“I have something for you.” Angelique dug a wad of tissue paper from her evening bag and unwrapped something sparkly.
“A sixpence for my shoe? It’s the only thing lacking.” While the lace was old, my dress was new, and the garter halfway up my right thigh was pale blue like the limo. I had borrowed an heirloom linen handkerchief from Charlie Cromwell’s mother, another family tradition.
“Something old,” she said with a smile. Her lip quivered. “It’s from your mother.” She handed me a heart-shaped diamond solitaire dangling from a gold chain.
“It’s gorgeous! How is it you had this?”
Her eyes shone like the unusual gem dangling in front of me. “Before she went into the hospital, Weesie asked me to keep it for you.” Angelique unlocked the clasp. “I’ve been hanging onto it all these years.” She stepped behind me, careful to avoid the train of my dress, and reached over my head. Once the necklace was in place, she faced me again. “You look beautiful, so much like her, especially now.”
We held each other by the forearms, like comrades before battle who pledge victory or death together. “You’ve been a wonderful . . .” I tightened my grasp. “I didn’t miss her when I was with you.”
“It’s been a joyful time for me, as well. You’ve given me something I never had before.”
“What’s that?”
“Since my own two weddings transpired without any planning, and I never had a daughter, I had no hope of helping to make anyone’s dreams come true. Now I have.”
“It sounds lame, but I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Angelique kissed my cheek. “The music must be starting by now. I’ll go find a seat in the sanctuary.”
“Remember, you’re the last one up the aisle before the processional. The head usher escorts you.” At the rehearsal last night she demurred, but Angelique deserved her place of honor in the front row.
After we picked up our nosegays one by one from the florist, I followed my bridesmaids into the hallway. The strains of Bach’s “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” reached my ears as we descended the stairs to the narthex. My sorority sisters swirled into a sea of deep raspberry red, dotted with pale pink rose bouquets. The music changed to Pachabel’s “Canon in D,” and they unrolled in waves of two abreast down the aisle toward the altar.
I touched the diamond pendant, thrilled to have something to remind me of my mother. When the last pair of bridesmaids passed through the center doors, the figure of my father came into view.
He stared at the necklace as he approached me. “Where did you get that?” I could swear he winced.
“Angelique brought it to me. It was Mother’s.”
“I know.” He extended his left elbow toward me. “She wore it at our wedding.”
It wasn’t like my father to remember details of past events. He could quote the Dow Jones averages from last week or last month, but he didn’t recall where we spent Easter last spring.
“Was it Grandmother Mason’s?”
“No.” He faced forward, as the trumpeter began Mendelsohn’s “Wedding March,” joined by the organist. “I gave it to Weesie the day we were married.”
The two ushers stood at attention as they held open the doors to the sanctuary, and Daddy waited for me to take his arm. With the final pair of bridesmaids in position, the minister gestured for the congregation to rise and look at us, expectation on his face. The trumpeter’s notes reached their introductory climax and the organist plunged into action. It was our cue, learned last night at the rehearsal.
Instead of starting down the aisle, I handed one of the ushers my bouquet, reached to the nape of my neck, and undid the clasp. Letting it dangle from my fingertips, I dropped the pendant and chain into Daddy’s hand. “You can keep it.” I should have known he would find some way to ruin my wedding day.
Once I retrieved my bouquet, I took his arm and we set off, a slow march away from my past and toward the man who would share my future. I couldn’t hesitate now, even though I was unsure of the wisdom of the trade I was about to make.
I remember refusing to be surprised that Daddy left town the day after my wedding, without saying goodbye. Whether he departed for his ranch or one of his offices in Dallas or New Orleans, I didn’t know. Or care.
Now the prospect of being in the same room and exchanging words with him sucks up the usual serenity I feel in my greenhouse. Anxiety takes over. How will I look and sound to him after all these years? Will I remind him of my mother? Since I have no answers, I hope Mike knows what he’s doing.
