“Why, you little—” Helene lunged for me. I’d miscalculated.
A flash of white materialized at my elbow, and I barely comprehended the wooden cane that nimbly tapped Helene behind the knees, setting her off-balance. Helene grabbed at my elbow as she went down, and nicked the edge of the large silver tray laden with appetizers instead.
The beautiful plated pyramid of elaborate sushi returned to its marine beginnings and toppled into the pool with a satisfying splash. Edamame and a rainbow of sushi rolls bobbed upon the waves like a mini school of fish come to the surface. The contents from upended bowls of wasabi drifted around in the water like green algae.
And above it all was the frantic caterwauling of the woman I’d almost once called mother-in-law. She continued to carry on, splashing and screaming, channeling the melting witch in The Wizard of Oz.
“I can’t swim! Help me!” She bobbed under the water again and resurfaced, gasping and gulping in huge breaths of air. Her signature gray pageboy finally succumbed to the effects of the water despite a prodigious amount of hair spray. Wet clumps of hair hung limply on either side of her face.
“You’re in the shallow end. Just stand up.” Becca’s voice was spasmodic and high-pitched. I wondered if she was all right, then I realized she was trying to hold back gales of laughter. She finally gave up and began to hysterically giggle, tears rolling down her face, leaving inky trails of mascara.
Keith looked at his bride in disgust and shrugged off his navy sports coat. “I’ll fish you out, Mother.” He leaned over the edge of the pool and meekly offered his hand to Helene. She grasped it like a drowning woman and nearly pulled her son into the pool. He hoisted her up and out of the water, careful not to get himself too wet. Helene stood quaking with rage, a puddle of cold water forming below her now-ruined pale blue suede kitten heels. Rivulets streamed down the sleeves of her sodden wool bouclé Chanel jacket, and her plaid skirt clung to her frame.
“This is all your fault, Mallory Shepard.” She crooked her index finger in my direction, the large sapphire wobbling. I took a step back and bumped into Rachel. It was our cue to leave.
“Let’s get out of here.”
CHAPTER TWO
Helene’s retribution worked fast. By the next morning, she was firmly in charge of Keith and Becca’s wedding plans. As Helene gave her marching orders over the phone, a sickening wave of déjà vu crested and crashed over my shoulders like an icy bath. I recalled my own once-to-be wedding to Keith. I had been no shrinking violet, but over a period of months, Helene had managed to wear me down in a weary war of attrition waged with veiled barbs and less-veiled threats.
I’d wanted a small affair, an intimate reception for thirty people after a short ceremony at the courthouse in downtown Pittsburgh. I’d mentally picked out a sleek sheath of a wedding dress, and planned on dinner and dancing at a restaurant on Mount Washington overlooking the glittering chasm of city below. But after Helene’s interference, my plans had morphed into a bloated albatross of a pageant relocated to Port Quincy. The new plans had included a voluminous tulle ball gown and yards of pink, white, and peach frippery. A fine wedding, just not for me. Unbeknownst to myself at the time, I’d inadvertently taken on my first gig as a wedding planner. I’d planned a wedding for Helene, not myself and Keith.
And this go-around, Helene had gotten to Becca and Keith and made them fall in line in less than twenty-four hours. I rubbed my bleary eyes, thinking of the work I’d put in the night before, whipping up a new wedding plan to go off in two weeks, all according to Helene’s specifications. She’d decreed that we have a new tasting a mere day after the poolside debacle, and I’d had no choice but to acquiesce.
“I’ll have more ideas for you later today at the tasting,” Helene imperiously intoned through my cell phone. Her commanding voice ricocheted around the room via speakerphone, and her pronouncement jostled me from my trip down memory lane. “Did you write all that down?”
“Yes. But I have to say, Helene, you really need to consult with your son and his fiancée before you make each and every choice. While I’m sure they appreciate your input,” I tried to tamp down awry smile even though Helene couldn’t see me, “it is ultimately their big day.”
“You listen to me, missy. I just saved their wedding from becoming an absolute abomination! They’ll be thanking me when it’s all said and done.” And with that, the phone went silent.
