by Cheryl Holt
The fact that she’d harbor such a ridiculous yearning underscored the possibility that she might have deep-seated mental issues about losing a parent when she’d been so young.
Sharon Kildare was nice enough, but according to Eric, she was selfish, self-centered, and never satisfied with any situation.
As to Crystal Benjamin, Jennifer was totally afraid of her. Whenever they were together, she caught herself nodding and agreeing to whatever the gorgeous, over-bearing virago decreed. In every conversation, she wound up tongue-tied and unable to voice even the most paltry remark.
“Is there anyone else who should hear that we’re canceling?” Victoria asked.
“No.”
“Would you like to dine with your family instead? Your brother, dad, and sisters are here, so you could have a private meal with them. Would you like that?”
“No. I’ll have plenty of family time over the next few days”—she sounded much too snide—“so I’ll attend the cocktail hour in the bar. I have lots of friends who’ve arrived, and I should hang with them. That’s probably a better choice.”
They were standing on the rear patio where the waiters had been setting the table for the parents’ supper. Jennifer was embarrassed, and her decision felt like a personal failure. Eric had encouraged her to hold it without him, but she didn’t possess the social skills to mediate an encounter between Sharon Kildare and Crystal Benjamin.
Their animosity was legendary, and it was a Benjamin problem. Eric should be the one to deal with it, and though she’d never confess it aloud, she was terribly aggravated that he’d expected her to handle it.
“Don’t fret over this, Jennifer,” Victoria said. “There are many little fires that ignite when a wedding approaches. I’m adept at tamping them out. You shouldn’t assume this means anything.”
“I don’t think that.”
But it was a bald-faced lie. She thought it was another bad omen. All day, it had seemed as if catastrophe was hovering around the corner and she wasn’t running fast enough to escape it.
She left Victoria on the patio, too irked to observe the waiters as they yanked away the dishes and silverware and stacked them on a cart. She headed inside the building and wandered through the Great Room, but still, no one was lurking. It increased her gloomy perception that no wedding was in progress, but that was silly.
The bar hosted a cocktail party every evening so guests could mingle and chat, and it would start in an hour. The Inn was hardly empty. Numerous people had rolled in: old friends, new friends, a couple of cousins, an uncle.
She trudged up to her room, and once there, she was soothed by the sight that greeted her. Her dad was watching a baseball game, and since she rarely saw him, there was comfort in that. Amy was sitting at a table by the window, and Jennifer never saw her either, so she reminded herself to be grateful.
“Well . . . ?” Amy asked.
“I cancelled it.”
“I’m actually glad about it,” Amy said. “I wouldn’t have wanted to have Ms. Kildare and Mrs. Benjamin sparring in front of you. You could never arbitrate a quarrel like that, but then, who could?”
Jennifer snorted with disgust as her dad asked, “Any word from Eric?”
“He called again when I was downstairs, and he’s booked a flight for tomorrow.”
Her father looked as if he might comment, but he didn’t. “If the supper’s cancelled, what are we doing instead? I’m starving.”
“You could come down to the bar,” Jennifer said. “I’m told they serve great snacks with the drinks.”
“I’d rather stay up here.”
Jennifer bristled with frustration. “Will you be a hermit for the whole wedding?”
“Who knows?”
They never bickered. She and her siblings were too protective of him, but she was on edge and might have offered a snarky reply, but Amy was with them, and she was a calming influence who never allowed tempers to flare.
“I stumbled on Eric’s best man,” Amy said. “Josh Taylor?”
“What did you think of him?” Jennifer asked.
“He’s . . . something.”
“That he is,” Jennifer agreed, and she sighed.
She’d met Josh twice. He and Eric were both tall, blond, and buff, and in their presence, she always felt completely irrelevant.
“He’s a superstar,” her dad put in. “If you could promise me an introduction, I might drag myself down to the bar.”
“I won’t have you fawning over him.”