No point in letting an entire afternoon go to waste fretting over the inevitable. I return to the house and sit at my desk to call a few wholesale nurseries for inventory and prices. Almost an hour passes when the doorbell rings.
Judith, along with Max and Maddie, stands on the front porch. She grins. “I know Colton is grounded, but can he have company?”
I open the door and wave them inside.
In the entry hall, Judith drapes her arm over Max’s shoulder and pulls his head close to her lips. “No fireworks, understand?”
He cackles like a Saturday morning cartoon villain. “Wanna check my pockets for matches?”
She kisses his forehead. As Max darts up the stairs, Judith and her daughter follow me into the kitchen.
Maddie dangles a headless Barbie doll in one hand. “Mommy says she’s out of her head,” the child lisps through missing front teeth.
“Barbie is my alter-ego,” laughs Judith.
I hand Maddie the remains of an open package of graham crackers and tell her to play outside where we can see her through the window. “You can sit in the glider with Barbie.”
When the door closes behind her, Judith turns to me and purses her lips. “I want to speak to you about Colton.”
“You, too?”
“He’s been putting you to the test. Maybe grounding him isn’t the best choice right now. He needs more interaction with other people.”
Without returning her smile, I tilt my head toward her.
“He’s very well-behaved at our house and when he’s out with us in public. It’s only when he’s–”
“With me? What about the times he got into trouble away from home? Like the cabin at church camp he set on fire? Or with Max at the art gallery?”
“My point is, I think he responds well to being in a family situation. Having a father figure around.”
“You mean Charlie?” I all but choke. “You said yourself he’s an overgrown playmate to your three kids. Almost like you’ve got a fourth one.”
She giggles. “I know, but he goes to sleep later.”
I can’t help laughing along with her, until I sober up at the thought of my options. “I wish I could find someone to help me with Colton, but who can manufacture a family? Mason’s Crossing isn’t exactly teeming with eligible men over the age of thirty-five.”
“Or any age. What’s Brett like?”
“Quite nice and a real gentleman, but not very exciting.”
“Maybe dull is what Colton and you need for a change.” She shakes her head, then looks up at the ceiling. “There’s Mike.”
I squint at her. “Mike who?’
“Are you blind or just stupid? Maybe both? Don’t you realize Mike Avery has been in love with you for years?”
“You’re exaggerating. He’s very friendly and provided a lot of help, that’s all. Only because someone else asked him to.”
“He’d have stepped up to your plate whether Nate Wallace prodded him or not.”
I stare at her. “How did you find out–”
“Everyone’s known it.” Judith shrugs. “Except you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I figured you’d put a stop to it, but frankly I couldn’t see the harm. Besides, what your father does with his hard-earned bazillions is his business. Mike’s very generous, too, but in other ways.”
“Colton doesn’t seem to like him, remember?”
“Y
ou’re the heiress-with-the-mostess in five counties. At least all Mike wants to get his hands on is you.”
I shake my head. “You’re seriously delusional.”
Her merriment proves contagious and I forget my anxiety until they leave. My spirits take a deeper plunge, and I almost wish they hadn’t come, or that she hadn’t mentioned Mike’s crush on me. Our little moment of unguarded passion shouldn’t be enough to encourage him and we could probably continue our friendship without complications.
Something Judith said begins to fester, like a splinter under the skin. What else would there be for a man to get his hands on except me? Every woman wants to think of herself as a prize catch. Minus a huge fortune plus debts mounting up, I will make a tenuous partner.
EACH TICK OF THE CLOCK winds my gut tighter. By noon, I decide to take Colton back to Angelique’s. We find her resting on the terrace. “Help has arrived.” I point to my son.
Her eyelids flutter, then open as she lets out a long sigh. “Good. I’m feeling listless today. Barely enough energy for a catnap.”
“Let Colton do all the work.” I give him a wry smile.
