The Wedding Promise

by Thomas Kinkade

  “Here are some ideas I’ve put together. I’ve made copies for both of you,” Liza said, handing each of the women their own copy of the pages. “The more I thought about this celebration, the more excited I got,” she said honestly. “With a small guest list, you have a lot of flexibility. Let’s go over the highlights, and then you can take the folders home and look through them more carefully.”

  Jennifer leaned forward eagerly to see Liza’s plan. Sylvia took a pair of reading glasses from her purse, then peered down at the pages with a skeptical expression.

  “I’ve listed all the items we need to decide upon. But let’s just hit the high points.” Liza felt more relaxed now. This meeting felt a lot like her former job, making presentations to potential—often skeptical—clients.

  “Oh, I like this photo of the flowers. Those are pretty, aren’t they, Mom?” Jennifer held up a photo of a flower arrangement of trumpet lilies and roses.

  “Since your wedding is in the summer, you have a wide variety of flowers in season to choose from. That will really keep the cost down,” Liza noted.

  She’d read about all this and, luckily, she was a quick study and now sounded fairly knowledgeable.

  “That’s great,” Jennifer said. “We don’t want to spend a fortune on flowers but I would like something . . . special on the tables and in the ceremony area.”

  Liza flipped through the folder. “Oh, I found a really nice arrangement for that spot. I’m really excited about this. . . . ”

  Sylvia sat back and put her copy of the proposal on the table. “I can see you have a lot of creative ideas here, Ms. Martin.”

  “Call me Liza. Please,” Liza insisted for what seemed the umpteenth time.

  “What field of work were you in before you came here?” Sylvia asked curiously.

  “Advertising. First in the art department and later, I was an account executive.”

  “Really? This is a jump. I would have thought your background would have to be in the hotel industry or food service to run an inn of this size . . . and plan big events, like weddings,” she added.

  Liza could see where this was going. She’d been conflicted about whether or not she really wanted to take on this wedding. But Sylvia had now thrown down the gauntlet, and Liza just couldn’t resist the challenge.

  She also felt a heart-melting sympathy for Jennifer, who sat huddled in the corner of the love seat, leafing through the photos at the back of the presentation folder, as if she were wishing she wasn’t here for this part of the conversation. The girl clearly needed a champion, and Liza was willing to step up to the plate.

  “I have years of management experience,” Liza said smoothly. “And I spent just about every summer, until I went to college, at this inn, helping my aunt and uncle. I haven’t found it a hard transition at all,” she bluffed in a bright tone. “Maybe this business is just in my DNA. I know I would really enjoy putting on this wedding, and I think I’d do a great job for you.”

  “Well, good for you.” Sylvia smiled back and glanced at her daughter. “This plan is very nice,” she said carefully. “But before we get too carried away on the fine points—the flowers and music, et cetera—I’d really love to take a look around at the property. First things first, don’t you think?” she asked, casting Liza a bland smile.

  Liza knew what she really meant. If the building and grounds weren’t up to her approval, it was pointless to talk about anything else.

  Though Liza wasn’t eager to give the grand tour, she put on her game face and quickly stood up. “I think that’s a good idea. Would you like to start with the inn or go outside first?”

  Sylvia finally looked at Jennifer. “Doesn’t matter to me. What do you think, sweetie?”

  Jennifer shrugged, avoiding her mother’s gaze. “We’re already here. Let’s just look at the rooms on this floor.”

  “I love a logical bride.” Liza knew she sounded like a seasoned professional—and it was almost scary.

  Sylvia didn’t say much as Liza talked about how the sitting room and dining room and even the porch could be utilized. She barely seemed to be listening, craning her head back to look up at the ceilings or inspect the crown moldings.

  “These rooms have such beautiful detail, don’t they, Mom?” Jennifer said at one point.

  “Oh, they do,” her mother agreed, and nodded. Then she turned to Liza and pointed at a tiny mark on the dining room ceiling. “Is that a water stain up there?”

