“You’ll have fun with those,” Vanita said in an undertone.
Meanwhile, Angela was talking with their hostess. “You know, I’d hoped she’d wear my wedding dress, but she didn’t want to. But that’s our culture these days, isn’t it? No one seems to care about tradition.”
Really? Was her mother-in-law going to hold this over her for the rest of her life?
As if she’d cared about tradition when she picked out that dress? Why hadn’t she worn her own mother’s wedding gown?
“And was the dress you wore your mother’s?” asked the other woman.
“No,” Angela said sadly. “My mother’s dress was lost in the fire when her house burned down.”
Yikes! So Angela had experienced her share of troubles. Maybe she’d hoped to wear her mother’s wedding gown. Maybe that gown had been her grandmother’s. Suddenly, Celeste wasn’t having fun.
“I think that’s a nice tradition,” said Hyacinth, who’d seated herself next to Angela and was picking a cookie crumb off the coffee table. What a suck-up.
“Never mind her,” Vanita whispered.
“Which her?” Celeste whispered back.
“Both of them. One can’t keep him to herself anymore and the other can’t have him, so neither one matters.”
Except when you married a man you married his family, too. Celeste had heard the saying often enough to believe it. In Paul’s case she was marrying into two families, his bio family and his church family, and already three members of the church family had snatched away the welcome mat. Darn it all, maybe she should wear Angela’s dress.
She so loved the one she’d already bought. But she decided she loved Paul more. It would make him so happy if she wore his mother’s gown. It would mean a lot to Angela, too. Weddings were about more than what the bride wore. They were also about what the bride did, and this bride knew what she had to do.
As the party was breaking up she drew Angela aside. “I’m wondering if the offer of your wedding dress is still good?”
Angela looked like a woman who’d won the daughter-in-law lottery. “Of course it is,” she said, and hugged Celeste. “You’ve made me so happy.”
And that would make Paul happy.
“What about making yourself happy?” Jenna argued when Celeste told her of her decision.
“I am. I think it was the right thing to do.”
Jenna frowned. “Don’t turn yourself inside out trying to be what you think everyone wants you to be. Paul’s marrying you because he loves you the way you are.”
“I know. And right now the way I am is wanting to do something noble.”
Hard to argue with nobility. Her sister shut her mouth.
* * *
Celeste didn’t regret her decision. Well, maybe for a moment when Paul brought the wedding dress over later that afternoon and she saw it again. But seeing how thrilled he was, she knew she’d made the right decision.
“That’s quite a haul,” he said, taking in all the shower presents she’d received. They took up half of her great-aunt’s tiny living room. “Can you say that?” he asked Jolly Roger, who was watching from his cage. “Quite a haul, quite a haul.”
“Quite a haul,” Roger repeated, sounding like a mini-Paul.
“It takes a lot to set up housekeeping,” said Aunt Edie.
“Well, let’s see what we’ve got,” he said.
He was properly interested in everything. She felt suddenly self-conscious about showing him Vanita’s gifts. If Nemo hadn’t stuck his doggy nose in the bag, intrigued by the scent of the edible body lotion, tipping the whole thing over, she would have conveniently ignored it.
“What’s this?” Paul righted the bag and looked inside.
“Just a few things,” Celeste said and went to grab the bag. She wasn’t fast enough.
“Eye candy,” said Jenna.
“I like eye candy.” He brought out a red thong and grinned. “This is nice.” He approved of the nightgown, too. “You’ll look beautiful in it,” he said. “And what...?” He’d obviously found the other goodies. “I don’t think we’ll need some of this. Do you?” he said softly.
Of course not. Who needed anything extra when your man was a good lover?
She was sure Paul would be.
Unbidden, the love scene from Henry Gilbert’s book sneaked into her thoughts.
She sent it packing and assured herself that sex with Paul would be just fine.
Anyway, there was more to life than sex.
Really.
Chapter Twenty-One
The wedding invitation had been sitting on Hyacinth’s kitchen counter for two weeks, mocking her. Okay, enough already. She grabbed it, tore it to pieces and tossed it in the garbage.
Not that she needed it anyway since the time and date of the wedding was burned into her brain like an image from a scary movie.
It was in three days, slated for the Saturday of Thanksgiving weekend. Every member of the congregation would be there. Except her. The bridal shower had been bad enough. She was through with torturing herself.
She called her mother. “I thought maybe I’d stay for the whole weekend.”
“That would be lovely,” said her mother. “But don’t you have to be in the shop on Black Friday?”
“No, I’ve hired some help for the weekends. I think I can get away.”
“We’ll be so happy to have you, dear. It’s been a while.”
Yes, it had. She’d pretty much run away from home after losing her fiancé, run to Moonlight Harbor where she’d found a whole new life. Sadly, she’d also found more heartbreak. Maybe she was meant to be alone. Maybe that was what God had in mind for her.
The Lord helps those who help themselves.
She frowned. What did Bethany know? She wasn’t exactly a spiritual giant. Anyway, it was too late now for Hyacinth to help herself. Or Paul.
