Wedding of the Century

by Patricia McLinn

  She pivoted and walked into the dry cleaners ahead of the elderly man. He gave her a bemused look and followed her in.

  With her back to the door she looked around as if she’d misplaced her keys then shifted the clutch of hangers to her other hand and patted her pockets.

  Another shift, swinging the hangers over her shoulder, and another round of pocket patting, and she came up with the keys in the hand that had always held them, said aha, bestowed a big, relieved smile on the elderly man and clerk who had watched her pantomime and went out the door.

  Steve Corbett occupied a slice of real estate four feet away, leaning against the front grill of a parked pickup across the sidewalk from the Lakeside Dry Cleaners.

  She stopped dead, but only for half a second. Railing against the inevitable was not only a waste of energy, it was undignified.

  “Problem?” he asked. Creases at the corners of his eyes belied the solicitous tuck between his brows.

  “Not at all.” She started to sweep past, but he grabbed the hangers she held over her shoulder. With her fingers still tucked under the curved metal, she had to stop or risk tipping over backward.

  “Here, let me help you.”

  “I don’t need—”

  But he’d gained control not only of the hangers and clothes, but of her hand. He lifted her fingers from the metal, removed the hangers with one hand then curled her hand within his other one, still over her shoulder. He exerted slight pressure to make her turn to face him, as if guiding her through a dance.

  A dance that stirred too many memories. A dance that brought them too close, so that this moment and those from the past threatened to blur. That couldn’t happen. The chasm between then and now would not be crossed.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just trying to help.”

  She yanked her hand away—forget dignity. “You’re not helping, Steve. You’re not helping at all. And I think you know that.”

  “The clothes looked heavy—”

  She scooped her hair from her face with both hands. “Not just now. Ever since I came back. I don’t understand it. I would think you would be as eager as I am for us to stay far away from each other. To not stir the gossip or…anything else.”

  “Anything else like memories? There were good ones, a lot of good ones. C’mon, Annette. Let’s find someplace, get a cup of coffee and talk. You can tell me about your company. And I’ll tell you what’s happened in Tobias. All the things you would have seen if you hadn’t felt you had to stay away—”

  “I never wanted to come back. I told you yesterday, those plans were yours, not mine.”

  He gave her his half grin. “That’s crazy. We made those plans together, plans about coming back here and the good we could do. You can’t tell me you didn’t want to make this your home—”

  “I didn’t. I went along because coming back to Tobias was a given for you. I wanted to get out and stay out.” She swallowed. Her first words had wiped his face clean of expression, especially the half grin that made him look so like the boy she’d known. Maybe it would come back if she— No. “I don’t need to hear how the town’s improved. My only reason for being here is to help Max. As soon as Juney’s back, I will be leaving. I don’t look to the past, Steve. It’s over.”

  “It’s not over.” He said the words so sure and flat. So Corbett. “It’s not over and it’s not finished. There have got to be questions—”

  “No.” Her attempt at a smile felt like a grimace. “I already know who and what and when. I don’t care about where. And how and why—no, thank you. It’s gone. What happened seven years ago is water under the bridge—no, it’s more than that. The water wiped out that bridge. It’s gone. It was demolished when you chose to fool around with Lily.”

  If the water still eddied and rippled around the ruins in ways that stirred the remnants of long-ago desire, that was her problem to overcome.

  “If it’s been wiped out why are you so set on burning it down now?”

  “You burned it down seven years ago, with you on one side and me on the other. That’s how it’s going to stay.”

  “The foundation’s not gone, Annette. It wouldn’t be hard to rebuild. Not hard at all.”

  “Some foundations aren’t worth salvaging, and some never should have been built in the first place.”

  He stepped back. She’d hurt him. She saw that in the split second before he closed down.

  He handed her the clothes with a cool nod. “See you later, Annette.”

  We’ll talk about that later.

  Yes, she would see him later. In a town this size, as he’d said, it would be hard not to. But they wouldn’t talk. Not about what had happened. Or how or why. Not about any of it.

  Not now, not later.

  Max was watching basketball on television. What was it with men and their TVs? Even Max—sane, feet-on-the-ground Max—had one with a screen larger than his dishwasher. And much better cared for than his dishwasher, which only worked on pots and pans and apparently ate the lasagna dish she’d found in the refrigerator Monday. She’d intended to use that dish for baked chicken last night but hadn’t found it anywhere.

  After returning from the dry cleaners, she’d devoted herself to learning Juney’s system. A much better use of time than doing errands that could wait. After lunch with Max, she’d searched the Internet, printing out the most helpful articles to go over with him before leaving for Miss Trudi’s for tea.

  “Here’s material about using the Internet for business efficiency.”

  He turned his head as if to look at the stack of printouts, but his eyes never left the television screen. “Uh-huh. Okay. I’ll look at it.”

  “Max, you’re usually so busy working that you don’t have time to look at the big picture of what you want to do and how to do it. This could help you expand and get more business—around the state, the region or beyond.”

  “If I get much more business I’ll need two of me to keep up.”

  She sat on the couch, watching the camera follow a knot of players from one end of the court to the other, then back again.