“Yup, you’re definitely crazy for taking this on.” My sister materialized at my elbow and crisply swiped the cell phone from my hand. She flung it onto the couch, where it bounced under a cushion.
I threw up my hands and sat down with a huff. “It’s too late to get out of it. Keith and Becca signed their contract and paid triple our going rate to move their wedding up so fast.”
“At least it’ll be over in two weeks,” Rachel soothed, smoothing down the front of her magenta jumpsuit. She’d paired her daring getup with gold, strappy stilettos, shoulder-skimming gold hoops, and a jaunty genie ponytail atop her head. Her sun-kissed caramel tresses bobbed as she shook her head at the memory of Helene’s conversation.
I loved my sister’s outrageous style, though I’d never attempt to carry off a similar look. I’d dressed for today’s tasting in a lavender dress with subtle, small polka dots, a white cardigan, and low-heeled wedges, the better to navigate the porch when I later set down samples of food and drink. My unruly sandy hair was scraped into a bun, and I’d gamely tried to cover the dark circles under my eyes with a touch of makeup.
“If we survive that long,” I countered. My tiny calico cat, Whiskey, seemed to sense my consternation, and materialized on my lap for a cuddle. “But I think this is the worst of it. We’ll take orders from Helene for the next week or so, and never have to work with Keith and Becca again.” Whiskey purred in approval, as Rachel gave me a skeptical look. She raised one artfully arched brow and blinked with her heavily mascaraed eyes.
“We’re booked most weekends of the month with weddings, each and every Saturday. And now some Fridays, too. We don’t have to take on the likes of Becca and Keith next time; we can be choosier.”
“True, but technically we’re only moving their wedding up. This just comes at a busy time, what with Whitney’s baby shower and the Mother’s Day tea.” I ticked off the multiple events we would be hosting on my fingers and stood to pace around our third-floor apartment living room, carefully placing the purring Whiskey back on the couch.
I loved the living space I shared with my sister. We resided in the top portion of the mansion I’d inherited from Keith’s grandmother and turned into a bed and breakfast. Our apartment was a pretty canvas designed by my decorator mother, a pleasing blend of cozy accoutrements and cheery, bright Emerald Coast décor. My mother Carole had furnished the space with a mixture of plump couches and funky rattan and cane chairs, with comforting fabrics and wall hues that were a study in turquoise, soft yellow, lime, coral, and cream. I loved returning to the soothing space after a day tending to my guests in the B and B portion of the house, Thistle Park, and managing weddings. It was a welcome cocoon of calm and light, and Helene had managed to break up the equanimity with her commanding call.
“C’mon, let’s head downstairs and finish setting up.” I headed toward the back stairs and down two flights to the B and B’s kitchen. We’d renovated the house last October, and the kitchen space was a seamless blend of late 1800s’ architecture and modern, sleek appliances carefully concealed behind period-appropriate wooden facades. I slid a tray of food for the tasting into the oven to warm and turned to face my sister.
“Speaking of non-wedding parties, we need to do more general event planning if we want to be bigger and better.” Rachel leaned down to touch up a rose on the miniature, three-tiered cake she’d baked and decorated for Becca and Keith into the wee hours of the morning. She looked up, her pretty green eyes gleaming. “We should host more retirement parties, baby showers, and anniversary soirees.”
“Who
a, whoa. We can expand, but we have to do it right.” I placed some crusty rolls in a floral napkin-lined basket and tried to bring my sister back to earth. “It takes careful planning to make each wedding go off well, and we need to make sure things are running smoothly before we put more on our plates.” It was a debate we’d been having for the last few weeks. My sister wanted to expand our business at a dizzying rate, and while I shared her enthusiasm, she had no interest in the books and figures end of things. I favored a more measured expansion, as we were humming along but barely in the black. It took a lot of funds to run a business anchored by a gorgeous but aging Gilded Age mansion, no matter how carefully it had been lovingly restored. I was all for bigger and better, but a few missteps along the way would be costly.
