Lights from an approaching car blinded him for a moment as he closed the lid. His was the last house on a dead-end street, so he assumed someone had taken a wrong turn. To his surprise, the car, a late-model compact, entered his lane. The driver probably hadn’t seen him. The red car stopped next to his van, and two women got out. When the passenger crossed in front of the headlights, Joel saw she was very pregnant.
“Ladies,” he called. “Do you need assistance?”
They turned in surprise, retreating marginally as he hurried to where they stood. The taller, thinner of the two had opened the car’s trunk by then.
Joel was pretty sure they weren’t the type to siphon gas. He supposed they had the wrong lane and the wrong house.
“You must be Joel Mercer.” The pregnant woman’s grin could be described as wily, but then she grew serious. “We apologize for taking so long to come by, and for calling so late in the day,” she added. “Days have a habit of getting away from us, I’m afraid. We hope you’ll think it’s a case of better late than never.”
At this distance, thanks to the light spilling from his uncurtained front windows, Joel could see the women’s features. There was something familiar about the speaker’s silent companion. Yet Joel was positive he’d never met either one before. At a loss to respond, he pocketed his glasses and waited politely.
The driver thrust a box she’d taken from the trunk into Joel’s hands. At last he understood their mission. The box, warm on the bottom, held two hot casseroles. “This is so kind of you,” he murmured.
“Sylvie said the day you moved in you were inundated with food. But we’ve been to plenty of potlucks with some of the people who brought that food. We figure you already dumped three-fourths of what you got. Since you have a young daughter, we know kids can be picky eaters. You can freeze these dishes if you want. One’s spaghetti. The other’s macaroni and cheese with ham.”
His smile came more easily. “Rianne, my daughter, will thank you from the bottom of her heart. She didn’t much like the dish labeled succotash.”
The women nudged one another. “Carol Tucker’s specialty. Raccoons like it,” the woman with the darker hair said with a semi-straight face. “By the way, I’m Dory Hopewell.” She pointed to her companion. “My sister Carline Manchester. My husband is Grant Hopewell. Hers is Jeff Manchester. I think you met them when they repaired our sister’s fence. Well, your fence, too.” The speaker jerked a thumb toward the fence separating his house from Sylvie’s.
That was when the names set warning bells jangling in Joel’s head. These were the marriage-broker sisters Sylvie had cautioned him about mere hours ago.
“Someday we’d love to hear your version of the flattened fence. Sylvie told us Oscar knocked it down. But she told Grant she’d climbed up for your cat and the limb broke. Did the limb hit you in the head, by chance? That’s a nasty knot you’ve got there,” the pregnant sister noted.
Their formidable scrutiny suddenly made Joel claustrophobic, even though they were standing under a velvet sky littered with stars. “I didn’t realize Sylvie had climbed out on that broken limb,” Joel said, edging toward his porch steps. “My injury, uh, came from a...a fishing accident today. I hate to seem impolite, but Rianne’s asleep upstairs. I haven’t installed smoke alarms yet, and anyway, I don’t like leaving her alone. Thanks again for the food.”
“You’re most welcome,” Dory murmured. The sister bobbed her head, too. “Of course you have to worry about your daughter. When you moved in, there was some speculation as to whether your wife had stayed in Atlanta to sell your home. Then you registered Rianne at school, and Ellie Pearson passed the word that you’re a single dad. We’ve got a friend who’s the school psychologist, in case Rianne’s having difficulty dealing with the breakup.”
“Hardly,” Joel said stiffly. “Lynn and I separated when Rianne was a baby.”
A knowing smile passed between the two of them that left Joel kicking himself. Why had he revealed so much? He should’ve heeded Sylvie’s advice to run the minute he heard their names. They were a disarming duo. And potentially dangerous.
“By the way—” Dory slammed the lid of her trunk and removed her keys “—I hope Sylvie invited you and Rianne to Kay Waller’s wedding tomorrow night. Six o’clock at the white church on the corner of Thistle and Shamrock. The reception-dance is a block up the street at the Elks’ Club. Everyone in town will be there.”
“Why would Sylvie invite us to someone else’s wedding? And why would I go when I don’t know the couple?” He tried to remain polite, but he was beginning to feel panicky as he sensed a hustle coming.