  “What?” Max asked, still focused on the screen.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You sighed. If it’s about this Internet stuff, Annette, I’m sorry, but I’m not interested. I’m happy doing business the way I have been—face-to-face.”

  She heard herself sigh again. “I know.”

  “Then what’s wrong? Ever since you came back fr—” He faced her and used his big-brother voice. “Did somebody say something to you in town?”

  “It wasn’t anything like that, and I could take care of it myself if it were. It was just…Steve said…”

  “I heard you two were hanging around together. Lenny reported in from our work sites.”

  She’d spent too many years in Tobias to be surprised Max had heard things. What Max had heard, however… “Hanging around together? Hanging around? We were not! He kept showing up. Everywhere I went, every time I turned around. I had no say in it, and I most certainly wasn’t hanging around with him.”

  “You want me to tell him to get lost?”

  Tears welled up. She grabbed the TV listings from the coffee table and flipped through them. She’d teared up because of Max’s offer, not for any other reason. Steve had been lost to her for seven years. Her words to him outside the cleaners had simply set the record straight. “No. I told him. It’s all taken care of.”

  “I heard the new guy in permits gave you a hard time. I should’ve gone.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have. Besides, I already had Steve hovering around pulling that protective routine. Having you there would have been overkill.”

  Her tone was perfect—light, but with a faint tartness of sarcasm. To Suz—probably to any woman—it would have been a clear signal that there was more to the words than met the ear. Max swatted away the subtleties like a hammer going through gauze and went straight to the literal meaning.

&nb
sp; “Good. With Steve running interference, the guy wouldn’t be too much of a jerk.” And he returned his attention to the screen.

  Great. Max thought that as long as Steve was looking out for her all was right with the world? Hey, guys, what’s wrong with this picture?

  Besides, she could look out for herself.

  You’ve been doing a damned fine job of being like what you call Corbett in the past half hour…. Just because she’d learned to stick up for herself didn’t mean she’d become like a Corbett. Did it?

  “Max, have I changed?”

  “Changed?” He blinked from the TV to her, scanning her outfit of jeans, sweatshirt and slippers.

  “Not clothes. I mean, am I a lot different from before I left Tobias?”

  He frowned slightly but didn’t hesitate. “Sure. You’ve gotten an education. You’ve become a smart businesswoman. You know all about stuff like the Internet and the right wines and all that fancy stuff.”

  She waved that off. “I mean…have I gotten hard?”

  “Steve said that to you?” Sometimes her brother was startlingly perceptive. Never when she wanted him to be.

  “Not exactly. He said I was acting like a Corbett.”

  “You sure he thinks that’s an insult? You and Steve see the Corbetts from different angles. He’s looking from inside out, but he’s got plenty of people to tell him about the other way. You’re looking from outside in, and the only one you ever had to tell you what it was like inside was Steve.”

  “He didn’t talk about it.”

  “Did you ask?”

  She stood. “It’s all water—” Oh, no, she wasn’t getting tangled in that metaphor again. “It’s a long time ago. It doesn’t matter. I just wondered—”

  “No, you’re not hard.” He grinned slightly. “But you are loud when a guy’s watching basketball.”

  “In the middle of a weekday?” What she’d been watching finally registered. “These aren’t even games.”

  He cut her a look. “You’ve been away too long, Annette. It’s previews for the weekend conference tournaments. Getting ready for the NCAA tournament.”

  Clasping her hand to her throat in mock horror, she gasped. “And you let me interrupt—we need to get you back to the doctor to check for brain damage!”

  The TV listings he tossed at her and his chuckle followed her out.

  One of the smartest things Steve had done when he’d accepted this job was hire Bonnie Hedley as his assistant. She had just moved into the area and had never heard of the Corbetts. So when Bonnie buzzed him at 3:45 p.m., she said, “Are you available to talk to your mother? You have a meeting at four.” Any Tobias-raised secretary would have let Lana Corbett in and rescheduled the meeting.

  On the other hand, he’d been so clear Lana wasn’t going to influence him that a visit to his office was rare enough to make him curious. “Send her in, Bonnie. Thanks.”

  He hadn’t been getting work done anyhow. The confrontation with Annette this morning kept gnawing at him. At least that damned frozen glass had cracked.

  I went along because coming back to Tobias was a given for you. I wanted to get out and stay out. Surprise gave that one sharp teeth. Or was it guilt because he’d never known she’d felt that way?

  But why had he invited Annette to ask questions in front of the dry cleaners? What would he have said to her? The whole truth and nothing but the truth? Not likely, considering his lifetime of training and what was at stake. Even less likely considering she’d as good as told him to stay away. Which had been a hell of a time to own up to himself that he wasn’t half as interested in why she wanted to leave town fast as he was in being around her.

  As soon as his mother stepped into his compact office he knew she was upset. Oh, not that she displayed any of the usual signs people showed. Instead, she wore her lacquered look. One she assumed if her ironclad control on her emotions showed any inclination toward a rust spot.

  “Coffee, Mother?”

  “No. Thank you.” She clipped her words and sat without smoothing the back of her cashmere coat.