“We’ll just hire more staff.” Rachel stood from touching up the icing and flicked away my concerns with a movement of her hands, her long nails sparkly with glitter polish. “Easy-peasy.” But her slightly downturned mouth gave away her concerns.
“Not easy-peasy. Our last few hires haven’t worked out.” I wanted to temper Rachel’s pie-in-the sky ideas and reel her in. But I didn’t want to be the stick-in-the-mud, just a smart businesswoman. “Thank goodness we’ve found a reliable and talented cook.” I tried to stamp out the grin slowly spreading across my face as I pictured Miles, the man we’d hired to help us prepare for each wedding, a man who, like most single men in Port Quincy, was utterly besotted with my sister. He trailed around her like a little lost puppy dog every free moment, when he wasn’t whipping up delicious dishes.
“Yes, we’ve had a few duds, but I’m sure there are some diamonds in the rough, like Miles.” Rachel conceded the point behind a pout. “And I’m working to get credentials that will help us! Remember the Foster wedding?”
“How can I forget?” The couple’s officiant had come down with a stomach bug the day of the wedding. We’d held the ceremony with the bride’s unordained father officiating, and they’d had to wait to officially tie the knot until the courthouse opened on Monday. While it had been a lovely day, the bride was a bit miffed to be celebrating the event without having truly been married.
“Well, I’m taking an online course to become an official officiant under Pennsylvania law. The next time we have an absent minister, priest, or judge, I can save the day!” Rachel beamed and executed a little twirl. I had to grin at her enthusiasm.
“She’s right, you know.”
My sister and I swiveled around to take in my boyfriend, Garrett, as he entered the kitchen via the door from the porch. He carried two steaming carryout cups of coffee, and carefully proffered one each to my sister and me.
“Why, hello there.” I tilted up my face to receive a swift kiss under the watchful eyes of my sister. Garrett leaned back with a grin as I reveled in the familiar scent of him, a pleasing echo of spearmint and oranges.
“I’m right about what?” Rachel grinned and took a swig of her coffee. “Mmm, caramel and chocolate!”
“Both of you are correct.” Garrett offered my sister and me a smile in turn, deferential to the core. Though we’d been dating for nearly a year, I never tired of taking in his tall and steady frame, today ensconced in a navy three-piece suit. He ran a hand through his dark hair and pressed on. “You can expand in a smart way,” he said, giving a nod to my beaming sister, “but you don’t need to move too fast. And I’d personally be thrilled if you hired more help.” He traced the line of my chin, and I blinked up at him. “Then I could see more of your beautiful face.”
I wished we were alone, instead of in the audience of my sister, about to serve a second wedding tasting to my ex and his commanding mother. But my heart soared at Garrett’s words.
“I’ll think about it,” I promised, finally taking a sip of the lavender latte he’d brought over. “Maybe it is time to get some more help.”
“I’ve got to get going. I have a trial underway this week, and hopefully things will be wrapped up before Summer gets back.” Garrett leaned away from the counter and readied himself to leave. His fourteen-year-old daughter was visiting her mother, the director of a reality show in Los Angeles. It had been the longest Summer had been away from him, and I knew he was itching for her return.
“Summer will be here for the Mother’s Day tea, right?” I couldn’t wait to see her myself. A small smile played at the corners of my lips. I looked forward to her tales of being on set of her mother’s show and getting to meet various celebrities.
“It can’t come soon enough.” Garrett leaned down for another fleeting kiss, and then he was gone.
“He’s the perfect boyfriend.” Rachel sighed and sank into a kitchen chair. “You’ve managed to scoop up the most eligible bachelor in Port Quincy, Pennsylvania.” Her keen green eyes narrowed as she studied me. “And now you just need to seal the deal.”
I sputtered and spit out a spray of lavender latte, which thankfully didn’t land on my cardigan or dress. “I need to do what, now?”
Since when has Rachel morphed into our mother, hinting at marriage at every turn?
I’d been dodging not-so-subtle hints from my mother, Carole, that an engagement might be on the horizon. I was comfortable with things just as they were with Garrett, and too fresh from my broken engagement with Keith. It was as if my sister had a special kind of familial ESP and could read each thought in my panicked brain.
