Mother of the Bride (50 page)

Goddamn happy tears. Gus shook his head and took his dishes to the sink, pushed through the swinging door and saw the great room doors ajar. When he stepped into the room, he saw Louella fiddling with something on the piano and strolled toward her up the aisle, his hands in his pockets. “Hey, Louella. Need a hand?”

“I'mfinished, thanks. Come see.”

Gus climbed the dais steps and looked at Aunt Phoebe's grand piano. Four framed photographs sat next to the music stand. His parents' and Artie and Beth's wedding pictures, Aldo's high school graduation photo and a smiling snapshot of Aunt Phoebe.

“I thought,” Louella said, “you might like to have your family at your wedding.”

Gus felt his throat swell and tears well in his eyes. Goddamn happy tears, he thought, and smiled. At last, he got it. He climbed up on the piano bench on his knees, cupped Louella's face and kissed her on the lips.

“I couldn't have better friends, Louella, than you and Elvin.”

“Oh, go on.” She blushed and gave him a playful slap on the chest.

“Hey, bridegroom!” Fletch called from the pocket doors. “Get a move on. It's almost two o'clock!”

“Gotta go.” Gus pecked Louella on the cheek, wheeled off the bench and trotted down the aisle to meet Fletch.

Two hours, he thought while he was in the shower. Two hours and Cydney will be mine, all mine. He shut the water off, knotted a towel around his waist and pushed open the glass door.

Fletch and Elvin were in the bathroom, already dressed in their tuxedos. Fletch sat on the toilet, the lid down, eyes closed and face upturned. Elvin leaned over him with a jar of cream foundation in one hand and a wedge-shaped sponge in the other.

“Ow!” Fletch howled. “Watch the nose!”

Elvin glowered. “You want me to send you back to Miz Parrish?”

“Hell no. This was her idea, so I wouldn't look fresh from a bar fight. Just be careful.”

“You need a darker shade,” Gus said, rubbing a towel through his hair. “I can still see bruises.”

Fletch shot him a glare. “Butt out, Max Factor.”

Gus dried his hair and shaved. Carefully, so he wouldn't nick himself, and turned out of the bathroom.

“Present from your bride on the bed!” Fletch called after him.

A pair of lavender silk boxer shorts with the name Clyde stitched in gold thread on the waistband. Gus felt his face scald and snatched them off the bed. Too late. A burst of raunchy, locker room laughter erupted behind him. He shot a blistering scowl at Elvin and Fletch, hanging through the bathroom doorway, grinning at him.

“You two did this. When?”

“While you were having Cydney's rings engraved,” Fletch said.

Gus grabbed a pillow off the bed and threw it at them. The bathroom door slammed shut and the pillow bounced off it onto the floor. He laughed, quietly so Fletch and Elvin wouldn't hear him, pulled on the boxers and snapped the waistband. He hoped Cydney's color choice meant she was planning later to model the lavender lace lingerie he'd bought her.

Gus got into his tuxedo pants, shirt and studs by himself. Fletch helped him with the tie and the cummerbund. Elvin held his coat while he shrugged into it. At three o'clock, Gus led the way downstairs.

Everyone in Crooked Possum, all 162 citizens, filled his living room. A cheer went up when he appeared at the top of the foyer steps, led by Mayor Figgle, who was serving drinks behind the bar. Gus smiled and waved, so touched his throat closed and another wash of goddamn happy tears filled his eyes.

Fletch shook his hand. Elvin clapped him on the back and damn near knocked him over. Gus started down the steps, but Gwen waved him back, swung her camera forward by the strap around her neck and snapped at least a dozen rapid-fire pictures.

When she finished, she came toward him, an absolute knockout in jade-green silk, her hair swept up in a jeweled comb. She carried a single white rose, came up the foyer steps and bumped Gus down one. They stood eye to eye while she pinned the rose to his lapel.

“I love my baby sister,” she said, low enough so no one else could hear. “Take care of her and you and I will get along just fine.”