“I won’t fawn. I swear!”
Jennifer scoffed, and Amy motioned for her to come over to where she was seated. As Jennifer neared, she saw that Amy had a garment draped over her lap. She’d dug up a needle and thread from somewhere, and she was mending it.
“Guess what I found,” Amy said.
“Rachel’s bridesmaid dress!”
“It was in her suitcase. She didn’t forget it after all.”
Jennifer plopped down on a chair. “That’s one issue off my list.”
Amy chuckled. “You needn’t be so unhappy. We’re at this lovely Inn, and we’re together—when we never are. My finding this dress has to be viewed as a minor success.”
“To you maybe,” Jennifer groused.
“To you too. Rachel likes to torment you, but you shouldn’t let her.”
“Why are you sewing it?” Jennifer asked. “Is it torn?”
“No, but after you sent it to her, she never had it tailored.”
Jennifer winced. “I warned her to be sure it was right.”
“Which was beyond her; you’re aware of that. It’s a little long, so I’m stitching the hem.”
“You don’t have to fix it. If she wants to look stupid, she can.”
“You might not care,” Amy said, “but I don’t want her to look stupid, and every detail should be perfect for you. So . . . I’m stitching the hem.”
“You’re too nice, Amy.”
“It’s why I traveled to Colorado,” her sister said, “so you’d have one really nice person in attendance.”
Sharon took a deep breath, pasted a smile on her face, and headed for the back patio where a private supper was being held for family members. For her, it was the first official nuptial event, and she was determined to get through it without displaying a hint of aggravation or nerves.
She’d dressed casually, but glamorously, wearing expensive slacks and a matching jacket, her only jewelry understated pearls and a gold bracelet. Crystal would show up, attired like a rock-star, so Sharon had been anxious to appear chic, elegant, and the exact opposite of the young, dazzling woman who’d replaced her.
She’d brought gifts for everyone, and she was carrying a small bag with them stuffed inside. She supposed it was silly to have done it, and it was probably an old-fashioned gesture, but she was an artist, and she’d painted refrigerator magnets that had Eric and Jennifer’s names swirled in a heart. She thought they were pretty, and they would be at odds with the glitzy gifts the couple would receive from others.
She was the groom’s mother, even though Eric rarely acted like she was, and with the magnets, she’d gone to a bit of extra trouble. She didn’t know if anyone else would realize it, but she would always know she had.
The meal was to be a quiet gathering for the parents, so they could proceed toward the Saturday ceremony in a more cordial way. She’d never met Jennifer’s widowed dad. Nor had Dennis and Crystal. They were about to be introduced, and she was hoping she’d like Greg Layton.
If she didn’t, if he seemed provincial or oafish, it would drive another nail in the coffin of Sharon’s feeling that the wedding was a very bad idea. Her attitude was pretentious and awful, but she couldn’t set it aside.
She hadn’t heard if Dennis had arrived or not, and if he hadn’t, she wouldn’t be surprised. He was su
ch a domineering snob; it would be typical of him to not stroll in until the ceremony was about to begin. He pictured himself as too famous to socialize with mere mortals, and he wouldn’t strut in before his presence was absolutely necessary.
She couldn’t guess if Eric had arrived either. She had scant contact with her older son. The first few years after the divorce, she’d tried to remain a fixture in his life, to be a good mother—even though he hadn’t wanted one—but she’d grown weary of begging for scraps of his affection.
If he was at the Inn, he certainly hadn’t knocked on her door to say hello, and she hadn’t inquired about him. It was too humiliating to admit that he hadn’t bothered to keep her apprised about any facet of the wedding. In that, he’d become an exact replica of his arrogant, dismissive father.
She was terribly worried that the meal would consist of herself, Crystal, and Greg Layton, and she was praying there would be others at the table who would smooth over any rough edges in the conversation. As for her, she’d ordered herself to be chatty and interesting.
