A Wedding on Lilac Lane

by Hope Ramsay

  But Dad disagreed. He thought she was fine being at home because that’s where she wanted to be. They’d had a big blowup about it yesterday.

  And then there was the engagement party. Dylan had no idea how Brenda would react when she found out that Dad had booked Grace Church without consulting with anyone. He expected a nuclear explosion, and the fallout was going to be bad.

  Epic even.

  Which would certainly advance his plan to break up Dad and Brenda. But would it break the promise he’d made to Ella not to use the party planning as a means for breaking them up?

  For some reason, he wanted to keep that promise. And he also wanted to protect Ella. He didn’t want Brenda blaming her for what was going to happen. And he didn’t want Brenda to blame Dad either, which made no sense.

  So he’d been nominated to play the heavy in this family drama.

  With a resigned sigh, he left the car in the spot he finally found two blocks away and made his way up to Nancy’s condo. Brenda answered the doorbell, wearing a go-to-church dress in a bright flowered print and a strand of pearls around her neck.

  “Happy Easter,” he said, trying to invest his voice with holiday joy. But his greeting bounced off Brenda like bullets off Superman.

  She stood aside and let him enter the long hallway into the main living area. Nancy had settled into her new home. The boxes were gone, pictures were hung on the walls, and family photos of people Dylan didn’t know graced the end tables on either side of her living room sofa.

  He tried not to resent the fact that Dad had ditched the office to hang these pictures and put up these shelves. He tried not to stare at the photographs of strangers, but all those smiling faces seemed to be telling him that he didn’t belong here.

  “Hey,” Ella said from behind. He turned and froze.

  She was standing in the galley kitchen putting deviled eggs onto a cut-glass dish. Like her mother, she wore a dress with a flowered print, but unlike Brenda’s, it came down below her knees in a wide, loose skirt with an opening up the front that exposed her long legs. Like everything she wore, the dress was a little bit big for her slender frame, and the V of the neck drooped down on one side, exposing a hint of lacy bra underneath.

  The spit dried up in his mouth. With her beautiful messy hair piled up on top of her head, she looked as if she’d just come out of someone’s bedroom. The memory of her slightly inebriated kiss ran through his mind, and he had a sudden, overpowering urge to taste her again.

  What was wrong with him?

  He turned his back without speaking to her and headed off toward the living room, where Dad was standing by the fireplace drinking something that might be scotch or bourbon. “Can I have one of those, please?” he asked.

  Dad happily poured him a few fingers of Maker’s Mark into a glass of ice and pressed the drink into his hand. It might be called Tennessee sipping whiskey, but Dylan took a bracing swallow of the stuff before sitting down in one of the side chairs and trying without much success to ignore Ella.

  That skirt swirled around her legs every time she brought something to the table. Her voice had a musical ring to it that made his brain cells hum along. Her laugh…

  Oh boy. He was in trouble. He squared his shoulders and focused like a laser on the small talk.

  Dad was giving a blow-by-blow description of the sailboat races that had taken place on Saturday. Brenda and her mother were talking about yarn, in a conversation that was filled with so much jargon it numbed his mind. Ella said almost nothing, and weirdly, she was the only one he wanted to talk to.

  Dylan was on his second bourbon by the time they sat down to a traditional Easter dinner, complete with a relish tray and deviled eggs, a glazed ham, scalloped potatoes, asparagus, fresh-baked rolls, and a German chocolate cake that Nancy had made from scratch.

  It had been years since he and Dad had celebrated Easter with a home-cooked meal like this. Usually, they headed off for brunch at the yacht club after church and called it a day. Thinking back over his childhood, Dylan couldn’t even remember having a meal like this when Mom had been alive. But then again, his memories of Mom were sketchy even though he’d been ten when she’d passed away.

  As dinner progressed, Dylan grew more on edge. Brenda and Ella talked about various classical violin pieces that might be appropriate for Ashley Scott’s Saturday tea service. Dad weighed in because he was a classical music aficionado. Nancy made sure everyone had seconds and then brought out the German chocolate cake.