“Will do, sis.” Gus grinned at her and she laughed.

At 3:45, Georgette rang one of Aunt Phoebe's bells.

“Seats, please! Seats, please! The bride is almost ready!”

Everyone shuffled into the great room. Gus and Elvin waited by the doors till they were seated. Fletch shook his hand and headed upstairs to collect Cydney. Georgette came to him, a corsage of white roses pinned to the jacket of her jade-green lace dress.

“I'll signal you from the piano, Angus, when I want you and Sheriff Cantwell to come up the aisle. All right?”

“Yes, Georgette.” Gus nodded. “We'll wait for the signal.”

“Excellent.” She patted his arm, started away and turned back. “You do love Cydney, don't you, Angus?”

“Yes, Georgette.” Gus smiled at her. “I do love Cydney.”

“I thought so.” She smiled, too, and blew him a kiss.

When she nodded to them from Aunt Phoebe's piano, Elvin laid a hand on his shoulder. “Here we go, hoss. Don't trip over your feet now.”

“Thanks, Elvin,” Gus muttered.

They walked up the aisle side by side and took their places. Elvin tall and solemn on the dais, Gus one step down on his left.

From the front row, Louella and Mamie waved at him, a box of Kleenex between them. Next to them sat Mayor Figgle and Cloris and her sisters, all in their little veiled church hats, their hankies at the ready.

Gus smiled at them, his hands folded in front of him. He felt calm as lake water on a still day until Georgette played the first chord of “The Wedding March” and the guests rose. His heart shot up his throat, he couldn't breathe and he felt himself start to weave.

“Steady, hoss,” Elvin murmured.

He closed his eyes, opened them and saw Cydney coming up the aisle in slow, measured steps on Fletch's arm. A beam of soft autumn sun struck the runner at her feet. It bloomed into a pool of golden light as she stepped into it, looked up at him and smiled. The peach suit she wore glistened, her eyes shimmered beneath the halo of white tulle fluffed around her face.

Gus' heart stopped pounding and he could breathe again. He glanced at the piano, at Artie and Beth's wedding picture. His brother winked at him. He was sure of it this time. Absolutely positive.

When Elvin solemnly asked who gave this woman to be married to this man, Fletch said, “Her mother and I do.” Gus
came down a step, closed Cydney's left hand in his right and turned them to face Elvin.

“Are those tears in your eyes, bub?” she whispered.

“You bet.” Gus squeezed her fingers. “Goddamn happy tears.”

epilogue

Barnes &- Noble Bookseller

Country Club Plaza, Kansas City

2 years, 7 months, 3 weeks, and 5 days later

Her wedding day—well, both of them, actually—were gloriously sunny and beautiful autumn days. So naturally, Cydney figured, it would rain on the day of her first book signing.

It was June and it was pouring. Barely 6:45 P.M. and the sky was nearly black. Thunder rattled the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the street. The rain spattering the glass glimmered like diamonds.

A real gully washer, Mamie would say. The jar of prickly pear jelly she'd given Cydney to commemorate this occasion sat on the tiny table the store had set up for her, next to the bouquet of pastel daylilies her mother insisted she
must
have. A teddy bear with
I Love You
stitched in red on its chest filled what little space remained.

“What am I going to do?” Cydney worried to Gus. “I don't have room for my books.”

“For starters, pray somebody knocks the jelly off and breaks it.”

Cydney frowned at him. He stood behind her, leaning against the Romance section with his arms folded. He wore jeans, a blue shirt and a navy twill blazer, his Ray-Bans and the ball cap she'd bought him to replace the one he'd crushed when he'd stepped through the wicket in her backyard. Cydney called it his I-am-NOT-a-famous-author disguise.

“Just a thought,” he said, and grinned.

“It will break Mamie's heart if her jelly isn't on the table.”

“I doubt Mamie and Louella will show up in this weather, babe.”

Cydney doubted anyone would. “I promised, Gus.”

