Searching for optimism, she steered the zipper up the back of the latest selection. Her weary fingers caught on the zipper’s teeth, and an equally weary sigh drifted from her lips. With care, she readjusted the veil’s gauzy folds. Jada wondered if the outfit was another no-go, and if they’d find something among the remaining options. The untried gowns pressed together on the rack reminded her of virgin maidens, pure and unscathed. They were nothing like the molested frocks heaped on the bed in the reject pile.
If the perfect gown lay hidden on the rack, she’d find it.
Linnie deserved gorgeous attire, something with foamy yards of tulle and lace or reams of creamy satin that would glimmer in the sunlight when she waltzed down the aisle. It was just a matter of unearthing the perfect choice to complement Linnie’s God-given beauty. Tawny hair fell in abundant waves around her shoulders. Her hazel eyes were bright and thickly lashed, her skin creamier than the pecan praline cookies Jada had added to the spring menu.
Yet, after helping Linnie step in and out of gowns, it seemed they’d never find a selection she liked.
The reasons were obvious. The majority owner of the Wayfair Inn lacked the statuesque height Jada took for granted. No one in Sweet Lake would describe Linnie as athletic, or trim, or very tall, for that matter. Nor did Linnie glide in the slow, sultry way many women perfected, drawing male attention by simply crossing a room. Linnie chugged along at an uneven gait like a clunky locomotive clacking down the tracks. She swerved or changed speed without notice. If the great changes that had come to the inn preoccupied her thoughts—or her penchant for sweets kept her focused on whatever baked good she’d snatched from the kitchen—she could walk three full turns through the lobby before remembering where her feet meant to carry her.
Worse still, she wasn’t on friendly terms with gravity.
A fact on full display as she started toward the full-length mirror in the corner of the suite. She’d barely taken a step when the heel of her satin pump grabbed maliciously at the gown’s frothy hem. The heel spiked the hem to the floor, halting her forward movement.
Shock lifted her brows. Fighting for balance, she flung her arms out. She resembled a scarecrow overdressed for a day of warding off crows.
Her tether to gravity snapped, and she pitched forward.
Jada leapt into the fray of shuddering fabric. She caught Linnie before her nose hit the floor.
Cat Mendoza, lounging against the wall, rushed in to help. Together, they righted the fear-frozen plank of Linnie’s body.
With a growl, Linnie pulled out of their grasp. A wisp of the lacy veil caught on her lips.
Spitting the fabric out, she glared at Jada. “This gown should come with a hazard sign. Look at the length. Are you trying to kill me?”
“A seamstress can take up the hem. Don’t you like it at all?”
“This is the worst pick so far. Why did you insist I try it on?”
“Jada insisted because she’s getting desperate,” Cat said, trudging back to her post by the wall. “You’ve done nothing but veto every option. Plus, we’ve run out of coffee. I’d go down and get a refill, but I’d never make it back without the Sirens barging in. They’re all eager to see what you choose.”
“No more Sirens.” Linnie untangled her pump from the hem. “This is hard enough without a bunch of women leering from the sidelines. I can’t deal with a million opinions on what looks good and what doesn’t.”
“Lately, you can’t deal with anything. You’ve become a Grade A chickenshit.” Cat picked up her coffee, glared at the dregs at the bottom of the cup. “Ask Jada. Since you decided to marry, she’s been hand-holding you on a daily basis.”
Insult spread a pink tinge across Linnie’s face. “I’ve been preoccupied for all the obvious reasons. Jada isn’t managing me.” Her eyes searched out Jada’s with a gentle plea. “Are you?”
The rosemary sachet was still tucked in Jada’s pocket.
You’re suffering from a psychic burden.
Was the Sirens’ pronouncement valid, if slightly off base? Was the burden still in her life? Was the burden . . . Linnie? Guilt took a swipe at Jada. She adored Linnie. But lately, her oldest bestie was exhausting.
“C’mon, Linnie. Chill. You’ve been more nervous than usual. Not a big deal.”
The half-truth bothered Jada, and she nervously plucked at the jeweled strip encasing her friend’s waist. An ivory bead, apparently dismayed by the manhandling, popped loose. It sprang across the suite and fled into the walk-in closet.