Carline supplied the very answer Joel didn’t want to hear. “Weddings are the best place to meet everyone in Briarwood.” She waddled by him, opened her car door and sank heavily into the seat. “I know you probably don’t want to barge in. Sylvie said you wouldn’t. But it’s a perfect opportunity for Rianne to meet other kids. Oh, and even though the wedding itself is formal, guests can wear any old thing. You get a free meal for simply showing up.” Carline threw out the extra incentive as she shut her car door.
On the driver’s side, Dory wasn’t in as big a rush to go. “You know Sylvie, so if you’d be more comfortable riding to the wedding with her, I’m sure there’ll be plenty of room in Buddy’s car. Buddy Deaver is what you’d call a pity date for Sylvie. He’s home on vacation, and his mom literally begged Carline to dig up somebody to go with him to Kay’s wedding. Our sister’s a big softy. But there’s absolutely nothing between her and Buddy. Hope we see you tomorrow, Joel. My daughter, Kendra, is really looking forward to meeting Rianne.” Her door also slammed, and the engine sprang to life. Two seconds later, the red car backed from his lane—then poof it was gone. Joel welcomed the darkness closing around him. Especially as the women’s impact left him feeling as if he’d been hit by lightning. The worst part was, they’d dangled the one carrot most likely to get him to attend a perfect stranger’s wedding. Well, two carrots. The first being the fact that Rianne would meet other kids. The other, an opportunity for him to identify the members of Briarwood’s singles set.
Single women loved weddings, as far as he could tell. Bachelors climbed on board for the simple reason that if they didn’t, their current girlfriends would never speak to them again. Then all subsequent Saturday nights would be spent drinking beer and watching sports channels.
Joel’s phone was ringing as he walked into the house. He snatched it up, even though it meant juggling the heavy box holding the casseroles. At almost eleven at night, he couldn’t imagine who’d be calling, other than possibly Lynn. She’d be leaving the TV studio about now. “’Lo,” he mumbled.
“It’s Sylvie. I saw Dory’s car pull into your drive. What did she want? I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“Actually, it was both of your sisters.”
“Oh, no! Double trouble,” Sylvie moaned. “Whatever they wanted, Joel, I hope you said no. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.”
“I have no doubt you do. First time I’ve ever been team-roped into going to a wedding.”
“Kay’s wedding? You barely met her, and you’ve never met Dave, the guy she’s marrying.”
“I know. Which makes the whole invitation ludicrous.”
“Good. I’m glad you resisted.”
“Uh, can I phone you back? Your sisters brought casseroles. I need to go stick them in the freezer.”
“That’s okay. I’m headed for bed. I’m helping decorate the church in the morning. Those of us in the wedding party are taking Kay to lunch at eleven, then we’re all going to her salon to be beautified for the ceremony. Ugh!” She heaved a giant sigh. “That’s de rigueur for all weddings in Briarwood. Oh, another thing...if they put the food in dishes that need to be returned, my advice is to transfer it into your own bowls now. Rinse their dishes. Let me return them. Otherwise, you’ll give them another chance to have a crack at setting you up with someone. Namely me. G’bye, Joel.”
&nb
sp; “Wait,” he sputtered, and found his protest floating in empty air. Sylvie had indeed hung up. But that was okay. If he told her he was toying with the idea of attending that wedding, she’d do her best to talk him out of it. She wasn’t aware that he was capable of holding his own against far more seasoned matchmakers than her sisters. He’d been in the so-called market for five years, in a Southern city where the accent was on marriage. Atlanta boasted a hundred times more determined mothers than Briarwood. Joel had successfully evaded the net thus far. It’d take more than two sneaky women to shove him into matrimony again.
Joel could’ve hit Redial and called Sylvie back. But if he told her he was considering the wedding, she’d probably feel obligated to have her date give him and Rianne a lift. Joel preferred to operate on the fringes. Set his own terms for navigating this affair.
Replacing the phone, he continued on into the kitchen. There he took Sylvie’s advice about emptying her sister’s dishes. That was a no-brainer. He scrubbed the crockery clean and thought about adding the country cousin to his comic strip. He could see her, all right, dragged to town by a family determined to marry her off. Poppy and Rose would sympathize mightily.