“Okay. Lose the bear.”

“Bebe and Aldo gave it to me for luck.” She snatched up the teddy and hugged it. “And I'll lose my life if I lose the flowers.”

“Cydney.” He stepped away from the bay full of books and wrapped his hands on the back of her chair. “What is your purpose this evening?”

“Um. Point people to the bathroom and the Travel section?”

“No. Your purpose is to meet people, make nice, and sell books.”

“Are you going to leave me here all by myself?”

“It's a rite of passage, babe. Trial by fire.”

Served her right, Cydney supposed, for refusing to let Gus tinker with her manuscript. For saying, “Go write your own book,” and slapping his hand every time he came near her laptop.

“Old poop.” Cydney stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes. “See if I buy your next book.”

She didn't see the cart coming toward her until she uncrossed her eyes and blinked. Then she saw it, and the maybe twenty-year-old clerk pushing it, hovering behind Gus. The badge on his shirt said his name was Terence. The look on his face said he thought her name was Nuts.

“Oh—hello, Terence.” She beamed a bright, I'm-a-professional, honest-I-am smile at him and thrust out her hand. “Cydney Munroe.”

“Nice to meet you. Thanks for coming.” He reached over the cart to shake her fingers and nodded at the crammed, matchbook-size table. “Where would you like me to put your books?”

“One second,” Cydney said. Eeny-meany-miney-mo, she thought, eyeing the flowers, the teddy bear and Mamie's jelly. “I'll clear a spot.”

“Hi, Terence.” Gus offered his hand. “I'm Gus Munroe.”

“As in Angus?” His blue eyes lit up. “The mystery writer?”

“Sometimes. Tonight I'm just Gus. Cydney's husband.”

“Dude.” Terence knuckled him in the arm. “Max Stone rocks. We've got like a zillion copies of
Dead on Delivery.
Would you autograph one for me? And maybe a few for the store?”

“Uh—” Gus flipped up his sunglasses and slid a look at Cydney.

“Go.” She smiled and shooed him away. “Sign.”

Get writer's cramp, she thought glumly. At least one of us will.

“Glad to.” He dropped his Ray-Bans on his nose. “Lead the way.”

Terence pulled Gus toward Hardcover Fiction, flipping a wave over his shoulder to Cydney. “Be right back, Cindy.”

“Cydney,”
she said, and sat down on the hard wooden chair.

Well, wasn't this fun. For this she'd put on panty hose and the peach suit she'd been married in the first time. Where were the crowds? The press? Her legion of devoted fans?

In your fantasies,
her little voice said.
Where they belong.

Cydney spread her fingers in her lap, gazed at the gold ring on her left hand, the monster diamond with its matching band on her right, and drew a deep breath.

“Don't be a peashooter,” she told herself firmly. “Be an Uzi.”

Cydney stood up and went to the cart, picked up one of her books and smiled. Touched a finger to her name, Cydney Par-rish Munroe, and the title scrolled above it in gold foil,
Mother of the Bride.

When Gus came back at 6:55, she'd propped one of her books up against Mamie's jelly so people could see it. She'd moved the flowers to make room for a few more copies and sat with the teddy bear in her lap.

He stopped in front of the table, read the signs she'd made with a sheet of paper torn from the sketchpad in her purse— REST ROOMS, with an arrow pointing left, TRAVEL SECTION, with an arrow pointing right—and laughed.

“Show time, babe.” He leaned over and kissed her. “Good luck.”

Stay,
please,
Cydney wanted to beg, but she bit her lip instead till he'd strolled out of sight with his hands in his pockets. The only other human being, it seemed, in the entire section of the store.

Lightning flashed and thunder boomed. The windows rattled and the overhead fluorescent lights flickered.

I should've brought a candle, Cydney thought. “And a book to read,” she said with a sigh.

“I can recommend this one.” A middle-aged woman in brown slacks and a tan raincoat stepped in front of her and handed her a book. “I read it last week. It's very good.”