  But no one said one word about the elephant in the room—the planning for the famous engagement party. What were they waiting for? Christmas?

  Suddenly the whole thing seemed like such a sham. Or maybe a setup. Had innocent-looking Ella arranged this so he’d be the bad guy?

  Maybe she had. But someone had to do the dirty work.

  “So,” Dylan said, casting his glance around the table and his soon-to-be family, “Ella and I have been busting our humps searching for a place to have your engagement party. We’ve checked out Cibo Dell’anima and a bunch of smaller places around town, as well as a couple of spots in Georgetown. None of them are going to work. So earlier this week we took a tour of Grace Church, and we’ve booked it for April sixteenth. I think the next item on the agenda is to talk about catering. We were thinking about Annie Robinson. So—”

  “You booked Grace Church? For April sixteenth? Oh my goodness, that’s only two weeks away,” Brenda said, pressing her hand to her sternum in a dramatic way, as if this news had given her palpitations. Which, now that he thought about it, it probably had.

  “I’m sorry about the date. It was the only day available, and since we’ve jettisoned the yacht club…” Dylan gave a little shrug, then concentrated on the cake in front of him. He popped a piece into his mouth and savored Nancy Jacobs’s cooking while he waited for Dad to admit that he’d booked the church.

  But before that happened, Ella blurted, “Dylan, this is not what we agreed to. We were going to run this idea by Mom and Jim before we settled on it. You promised me that you wouldn’t use the engagement party to—”

  “Why do you have to be so disagreeable all the time?” Brenda interrupted. “I’m starting to think you really do want to sabotage this party. Of course I can’t have the party at Grace Church.”

  “Why not?” Dad finally weighed in. Coward.

  “Because she’ll be the subject of gossip all over this town, Jim. Come on, don’t you know that?” Nancy said, then turned toward Dylan. “And you need to learn that, young man. Why, just the other day, Donna Cuthbert was all over me, wanting to know if Brenda was going to abandon Heavenly Rest and become the director of the choir at Grace Church. Shame on you, Dylan. You’ve been living here for a while.” Nancy turned toward Ella. “And I know you’re new here, but your mother is not going to abandon the Episcopalians.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Ella said, staring daggers at Dad, who was contemplating his uneaten slice of German chocolate cake. “This isn’t Dylan’s fault. The minister told us on Wednesday that Jim booked the church a week ago. He suggested that Mom and I should both leave Heavenly Rest.” She glanced at her grandmother. “Sorry Granny, he didn’t mention your name, but maybe that’s a good thing. Anyway”—she turned her gaze on Mom—“he’s clearly trying to get you as the new choir director over there.”

  Brenda’s mouth dropped open right before she turned on Dad, who was still looking down at his cake with the guiltiest of expressions. “You let Reverend Pasidena think I might consider directing the Grace Church choir? How could you do such a thing, Jim?”

  “It was a trade-off. I couldn’t confirm the room otherwise.”

  “Oh my god.” Brenda stood up, her face white as a sheet. She didn’t look well, but then she’d just had a shock. Dad was losing it. Maybe he needed a physical or a mental acuity test or something. Dylan was suddenly more concerned about his father than he’d been before. What in the world had Dad been thinking?

  “Momm
a, I’m going now,” Brenda said in a tight-lipped voice, right before she turned and rushed for the door, stopping at the coat tree in the hall to grab her purse.

  Dad mumbled, “Excuse me,” and rushed after her.

  * * *

  “That went well,” Granny said in a louder-than-normal voice as she collapsed back into her chair, casting quick glances at Dylan and Ella.

  Ella stared back at her grandmother because she didn’t want to set eyes on Dylan. She was furious with him for the way he’d raised the Grace Church situation. Hadn’t they agreed to run the idea by Mom and ask her opinion? And she’d never intended to let Mom know that Jim had acted unilaterally. But once Dylan spilled the beans, she’d had no other choice.