“Good luck with your quest for proof.” Angelique shifts her weight and lets one arm dangle from the chaise. “Tell Nate I said hello.”
“You can tell him yourself, can’t you? Everyone but me seems to be in touch with him.”
Colton narrows his eyes and glares at me, heaving a snort as he walks away.
I recognize contempt when I hear it. I follow him. “What’s wrong?”
Silence.
“Is there something you want to say?”
He whirls around to face me and spits out his words. “You can’t stop screwing things up. Everyone hates what you’re doing. You don’t even have a decent relationship with your own father.”
His stormy words feel like a door slammed against my face, and I can’t let him get away with it. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No one believes anything you say. You’re full of shit.”
Lunging toward him, I draw back my hand, palm open. He doesn’t cower, but stands waiting, as if he wants me to slap him. I let my hand drop and turn to leave. Another time, another year, his disrespect will rain punishment on him, but I figure he’ll change his mind if he ever meets Nate Wallace.
WITH JACK’S APPOINTMENT BOOK in hand, I arrive at the hospital early to seize the advantage and determine what Big Jack’s stamina will allow. Muted male and female voices come from his room, and I hesitate. So much for early. After a moment, I knock and push the door open. “Big Jack?”
Harlene stands next to the bed, leaning over Big Jack, a little too close to suit me. They glance up as I enter, and she snatches a pen and a few papers from his meal cart. Someone–Harlene?–had placed the tray on the floor, his lunch half-eaten.
“Hello.” I give her a mirthless smile. “Having a hard time getting him to hold a pen?”
“Sally can sign ‘em.” Big Jack flops his head back on the pillow. “My goddamn fingers won’t close.”
“Not with a right arm broken in at least two places.” I brush past Harlene and fluff his pillow. “Where’s the comb I brought you? Your hair needs grooming.” Winning a turf war against Harlene will give my day a turn for the better.
Channeling Saint Trixie, I fuss over my father-in-law, a weird maiden voyage for both of us. “There, that’s better.” I turn to face her. “Now, what can I do for you, Harlene? Big Jack says you need my signature on . . . what?”
“Inventory records and payments. I have accounted for every item delivered myself, since I’m the only one in the office these days.”
“You’re one of the special people Big Jack trusts to hold down the fort.” I hold out my hand for the pen and papers. “This will just take me a minute, then you can be on your busy way.”
She exchanges lingering looks with Big Jack and takes her sweet time about offering me the documents, as if they are her children leaving for summer camp for the first time. I pretend to double-check her math and then sign each one at the bottom, along with the corresponding payment draft. Harlene thanks me and departs, trailing the scent of ‘Jungle Gardenia’.
“Let’s get some fresh air in here,” I fan the room with the door. “Company is coming soon and we want to–”
Big Jack groans. “Where is Mike Avery? Let’s get this over with. I wish I hadn’t . . .”
“You’d prefer people not see you in your condition, right?” I pick up the tray from the floor and set it on the cart. “Frankly, you don’t look so bad. You’re on the mend.”
“After what Nate Wallace stole, I don’t want that bastard anywhere near me.”
“I know exactly how you feel, but I saw the agreement.” I scoot the cart across the room and swivel his wheelchair toward his bed. “It was a legitimate sale.”
“I’m not talking about the business. I meant Weesie!”
I freeze, as the wheelchair escapes from my grasp and bumps the bed frame.
Louisa Mason Cobb Wallace. No one had ever been permitted to call my mother by her nickname except people she loved deeply. Her parents. My father.
Big Jack sits up and swings his legs one by one over the side of the bed. “Help me here, will you? Get my pants out of the closet.”
Sliding khaki pants up over my father-in-law’s knobby knees affords me another first. He seems too preoccupied to be embarrassed, and I wonder if, in his absentmindedness, he has mistaken me for someone else.
“I’d rather walk,” he growls.
