Mother of the Bride (9 page)

“Check it out, Uncle Gus.” Aldo leaned over him, unrolling a blueprint in his lap. “The house I'm gonna build for me and Bebe.”

“But we can't decide where to go on our honeymoon.” Bebe opened two travel brochures and spread them on top of the blueprint. “What do you think, Mr. Munroe? Cancun or Cleveland?”

“Cleveland?” He gave a raspy, not quite awake laugh that made Bebe stick her lip out. “What the hell's in Cleveland?”

“The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Uncle Gus. Jeez.” Aldo laughed. “You gotta get out of Crooked Possum more often.”

“Dinner, everyone!” Georgette came out of the kitchen ringing the little crystal bell she'd given Cydney with the silver coffee carafe. No matter what cabinet or drawer Cydney hid it in, her mother always found it.

Georgette lit the candles and everyone sat down, Cydney
at the end of the table closest to the French doors. Angus Munroe sat on her right, across from Aldo and Bebe, her mother at the opposite end. Cydney said grace and Georgette started the salad around.

Bebe chattered mindlessly, as Bebe always did, mostly to Aldo about shopping and school and his new Jag and shopping. Cydney kept waiting for one of them to mention the wedding, but they were off in their own little world. Angus Munroe didn't say a word, just ate steadily—two helpings of chicken and noodles—and watched them.

The subject didn't come up until dessert. A three-layer carrot cake Georgette found time to bake between laps in the pool, her hour on the Stairmaster and taking Bebe shopping. Sprinkled with pecans and coconut, dotted with orange icing carrots with green icing tops and served on a footed crystal cake plate and a white paper doily. Some days Cydney really hated her mother.

Angus Munroe ate two slices. Aldo finished a third piece, drained his glass of milk and grinned at his uncle across the table.

“Eat your heart out, Uncle Gus. Mrs. Parrish taught Bebe how to cook. I'm gonna eat like a king.”

“Call me Georgette, Aldo.” Her mother rose and laid a hand on his shoulder while she filled his glass from a crystal pitcher. Milk cartons were not allowed at the table in Georgette's presence. “Or Gramma George if you prefer.”

“Okay, Gramma George.” Aldo beamed at her, then at Cydney. “Can I call you Uncle Cyd, Miss Parrish?”

“If you'd like, Aldo.”

Angus Munroe scowled. Either the pain pill's wearing off, Cydney thought, or he only smiles twice a year—when the royalty checks arrive.

“You certainly will eat like a king.” He put his fork down and lifted his coffee cup from its saucer. “A delicious meal, Mrs. Parrish. Thank you. And wonderful coffee.”

“Uncle Cyd made the coffee,” Bebe chimed in. “She only drinks tea, but my Grampa Fletch says she makes the best coffee in the world.”

“Does he?” Angus Munroe glanced at Cydney, her pulse jumping at the quick smile he gave her. “Well, I agree with him.” He saluted her with his cup. “Delicious, Miss Parrish.”

“Thank you, Mr. Munroe. Would you like a refill?”

“Yes, thank you.” He put his cup down. “And thank you for inviting me.”

“You're welcome, Mr. Munroe.” Cydney filled his cup and put the server down, seated herself and smoothed her napkin in her lap, glanced up and saw her mother eyeing her with an arched, what-gives eyebrow.

“My, my, you two are awfully formal,” she said, aiming her megawatt TV smile on Angus Munroe. “Since we're going to be family, please call me Georgette. Do you prefer Angus or Gus?”

The question caught him with his coffee raised partway to his mouth. His arm froze for just a second, then he put the cup down without drinking and looked at her mother.

“Angus will be fine. I don't hear it often and it's a fine old name.”

“What do
I
call you?” Bebe asked him.

“I don't know, Bebe.” He shrugged like he could care less and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “What would you like to call me?”

“Rude,” she said flatly. “Uncle Cyd invited you to dinner and Gramma George baked you a cake, but you won't talk to them or to me unless one of us asks you a question. Don't you like us?”

Angus Munroe sat back in his chair, startled. Her mother looked like a deer caught in headlights. Cydney held her breath.

“Well, Bebe,” he said slowly. And carefully, Cydney thought, feeling his way. “I've just met you and your family. I'm not terribly at ease with people I don't know well.”