He galloped upstairs to his office. There he spent the better part of three hours drawing a dark-haired, dark-eyed, wholesome-looking character with a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. The freckles were a nice touch. The perfect contrast to his current characters’ sophistication. He wrote a character description, outlined some plot ideas and included sample dialogue.
Rocking back in his chair, Joel recalled being enchanted by Sylvie’s golden freckles today.
Giving his new character a last check, he scanned the drawings and emailed his proposal to Lester Egan at the paper. Joel knew his editor would get back to him tomorrow morning—well before the wedding.
Shutting off his computer, Joel realized he’d decided to attend the wedding, where he’d almost certainly gather information for his project. But—did he need a gift? What did a guy give a couple he’d never met?
Another issue suddenly struck him. He was in the process of taking off his jeans, when it occurred to him that Rianne would need a new dress. Especially since she’d made so many pointed comments about the pretty dresses Sylvie created. Earlier tonight he’d noticed what a hodgepodge of clothes Rianne had.
Climbing into bed, he turned off his light. He should probably have heeded Lynn’s barb about the way their daughter was dressed that day at the studio. He still resented Lynn’s public delivery of that remark. So, he was guilty of letting Rianne choose her own clothes at the store. If Lynn hadn’t run off to the hinterlands to make her mark on the news world, she would’ve understood how thrilling it was the first day Rianne came out of her room already dressed to go to the sitter. She’d been three, and he’d worked downtown at the paper. It seemed he’d spent hours every morning packing toys and outfits to cover all weather. Plus changes of clothing, in case of spills or potty-training debacles. It’d all fallen on his shoulders.
Yes, he’d encouraged Rianne’s independence. But wouldn’t that serve her well in her future?
Joel wished Lynn had noticed that he’d been a stickler for manners. Rianne was polite, and never rowdy in public. He also wished his ex had seen how desperately Rianne wanted to please her mom, that mythical figure who’d been little more than a photograph. Or an occasional card, letter or gift arriving from a foreign country. Maybe a phone call now and then, since Lynn was once again based in Atlanta.
He crossed his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling. He did want his daughter to fit in here in Briarwood.
The next morning over breakfast, Joel brought up the wedding idea to Rianne. “Last night after you fell asleep, Sylvie’s sisters came by and brought us casseroles.”
“Are her sisters pretty, like Sylvie?”
“What? Pretty? I didn’t notice. It was dark out. They never came inside. Why do you ask if they’re pretty?”
The girl poured syrup on a waffle Joel had just pulled from the toaster. “Sylvie does neat stuff with her hair. She looks different all the time, but she’s always pretty, doncha think, Daddy?”
“I guess. Getting back to my point,” he said, controlling the amount of syrup Rianne was dumping on the waffle, “her sisters said everyone in town will be at Sylvie’s friend’s wedding tonight. The upshot of all this—how would you like to go? They said lots of kids will be there, including one of their daughters. Won’t it be nice to make friends your age?” Joel didn’t expect to see hesitation lurking in Rianne’s blue eyes. “Is that a problem, honey? If you’d rather not, we can skip it.”
“I wanna go. But how am I s’posed to meet kids?”
“Well, I guess we’ll introduce ourselves.”
Her smile spread syrup from ear to ear. “I thought you meant you were gonna drop me off.”
“What? Didn’t I walk you to your classrooms in preschool and kindergarten?”
“Uh-huh. I didn’t know how weddings work. I’ve never been. You and Mommy had a wedding, ’cause you showed me pictures. Why wasn’t I there? I mean, I know kids are gonna be in Kay’s. Sylvie sewed their dresses.”
Joel rose and plucked another hot waffle out of the toaster. “You were born way after your mom and I got married, snooks. Sometimes, like after a death or divorce, children from the first marriage can play a role in the second wedding.” He sighed. “Marriage can be complicated, honey.”
“Are you gonna get married again? You said you and Mama got ’vorced.”
“Rianne, eat your waffle before it gets cold. I promise you, I have no plans to marry again.”