  “What is wrong with you?” she finally asked, turning toward him with her best angry stare. “We had a plan, and you—”

  “Don’t blame Dylan, sugar,” Granny interrupted.

  Ella turned toward Granny so fast it almost gave her whiplash. “Are you taking his side? He just blew up Easter dinner by not following the plan.”

  “I’m not taking anyone’s side,” Granny said in that tiny voice of hers. “But I know we couldn’t have gone on much longer talking about the sailing regatta or violin pieces the way we were.” She gave Dylan a hard look. “I don’t know as I would have done it your way, son, but you certainly did move us on to more important topics of conversation. And good for you trying to take the blame for your father’s misstep. I admire that.”

  Ella stared at her grandmother. “Granny, Mom just stormed off in a huff. How is that—”

  “She needed to storm off. She’s been under a lot of pressure lately. If you want my advice, y’all should give up trying to host a big party and do something informal on the beach the way we talked about the other day.”

  Granny tossed her napkin onto the table. “I’ve got a blazing headache. I think I’m going to lie down for a bit.” She turned and headed into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

  “How could you ruin Easter?” Ella said, getting up from her place and picking up her dishes. She moved into the kitchen, intent on washing up before she left. No way she was leaving this mess for Granny to clean.

  She turned on the faucet and began rinsing the dishes before loading the dishwasher. She didn’t expect Doctor Dishonorable to hang around. In fact, she wanted him to—

  Not be clearing the dishes from the table and bringing them into the kitchen, as if he intended to help. That was not something she wanted him to be doing. She wanted him to leave.

  But instead, he took off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, exposing the rope-like muscles of his forearms, which were attractive and made her insides melt a little. He kept making trips back and forth to the table, as if he knew how to help. What a concept. Had Cody washed a dish ever?

  No.

  Damn.

  She put her head down and concentrated on loading dishes. There were more dishes than space in the washer. So she started a cycle and then filled the sink with warm water and dish liquid. In the meantime, Dylan made himself busy wrapping leftovers.

  And when she’d rinsed the soapy water from the first pot, he materialized at her side with a clean dishcloth and started drying. She became uncomfortably aware of his body heat. The man was like a walking furnace.

  “Missed a spot,” he muttered, way too close to her ear as he handed back one of the casserole pots.

  “Uh, thanks,” she said, as a medley of emotions settled over her—annoyance and attraction and remorse and guilt and a bunch of other overwhelming feelings. Her eyes watered up under the assault. And through the haze of confusion, one thing rang true. Having him help was…nice. Pain-in-the-butt Dylan was nice.

  Maybe he hadn’t blown up Easter. Maybe he’d just been covering for his father, which he didn’t have to do. She’d been the one who’d blown up Easter by telling the truth.

  Another tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.

  Dylan noticed the waterworks. “I’m sorry,” he said in a contrite tone.

  “For what? I’m sorry. I’m the one who blew things up.”

  “Doing what? Telling the truth about my father’s dumbass move?”

  She’d refused his apology once when all he’d done was speak the truth. She stopped washing dishes and turned toward him. He was so much taller than she was, and they stood so close together she could count his amazing eyelashes. No man should have lashes like that. It was unfair.

  “Sometimes the truth can hurt people,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “So, really, I should have figured out what you were trying to do. You know? Sparing Mom the truth about what Jim did.”

  “Or maybe your mother needed to hear the truth.”

  “Why? So she could fight with your Dad?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t plan it that way, Ella.”

  “And now you think you are so smart. You think she’s going to get all up in your father’s face and blame him for a bunch of things. You think she’s that kind of person, but you know what? You’re wrong. She doesn’t blame people for things. She simply has incredibly high standards. Sometimes they are so hard to meet.”

  “So you’ve said before, and I heard the conversation at the table about those violin pieces. Your mother kept warning you away from the ones she considered difficult.”

  Ella shrugged and turned back to the last casserole dish, but he gently took her by the upper arm and pulled her back toward him. His fingers were warm against her bare skin and gentle despite the force.