“I keep telling you, Uncle Gus.” Aldo held his plate up to Georgette, who was cutting him a fourth slice of carrot cake. “You gotta get out of Crooked Possum more often.”

“Yes, Aldo, you keep telling me that.” He glanced at his
nephew, a flicker of irritation in his gray eyes. “But I like my life the way it is.”

“All work and no play makes Angus a dull boy,” Aldo said in a singsong voice, waving his fork back and forth. “When was the last time you met a hot chick in Crooked Possum, Uncle Gus?”

“Put a sock in it, Aldo.” He gave his nephew a smile that said, “Or I will,” and picked up his cup. “I'm not interested in hot chicks.”

“Then I have a great idea!” Bebe cried enthusiastically. “You should ask my Aunt Cydney for a date!”

Angus Munroe choked on his coffee, grabbed his napkin and coughed. His water glass was empty and so was the pitcher.
Let him strangle,
her little voice said, but Cydney took the pitcher to the kitchen, her cheeks burning, filled it and brought it back to the table.
Atta girl!
her little voice cheered.
Throw it in his face!
But Cydney filled his glass and sat down.

Angus Munroe snatched up the water and drank, coughed again and wiped his mouth. “Sorry,” he croaked. “Swallowed wrong.”

Cydney just smiled. She'd keep smiling, even if it killed her. Or broke her heart, whichever came first.

“Enough about me, Aldo.” Angus Munroe cleared his throat. “Let's talk about your wedding. When and where do you plan to have it?”

“A week from Saturday.” Aldo caught Bebe's hand and laced their fingers together. A sign of solidarity in the face of the enemy, Cydney guessed. “The where, we haven't decided yet.”

“We'd love to find a romantic, out-of-the-way place,” Bebe said, a soft, dreamy glow in her eyes that disappeared when she sighed. “But that's out of the question because of my mother.”

“Why? This is your wedding, not hers.”

“But I want my mother at the ceremony, Mr. Munroe. She's a photojournalist and very much in demand. I'm afraid if I don't take her straight to the church when she gets off the
plane from Russia some magazine editor will call and she'll be gone again before the organist can sit down to play 'The Wedding March.' “

“What if we get married in some really far-off place?” Aldo suggested around a mouthful of cake. “Like a sheep ranch in the middle of Australia? Bet they don't have many airports or flights to New York.”

“Aldo,” Bebe said patiently. “Sheep are not romantic.”

“Yeah, but we could go four-wheeling in the Outback. And rock climbing and crocodile hunting.”

Angus Munroe sat back in his chair, his right hand cupped over his mouth. Through his fingers, Cydney could just see the grin lifting one side of his mouth. Bebe sat back in her chair and stuck out her lip.

“Right. Not romantic.” Aldo pointed his fork at Bebe. “But your mother would definitely be grounded once we got her there. And I bet they don't have many phones, either.”

“I've been thinking about the telephone problem, Cydney,” Georgette said. “I'm putting you in charge of taking Gwen's cell phone away from her.”

“Oh no, Mother. I got the short straw last time Gwen was home.”

You always get the short straw,
her little voice pointed out, but Cydney ignored it. From the corner of her eye, she saw Angus Munroe's grin widen behind his cupped hand.

“But I'm sure we won't have that problem this time,” she added hurriedly. “After all, this is Bebe's wedding.”

“What about your Grampa Fletch, Bebe?” Angus Munroe asked.

“Oh, he's a writer, too,” she said brightly. “But I don't know if he has a cell phone. Does he, Uncle Cyd?”

Angus Munroe shifted in his chair, made a fist of his hand and coughed. To keep from laughing out loud, Cydney was sure. He'd hurt her feelings when he'd choked at the thought of going out with her, but she would
not
tolerate him laughing at Bebe. One more snigger and she'd punch him in the nose herself.

“Yes, Bebe,” she said. “Grampa Fletch has a cell phone.”

“I know he's a writer, Bebe. I've read his books,” Angus Munroe said. “I meant, is he coming to the wedding?”

“Hell no,” she chirped cheerfully. “Only Cramps said, 'Hell no, Bebe-cakes.' That's what he calls me, Bebe-cakes. 'I've been to enough weddings of my own,' he said, but he invited me and Aldo to Cannes for Christmas.”

