A Wedding on Primrose Street (Life In Icicle Falls Book 7)

by Sheila Roberts

  “But Marnie’s in middle school,” she’d protested. “We can’t pull her out of school. And I have to work.”

  “We can homeschool her. You can quit your job.”

  “Fred, what will we live on?”

  “We’ve got some money in savings, and I’m going to write a novel.”

  This was what came of marrying a man who was twelve years older. He’d been ready for a midlife crisis and she hadn’t. He filed for divorce and sailed off without her. She was still waiting to see his novel on bookstore shelves or the internet.

  Single parenthood was no fun, but she managed. Then Marnie graduated from college and moved out of the house and the place seemed so...empty. When Marnie moved to New York, Daphne figured she’d learned her lessons in love. She was ready to try again. And, lo and behold, along came Mitchell, charming lovable Mitchell. They got married in Seattle, at her house. Just family. She wore a gold cocktail dress because she’d read that gold was the color of success and triumph, and she’d carried a small bouquet of orchids and stephanotis to represent joy and marital happiness.

  As she stumbled down memory lane her eyes began to leak tears, not so much for the loss of Mitchell but the loss of hope. Don’t cry, she told herself, but somehow her tear ducts didn’t get the message. In fact, they began to produce tears at an alarming rate. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

  Her lawyer passed her a tissue, and that small kindness made the tears flow all the harder. She slipped out of the courtroom and rushed to the women’s bathroom. It was old-fashioned, with black-and-white tiles on the floor and ancient windows, and her wails echoed like a banshee’s. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

  Another woman came into the bathroom. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and a scowl. She smelled of smoke. It could’ve been from cigarettes or plain old anger. “Whoever he is, he ain’t worth the tears,” she growled at Daphne.

  Daphne wanted to explain that she wasn’t crying over Mitchell. She was crying over lost love, over the sad fact that she’d probably be alone the rest of her life and never have sex again, even though fifty was the new forty and that made her forty-three. Instead, she swallowed a sob and nodded. Then she splashed cold water on her face, took a deep breath and went back to Room 3.

  “Are you okay?” Shirley whispered when Daphne slid back onto the chair beside hers.

  “I will be,” Daphne whispered.

  She spent the next half hour watching other people’s marriages dissolve, and then it was her turn to go stand in front of the judge. Still no Mitchell.

  Nobody seemed to need him anyway. It took less than ten minutes for the state of Washington to put its seal of approval on the end of her marriage.

  Outside the courtroom she hugged Shirley and thanked her for all her help.

  “Now, get out there and enjoy your single life,” Shirley said.

  “I will,” she promised.

  The first thing she did to enjoy her new single state was to sit by the river and have a pity party. She didn’t need any noisemakers. She was making enough noise herself boo-hooing. It was wrong; it was unfair. She’d never wanted to be single.

  But, she finally reasoned, being single and happy (she’d get there eventually!) had to beat being married and miserable. She wished she felt happier about no longer being miserable, and she said as much to Muriel Sterling when she went to her house later to put in a couple of hours. She set up some signings for Muriel’s upcoming release, a book of chocolate recipes and small-town reminiscences. Muriel had told her she could take the day off, but Daphne realized she needed the distraction, needed to do something to feel good about herself.

  “Transitions are hard,” Muriel said as she and Daphne settled at her little dining table with mugs of chocolate mint tea and a plate of brownies.

  “After this many divorces I should be used to it,” Daphne said with a grim smile.

  “It’s a loss. I don’t think anyone ever gets used to loss.”

  “When it comes to men, I don’t seem to be very smart,” Daphne confessed.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Muriel nudged the plate of brownies closer to Daphne.

  She’d been eating way too many carbs lately. She shouldn’t.

  Wait a minute. Why not? So what if she’d gained a couple of pounds since coming home to Icicle Falls? Who cared?

  She took a brownie and bit off a good-size chunk. “Oh, wow. These didn’t come out of a box.”

  Muriel smiled. “They’re my own special recipe. Chocolate—it’s one of life’s small pleasures.”

  Small pleasure was better than no pleasure. Daphne took another bite.

  Muriel picked up a brownie and examined it. “You know, a lot of life is about starting over.”

  “I’ve got that market cornered. But no matter how many times I start over, I can’t seem to get it right.” Daphne sighed. “I hate being a failure.”

  “We all fail. It doesn’t make us failures. You’re only a failure if you quit trying, and I suspect you’re a long way from quitting. In fact, I think you have a very good future in store.”

  “I wish I could believe that.”

  “You can’t judge your future by your past, Daphne. You know, there’s a Bible verse I recently discovered. It talks about not calling to mind the things of the past, about God wanting to do something new in you.”

  Forget the past? How did someone do that? Her past was like a big neon sign flashing Loser.

  Muriel studied Daphne for a moment. Then she said, “Would you be willing to do something for me?”

  Daphne looked at her suspiciously. “What?” Was Muriel going to suggest she take some self-improvement course, or stand up in the middle of a service at Icicle Falls Community Church and ask everyone to pray her out of loser purgatory? Go on Dr. Phil and get psychoanalyzed? Become a marathon runner?

