The Wedding Circle (6 page)

The others were nodding in agreement as Becca quickly replied. “I'm flattered. But I do believe I have something that'll take care of your withdrawal symptoms.”

Miss Voncille beat the others to the punch. “Oooh, quick! Tell us!”

“Well, I've almost finished my
Best of Becca Broccoli
cookbook that I told y'all about last year at our very first Cherry Cola Book Club meeting. I promise it'll be out before the baby comes.”

Maura Beth's sudden inspiration caused an audible gasp as she lightly clapped her hands several times. “And you simply have to have a signing at the library. You'd be our first!”

Becca acknowledged the suggestion with a gracious nod. “I'd be delighted, of course. We'll nail down a date soon.”

Maura Beth finally felt herself relaxing now that her misguided perceptions had been thoroughly shown up and tossed aside. She also realized that she was actually hungry and began eating in earnest. True, the spaghetti was on the lukewarm side, but she wasn't going to make a fuss. It was more than enough that Becca's baby was still tucked away safely. All was right with the known world, both inside and out.

 

Over after-luncheon coffee and dainty amaretto cookies, the talk shifted to the latest on the upcoming weddings, and Maura Beth offered up a somewhat condensed version of her concerns and expectations when she was prodded. “I suppose I could avoid all controversy and give in to my mother's demands for a hometown service,” she was saying. “Of course, it would mean going down to New Orleans and dealing with all of her high-maintenance friends, not to mention a hundred-something distant cousins who probably showed up last at my christening. The genealogical aspects of all that just boggles my mind. If I have to deal with our Cudd'n M'Dear and her ilk, I think I might explode!”

Connie managed a pleasant smile while speaking emphatically. “Well, you know Douglas and I are looking forward to meeting your parents, but we don't have to have the ceremony at the lodge. You can change your mind at any time. I promise we won't be upset.”

“Maybe they'll surprise me and actually respect my wishes,” Maura Beth added. “At any rate, Jeremy and I are hoping for a meeting of the minds when the two families get together.”

Miss Voncille dramatically threw her hands in the air. “I certainly hope it works out, but, ladies, I have to confess that Locke and I have just about decided to leave things the way they are. Of course a wedding at this time of my life would be a dream come true for me, but Carla and Locke, Jr. continue to be unbelievably mean and nasty to us. If anything, they've gotten worse, and it's really hurt Locke deeply. As for me, I have a brand-new respect for those who decide not to have children!”

“So you're saying you might not even get married? I thought everything was all set for late August at the Episcopal Church,” Maura Beth said.

“It was at one time. But we just might not get married at all. Just the other evening I looked Locke straight in the eye and I told him that if his money and property were going to cause all this friction, it would be fine with me if he left me out of the will whether we're married or not. After all, I have my pension and a little put by. I've gotten along just fine all these years on my own.”

“That's awfully high-minded of you,” Periwinkle said. But there was clearly reservation in her voice. “I'd just like to add that you can't let people intimidate you like that, Voncille, particularly if they're close to you and think they can get away with it. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about. If you and Locke really want to get married, you should go for it. Stand up for yourselves no matter what happens. You gotta draw the line somewhere.” For a moment it looked as if Periwinkle was going to add something further but apparently thought better of it and merely shrugged her shoulders.

That seemed to have a sobering effect on the group, and Maura Beth decided to change the subject and lighten the mood. “Well, folks, have we all read our Eudora for the book club review this weekend?”

Everyone said they had—except for Periwinkle, who indicated she was on the last chapter and turning the pages as fast as she could. “Since you didn't have an audio for me to check out this time, I had to sit down and actually read a book for once. I was a little outta practice since it wasn't one of my menus, you understand,” she added, winking smartly.

“Speaking of menus, I assume everyone has their potluck assignments straight,” Becca said. “Of course I'm bringing the shrimp gumbo in honor of your parents, Maura Beth.”

“Frozen fruit salad!” Connie called out, raising her hand quickly.

