A Wedding in Truhart

by Cynthia Tennent

  “One hundred dollars!” I put my hand on my chest in shock. I could feel my blood racing in my veins. This was the challenge I had been waiting for.

  “Sure. It’ll keep this last hole from getting too tedious, you know?”

  Kevin reluctantly agreed and Nick said nothing. He had become strangely quiet over the last few holes and I knew he was probably thinking all about me and trouble again. Well, I was tired of worrying about trouble. Travis Hartwick was a bully and an old snob, just like his wife.

  Besides, there was the whole state of Ohio to defend!

  I lined up at the tee and let it rip on the sweet spot, packing more power than even I thought was possible. A hushed silence fell over the group. I smiled absently and just said, “Wow.”

  Nick and Kevin hit well, but landed behind me on the fairway. Travis Hartwick shot low, failing to get the height he needed, landing short of the rest of our shots.

  My next shot was clean and straight and landed right on the green. If I stayed focused I was sure I could birdie. Travis Hartwick landed in a bunker on his third shot. I watched incredulously as he dropped his ball close to the middle of the fairway, a move any self-respecting golfer could never get away with.

  “That’s kind of taking liberties, Mr. Hartwick,” I said.

  He acted like he hadn’t heard me.

  I looked to the other gentlemen for some support. They said nothing.

  Fine. I could win this without their help. Travis Hartwick would probably shank the next ball.

  The only trouble was that by sheer luck he made a good chip to join us on the green. Before I knew it, he and I were the only ones left to win the round. Nick and Kevin had overshot the green and Travis and I hung back, letting them finish since they were out of the running with a double bogey each. Nick sank his putt and stood nearby with his hand in his pocket, watching Kevin’s final shot sink in the hole.

  When the ball dropped, I leaned against my putter and watched in trepidation as Travis Hartwick picked up his marker and turned to the men. “Too bad, gentlemen. You may need to practice more than you think. Let’s see how I do . . .” He took two sly steps closer to the hole and placed his ball on the green, farther from his marker and closer to the hole.

  I opened my mouth to say something. “You—”

  “—should make sure to clean that ball, Travis,” interrupted Nick.

  “But—” I started.

  “—of course it is up to you,” he said, butting in again.

  I was livid. I turned to Nick to say something, but he just shook his head fiercely at me. I couldn’t believe he was being such a wimp. I looked at Kevin and Richard near the cart, waiting for someone to say something. But they stayed silent.

  Travis turned toward the hole and went through the irritating routine of practice strokes that we were nauseatingly used to by now.

  Then he lined up and gently pulled his club backward . . . just as his phone went off in a shrill ring.

  The ball stopped four feet short of the hole.

  A flurry of four-letter words escaped his mouth as he stomped around the green, pulling the phone out of his pocket. “Well, shit! No one is even there! I don’t even recognize the goddamn number,” he said, staring at the phone. “That’s a mulligan!”

  He lined up again and repeated the previous routine, practicing his putting form over and over until I wanted to clobber him with his clubs. Finally he was ready. Just as he pulled back, the phone rang again and the ball went off the other end of the green into the water.

  I laughed.

  He threw his clubs down and let loose a string of obscenities. Picking up the phone, he turned it off and threw it in the cart, continuing to swear up a storm. By the time he took the shot again he was too frazzled. Even without the phone ringing it took him several attempts to sink it and he ended up shooting three over par.

  “Your turn, Annie,” said Kevin as Nick shifted nearby, his hands still in his pockets as if he hadn’t a care in the world. I stepped up to my ball and measured the shot with my eye. I was about thirty feet from the hole and no one expected me to make it in one shot. But putting was a particular specialty of mine. It reminded me of looking through the lens of a camera. I measured the distance and angle like a photographer. I often wondered if Jack Nicklaus or Greg Norman were good photographers, because it took a certain eye to understand a putt. Anyway, it would have been an interesting study. I smoothly rotated my shoulders backward and tapped my ball with the putter.

  It was a thing of beauty.