  Definitely upset, he decided, as he poured coffee from a thermos into the oversize mug that said Manage This—a present from his oh-so-respectful staff two Christmases ago.

  As he sat, he noticed the new precision of her haircut, which meant Chicago. “Just back from the city, Mother?”

  “Yes, I left yesterday morning, accompanied by Martha. I left the information with Mrs. Grier.”

  The second sentence was old news. She left contact information with her latest housekeeper because she refused to leave it with Bonnie, having maintained from the start that Bonnie didn’t give her due deference.

  But the first sentence was different. Martha Remtree, the young wife of the bank manager, was the latest to join his mother’s pool of protégés. Steve wasn’t surprised the younger woman accompanied Lana to Chicago. Despite being a widow for a decade and a half, Lana didn’t take such trips in the company of men. But her cool voice chilled an extra couple of degrees when she said the woman’s name, and that was news. What could Martha Remtree, a biddable woman if Steve had ever met one, have done to irk his mother?

  “I hope you and Martha had a pleasant time.”

  “I would have had an entirely pleasant time,” she said, ignoring his inquiry about the other woman as being of no importance, “if I had not been subjected to hearing news of my son’s life from a near stranger.”

  Ah. Martha had been the unwitting messenger, and his mother had her lined up for a firing squad. He or Nell had done something, said something or been somewhere Lana didn’t approve of. Although it had never before moved his mother to come to his office, it was a frequent enough occurrence that he had the timing perfected. He’d let her get this off her chest, then they could all go about their business. But don’t make it too easy….

  “A stranger? You and Martha have been thick as thieves since Christmas.”

  “That’s a vulgar expression, Steven. Moreover, it is not the point.”

  “And what is the point, Mother?” The clock said eight minutes until he would leave for the meeting down the hall. He sat back, sipping lukewarm coffee.

  “Why didn’t you tell me she was back in town?”

  He tensed without changing position. “Who, Mother?”

  “That…that girl.”

  You can’t be serious. You want to marry a nobody? A girl with no name?

  She has a name—a good name—Annette Trevetti.

  “What girl?” He looked at her over the coffee cup.

  “Annette Trevetti.” Her tone set his teeth on edge, but at least she’d said Annette’s name.

  “I didn’t know you would be interested.” She daggered him with a look. He didn’t flinch. “Max Trevetti hurt his wrist on a building site, and Juney’s on her honeymoon, so Annette came home to help him out.”

  She flicked her hand as if to say she didn’t know these people and didn’t care to. “You’ve been seen with her. You are not stupid, Steven. Why you insist on these self-destructive actions, selecting someone so unsuitable to marry, refusing law school, all that with Lily and this job. Over and over the same mist—” She drew in a breath. “You will not take up with her again. You can’t be that foolish.”

  He leaned forward, putting the cup down.

  “I never took up with Annette. I dated her, then I asked her to marry me. I seriously doubt that sequence will be followed again. But whether it is or not, whether I see her or not is my business. My business, and hers.”

  The lacquer hardened.

  Lana stood, pulling on her gloves. “You had every advantage. I did everything I could for you—more than you’ll ever know. I will never understand why you want to throw your life away.”

  “Whatever you did was for the Corbett name.” She shifted her shoulders in a faint shrug. “What I’m doing is living my own life.”

  He should have known she wouldn’t let him have the parting shot.

  “Yo
u are doing a poor job of it when it means sending Nell to Trudi’s hovel—”

  He didn’t know if a seventeen-room house, even one as run-down as Bliss House, qualified as a hovel, but that wasn’t the fight his mother was picking.

  “—and exposing her to your penchant for oddities. And now Miss Trudi has invited the Trevetti girl for tea at four o’clock this afternoon.” He did his best to show her nothing. “You forget. I have connections in this town.”

  “Nell will have a great time with Miss Trudi, as she always does.” Ah, that landed a blow, because Nell was not shy about saying she did not have a good time on the few occasions she’d been at her grandmother’s house without him—not enough adventure and too many rules for her taste. “If your gossip is right, and Miss Trudi has invited Annette, too, the three of them will get along fine. And now—” he stood “—if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting.”

  She went to the door, a trim, elegant figure with not a hair—or an emotion—out of place. “As long as you insist on exposing that child to low company, you—and she—will pay the consequences.”

  Even before the door closed, Steve’s thoughts were on Nell…and Annette. How fast could he wrap up the meeting and get to Bliss House to see what the hell Miss Trudi thought she was doing to those two—one who wouldn’t understand the ramifications of their meeting and one who would understand all too well?

  Chapter Five

  “Miss Trudi?” Annette called, hoping she could be heard over the operatic music inside. She’d knocked, but her gloved knuckles on the solid wood had drawn no response.

  Following instructions on a sign hanging crookedly from a nail in the front door—Bell Doesn’t Work. Come To Back Door and an arrow—Annette had followed a narrow, muddy path around the shambling Victorian through dried vegetation knocked flat by snow. The back door showed signs of occupation, with the porch swept clean, a gnarled mat in front of the door and a bulb lit in a simple sconce against the cloudy day.