  “Start telling yourself, ‘From now on, every choice I make will be the best choice for me at this time.’”

  Daphne made a face. “I don’t know.”

  “Just try it,” Muriel urged. “It’ll take the pressure off. Every decision doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be right for you at that particular moment. You’re a kind, intelligent woman, Daphne. I think the only thing stopping you from living a happy life is that you’ve programmed some wrong information into your brain. It’s chipped away at your confidence. A lack of confidence makes us not want to try anymore, and I don’t want to see you give up trying, not when you still have so much life to live.”

  Was Daphne’s big problem a lack of confidence?

  “What can it hurt?” Muriel asked.

  Nothing. Daphne gave an assertive nod. “You’re right.”

  “Everything you’ve experienced, both good and bad, has taught you things, made you wise. Now you need to draw on that wisdom,” Muriel finished with a smile. She offered Daphne the plate of brownies.

  Okay, she didn’t need to keep self-medicating with carbs. “No, one was enough,” Daphne said.

  Muriel smiled. “Probably a wise decision.”

  “It’s the best choice for me at this time,” Daphne said with a grin.

  After finishing up with Muriel, she made another wise decision. She was going to do something positive to celebrate her freedom from the rat of the Western world. She’d buy herself a present.

  With this in mind, she made her way to Hearth and Home, one of her favorite shops in Icicle Falls. Daphne had always loved decorating and prettying up her house. Granted, she wouldn’t have her house much longer, but she had a room, and she’d find something to put in it to remind her of new beginnings.

  The shop wasn’t large, but Gigi Babineaux, the owner, had stocked it with lovely things—an eclectic selection of unique and vintage furniture, candles, paintings and statuary.

 
“Daphne, I heard you were back in town,” Gigi said.

  Like everyone else, she’d probably heard why. “It’s nice to be home.”

  “You look good.”

  “I feel good.” Daphne was shocked to realize that was no lie. She walked by a gilded mirror and caught herself smiling. This was the day her divorce was final. She shouldn’t have been smiling.

  Oh, yes, she should. She was done with being miserable and brokenhearted. That was the old Daphne. The new Daphne was truly free to begin again.

  Suddenly she saw just the thing to commemorate her new life. She drifted over to an ornate buffet where an amethyst glass vase imprinted with butterflies beckoned. Butterflies. Was there any better symbol of transformation, of new beginnings?

  Daphne looked at the price tag. Whoa. Would purchasing this be a wise decision, the best decision she could make in that moment?

  Yes, she decided. It would. This was a landmark day, a turning point in her life, and buying the vase would be a good way of reminding herself that she was indeed capable of making wise decisions. No more falling for the wrong man, no more letting neediness or loneliness rush her into a relationship she’d live to regret. She picked up the vase and marched to the cash register.

  “I almost took this home myself,” Gigi said as she rang up the purchase. “I love butterflies. And fairies.”

  Gigi herself reminded Daphne of a fairy queen with her long, white hair and diaphanous blouse worn over her jeans. She was older than Daphne, probably nearing retirement age, a slim, small woman who favored bangles and dangly earrings.

  “My divorce was final today,” Daphne confided to the fairy queen. “I wanted to get something to mark that I’m starting over.”

  Gigi approved. “Great choice,” she said. “How are you settling in?”

  After her shrink sessions with Muriel... “Fine.”

  Gigi nodded. “Good. It’s not fun having to pick up the pieces, but you will. I did. Moved here ten years ago after getting rid of my abusive husband. I’ve never been happier. Still, it’s an adjustment. If you ever want to talk, let me know. I’m always up for a break at Bavarian Brews.”

  “Thanks. I might take you up on that,” Daphne said. She’d take Cass up on her offer to go out for drinks, too. She needed to start hanging out with more people.

  Gigi wrapped her purchase in several layers of tissue paper and Daphne went on her way.

  But she didn’t go home. She wasn’t done celebrating yet. The mention of Bavarian Brews made her realize she needed to toast her new beginning.

  She’d just picked up a blended coffee drink oozing with caramel and topped with toasted coconut when a male voice rumbled, “Yours looks better than mine.”

  She knew that deep baritone. The butterflies on the vase she’d purchased migrated to her chest. She glanced over her shoulder to see Hank Hawkins standing behind her with a to-go cup of coffee.

  He held it up. “I take mine plain.”

  She would not allow herself to be interested in how Hank Hawkins took his coffee (or anything else about him), but it would be rude not to make some polite conversation. “I like black coffee now and then, too, but it’s more fun when you dress it up. Is this coffee-break time?” she asked, noting his grass-stained jeans and the flannel shirt he wore over a T-shirt. He sure knew how to fill out a T-shirt.

  “Yup. How about you?”

  “I’m finished working for the day. Just stopped by to celebrate.” Or did she mean medicate? No, no, no. She was celebrating. Mitchell and the heartbreak he’d caused were going to be nothing but a distant memory.

  “Celebrate the end of work?”

  “Nope, the end of my marriage.”

  He took a step closer. “So, you’re a free woman.”

  She backed up. “Free forever.”