  All eyes watched as my putt rolled across the length of the green and made an incredibly satisfying plunk into the hole. Behind me Richard gave a whoop and Kevin clapped. Travis looked like he had swallowed a ball. Nick just sighed.

  “That was a lucky shot!” I said. “I didn’t know I had it in me.”

  I looked back at Nick’s impassive face and felt like sticking my tongue out.

  My victory was sweet. Kevin and Richard were elated and we exchanged high fives all around. If they were embarrassed by my newfound giftedness they said nothing. They both drove off to return the cart and promised to say good-bye later.

  Once recovered from his initial shock, Travis Hartwick finally pulled himself together enough to mutter his congratulations. I couldn’t help the satisfaction that rolled through me as he shoved his clubs in his bag so hard he might have bent them. He sulked the entire way to the clubhouse, insisting that golf had changed since cell phones were invented and he would never bring his phone to the golf course again.

  We stopped at the side of the clubhouse near the parking lot and Travis Hartwick looked around to make sure no one was watching. Then he pulled his wallet out of his pocket and fished out two fifty-dollar bills.

  “Maybe we can have a rematch sometime?” he said with a shade of bitterness in his tone.

  I smiled brightly. “Sure.”

  Then he walked into the clubhouse, leaving me alone with Nick behind me. I turned around and realized he was closer than I thought. Looking up, I waited for his reaction to my victory. Although I knew I was probably going to get my usual reprimand from him, I searched his face for a sliver of approval.

  Nick remained poker-faced, neither congratulating me nor scolding me. I should have been used to his nonresponses, but I was disappointed that he hadn’t stood up to Travis Hartwick.

  The sun was sinking lower in the sky and I knew I should touch base with Charlotte and make sure I wasn’t late for the bridal shower. As my hand grazed the bottom of the golf bag, fishing for my phone, Nick held his hand out.

  “You dropped your phone, Bump.”

  “Thanks,” I said, reaching for it. “I could swear I zipped the pocket.”

  He tilted his head, studying me. A breeze blew a wisp of hair over my face. He reached out and gently curled the stray strand behind my ear, leaving his hand near my chin. For a brief moment I thought he might say something. I leaned closer, hoping to encourage him as his eyes moved over me like a caress.

  I heard Kevin calling me from the path near the clubhouse.

  Nick let his hand drop and stepped back. “See you later, Bump,” he said as he turned around and picked up his clubs.

  I watched him walk away and felt a familiar pain in my chest. I had almost lost my head over a simple touch. How pitiful was that? He hadn’t even wished me a good trip back to Truhart. Instead, it was just a casual “see ya later.” As if I were the bagger at a grocery store. No. One of the ladies at our local Family Fare would have gotten a better good-bye than that. It was time to take my heart off my sleeve. Nicholas Conrad was an unfeeling, wimpy, cold-blooded man. Crushes were for teenagers.

  I took a deep breath and looked at his retreating figure. Good-bye, Nick.

  Chapter 6

  “Are you going to wear that?” asked Charlotte. She stood in the doorway of the bathroom in her apartment, watching me as I applied mascara to my eyelashes.

  I looked down at myself and wondered what the problem w
as. I wore a camel-colored silk shirt with a simple matching scarf, black cropped pants, and my favorite low-heeled sling-back shoes.

  “What’s wrong with this?”

  “Nothing, it’s just that you are all sort of... casual. That’s all.”

  I popped the mascara wand back in its dispenser and stepped out of the bathroom to get a better view of what she had on. Charlotte wore a sleeveless black lace dress with a shimmering gold sheath underneath. The dress hugged her body like a glove and I was momentarily struck by her splendor before it hit me that it was a little dressy for a shower, even if she was the bride.

  “Wow. You look great.”

  She hugged her arms around herself and nodded her thanks, shifting from foot to foot.

  “Uh, Charlotte, this is a wedding shower, right?”

  “Well, yes. But they kind of do it up in the Lowell family. It’s just that the club is pretty fancy. We are in a small room, not the big hall where the wedding is being held. But they tend to overdress here.”