“My biscuits and green pepper jelly as usual,” Miss Voncille added, sounding a bit more restrained. “I know it seems like I'm in a rut, but it's what I do best. So why mess up a good thing?”

Maura Beth was up next. “And I believe I'm doing another chocolate, cherry cola sheet cake.”

“I'm fixin' grilled chicken breasts!” Periwinkle blurted out, but then cocked her head with a frown. “Oh, wait . . . that's for the dinner at The Twinkle the night before.” She was obviously concentrating now. “For the review, I believe I'm supposed to bring parmesan-stuffed mushrooms.”

“Very good, gang,” Becca said. “It sure looks like all of us are on the same page then.”

The words stayed with Maura Beth long after the luncheon had ended and she was driving home reviewing everything in her head. She could only wish the weekend would be a matter of menus and that a clash of personalities would not enter into it.

6

Divas at Dusk

T
he drill was starting to get to Jeremy, but he was reluctant to annoy Maura Beth by saying anything. He knew she was well-intentioned; it was just that she was relentless, and he could only memorize so many pointers at one time.

“Now, on to politics,” she continued, glancing at her notes as the two of them sat up in bed the evening before both sets of parents would be arriving. “Daddy goes back and forth all the time. Sometimes he attacks the Democrats—others times, the Republicans. It all depends upon the issue. He says it's because he likes to keep all his options open as a registered Independent. On the other hand, I'm not sure Mama has ever even voted, so I don't know what you can do with that.”

Jeremy glanced her way with a weak smile and shrugged. “I don't either. But here's one for you. Does she complain about the shape the country's in?”

“No, not that I can recall.”

“Well, at least she's consistent. The old adage is that if you don't vote, you don't have the right to complain.”

“Yes, but maybe you could just avoid political discussions until they've both gotten to know you better.” Then she flipped a page of her notepad. “Now, I think religion will be a little bit easier to navigate. As you know, they're both devout Episcopalians. That's why they're so upset with me about wanting to get married up here at the lodge instead of at St. Andrew's. But you're relatively cool with the Episcopal Church, aren't you? Not carrying grudges of any kind, I assume.”

“None whatsoever, especially since I'm a lapsed Methodist these days,” Jeremy said, unable to avoid snickering. “Although if Henry the Eighth and John Wesley squared off in a prize fight, I'd probably put my money on Wesley in a two-round knockout. I think Henry the Eighth would be a little out of shape. I seem to recall portraits of him with a giant turkey leg hanging out of his mouth.”

Maura Beth's laugh seemed a bit forced, but then she suddenly became quite animated. “Oh, and I just thought of another important little tidbit for you. Please don't bring up Hurricane Katrina and the insurance companies. Daddy was on the wrong side of some of those lawsuits, and it wasn't pretty, let me tell you. I was still at LSU at the time and thought I'd never hear the end of it. Every time he e-mailed me, there was another diatribe to wade through.”

Jeremy decided it was time to pull the plug. “Listen, Maurie, this is beyond fascinating, but all these categories are starting to make me feel like I'm cramming for
Jeopardy!
or something. I think you're worrying about this first impression business way too much. Being scripted is fine when you're teaching kids English, but it may not be all that great an idea when you're meeting your in-laws for the first time. If you've noticed, I haven't exactly given you a homework assignment to complete about my parents.”

Maura Beth put her notepad down on the purple sheets and caught his gaze. “That's because there wasn't any need to. I've already met them, and the three of us already know we get along. It's like I've known Susan and Paul McShay all my life. I want to look as elegant as your mother does when I get to be her age, and who wouldn't like a retired Vanderbilt professor of psychology in the family when it comes to advice? They're both so together, I can't stand it. But the bottom line is, I just want my parents to like you as much as yours like me. Is that too much to ask?”