“Of course you would. Think you can manage it?”
“Get my shoes.”
“It looks like all you have here is slippers.” I hope he doesn’t take my answer as argument.
He slides one foot to the floor, as if testing the water, and changes his mind. After setting the wheel locks, I steady him as he rises and shifts his weight to the seat.
I try to see him through other eyes, as a younger man. Big Jack had been in love with my mother? Did Saint Trixie or my father know? Before I can get any words out, someone taps on the door.
I stare at the door, waiting for it to open. “Come in,” I call.
Nothing.
Louder. “Come in.”
The door swings toward me and I hold my breath.
The figure of Mike Avery consumes almost the entire frame. “Ready? We’re meeting in the conference room down the corridor.”
In the hallway behind him, a commotion of male voices catches my attention. As I strain to peer over his shoulder, Mike steps to one side. My father’s head inclines toward Brett Kennedy. When he turns forward, our eyes lock.
I expect to be zapped by electric current, but nothing happens. Neither of us blinks. I feel no magnetic power, no pull of attraction. Nothing until I detect a white hot ball of fire where my heart should be.
Oh, Mother, what have I gotten myself into?
CHAPTER TWELVE
My father stands against the wall next to Brett Kennedy in the hospital hallway. With his black wool topcoat draped over his arm, he makes no move to shake my hand. “Hello, Sally. It’s been a long time.”
A lifetime. Mine, a life I had to make for myself, settling for a different family instead of the one I was born into. Crumbs, not the feast it should have been. A mountain of losses, a pile of regrets, a carefree youth stolen and replaced by responsibilities and longing. We had mutually separated, and yet somehow he again finds a way to manipulate my life.
Feeling choked, I realize I had fooled myself. Indifference had only masked the anger, not erased it. I study his face, searching for signs of aging. His skin lies smooth across his cheekbones, his forehead unfurrowed. Didn’t pain and loss have any effect on his appearance, or had his own indifference kept him youthful? Squinting, I nod.
“Excuse me,” says Mike’s voice behind me.
I move to one side of the doorway.
Mike wheels Big Jack toward the door. “Everyone, follow me to the conference room.
” He leads us down the hall, my father immediately behind them, while Brett and I bring up the rear.
It’s not as if I expect great balls of fire to come shooting toward me, but the atmosphere between the two older men is charged. There can’t be that much distrust and animosity without some level of combustion. Nate stays behind Mike and the wheelchair, out of Big Jack’s line of sight. Big Jack faces forward, struggling to sit up straight.
Mike thanks everyone for coming as he tucks Big Jack under a corner of the table, his back to the window. “Let’s keep this friendly and remember”–he glances at me–“it’s strictly informal.” He takes a notepad from his pocket and clicks his pen. “Be prepared to talk about when you spoke to Jack during that week and what you discussed. Sally might have questions for you.”
In turn, I study each face. These three men had all been involved in my husband’s attempt to start a new venture. One would have quashed it completely, the second couldn’t resist the temptation to ride along for profit, and the third had pulled all the strings. I wish I felt anything but pissed off at each of them for the part they played in thwarting Jack’s life. And his future.
Brett waits to see where the rest of us choose to sit. My father moves to the far end of the table, opposite Mike, as if they are partners. I walk to a chair across from Big Jack and lay my husband’s appointment book on the table. Brett follows me and pulls out my chair before he seats himself next to me. Maybe Brett intends to be a buffer between my father and me, the way he stepped in between Big Jack and Nate when he brokered the sale.
With a nod at me, Mike picks up the appointment book and fans the pages. He asks each of us to match dates and notations with conversations, offers, signatures, and meetings. A whole week, the last of Jack’s life, unfolds before me with no surprises. Doesn’t anyone know what really happened?
Clicking his pen, Mike flips to the next page of his notepad. “Now, I want each of you to think back about your talks with Jack. Anything lead you to believe he was upset or depressed?”
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