  “I had no idea.” A cold feeling passed over me as I realized that I was missing something significant about my sister. Something just beyond my reach that I needed to understand.

  “Oh, Annie. Don’t say anything to Mom and Aunt Addie. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. You look absolutely wonderful. Really. I should have warned all of you. But it’s not a big deal at all, really.” She exhaled with a feeble laugh.

  “Something tells me it is a big deal. As a matter of fact, Charlotte, something tells me this whole thing is a big deal—more than just a wedding, actually. Is there something going on that I’m missing?”

  “Oh, don’t be silly.”

  Mom and Aunt Addie were watching the end of an old movie in the living room. I backed up into the bedroom and dragged Charlotte in with me. “At first I just thought you were a nervous bride, but now I know there is something else going on.”

  “What? There’s nothing—”

  “Sit.” I pointed to the bed.

  Charlotte blinked and put her hand to her throat, as if she were trying to say something.

  “Sit!” I said more firmly. The Adler alpha-woman in me was rising to the surface. Aunt Addie would have been proud.

  “Okay, okay . . . But really, there is nothing to—”

  “Yes, there is. Is there a problem between you and Henry?”

  “No,” she said emphatically, and I believed her.

  “Well, then there is something else going on.” I crouched down in front of her and a worry popped into my head. “Char, honey, are you pregnant?”

  A startled look passed over her face, and she smiled. “No, Annie. Oh my God, no!”

  I sank back on my heels with relief. A baby would have been wonderful under any circumstances, of course, but better to be wonderful after the wedding.

  “Well, at least we don’t have that little complication to deal with.”

  “Oh my God, I can’t imagine having to explain that one to June and Scarlett,” she said, rubbing her hand across her temple.

  “But we have other things to explain to them? Is that what you mean?”

  She scrunched up her face as if she was deciding what to say. It bothered me that she had to consider what to tell me and not to tell me. I always used to be her confidant. But now I just felt helpless and out of touch. I stayed quiet, gazing steadily into her face, willing her to talk like the old days.

  Finally she tilted her head and said, “It’s just that I think the Lowells, well, actually . . . I think June, Scarlett, and their friends, kind of think I am . . . well, they think that our family is . . .”

  “Yes?” I prompted.

  “They think we are . . . not really worthy.”

  “Worthy?” I tilted my head sideways, trying to understand. Worthy? It sounded archaic. Like a term that belonged in King Arthur’s court.

  “I know it sounds strange, but they think we are beneath them.”

  “Because we live in a small town?”

  “Yeah, and well . . . you know how Aunt Addie was at dinner the other night?”

  I was beginning to get the gist of what she was saying and it made my blood turn cold. “But a whole lot of people at that dinner were really nice to Aunt Addie. In fact, remember how we laughed about it? She was the hit of the party.” Of course, deep down I understood. I wasn’t oblivious to how our small-town ways must look to others. Was I embarrassing too? I clenched my fist. This wasn’t about me. I needed to remember that. Taking a deep breath and loosening my fists, I urged her on.

  “Don’t get me wrong. It’s not everyone who notices. It’s just June and Scarlett mostly. And maybe a few friends of the family. You see, Henry’s family always assumed he would marry into another family just like his. And when he chose me, at first they thought that’s what I was. With my college background and my manners, even if I wasn’t from around here, they thought our family was some sort of Northern version of the Lowells. Until the other night. Aunt Addie kept clutching her old suitcase and she wore that awful dress. And even Mama was a little dowdy looking and unsophisticated.”

  “And me . . .” It wasn’t a question. I let my voice trail off as I remembered how I had behaved on the golf course.

  “No, Annie, you were fine. It really was no big deal. I am probably imagining all their comments . . . And besides, at the dinner party they knew you were really tired from all that travel.”

  I wasn’t about to mention my own loud comment about Scarlett before the toast. I had almost made things worse than Aunt Addie ever could have.

  “So that’s why you’re trying so hard with this wedding. The dress, the reception here in Atlanta. And it worked just fine . . . until we came into the picture.”