“In . . . a . . . perfect . . . world . . . no,” he told her, deliberately taking his time. “But we don't live in one, unfortunately. Besides, you're the one who's been saying we're going to get married no matter what. Let's just trust that we'll do and say the right things here.” He leaned over and gave her a soft, reassuring kiss.

“I'm sure we will,” she said, pulling away slightly to catch her breath. “It's just that my mother can be so difficult at times. I think Councilman Sparks may be easier to deal with when you come down to it. And then, even though I've always gotten along better with Daddy, there's this semi-changeling thing that keeps bugging me. I know it's ridiculous, but since I really don't look like either one of my parents, I've always wondered if somebody might have just dropped me off at their doorstep, or there was some kind of mix-up at the hospital.”

Jeremy inched a bit closer, putting a protective arm around her. “Hey, I remember thinking that myself way back when. I'm sort of a combination of my parents—uniquely me.”

“Yes, you are unique. But do you think I'm crazy?'

“No, I think lots of children play around with that scenario at some time or other in their lives.”

Maura Beth looked amused. “Well, they say the gene for red hair is way recessive anyway.”

“That's the spirit. You're a delightful throwback. So don't give that mix-up thing another thought. But you bringing up Councilman Sparks reminds me—anything new from City Hall about the library?”

“Nothing since the attempt to get me to erase the teen room and the tech services area from the blueprints. Not a peep out of His Royal Highness, I'm delighted to report. They'll be pouring the slab soon. I figure my dream library is a done deal once the concrete is cured.”

“Well, there you go,” Jeremy said, his voice oozing confidence. “You put Councilman Sparks in his place. Now I realize he didn't give birth to you, so that mother-daughter thing isn't in play. But I think you'll rise to the occasion tomorrow when your mother finally shows up. And I promise you—I won't put my foot in my mouth if I can possibly help it. I'm a keeper, remember?”

That led to another kiss, and this time she was the one who initiated it.

“How about I light another candle?” he said, moving down her neck with his lips. It had become a romantic convention of theirs—this flickering candle business on the nightstand whenever they decided to make love. “Enough of this coaching. Let's just play and have some fun. The evening's still young.”

 

When Maura Beth saw her mother and father step out of their silver Escalade around three o'clock the following afternoon in front of the lodge, she inhaled the steamy August air and firmly grabbed Jeremy's arm. She needed that physical connection with him now more than ever, particularly after she saw how her mother was dressed. Yes, the outfit was simple and form-fitting, complementing Cara Lynn Mayhew's still-stunning figure and long legs. But it was also as black as pitch—as if she were going to or had just come from a funeral. It was a long-established fashion fact that this carefree socialite wore only bright, colorful designs in public. Was there a message in there somewhere? Surely not. Especially since Maura Beth had weighed her options carefully and decided to wear her mother's wedding dress, hoping—perhaps against hope—that it might dissolve the ongoing tension between them once and for all.

“Keep your wedding dress in storage with the furs, Mama—at least for now,” she had said over the phone two days before. “I don't need you to bring it up here. I'm going to wear it proudly because you want me to.”

For the first time in—oh, forever—Cara Lynn had sounded genuinely pleased about something where the two of them were concerned. “Well, what a nice surprise!”

“It's what you wanted, wasn't it?”

“Yes, of course.” Then came the disclaimer. “Of course, I could have wished you would be wearing it down in New Orleans. We could still make it the social event of the season.”

But Maura Beth had risen to the occasion, letting the zinger bounce off her thick skin. “I only hope I'll look as lovely in it as you did.”

And Cara Lynn had been unable to top that, genuinely thanking her daughter for the compliment. They hadn't spoken since then, but Maura Beth liked her chances of making this first visit a successful one, even if her mother
was
wearing black.

Meanwhile, her father had stepped out wearing a gray business suit and one of those trendy purple ties that Maura Beth found so jarring on men these days. Purple ties and pink shirts, even on some of the talking-head news and sports anchors—what was that all about? She was at least thankful that her Jeremy was a no-frills, white shirt kind of fellow. Well, he did have a couple of yellow polo shirts in the closet they now shared. But she was happy to say they looked very sporty on him.