She turned down the hall that would lead her out to the patio, and as she did, Crystal was walking toward her. She was surrounded by her entourage, with several photographers snapping pictures like mad. She was in a jogging suit, her hair stylishly mussed, a sheen on her skin as if she’d been running.
The supper was starting in five minutes, so it didn’t look as if she was coming, and Sharon’s initial reaction was relief. Any chance to avoid Crystal had to be regarded as a success story.
The crowd surged at Sharon, none of them noticing her or perhaps she was such a non-entity that they didn’t see her. She wedged herself against the wall, recognizing that they might simply mow her down if she didn’t scoot away.
They flooded by, cameras clicking, and as Crystal neared, she glanced over, frowned, and asked, “Aren’t you Sharon?”
Sharon hadn’t expected Crystal to speak to her, and she was taken aback. “Well, ah, yes, I’m Sharon. Hello, Crystal.”
Crystal’s gaze roamed over Sharon’s outfit, her expression clearly indicating that she viewed Sharon as an aging frump who’d picked inappropriate clothes for the meal. Had she chosen the wrong ensemble? Was it to be more formal than she’d understood? Miss DeAngelo, the event coordinator, had claimed it was to be casual.
Crystal’s dislike matched Sharon’s own, and Sharon was instantly put on the defensive, which was incredibly annoying. Crystal’s opinion on any subject shouldn’t have mattered. Would Sharon ever be able to accept that fact?
“Were you on your way to the parents’ supper?” Crystal asked.
“Yes.” Sharon forced a smile. “Will you be there? I hope you’re joining us.”
“Didn’t you hear? It was cancelled.”
Sharon felt as if she’d been punched. Hard.
“No one told me,” she said before she could bite down the comment.
Crystal smirked with what had to be satisfaction. “Dennis and Eric aren’t here yet, so Jennifer decided it was pointless to hold it. She called everyone.”
“Oh.”
“She might arrange it another night. You really ought to check your messages once in awhile.”
With that, Crystal swept on by, her train of sycophants hustling after her. Sharon leaned on the wall, wondering if her legs might give out. She remembered a blinking light on her hotel phone, signaling there had been a message, but she’d been too distracted to listen to it. She’d been preoccupied over what to wear, over the kind of impression she was dying to make.
Had it been from Jennifer? It must have been. She was a very nice girl, and she wouldn’t have deliberately snubbed Sharon.
She staggered down the hall and stepped out onto the patio. It was empty, the tables bare. A single lantern hung on a post along the rail. She lurched over to a chair and eased down.
She’d like to return to her room, but she couldn’t head there until she was sure her distress was concealed. There was a bar behind the Great Room, and a lively cocktail party was in progress. It was Jennifer’s LA and college friends, Eric’s high school and modelling buds. All of them were laughing, drinking, and enjoying themselves.
Only Sharon was alone, without a companion to commiserate over her tale of woe. Why had she come to Colorado?
From the day Dennis had announced he was leaving her to marry Crystal, Eric had made it plain that he was gleeful about the reconfigured family his father was creating with Crystal and Lindsey. He’d once actually said to her, Get over yourself, Mother. Divorce happens.
Their relationship had gone downhill from there, and he didn’t care that they were no longer close.
Her Malibu acquaintances had convinced her to attend the wedding. When she’d received the call about it, it had been from Dennis’s secretary. Not Eric. Not Eric and Jennifer. Not Dennis. She’d been that much of an afterthought.
She set her bag of gifts on the table, scoffing with disgust at how lovingly she’d painted the magnets. It had brought her a sweet amount of pleasure to imagine herself handing them out.
She was so stupid, and she wished she could hop on a plane and fly home, but that would be pathetic behavior, and she would never let Crystal or Dennis assume she couldn’t cope with the tension of the event.
The door opened behind her, and she didn’t bother to peek around to discover who it might be. It didn’t matter who it was, and she simply wanted the person to slink away so she could brood in private. It would be too humiliating to have anyone inquire as to why she was sitting on the deserted patio.