Unzipping the dress with care, she added, “Can we please stay focused on the task at hand? Frances went to a lot of trouble bringing in all these gowns. She drove to Cincinnati personally and convinced Ballantine’s Department Store to send over the entire lot. We only have twenty-four hours before the gowns must be returned to the store. You’ve only tried on a handful.”
“What’s the use? Nothing looks right.”
“The mermaid gown was okay.” The dress needed major alterations, but the sleek cut worked better than the beaded mess Linnie was currently extracting herself from.
“You like the mermaid dress? If the best I can do is look like a fish on my wedding day, I’m screwed.” Linnie waved impatiently at Cat, who was examining her fingernails with a look of intense boredom. “Cat threw together a Christmas wedding without trouble.”
Jada sighed. “That was different.”
“No, it wasn’t. She found a dress requiring minimal alterations. And she looked divine. Why does everything make me look frumpy?”
The complaint appeared to strike Cat as a challenge, and she angled her hip. “You’re not frumpy—you’re short. There’s a difference.”
Playing the honesty card with a woman frantic to unearth the perfect wedding gown wasn’t a great move. Jada shot a warning look, but not in time to stop the sassy Latina from adding, “I’m a size six. I walk right into clothes. You’re shorter, Linnie. And, well, stockier. You just have to try harder.”
“Stockier?” Linnie yanked the gown to her ankles. “Don’t hold back, Cat. Why not call me a lumberjack? A short, stocky lumberjack.” She scooped the dress up and dumped it on the four-poster bed. “Here’s an idea. I’ll find something plaid for my wedding. In lieu of flowers, I’ll carry an axe.”
“I didn’t call you a lumberjack.”
“You did mention you’re a size six. Talk about cruel.”
“Hey! I’m only telling it like it is.”
“Thanks for the news roundup. Next, you’ll announce you’re a perfect 36C. Or that you wear thongs because they’re comfortable. Like there’s a woman alive who enjoys wearing slingshot material across her butt.”
“I am a 36C.”
Jada stepped into the fractious air brewing between them. “Both of you, stop—”
Stepping around her, Cat gave her opponent a thunderous look. “What’s wrong with thongs? They’re nice.” The honeyed skin of her nose scrunching, Cat rolled her eyes before appraising the yellowed slip that had been part of Linnie’s neglected wardrobe for just about forever. “Geez, Linnie. What do have you on under there? Big-girl panties? The kind that go all the way to your waist?”
“Cat, leave her alone. Linnie’s choice in undies is none of your business.”
“It is now.” Cat wasn’t usually this blunt, but her frustration was palpable. “If she’s still dressing like a Girl Scout, we need to perform an intervention.”
Linnie glared at her. “Zip it, Cat.”
Curiosity, a treacherous companion, got the better of Jada. She eyed Linnie ruefully. “You’re not wearing big-girl panties—are you? Like the day-of-the-week undies we wore when we were kids?”
Anger shuddered down Linnie’s back. Clearly the wrong question, and Jada searched for an escape route from the conversation. She couldn’t stand there all morning while her two closest friends bickered like moody adolescents. For months now, neither one had been behaving normally.
It occurred to Jada that she s
hould be the one foisting complaints into the suite’s chilly atmosphere. Once, the three women had eagerly shared management duties at the Wayfair Inn. No longer. Lately, Jada handled the majority of the work.
Linnie wasn’t the only guilty party. Since Cat’s marriage to Ryan D’Angelo on Christmas Eve, she’d been suffering from newlywed fever. At inconvenient times, she disappeared from the inn, sneaking home to make whoopee whenever Ryan wasn’t on the commute for the advertising accounts he managed.
Getting her groove on was one thing. But she left the bulk of her workload in limbo, or forgotten altogether.
Linnie was no better. She’d left Jada with the unhappy duty of juggling the day-to-day operations—while baking all the confections required for the menu—and while the staff, quickly expanding, looked to Jada for leadership. Since agreeing to set the date with attorney Daniel Kettering, Linnie’s management skills had gone AWOL.