  Jennifer looked up, too. “Oh, Mom, who really cares? Is anybody going to be walking around at the cocktail hour, staring up at the ceiling?” Jennifer marched around the room with her hand out, as if holding a drink, and her chin pointed at the ceiling.

  “Very funny,” her mother snapped. “I hope you don’t hurt your neck like that.”

  Liza wanted to laugh but examined the spot with a serious expression. “I don’t see anything from here, but I’ll get a ladder out later and make sure,” she promised.

  The women headed out through the front door next, talking about how the porch and railings could be decorated and little bistro tables set out there as well.

  Some real work had been done on the building—a paint job, new shutters, and windows—but the grounds were an easier target, Liza knew. As they walked around to the back of the property, Liza felt a bit more anxious. But she’d worked on her strategy with Molly and knew what she had to say.

  Despite Sylvia’s look of disdain as she gazed around the garden, Liza jumped right in.

  “There’s not much in bloom right now, and the beds have to be cleaned. But we’ll be planting a lot of fresh perennials and a lot of colorful annuals, too. In fact, once you decide on your color scheme, I’ll coordinate the planting to complement the party.”

  How much more accommodating could you get? Liza could see Jennifer was pleased by the idea. “I was thinking of sort of vintage colors with the bridal party and flowers—lavender, yellow, cream. I’ll only have one bridesmaid—she’ll be the maid of honor, actually—my best friend, Megan.”

  “That sounds really lovely,” Liza said sincerely.

  “Yes, it does,” Sylvia agreed. “But I don’t see how you can get this property in shape in time. The garden is a disaster.” She turned and looked at her daughter. “Do you have any idea how much work they need to do back here? It will never look nice enough in a few weeks, Jen. You might as well just get married out in some big weedy field.”

  Liza winced at the indictment, but it was hard to argue. The back of the property did look like a big weedy field—with a few rosebushes popping up here and there.

  “Mom, just stop it already. You’re making me crazy. We don’t need to be married in the Public Garden with a reception to follow at the Ritz, okay? This is where Kyle and I want to say our vows and have our celebration. If Liza says she can make the garden look good in a month or so, I’ll take her word for it. For goodness’ sake, all you need to do is stick a few big pots of flowers around, and it will look fine. There are going to be chairs and tables all over anyway.”

  That was practically what Molly had told her, Liza thought.

  And Molly knew where to get the plants wholesale.

  Sylvia looked about to argue but pursed her lips and glanced at her watch. “Well, I think we’re done here. We need to get over to town in a few minutes. Thanks for your time today and putting together this information,” she said politely. “If we have any questions, we’ll call you.”

  “Please do,” Liza replied.

  Jennifer stood with the big cream-colored folder that Liza had prepared tucked to her chest. As if her mother might take it from her—and toss it over the nearest cliff once they were out of sight, Liza thought.

  “Thanks, Liza. I wish we could just settle everything now,” Jennifer added, glancing at her mother.

  “But Dad wants to see the information,” Sylvia reminded her. “And he’ll probably want to stop by to see the inn, too.”

  Liza wondered if Jennifer’s
father was anything like her mother. If that was the case, she might as well hang up her wedding-planner shoes right now.

  “That would be fine,” Liza replied graciously. “Anytime. And your fiancé, too, of course.”

  “I’ll bring Kyle over very soon. He’s excited to see the place again. Maybe this weekend,” Jennifer replied.

  If your mother doesn’t book the Spoon Harbor Inn by then, Liza thought.

  “I can’t wait to meet him,” Liza said agreeably.

  The three women said good-bye, and Jennifer and her mother headed to Sylvia’s car, a white Volvo sedan that was parked in the circle in front of the inn.

  Liza went inside through the back door, trying not to worry over the garden. She found Claire in the kitchen, unpacking groceries from a string shopping bag. “Look what I found at the market today. Artichokes. Aren’t they beautiful?”

  Liza had never really thought of vegetables as beautiful—until she met Claire. But now, knowing how Claire could transform even a humble brussels sprout into a mouthwatering treat, she was beginning to see the hidden beauty in produce.

  Claire glanced at her. “How was your meeting?”