She told her mother she was looking forward to seeing her and ended the call to go to work. She only hoped no one from church would come in and start gushing about the happy couple. If that happened, Hyacinth knew she’d lose it and whack the woman with a bolt of fabric.
Amazingly, she didn’t lose it when Mrs. Morris, one of the church widows, came in to purchase fabric for her latest quilting project. “My granddaughter’s getting married in the spring and I want to give her a quilt for a wedding present.”
“I think that’s a lovely idea, Mrs. Morris,” Hyacinth said. “Why don’t I hold on to these and you can come back in and purchase them on Black Friday. We’ll be having a sale, thirty percent off.”
“I don’t mind paying full price,” Mrs. Morris said. “But I may have to come back and buy more. I want to do my part to keep you in business. It’s so nice to have a fabric store right here in town. All of us quilters are delighted you moved here.”
Hyacinth had been delighted to be in Moonlight Harbor, too. Until recently.
“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” Mrs. Morris asked as Hyacinth began cutting fabric. “Do you have a place to go?”
So kind. All the older women at church watched out for her.
“Thanks for asking. I do. I’m going home to spend the weekend with my parents.”
“Not the whole weekend, I hope. Pastor’s wedding is on Saturday.”
As if she needed reminding. She gritted her teeth and gave the scissors a vicious run down the fabric.
“I’m sure it’s going to be a beautiful wedding,” Mrs. Morris rhapsodized. “She’s such a lovely girl.”
Hyacinth was a lovely girl, too. Keep it together. Don’t hit Mrs. Morris with this bolt of quilter’s weight cotton.
“This will be the biggest wedding we’ve seen in Moonlight Harbor in years,” Mrs. Morris continued as if it was a royal wedding.
Hyacinth didn’t need to see it. She forced her featur
es into pleasant lines. “So tell me what you’re doing for Thanksgiving.”
That distracted the older woman and she rattled on about her son and daughter coming down and bringing her sister, what she was making for dinner and what they were bringing. It was enough to keep them away from the dreaded subject.
Until Mrs. Morris had paid for her fabric and was getting ready to leave. “I do hope we’ll see you Saturday night. It’s important to support our pastor, don’t you think?”
No, it wasn’t. Not when he was making the mistake of a lifetime. “Have a nice Thanksgiving, Mrs. Morris,” Hyacinth said, dodging the question.
Mrs. Morris left and Hyacinth locked up shop and flipped the sign on the door to Closed.
* * *
In the past, when she thought of her bachelorette party, Celeste had always seen herself and her girlfriends wearing boas and riding in a limo to some hot dance club or casino. Of course her friends would hire a male stripper to embarrass her, and there’d be lots of yummy cocktails and laughter.
Well, she was a different person now, so no casino. Definitely no male stripper.
One thing she did have, and that was the laughter. How could you not when you were with Vanita and Courtney and the fun-loving Tyrella? They didn’t go to the casino. Instead, Jenna threw her a chocolate-overdose party at the house, and even provided the boas. They played charades and drank champagne and ate copious amounts of chocolate, along with cookies Aunt Edie had made. Jenna had also baked mini lava cakes and they ate those, too, along with ice cream provided by Nora.
Surprisingly, Jenna even made sure Celeste got her male stripper, who turned out to be Brody, dressed in a cop uniform he’d probably borrowed from Victor King. He didn’t fill the shirt out quite as well as Victor, but he still looked pretty darned sexy. She couldn’t help but feel relieved that Jenna and Courtney had left her future mother and sister-in-law off the guest list.
As it was, her mother had frowned disapprovingly until Brody started to dance. That was more comic than erotic, his performance a caricature of a male dancer. He accidentally knocked Courtney in the head when he tossed a shoe over his shoulder and he nearly fell over trying to pull off his pants. When he finally succeeded, he revealed some ancient purple shorts that looked like they’d escaped from a Richard Simmons workout tape.
“Oh, my gosh, you are the funniest male stripper ever,” Vanita told him. “Can I hire you?”
“Who else is getting married?” Celeste asked her.
“Nobody. I just want to see the show again,” Vanita joked.
“That was a one-time performance, ladies,” Brody said as he climbed back into his pants.
“Oh, yeah?” teased Nora, holding up her phone. “I recorded it for posterity. What do you say, girls? Should we put it up on the Moonlight Harbor Facebook page?”
“Don’t even think about it,” Brody told her. “I’ve got handcuffs,” he said, holding them up.
“Be still, my heart,” said Vanita, pressing both hands to her chest.
“You’d better get out of here before Vanita gets any more worked up,” Jenna said to him, and walked him to the door as the women called out their thanks.
“Would you really have put that up on the Facebook page?” Tyrella asked Nora.
“No. We want the poor man to stay in business.”
“Anyway, I’m not sure you’d want Pastor Paul seeing that,” Tyrella told her. “He might not approve.”
He probably wouldn’t. Celeste, the future minister’s wife, bit her lip.
“Yeah, because Brody was an embarrassment to the entire male sex,” Courtney said in an attempt to lighten the moment.
“I didn’t stop to think that through,” said Jenna, who’d come back into the room. “I just thought it would be funny. Bad judgment on my part. You can blame me,” she said to Celeste.