In her pocket, Jada’s smartphone vibrated. She’d already taken a call from the staff in Housekeeping, and another from an employee manning the front desk. Absently, she rubbed her temples. That morning, she had awoken with a headache that still hadn’t abated. A bad hair day and a four-alarm headache: it was just her luck.
“In case you’ve both forgotten, we’re running out of time,” Jada said. “Linnie still has to mail out invitations, settle on the menu for the reception, pick a band, write her wedding vows, select flowers—if we don’t get past this task, the Sirens will make all the decisions.” Although Linnie hadn’t requested their assistance, she’d surrendered weeks ago beneath the group’s determination to help plan the wedding. “Let’s stop arguing, all right?”
Jada was rewarded with silent nods of consent. Relieved, she returned to the rack. Sifting through the gowns, she selected a frock with glass beads spiraling down the sleeves. They’d just finished zipping the back when Jada’s smartphone vibrated again. She thumbed through the texts, an entire list of SOS messages from the staff.
Torn between loyalty to Linnie and to the inn that bore her name, Jada returned the phone to her pocket. The problems would have to wait.
Chapter 2
“You’re getting an early start.” In the doorway to Jada’s office, Linnie offered a tentative smile.
Looking up from the paperwork, Jada felt relief. Linnie appeared calmer this morning, well rested. In the corridor where their offices stood side by side, waitresses drifted past. They were on their way to the Sunshine Room, to set up the restaurant’s tables for breakfast service.
Jada motioned her inside. “I meant to get to this yesterday,” she confided, nodding at the paperwork. “Employee applications. We’re still short two bussers for dinner service, and we need more help in Housekeeping. We could also use another employee at the front desk. I’d like to get the positions filled before we’re any further into spring.”
“Should I plow through the apps?”
The offer was unexpected. “I’ll let you know when I’ve narrowed down the field,” Jada said, glad to see Linnie getting back into the swing of things. Any effort she made would be better than the previous weeks of no effort at all. “If you want to take something off my plate, make a decision on the menu for the wedding reception. I gave you a list of suggestions last week.”
“I’ll get to it today.”
Linnie shifted from foot to foot, her attention drawn to the corridor. Nervous fingers traced the one-carat engagement ring her fiancé, Daniel Kettering, had presented to her in January. The pear-shaped diamond scattered light across the office as she rubbed her lips together.
The pose—Linnie wavering in mild distress, hunting for the right apology—sent warmth through Jada. A flurry of memories followed. How they sealed their friendship in fourth grade with a bag of sweetheart candies on Valentine’s Day. How Linnie borrowed Jada’s Ford Taurus in eleventh grade and promptly drove it into a ditch. How they both learned the basics of proper makeup application thanks to Cat, who was younger but always more sophisticated.
Jada got to her feet. “The talented men from Unity Design won’t arrive for another half hour. Why don’t we go out back and check on Philip’s progress?”
During his youth, Daniel’s younger brother, Philip, had broken the hearts of many of the girls he’d dated in Sweet Lake. Back then, Jada viewed the tall, dark-haired Casanova as shallow. Ancient history. Philip Kettering now owned the landscape firm installing a new patio behind the ballroom, where Linnie and Daniel planned to hold their nuptials.
Linnie was saying, “The stone for the patio was delivered.”
“Last night?”
“About ten minutes after you left. Philip’s crew worked until nightfall, ferrying the pallets to the back of the inn. There was a problem with the skid loader. Philip was covered in engine grease by the time he got the contraption up and running.”
“What about the azaleas?” Philip had selected a variety sure to bloom in late April.
“They came in too, along with a bunch of boxwood plants.” Linnie’s expression brightened. “You’re sure you can spare a minute? I’d love to show you everything.”
Yesterday, Jada had finished work with a full-on headache. She didn’t feel much better this morning, but she managed a cheery expression. “I can’t wait.”
As they walked through the lobby, an older couple shuffled toward the cozy seating area that looked out at the rolling hills surrounding the inn. Outside, the rocking chairs on the veranda stood empty. Sunlight glinted off the building’s golden sandstone exterior. Linnie led the way across the grass, toward the area behind the ballroom.
