us to spend time together. But if he’s not into that, we’ll jus’ find something else we can do.”