“Why?”
Unintentionally, Joel squeezed too much syrup on his own waffle. “Maybe I haven’t found a woman willing to answer all your whys,” he said, staring with dismay at his swimming waffle.
“Sylvie let me ask as many whys as I wanted the day we made cookies. And when she showed me how to cut out Barbie’s dress.”
Joel knew beyond a doubt he was not going down that winding path with Rianne. “Which reminds me of what I meant to say before this conversation got off track. We need to go out this morning and buy you a new dress.”
“Goody, goody!” Rianne paused to swallow a bite of syrup-soaked waffle. “I don’t guess there’s time for Sylvie to sew me a dress, is there?”
“Definitely not. And if you see her between now and the wedding, I forbid you to ask her. Is that clear? I happen to know her schedule is full right up to wedding time.”
“What’s she doing?”
“A lot. Delivering dresses. Oh, and the women in the wedding party are taking the bride-to-be to lunch. What else did she tell me? I know...this morning Sylvie’s helping decorate the church. Like I said, she’s booked up.”
“Okay. Maybe I should ask if she wants me to feed Oscar.”
“I’m sure Sylvie’s planned for that. But it’s good of you to offer. Hey, wanna help me buy a wedding gift? Now, there’s a chore I hate. Buying presents. Maybe that’s why guys get married,” he muttered. Then, afraid how that sounded, he laughed. “I mean...women like to shop a whole lot more than most men, Rianne.”
“I like to shop. Can we buy new shoes and socks to go with my dress?”
Joel sat for a moment contemplating future parties, school dances, proms and a myriad of other teenage activities. That would entail dresses, makeup and so on. He’d already had a taste of buying tap and ballet outfits. Odd how easily women handled purchasing soccer shoes, Little League uniforms and football helmets for their sons. Shopping genes had sure bypassed him.
“Why are you smiling?” Rianne asked.
“You know me, snooks, I just had an idea for something funny for one of my cartoon characters. Which reminds me, if people we meet ask what I do...like what’s my job, just say I work at home, okay?”
“Why?”
“How did I know that would be your next question? Because...the paper I work for is in Atlanta. People in Bria
rwood, North Carolina, won’t ever see Poppy and Rose.”
“Oh. Mommy saw them somewhere way far away, ’cause she said so.”
“She did. My strip is syndicated in some other papers. Big daily papers. Briarwood’s newspaper is a small weekly.”
She shrugged. “I’m going upstairs to check my Barbie case for a color dress I want us to buy for me.”
“While you’re up there, straighten your bed so that lazy cat will come down to get her breakfast.”
* * *
SYLVIE GOT UP early to prepare for her busy day, but found herself stuck on the phone with Dory, who was saying, “Why didn’t you invite your studly neighbor to Kay’s wedding? I’ll tell you why. Because he’s available, and you’re afraid to take a risk again, Sylvie, after you got burned by that jerk in New York who stole your work.”
“Dory, that’s private! And...who said Joel’s available? Not him. Did he?”
“Aha, I hear interest in that question.”
“How can you hear anything, Dor? You never listen. I can’t believe you and Carline made a midnight end run around me. You guys hoped I wouldn’t see you—that’s why you paid Joel a late-night visit.”
“It wasn’t that late. Honey, we love you. Joel Mercer is new blood. You’ve dismissed every other single male we’ve tried setting you up with.”
“At least you admit that’s why you took him casseroles,” she grumbled. “And haven’t you forgotten Buddy Deaver? Carline already fixed me up for the wedding. Who knows, maybe tonight I’ll discover ol’ Buddy and I are soul mates.”
“Pu...leese! That is so not going to happen. Carline must think you’re totally hopeless. I saw Buddy in town yesterday. He hasn’t changed. That’s why I felt your situation deserved drastic measures, hence the casserole run. Promise me that when Mercer shows up tonight, you’ll introduce him around. You are his nearest, dearest neighbor, after all.”
“I am not hopeless! And Joel’s not going to Kay’s wedding. Furthermore, I warned him what you two schemers are up to. If that’s your only point in phoning this morning, hang up and let me get ready to go decorate the church.”
The Hope Dress Page 10