  “Jennifer was her usual sweet, agreeable little self. Her mother is sort of a witch. She didn’t come right out and say it, but she obviously thinks the inn is run-down and seedy. Not nearly what she has in mind for her daughter’s wedding. I doubt she’ll even look through that plan I gave them. The amazing thing is,” Liza added, “I started off totally opposed to the idea of doing this wedding, and now I know I’ll feel totally disappointed if I don’t get to do it. Isn’t that crazy?”

  “Not at all,” Claire said evenly. “Life would be very dull if we never had a change of heart, if we never felt ourselves unexpectedly . . . inspired.”

  Unexpectedly inspired. That was a good way to describe how she felt, Liza thought. “Maybe I won’t get to do Jennifer’s wedding,” Liza said, “but at least I know now that I want to try.”

  “Yes, now you know. But don’t give up on the idea yet.” Claire searched under the kitchen sink and came up with a pair of rubber gloves. “The mother of the bride is always the most difficult to please.”

  “Frankly, I think Sylvia is probably difficult, no matter what’s going on in her life,” Liza reflected.

  “Well, there you are. Another reason you shouldn’t take it personally,” Claire noted.

  She had pulled on the gloves and now set up a big bowl full of water and squeezed sliced lemons over it then tossed in the empty lemon skins.

  “What’s that for?” Liza asked, watching her.

  “So the artichokes don’t get brown. They stain your hands and nails something fierce. That’s why I wear gloves. . . . How did you leave it with the Bennets?” Claire asked.

  “Sylvia said they planned to visit some other places today. I’ll probably get a call in a few days, saying they booked the wedding someplace else. I’m sure Jennifer is getting an earful in the car right now.”

  “I’m sure she is. But that girl is tough . . . like a little sand crab. She’s sweet and tender inside, you can see. But she has a hard shell. Don’t count her out. I think she’ll get her way,” Claire predicted.

  She picked up an artichoke, yanked off the tough outer leaves decisively, and chopped the pointy tips to a blunt edge.

  Then she pulled it open and started scooping out fuzzy bits with a grapefruit spoon.

  “What are you doing now?” Liza asked, peering over her shoulder.

  “You have to get the pointy leaves at the bottom out.”

  “It looks like hard work.”

  “It’s time-consuming,” Claire conceded, “but worth the effort. I only bought a few, just for you and me. No one’s called for a room at the last minute, have they?”

  Liza shook her head, reluctant to admit that the inn would be empty of guests this weekend. All the more reason to keep hoping the Bennet wedding would come through. But now that she had met Sylvia, she wondered if she ought to be more careful about what she wished for.

  “Now, this place had a very pretty pond in back with a gazebo where we could hold the ceremony. Or Jen and Kyle could just take photographs there.”

  Jennifer watched her mother hand her father a brochure from the Spoon Harbor Inn. They were all sitting around the kitchen table, discussing the wedding venues that Jennifer and her mother had visited after meeting with Liza at the inn the day before.

  “And it’s a much larger space,” Sylvia continued. “I don’t think the inn can really accommodate the number of guests we’ll have.”

  “But Kyle and I really want a small party, Mom. We don’t need a restaurant the size of Fenway Park,” Jennifer countered. “That’s not what we’re thinking of.”

  “Please, Jennifer, let’s be realistic. There are friends and relatives we have to invite. It would be rude to exclude them, even if they aren’t on your list.” Jennifer’s mother glanced at her father, sending a distinct, “Help me out on this, would you?” kind of glance.

  “Let’s talk a little more about the location and then worry about the guest list,” Frank suggested, spreading the brochures out on the table in front of him. They all showed smiling brides posed in gardens and gazebos.

  “I spoke to the manager of the Spoon Harbor Inn this morning,” Sylvia continued. “He has a cancellation in August. The groom got cold feet. Someone’s misfortune, our good luck.”

  “How did you like the place, Jen?” her dad finally asked.

  “It was okay, I guess. I think it’s a little hokey. Kyle will, too,” she said.

  “And the Angel Island Inn isn’t hokey? It’s seedy and run-down,” her mother said. “You’d rather be married in that empty lot she calls a garden than a lovely, picture-perfect setting?”