  “We don’t need to blame anyone but Dad for today’s debacle, okay? And I was only trying to get your mother to accept Grace Church as a locale for the party because finding a venue has taken over my life. Why don’t we give ourselves a little break in the blame department?”

  She met his gaze. “Okay, but we still need to find a place for the party.”

  “One that will meet your mother’s standards?”

  “You know, we should listen to Granny. She’s wise. Let’s have the party on the beach. I know for a fact that Mom likes that idea.”

  “It might rain.”

  “Let’s get a tent.”

  She waited for Dylan to argue with her, but he kept his mouth shut.

  “So you’re okay with this idea?”

  “I don’t know. I guess we don’t get hurricanes in April.”

  She snorted.

  “What beach were you thinking?” he asked.

  “Paradise Beach, right in front of Cloud Nine. It’s lovely. We could do it at sunset.”

  “Prime thunderstorm time.”

  “Are you always so negative? Sunset is romantic.”

  He shrugged again. “I don’t know.”

  “I tell you what, why don’t I pack a picnic and we can check it out tomorrow evening at sunset.”

  * * *

  Brenda reached her car, parked in one of the condo’s guest spots, just as Jim rounded the corner in a lope. “Stop,” he called.

  Ignoring him, she yanked open the car door, got inside, and locked herself in. Or maybe she’d locked Jim out. Either way, her heart was pounding so hard it made her whole body shake.

  She expected Jim to bang on the door or yell, but she wouldn’t even have cared if he had. Instead of yelling, though, he bent over and stared at her through the passenger’s side window. “Please open the door,” he said in that voice—the one that wormed its way into her core and made her heart stop doing its tap dance on her sternum. How the hell did he do that? No doubt he was a born healer.

  “Brenda, honey, don’t sulk.”

  Well, that was a tiny bit annoying because she wasn’t sulking. She was crying and having some sort of panic attack. She turned toward him, tears smearing her vision. “It’s my party and I’ll sulk if I want to.”

  “If you’re talking about that old Lesley Gore song, I think the title is ‘It’s My Party and I’ll Cry If I Want To,’ and it looks like you’re crying. Honey, don�
�t cry. Unlock the door. Let me explain.”

  She brushed the tears from her cheeks. “How could you?”

  “Honey, there’s an explanation. But you’ll have to let me in to get it. Open the door.”

  She pressed the unlock button, and Jim climbed into the car.

  “I’m listening.”

  He cleared his throat. “Well, it’s kind of a long story.”

  “I have nothing else to do.”

  “Well, it started when Grant Ackerman and I arrived at the church office at the same moment.”

  “And why were you at the church office?”

  “Well, I’ll be honest. I was there to see if the room was available. It gets booked up fast because it’s the only party room big enough to host a sizable event.”

  “And you did that because you didn’t trust the kids?”

  “Well, no. To be honest, Dylan has been trying to sabotage us, and Ella doesn’t know the lay of the land. So I thought I’d jump in to have a fail-safe, you know?”

  “Okay. So you booked the room.”

  “Well, not exactly. You see, Grant was there, and he wanted the room for Jim Miller’s party. He’s retiring from the volunteer fire department. And Mrs. Walsh, the church secretary, wasn’t in that day because her mother is ill. And Reverend Pasidena was not above making Grant and me compete for the room.”

  “Oh my goodness. Really?”

  “Yeah. He was trying to get help from the volunteer fire department for some fundraising for the playground equipment, and I might have piped in that I would try to convince you to become the choir director.”

  “You did not.”

  “I did. And I’m sorry. But you know, there are worse things in the world. The Grace Church choir is twice the size of the choir at Heavenly Rest. And besides, I didn’t commit you to coming over to the Methodists, I just said I’d raise the topic with you.”

  “I’m furious with you.”

  “Well, I should have told you about it, but I was hoping the kids would come up with some other plan. But it looks like they’re stumped.”

  “They aren’t working very well together.”

  “So it would seem,” he said on a sigh. “But you know, Brenda, you might consider the idea of becoming the choir director at Grace Church.”