“Just because it didn’t work out with Keith doesn’t mean it’s not time to take the plunge again.” Rachel popped out of her chair to turn off the oven timer as it clanged out that the food was done. “I bet Garrett will pop the question soon. It’s been almost a year since you started dating. You’ll finally be married, and a stepmom to boot!” She grabbed my hands impulsively in hers, still clad in oven mitts, and attempted to twirl me around in a circle.
“What do you mean, finally married? I was almost finally married to Keith last year, and we saw how that went.” I broke from her mad spinning, still holding on to the now-empty oven mitts. I felt my eyes narrow and cocked my head. “Did Mom put you up to this?”
“Don’t be silly. I’m just saying it’s time. You’re thirty now, almost over the hill. You need to tie the knot before you get stale.”
This time I was prepared, and had refrained from draining my latte. “I’m not a loaf of bread, Rachel Marie Shepard. I can’t go stale.” I drew myself up to my full height of five feet two inches, no match for Rachel’s five-foot-nine stature, compounded by her gold stilettos. “And what are you getting at? Do you know something I don’t know?”
My heart began to beat a staccato rhythm as I imagined an impending engagement. One that Rachel may even be in on.
I’m not ready.
The thought skittered through my head unbidden, but I instantly knew it was true. I was comfortable. Comfortable in my burgeoning business, in my cozy yet grand B and B, and with my delicious boyfriend. But I wasn’t ready to take the next step.
Rachel gave me a maddeningly enigmatic Mona Lisa smile and refused to answer my query. Deep from within the bowels of the mansion, a bell clanged, announcing our guests for the tasting.
“Saved by the bell,” I muttered as we headed off to greet Becca, Keith, and their families.
* * *
The tasting was going better than I’d hoped, though the seating arrangements were puzzling. Becca and her family occupied one side of a round table anchored on the deep back porch overlooking the garden, with the bride flanked by her mother, Jacqueline, and twin, Samantha. Becca’s father, Rhett, rounded out the Cunninghams, while Keith sat in solidarity next to his mother, Helene. I’d thought the arrangement odd when the families chose seats, that the bride and groom weren’t sitting together. If I hadn’t watched so carefully, I would have missed Helene commandeering Keith to sit with her rather than beside his bride with a firm yank of his elbow.
“Divide and conquer,” I muttered under my breath.
“What was that, dear?” Jacqueline set down her fork and craned her head in
my direction.
“I was going to explain how the reception will be set up,” I recovered. I motioned to the wide expanse of grass, and the angel statues and fountain located at the entrance to the intricate flower garden. “We’ll no longer be having bamboo and net tents,” I began, taking in Becca’s wince, “but I’ve arranged for traditional white tents and cane chairs circling round tables. Dinner will consist of wedge salad, wedding soup, prime rib, and chicken piccata with roasted potatoes.”
The new menu was fashioned after the very same fare served by the Port Quincy Country Club, a staid and fusty institution that had provided the duplicate menu for my own jettisoned wedding to Keith. I’d recreated their boring classics to Helene’s exacting and rather bland tastes.
Everyone ate the sample-size portions of the meal with appreciative murmurs. Everyone but Becca, who couldn’t seem to muster up the will to try a single dish.
“Excuse me.” Becca stood so fast from her chair that it caromed backward and hit the wooden porch with a thunk. “I need to powder my nose.” I caught a glimpse of a tear blossoming in the corner of her eye and moved to follow her.
This is going exactly the way it did when I was going to marry Keith.
“I’ll go,” Samantha murmured as she stood to follow her sister.
An overwhelming shower of empathy doused my nerves as I watched the sisters retreat to the kitchen.
“This isn’t right,” I hissed to Rachel as we rounded the corner of the porch. “Becca is no friend of mine, but I can’t let Helene walk all over her.”
Rachel threw up her lacquered nails in defeat. “But what can we do?” She tilted her head toward the back door, where a more-composed Becca and her sister were returning to the tasting.
Gown with the Wind Page 2