A man stepped in front of her. He was near her own age of fifty-five or maybe a few years younger. In the dim light, it was difficult to be certain, but he seemed handsome and fit, with wide shoulders, so he appeared strong and sturdy.
He was casually dressed, in jeans, sneakers, and T-shirt, with a Dodgers baseball jacket over the top. There was no sign of the belly paunch that grew on every older man, and he had all his hair. It was thick and wavy, and she wondered if he realized how fortunate he was to look so good.
“Ms. Kildare? Sharon?” he said.
“Yes, I’m Ms. Kildare.”
“I’m Greg. Greg Layton? I’m Jennifer’s father.”
“Oh.” She sounded incredibly glum, so she straightened and tried again. “Oh! Hello! It’s great to finally meet you.”
She gestured to the chair next to her, and he slid onto it.
“If you’re here for the parents’ supper,” she said, “it was cancelled.”
“I know. Jennifer told me she hadn’t spoken to you directly, and I decided I should stop by to make sure you weren’t wandering around and afraid everybody was hiding from you.”
“I didn’t get her message.”
“I’m so sorry to hear it.” He tsked with irritation. “Kids these days!”
His tone was teasing, but not teasing too, as if he was as exasperated by his offspring as she was.
“It’s no problem,” she said. “I’m positive I’ll survive.”
“What’s in the bag?”
“It’s nothing.”
“No, show me.” She didn’t move, so he grabbed it himself and peered inside. “Presents! You’re much more thoughtful than I am.”
“Or much more ridiculous.”
“Is one of them for me?”
“If you’d like one.” She plucked one out and gave it to him. “They’re all the same.”
He pulled off the wrapping paper, grinning when he saw the magnet. He tipped it toward the lantern. “It’s nice. I like it. Thank you.”
“I assumed they’d be a memento guests could take home without having to find space in their suitcases.”
“It’s perfect.” He stuffed it into his pocket. “You painted them?”
“Yes. I used to fancy myself as an artist.”
“You used to? When did you p
aint them? Twenty years ago?”
“No. I just meant I used to think I could earn a living at it. Now I simply dabble.”
“There’s nothing wrong with dabbling. You’re lucky you have the time.”
It was a sore subject for her. Before she’d ever met Dennis, she’d viewed herself as being amazingly talented. She’d believed she could have had a career as an artist, but she’d married too young and had gotten pregnant with Eric right away. Dennis’s career had been exploding in a big way, and she’d quickly found her life revolving around his.
She’d abandoned her dreams to help him prosper, which was an ancient story for women, and not that surprising, but it was one more grievance in a long line of them that constantly rankled.
“Are you having any fun yet?” he asked her.
“Not yet, and with me not being informed that this supper was cancelled, I’m trying to keep myself from being seriously annoyed.”
“Jennifer mentioned that the whole event might be hard for you.”
She thought maybe Jennifer should mind her own business. “I’m determined not to let it be.”
“Could I ask you a question?”
“You can ask. We’ll see if I answer.”
“What’s your opinion of Eric and Jennifer as a couple? Do you imagine they’ll be happy?”
She stared at him forever, curious if his eyes were brown or hazel, but she couldn’t tell. His hair was dark, but with salt-and-pepper shading in the strands. He exuded kindness, compassion, and sympathy. She suspected he was a bit wise too.
“I don’t know how to respond,” she said. “I would hate to jinx them.”
He snorted at that. “Their backgrounds and upbringings are so dissimilar. They seem so different to me.”
“To me too,” she agreed.
“I’m too old-fashioned, I guess. I’d never admit it to Jennifer, but I don’t think such disparate people have much of a chance at success.”
“I heartily concur.”
She hoped he wouldn’t press the issue. Jennifer was a sweet and very modern girl who was pursuing the sort of life Sharon had envisioned for herself when she’d been a struggling artist. But . . .