The crisp morning air seemed to lend the confidence she needed. “Jada, I’m sorry—for everything. I have no idea how you’ve put up with me.” From over her shoulder, she darted a glance. “I’ve been temperamental and just plain snotty. Especially yesterday, when you and Cat were only trying to help. I swear I’ll do better.”
The apology came as a relief, and Jada smiled. “Stop viewing every decision like a chore,” she suggested. She was eager to help Linnie subdue her worrywart tendencies. “Planning your wedding is supposed to be fun.”
“For most women, I’m sure it is. I don’t like being center stage.”
Stepping into the limelight never bothered Jada, but Linnie had arrived in the world with a more reticent nature. She was more comfortable behind the scenes.
“You’re an introvert,” Jada said.
“Yeah, and getting glammed up isn’t my thing. Why aren’t yoga pants and comfy T-shirts all the rage for a wedding day?”
“Perhaps you and your handsome groom should’ve skipped the frills and eloped.”
Linnie puffed up her cheeks, then blew out a stream of air. “Daniel wants a traditional wedding. And don’t forget about the Sirens. They’re determined to pitch in. I’m sure they’ll come up with the cutest wedding favors and flower arrangements for the ballroom. I’d gladly skip the hoopla, but they’re having a blast with the preparations.”
“Then enjoy the hoopla.”
“I feel like I’m drowning in details. The Sirens gave me some meditation tapes, but they don’t really help.” A smile crept across Linnie’s mouth as she slowed her gait. “I hear they gave you a sack of herbs. Something to do with the dreams they’ve been having about you.”
“They didn’t haul a sack of herbs into the Wayfair’s kitchen. Penelope made a sachet with dried rosemary.”
“Why rosemary?”
“The Sirens haven’t figured out the significance.” Presumably they’d unlock the mystery once Tilda abandoned late-night viewings of The Wizard of Oz for movies featuring world-class sleuths. “I’m supposed to keep the sachet with me at all times. Don’t tell Penelope I stuck it in a drawer in my office. I can’t carry it everywhere. People will wonder why I smell like a dinner entrée.”
“Penelope will forgive you. Tilda and Norah? Probably not. They’ve been the most spooked by the dreams. Better keep the sachet on you when they’re at the inn.”
“Will do.” Changing tack, Jada said, “Listen, if you get overwhelmed, I’ll make some of the wedding decisions.” Given all her responsibilities, taking on more work didn’t appeal. Yet she’d rather increase her workload than watch her oldest friend backslide into constant worry. “We’ll split up the tasks to reduce your stress level. Easy peasy. Call it an early gift from the maid of honor.”
“I’ve dumped too much on you already. The best man isn’t stuck weighing in on Daniel’s every decision.”
Jada nodded in silent agreement. Between managing Unity Design and single parenting, Philip Kettering’s days were hectic. More difficult too, since last summer. Once Linnie and Daniel began living together, Philip lost the homemade meals and babysitting help he’d relied on from his older brother. The change was also difficult for his six-year-old daughter. Fancy missed her uncle Daniel’s attentions and eating dinner at his house on a regular basis.
Thanks to Linnie’s urging, Jada had begun picking up the slack last winter when Linnie and Daniel got engaged. Now the trips to Philip’s house were a normal part of Jada’s weekly routine. The frequent visits to drop off meals or spend an hour playing with Philip’s ultrafeminine daughter left Jada battling complicated emotions. No doubt Philip shared her discomfort; the constant interaction dredged up memories they both wanted to forget.
Linnie was saying, “Ballantine’s sent a van to pick up the bridal gowns, but not before I picked out Fancy’s dress from the flower girl options.” She’d asked Philip’s daughter to join the wedding party. “Last night, after the men finished moving the pallets to the new patio area, I dropped by Philip’s house to show Fancy the outfit.”
The six-year-old owned a closet jammed with dress-up clothes. She put together a different princess outfit for each Halloween, complete with a crown, faux-jewel scepter, and assorted jewelry culled from Cat’s glitzy collection. When she wasn’t in a Disney sort of mood, she regaled her doting father with ballerina tutus and feather boas.
The Season of Silver Linings Page 2