by Jean Stone
Not that it mattered to Mary Beth, who turned back to her daughter and smiled once again. Yes, she thought. What mattered now was how incredibly gorgeous this bride, her daughter, was, how the skies were shining down upon them, and how she’d managed to get Dorothy there, and how beautiful her mother looked in her sundress and jacket, with the cluster of bluebells pinned to her shoulder, grandmother of the bride.
“I hope Daddy’s not too disappointed,” Shauna replied. Mack had offered to stand in for Eric, and Shauna had gratefully accepted.
“Are you sure?” Mary Beth asked her.
“I love Daddy,” Shauna had replied, “but Mom, I’m really angry at him right now. He never even said if he’d be here. The only reason I’d want him to walk me down the aisle is if you’d want me to make it look better for your friends.”
Mary Beth’s eyebrows shot up. “For my friends? No, honey, please, don’t do anything for them. Those days are over. Let’s be who we are.”
“Then I want Uncle Mack,” Shauna said, and that was the end of that. “And maybe someday Daddy will understand why.”
“Don’t count on that,” Mary Beth said, kissing her daughter’s cheek. “But you can still love him, you know.”
Sparkling, opalescent bubbles shimmered in the air. The guests had come by planes and boats and private yachts—they dressed in white, some with white hats and some with gloves. They filtered down the winding driveway, past the scrub oaks and the pines to the lawn that stretched past the lighthouse and the dunes and moved down to the sea. Music from the three harps drifted with the waves.
Nikki left the lighthouse and walked toward the flower-covered trellis where Shauna and Jason would take their vows. Stepping into the driveway, she heard a familiar sound: It was a Harley-Davidson coming down the driveway.
It was Sam, dressed in a navy blue suit. And in front of him sat Molly, pink-cheeked and smiling, in a frilly, peppermint-stick-colored dress. She climbed off and ran to Nikki for a hug.
“You made it!” Nikki cried. “I am so glad!”
“I’m going to be the flower girl!” Molly cried in return. “Mary Beth said if I was well enough to be here, I could be the flower girl!”
“Your friends will be so excited for you. Look, they’re over there.” She pointed to the section of the guest seating that Mary Beth had reserved for the very special guests—the children from Camp4Kids, who were laughing and holding crystal bottles and blowing bubbles with their sterling wands.
Molly scampered off, her pink patent-leather shoes leaving little puffs of dust.
Sam laughed. “She’s so excited to be here.”
“Mary Beth will be thrilled. Molly’s okay?”
“She’s doing great today. All we need each morning is to ask that she’ll stay healthy for today.”
Nikki smiled. “And you look better than you did.”
He strapped his helmet to the chrome bar on his bike. “I shouldn’t,” he said. “I haven’t come bearing good news.”
Nikki wanted to ask if it could wait until later, but Sam spoke too quickly.
“I found him,” he said, “with help from Sotheby’s and Carla.”
“You found him?”
“When I was in Punta Cana, I learned he’d only used his ticket one way. From there he went to Zurich, but I had no idea why or where. Then Carla left a message about Lester’s paintings—I thought he might have tried to sell them to raise cash. I called Mary Beth’s contact at Sotheby’s and, can you imagine? Lester was stupid enough to leave his phone number in Zurich. It’s like the murderers who carefully plan the deed, but forget to think through where to hide the body. Happens all the time.”
Nikki could have made a number of comments, but she did not. “And now?” she asked.
“And now Lester is dead.”
She felt no great compassion, and she was not surprised. “And our money is gone.”
Sam nodded. “It’s been gone for a while.”
She looked off toward the wedding guests, out toward the sea. “So I’ll have to depend on the Atkinson name after all,” she said. She did not add that now she was also going to depend on her daughter and Mary Beth, too—what a challenge that would be! But together they could build an organization of which Rose would have been proud. Rose, she thought. Poor Rose.
“Nikki?” Sam asked. “May I ask you something about the family that’s, well, sort of personal?”
Nikki laughed. “Sure, Sam. But you already know most everything about us.”
“It’s about Mary Beth. Do you think she could ever be interested in a blue-collar cop?” He smiled and Nikki smiled, and she looked at him and straightened his tie.
“I say give her a little time, then go for it, Sam. She could do much worse, and I’ll bet she knows that.”
Then they walked toward the white folding chairs, where Dorothy sat, a leather-bound photo album open on her lap.
“Guess what?” Dorothy whispered with animation to her niece. “Isn’t it wonderful? Rose is here. I saw her go into the caretaker’s cottage.”
They sat in the shade, listening to the music, as the ceremony started.
Mary Beth walked down the white carpet aisle, with her proper, private-schooled posture, beaming this way and that to her coveted guests. No one held her arm; no one had to, for Mary Beth had enough strength to endure on her own.
Then came Molly. Radiant, glowing Molly, tossing pink and white rose petals along the bridal path. My next portrait, Nikki thought with a warm shiver of awe. It will be the best I’ve ever done. Her muses had returned; she could now get back to work.
And then came Dee. So elegant, so grown-up. Nikki watched her daughter and could not suppress a grin. Dee caught her eye and actually winked.
Nikki’s gaze then moved to Connor, who stood in the row behind her, the lovely woman named Louise at his side. They’d said hello earlier, and this time it was okay.
Then, beyond Dee and Connor and the other guests, another couple walked toward where Nikki sat: Gabrielle and Stefano. Between them walked a beautiful, dark-haired, blue-eyed girl.
Gabrielle slipped into the row. “Sorry we’re late,” she whispered to Nikki. “It’s Saturday. Do you know how hard it is to catch a ferry in the summer?”
Yes, Nikki knew.
“And I had to stop and talk to my father. I understand he’ll be the next to marry.”
Nikki flinched, but Gabrielle broke into a grin and squeezed her hand. Nikki was overcome with joy.
The music changed. Nikki wiped a small tear and turned to the aisle. Then Gabrielle leaned over and whispered, “Carla would have joined us, but she said she’s never coming back.”
“So Carla’s never coming back. Well, neither are our trust funds,” Nikki quietly replied.
Gabrielle nodded. “I know. There are other things you’ll want to know, but we’ll talk about them later.”
And then came Shauna down the aisle, a young woman of beauty and of grace, every bit an Atkinson. Nikki sat up straight and gazed with pride at Shauna’s escort, Mack, the “uncle” of the bride. His eyes quick-flashed on Gabrielle, then landed with a smile and sparks of love on Nikki, a love she now knew would endure forever, like the legend of the Atkinsons and the secrets they survived.
To Sisyphus—
for his courage
and his wisdom
and his wit
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks to my editor Wendy McCurdy and to my agent Merrilee Heifetz, who came up with this title over lunch and challenged me to come up with the rest.
Thanks also to my supporting cast:
Jim
Aunt Lois
Kathy and Ted
Cindy and Bob
Jane and Mike
Steven and Pierre
Linda-the-agent
Without all of you, these girls would never have made it.
Other books by Jean Stone
OFF SEASON
THE SUMMER HOUSE
BIRTH
DAY GIRLS
PLACES BY THE SEA
TIDES OF THE HEART
SINS OF INNOCENCE
FIRST LOVES
IVY SECRETS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Though her ancestors arrived on Cape Cod from England in 1632, Jean Stone has never, ever, had a trust fund or even some old money. She does, however, feel a special connection with the Cape and Islands. TRUST FUND BABIES is her ninth novel from Bantam, and her fifth to take place on Martha’s Vineyard. A graduate of Skidmore College, Saratoga Springs, New York, she resides in western Massachusetts where she is working on her next novel.