A guilty silence fell over the group.
“Hey, whatever happens at a bachelorette party stays at the bachelorette party,” Courtney said.
“Who’s for more ice cream?” asked Aunt Edie.
“Yes, ice cream,” said Tyrella. “No one can disapprove of that.”
Hopefully not. The fun and games resumed, and by the time the party was over Celeste was smiling again. Maybe Paul would think Brody’s appearance was funny.
But she wasn’t going to take a chance and tell him about it. Keeping secrets from her husband already...
“This has been a great party, you guys,” she said. “Thank you so much.”
“We’re happy we could celebrate with you,” Nora told her. “You’re getting a wonderful husband.”
Who probably wouldn’t have laughed at Brody’s performance.
He texted her the next day.
How was your party?
Fun. We played games and ate a ton of chocolate.
Nope, he didn’t need to know about Brody.
How was yours?
I bowled a 200.
Was that good? She had no idea.
What else?
Ate pizza. Talked about you and what a lucky man I am.
She smiled.
You sure are. LOL
Gotta go. Pick you up later.
Yes, later was the wedding rehearsal and the rehearsal dinner, which was to be at his house. His mother was preparing Paul’s favorite dish—lasagna. She hadn’t asked Celeste what she liked. Not that it mattered. She liked lasagna just fine.
Everyone showed up at the church for rehearsal at six, Sabrina excited about her first outing as a bridesmaid, Vanita jaded. “I’ve been an effing bridesmaid too many damn times,” she said, her language making Angela Welch frown.
“I’ll make sure you catch the bouquet,” Celeste promised her.
“What about me?” Sabrina protested.
“You’ve got years to go. Wait your turn,” Vanita cracked.
The good-natured joking went on—with everyone laughing and Vanita checking the ring hand of the groomsman who was going to escort her down the aisle. “Married. It figures,” she said in disgust.
Then it was time for Celeste to practice her walk, her mother by her side. For a fleeting moment she wished she had a daddy to give her away, but then reminded herself that her mother was her best friend and there was no one better for the job.
And no one better to be given to. She smiled at Paul as he held out his elbow so she could slip her hand through his arm. “You already look beautiful. I can’t even imagine what you’ll look like tomorrow,” he said to her.
What a lovely thing to say. Celeste smiled in response.
“Now I’ll ask the congregation to be seated and I’ll talk about the sanctity of marriage,” said Paul’s father. “It’s a big step and a big commitment and I like to remind the bride and groom and their families and friends of that.”
A big commitment. Was he trying to scare them or something?
Paul’s dad continued going through the order of the service—the music, which was being handled by the church musicians, and the lighting of the unity candle. Celeste had thought it would be meaningful to pour sand into a vase since they were at the beach, but Paul’s parents had talked her into using the candle instead.
“Then it will be time to kiss your bride,” said Mr. Welch.
“Better practice that,” goaded one of Paul’s groomsmen.
“Good idea,” Paul said and kissed her.
It was such a sweet kiss, her heart turned over.
But her engine didn’t start. Oh, well. There’d be plenty of time for that on their wedding night.
With the practice over, they all went to Paul’s house where Celeste’s new sister and mother laid out the spread. Lasagna, garlic bread, a big tossed salad and lemon bars, Mrs. Welch’s specialty, for dessert. Aunt Edie had offered to bake cookies and been told there was no need.
&nb
sp; “These aren’t nearly as good as my lemon bars,” she whispered to Celeste.
“I know,” Celeste whispered back and hugged her.
Aunt Edie wasn’t officially part of the wedding party, but Celeste had invited her anyway, and that had been fine with Paul. “Of course. She’s family,” he’d said. Oh, yes, Celeste was marrying a truly good man.
Paul’s house wasn’t that big, so part of the group settled around his little dining room table, while the rest found seats in the living room.
As was only right, Celeste wound up seated with her new in-laws. “We’re so happy Paul’s met a woman to share his work with him,” his mother told her.
“Thank you,” Celeste murmured.
“It’s not easy being a pastor’s wife,” Angela continued, which made Celeste gulp.
“But I’m sure you’re up to it,” she added.
Celeste hoped so.
“You’ll have to come to Burkina Faso and see the work we’re doing there,” put in his sister. “We can always use help.”
“Um.” Africa still wasn’t at the top of her list of places she wanted to see. Not on her list at all, in fact.
“Yeah, we will,” said Paul, who was seated next to her. Wait a minute. What happened to there being plenty of people who needed help here in the US?
“Make sure she gets her malaria shot,” his mother added.
Malaria.
“I thought we were staying here,” she said to Paul later when it was just the two of them sitting on his porch, watching the stars.
“We are.”
“Then what was with all that talk about Africa?”
“Just to visit and help out. You wouldn’t mind that, would you?”
Well. She chewed on her lip and inspected her fingernails, which were in need of a mani before the wedding. “I don’t think I’m cut out for Africa.” And definitely lacking in the nobility department.
“You’re cut out for more than you think you are,” he said, and put an arm around her.
She’d rather he’d said, “We won’t go if you don’t want to.”
The Summer Retreat Page 25