  “Now, Sylvia, calm down. We need to try to figure this out,” her father cut in.

  “It’s not that bad, Dad,” Jennifer insisted. “You can go see it for yourself. I don’t want to be married in some cookie-cutter, Barbie-bride factory.”

  “No chance of that if you get married at the inn. It looks like a hotel in a horror movie,” Sylvia railed.

  “Fine. Just . . . fine. This conversation is getting us nowhere.” Jen jumped up from her chair and marched toward the doorway.

  “Where are you going, Jen? Kyle’s train won’t be in for two hours yet,” her mother reminded her. “You say you want to get married tomorrow, but you won’t talk with us long enough to make plans.”

  “Let her go, Sylvia,” Frank urged. “You’re both upset now. We’re not getting anywhere.”

  He picked up the folder with the inn logo on front and opened it, looking over Liza’s proposal. “You didn’t like this woman. Is that it?”

  “She was very professional,” Sylvia admitted. “Though I know she’s never done a wedding before. That fact alone should make us steer clear—if we had any common sense about this situation.”

  “Well, what didn’t you like? The information she put together seems reasonable,” he said, putting the folder aside. “The prices look good, too. She’s also offering a discount for guests who need to stay over. We do have a lot of out-of-town relatives,” he reminded her.

  “Well, believe me, you won’t want your mother staying over at that place once you see it.” Sylvia dropped down in an armchair across from her husband. “I guess some people would call it charming or quaint. Some of the rooms were presentable. But whenever I’ve imagined Jennifer’s wedding, I pictured something much more elegant and . . . polished. She’s dreamed about her wedding day ever since she was a little girl. Remember how she used to play bride all the time?”

  “Yes, I do,” Frank said with a soft smile. “I had to hum the music. ‘Here comes the bride, all dressed in white . . . ’ I never knew the lyrics after that,” he added with a laugh.

  “I know this place has sentimental memories for her and Kyle. I think that’s sweet. But that’s made her see it through rose-colored glasses. She doesn’t realiz
e what it really looks like. I mean, to someone who didn’t fall in love there. Maybe she thinks it will be magically transformed on her wedding day—like an old shoe turning into a glass slipper?”

  “Maybe,” Frank said thoughtfully. He paused and looked down at the folder, at the etching of the inn on the cover. “Maybe it will be, for her. . . . Would that be so bad, Sylvia?”

  Sylvia sat back, startled at her husband’s question. “Don’t tell me . . . not you, too? You have to see this place, Frank. I promise you, you won’t like it any more than I do.”

  “I’ll take a look tomorrow. But I think I’ve already seen it. Two views. One through your eyes and one through Jen’s.” He paused. “I don’t want to force her to get married someplace she doesn’t like, and see her unhappy on such an important day, Syl. This is the last thing we’re really doing for her. Before she leaves our house forever.”

  Sylvia swallowed and looked down at her hands, twisting her wedding band around her finger the way she did when she was nervous. “Oh, you get so dramatic sometimes. She’s going to live in Boston. We’ll see her all we like. She might even rent a little weekend place out here.”

  “I get dramatic?” He laughed out loud. “Sylvia, just think about what I said, okay? This is Jen’s day. I want her to have what she wants. Not what we want.”

  Sylvia seemed about to answer but her husband stood up. “I need some air. I’m going out to walk the dog. When will dinner be ready?”

  “Oh, not for an hour or so. I still have to put the potatoes in the oven.”

  Sylvia returned to her cooking. It had been a long day. At this rate, she would never make it through this wedding, no matter how simple Jennifer wanted it.

  Jennifer and Frank just didn’t get it. The real burden was on her shoulders. Jennifer might have her lovely daydreams, but she didn’t understand the realities of a wedding. If she got her way, she wouldn’t be happy with the results. Sylvia was almost sure of it.

  She heard her husband call the dog, a golden retriever mix named Margo who’d been part of the family since Jennifer was in fifth grade. Margo was really Jen’s dog; she slept in her room and followed her everywhere when she was around.