“His treat,” Aldo put in. “It's our wedding present from Mr. Parrish. Two plane tickets to Cannes.”

“That's a very generous gift, Aldo.” Angus Munroe folded his arms across his stomach, reminding Cydney of last night when Bebe knocked him out. His sweater had ridden up when he fell, just enough to give Cydney a mouthwatering glimpse of his washboard abdomen. “Tell you what. I'll pay for your plane tickets to Cleveland.”

What a guy,
her little voice said.
Rock hard, ripped
—
and cheap.

“Oh, Mr. Munroe!” Bebe squealed, her eyes shining with happiness. “Thank you so much!”

“Uncle Gus, Bebe.” He smiled at her. “Call me Uncle Gus.”

chapter

nine

Desperation, not inspiration, was the true mother of invention. Any writer who'd ever cranked out the last hundred pages of a four-hundred-page manuscript in twenty-four hours to meet a deadline knew it. And Gus was desperate.

Aldo had defected. Gus had suspected it when he'd wakened in the hospital and found Cydney Parrish, not Aldo, at his bedside. He'd sold out for chicken and noodles, carrot cake and a hot chick. Gus could hire a chef, but he couldn't compete with Bebe and he knew it.

He also knew a brick wall when he saw one, and one sat looking at him across the table, Aldo and Bebe with their hands clasped together. The twelve-thousand-dollar diamond Gus had had a stroke over blazed on Bebe's ring finger. He could yank Aldo's money but that wouldn't stop the wedding. It would only make Aldo hate him, and he didn't want that. He wanted them to wait—until spring, maybe—to make sure they knew what they were doing.

Just a few months to be certain of their feelings, a few months to give Gus time to adjust to the fact that Aldo didn't need him anymore, to find a new focal point for his life. He didn't think that was too much to ask, but he was too proud to admit that he felt so vulnerable.

He'd come up with a plan instead. A plan to make Aldo stop and think beyond Bebe's delectable figure, a chance to give himself time to formulate a new Life Plan. He thought he could pull it off, but not in Kansas City. He was outnumbered here and on Parrish turf, but now that he knew Fletcher Par-
rish wasn't coming to the wedding, he could seize home-field advantage.

“I see your problem.” Gus folded his arms on the edge of the table and spoke directly to Aldo and Bebe. “I don't understand it. I don't understand any parent who puts career ahead of children. But hey.” He shrugged. “I'm the guy who needs to get out of Crooked Possum.”

“That's not all you need,” Cydney muttered into her teacup. Gus glanced at her. She smiled serenely. The lariat necklace she wore, a string of tiny jade beads, gleamed in the glow of the half-burned candles. All through dinner he'd fantasized about catching the Y-end in his teeth while he kissed the peach-toned hollow of her throat.

“I think I have a solution to your quandary about where to have the wedding.” Gus swung his gaze back to Aldo and Bebe, swearing he'd keep it there. “Tall Pines.”

His nephew's eyes sprang wide and his jaw dropped. Cydney Parrish's teacup clattered onto its saucer.

“Uncle Gus?” Aldo made the peace sign with his right hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three,” Gus said, just to be perverse. “Two fingers, Aldo, and no, I didn't hit my head that hard.”

“What's Tall Pines?” Bebe asked.

“My home, Bebe. Mine and Aldo's,” he said, just in case Aldo had forgotten. “Tall Pines was once a bed-and-breakfast. There are fifteen bedrooms in the house.” Bebe's eyes widened. Her elbow slid onto the table to support her chin as she leaned closer to listen. “There's a great room we never use that will hold at least one hundred people. Huge stone fireplace, a wall of windows overlooking the lake.”

Gus paused to let Bebe catch up. When her lips stopped moving and her eyes lit up, he continued.

“Pine floors and paneling throughout. The closest airport is in Springfield, one hundred and twenty-five miles from Tall Pines. And the best part is that Crooked Possum isn't on any road map.” Gus leaned over the table toward Bebe. “Aldo gets lost every time he comes home. I guarantee your mother won't find her way out once you get her there.”

“It's
perfect
!” Bebe crowed, leaping out of her chair and around the table. “Oh
thank you,
Uncle Gus! Thank you, thank you!”