  “Forever’s a long time.”

  It was getting hot in here. She undid the buttons on her sweater. She noticed him watching, and that made the hot flash hotter. She took a big sip of her cold beverage. “So is being in a bad marriage.”

  He nodded. “I know what you mean, and I don’t blame you for not wanting to try again. I sure didn’t want to.”

  She noticed his use of the past tense but decided not to comment on it.

  “But a bad marriage is a little like hitting your thumb with a hammer.”

  Or your head.

  “It hurts like the devil at first, but after a while your thumb recovers and you forget the hurt. Then you’re back swinging the hammer again.”

  “Have you forgotten the hurt?”

  He smiled. He had a very sexy smile. It was definitely hot in here. She took another gulp of her drink.

  “It’s in the past. No sense living there. I’m ready to pick up the hammer again.”

  She knew what that translated to. He was ready for another relationship. She wasn’t. The time would never be right for her. From now on every choice I make will be the best choice for me... The best choice she could make right now would probably be to scram.

  “Not all men are jerks,” Hank said.

  “No. Only the ones I’m attracted to.”

  But Hank Hawkins didn’t seem like a jerk at all. He seemed like a nice, trustworthy man.

  Looks could be deceiving, Daphne reminded herself. It was time to go. “I’d better get home.”

  He saluted her with his coffee. “Have a good one.”

  She would. Her life had no way to go but up. I’m not going to worry about past mistakes, no matter where I’ve made them, she told herself.

  Her mother must have seen her coming. She opened the front door for Daphne as she came in bearing her new vase. “How did it go at court?”

  “Fine,” Daphne said, walking in. “I’m a free woman, and from now on I’m going to make better choices.”

  Mother gave a satisfied nod. “I know you will, dear. What’s that you’ve got?”

  “I’ll show you.” Daphne started for the back parlor where they did all their living.

  “No, no. Show me here.”

  What on earth was that about? Was her mother getting eccentric in her old age? But Daphne complied, setting down the bag and pulling her vase out of the tissue paper.

  “Oh,” Mother said, her voice filled with awe. “How lovely.”

  “It’s my divorce present to me,” Daphne said.

  “Butterflies,” Mother said softly. “How appropriate.”

  “I thought so,” Daphne said, pleased that her mother got the symbolism.

  “Well, put that away where it won’t get knocked over and then come on back to the parlor. I have something for you. It’s an early birthday present,” Mother added, suddenly looking like a woman who’d just learned where the Easter bunny hid his cache of Cadbury eggs.

  Very mysterious. Daphne put her vase on the dresser in her bedroom and went back downstairs to see what her mother was up to. She entered the back parlor to find Mother bent over some kind of animal carrier. “What on earth?”

  Mother stood up and turned around. She was holding a black cat.

  “That looks like...” No, it couldn’t be.

  “Milo,” Mother said. She walked over to Daphne and placed the cat in her arms. “I know your birthday isn’t until later in the month, but I thought you should have him now.”

  The animal purred and snuggled up against her shoulder. Oh, yes, they were meant to be together. Still, her mother’s views on pets had been pretty clear.

  “But we don’t want animals here.” So, was this gift another subtle nudge for Daphne to find her own place? “And you were worried about people with allergies.”

  “I’m aware of what I said,” Roberta said crisply. “But I reconsidered. We’ll find a way to work around the allergy problem. Anyway, I think we could use the com
pany around here, don’t you?”

  Daphne didn’t know what to think.

  “This is your home, too,” she added.

  It was such a simple statement but it meant so much. Once more she found herself with tears in her eyes, but these were the best kind of tears, the kind that sprang from a healing heart.

  “Thank you,” she said, giving her mother a one-armed hug and a kiss on the cheek. Milo seconded her thanks with a loud meow.

  “You’ve had a rough time of it these past few months, but things will get better now. A strong woman can get through anything.”

  Her mother was testimony to that. She never spoke much about her own mother, but the lack of communication between the two of them had said it all. Roberta Gilbert had single-handedly carved out her successful life here in Icicle Falls.

  Daphne wasn’t her mother, and yet she must have inherited that independence gene. All she had to do was find it. And she would, because from now on she was making wise choices, the right choices—for her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Anne, Queen of Disaster Relief

  Outdoor weddings were lovely...as long as it didn’t rain. Anne looked at the cloudy sky covering Lake Washington like a dome of doom and sighed. It had been sunny all day and Anne had begun to hope that the weatherman was wrong. Why couldn’t the rain have held off a little longer? She’d reminded the bride and her mother that end of April was not a good choice for cooperative weather. In Seattle anything before the Fourth of July was a risk.

  But Felicity had her heart set on an outdoor wedding, and her mother, Trina, had her heart set on giving Felicity anything she wanted. “She’s my only baby,” Trina had said. “I want her to be happy.”

  Anne could understand that. Although she did encourage the bride to have a plan B.

  “It won’t rain,” Felicity had said blithely.

  “If it does, I guess we’ll have to squeeze into the basement,” her mother had said with a helpless shrug. Later she’d confided to Anne. “I don’t know how we’ll fit everyone in the house.”