  “Oh, Annie, that sounds so melodramatic. I just want to be careful it doesn’t look like I am marrying Henry for his money. And anyway, this is so stupid. I am too old to care about all this.”

  “And does Henry care?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “Henry thinks your funny stories are charming. He keeps asking all about growing up in Truhart. In fact, he wants to come for a visit as soon as possible.”

  Well, thank God for that. I didn’t think I could bear it if Charlotte was keeping Henry from the truth.

  “I don’t know why I am letting it get to me, Annie. It just seems like every time something about the wedding comes up, I look at things through their eyes. I don’t want them thinking I’m a gold digger.”

  “It really matters what they think?” I asked quietly.

  “It doesn’t. It shouldn’t.” She shook her head. “It’s so stupid, isn’t it? I appear on national TV in front of thousands every week and here I am, super nervous about this wedding.”

  She stopped and looked at my face, then placed her hand on mine.

  “See? This is why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you would be upset with me. I’m being way too sensitive. I’m just a bundle of stupid nerves.”

  For once I kept my mouth shut. A sense of disappointment washed over me. But if I was honest with myself, I understood all about being the odd man out. When I lived in New York I suffered my share of insecurities and embarrassments. It was bad enough that they insisted I had a Midwestern accent—which I still say I didn’t. But people in the art community were always making fun of my lack of sophistication. How would they understand what it was like to live in a small town, where garage sales were big events and everyone knew one another’s names?

  But I didn’t feel like sympathizing with her right now. Between my mental divorce with Nick this afternoon and Charlotte’s apparent desire to defect from her small-town roots, I wanted nothing more than my own lumpy bed in the back annex of our inn, and a box of tissues.

  “Forget I said anything, Annie. This is silly.”

  I shook my head and stood up.

  “This is nothing. Really. I am just imagining everything.”

  I opened the bedroom door and walked back to the bathroom, trying to swallow the lump in
my throat and erase the heaviness behind my eyes.

  Charlotte appeared at the door of the bathroom. She put her hand on my arm.

  “Please forgive me, Annie.”

  I forced a smile, but a quick glance in the mirror told me it looked more like a grimace.

  “I love all of you! And I would never, ever want any other family.” Charlotte put her arms around my shoulders and hugged me. When she was little and couldn’t swim well, Charlotte used to cling to me in the lake just like this. Sometimes I felt like she was dragging me underwater.

  After a pause, I returned her hug. “It’s okay, Char.”

  I wasn’t going to let her drown. We might be uncouth, but we were Adlers. We watched out for each other. It was my job to keep Charlotte happy and this wedding on track. I could handle bruised pride.

  I pulled away and gripped her upper arms reassuringly. “Let’s go to this fancy shower.”

  She chewed on her lip and I lightened the mood with a glance down at my shoes. “My big feet are already sore from squeezing into your golf shoes. But I think I could be persuaded to wear those cute designer shoes you were wearing at the dinner party if you think that would dress me up.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh my gosh! No way, Annie! You’ll stretch those out with your big feet. Your shoes work fine!”

  That was the same argument she always used when I wanted to borrow shoes. I laughed and ruffled her hair. Nice to know in all this wedding craziness some things hadn’t changed.

  Charlotte insisted that all four of us squeeze into her sporty red compact car for the drive to the Lakeland Hills Country Club. An early-season hurricane that was downgrading to a tropical storm was knocking out power from Jacksonville to Charleston. Georgia was supposed to be hit with the remnants later that night and I wasn’t relishing the drive in the muddy aftermath of the rain that threatened. Even now, the clouds were building as we drove down a long drive tucked into a low-lying area of Buckhead.

  Charlotte paused at a guard house and gave her name to a man who raised a gate for us. As we wound our way around a small river and the private drive that led to the clubhouse, I made Charlotte stop for a moment so I could grab my digital camera and take a few pictures. Aunt Addie and Mom climbed out and insisted that I take a picture of them with the impressive view in the background.