Fortunately, she came out of her spontaneous fashion review just in time to embrace her father, who was the first to approach her and hold out his arms. “Hi, sweetheart! My little girl is looking just wonderful!” William Mayhew exclaimed.

Maura Beth could sense that the strength of his hug was genuine, while his tone of voice was warm and relaxed. As for his appearance, the years continued to be kind to him. He had remained trim and athletic-looking with a full head of dark hair, although it had begun to gray significantly. Never what anyone would consider classically handsome, his masculine resolve had always been attractive to women; and he had enjoyed his share of them before settling down with his trophy wife.

“You're looking great yourself, Daddy,” she told him. “I hope the drive up wasn't too tiring. I know it's a long way to come.”

But Cara Lynn preempted her husband instead of greeting her daughter. “The interstate wasn't so bad, but this last part on the back roads seemed like we were lost in a foreign country. I don't know how many times I kept checking the map to make sure we hadn't taken a wrong turn.”

“Good to see you, too, Mama,” Maura Beth said, initiating their embrace and ignoring the last remark.

“Your father's right,” Cara Lynn added, standing back for an assessment with the suggestion of a smile. The problem was, there was a certain skepticism in that suggestion, as if she didn't quite approve of whomever or whatever was in front of her. In fact, it had become a trait of hers that more than a few people found off-putting. “You do look quite pretty with your hair pulled back off your face like that. I've always thought you should show off your forehead instead of wearing bangs. It's just not age appropriate.”

“I'll take that as a compliment, Mama. But you can thank my stylist out at Cherico Tresses. Terra works wonders with me all the time. She's a gem.” Then she nudged Jeremy forward a bit. “Well, here he is, folks,” she continued. “The pride of the McShays. The Brentwood, Tennessee, McShays, that is. You'll be meeting all the McShays in a few seconds.”

William offered his hand and that masculine smile of his at the same time. “Hello, son. I'm sure you've been thinking this day would never get here.”

“I guess Maurie and I have been counting it down, sir,” Jeremy answered. “But it's a pleasure to meet you both at last.”

Cara Lynn maintained a polite distance, settling instead for a perfunctory nod and a grin. “The same here, Jeremy. But who's Maurie?”

“Oh,” Maura Beth said, caught off guard. “That's his nickname for me, Mama. I thought I'd mentioned it to you before.”

Cara Lynn maintained the rigid posture of a mannequin. “I don't believe I recall it, no.”

“Well, let's don't dawdle out here in this heat,” Maura Beth continued, eager to switch subjects. “Jeremy's parents and your hosts are all waiting inside to meet you with a little something to drink. They thought it might be slightly overwhelming to descend upon you all at once.”

“The way people do on a train platform or at an airline terminal,” Jeremy added, clearly expecting some reinforcing laughter from the matter-of-fact inflection he was using. His face fell quickly, however, when he was greeted only with silence. Even Maura's Beth's hopeful smile and arched eyebrows failed to rescue the moment.

“What about our luggage?” Cara Lynn asked with an abruptness that seemed unnecessary. “We have quite a lot on the back seat and in the trunk. I really didn't know how much I should bring.”

“Oh, don't worry about that, Mama. These strong men will bring all of it in for you after you've had a chance to catch your breath with a nice refreshing cocktail. Wouldn't that hit the spot?”

Cara Lynn exhaled with a hint of resignation. “As a matter of fact it would. Lead the way.”

But they had taken only a few steps when the front door flew open, and Connie greeted them with outstretched arms and a smile typical of all Southern women who make playing hostess their specialty in life. “Welcome to Cherico and to our home! We're so happy to see you. I'm Connie McShay, Jeremy's aunt.”

The rush of relatives continued as Douglas joined the group for another round of introductions. Once they were all inside, Paul and Susan McShay stepped up for more handshakes and hugs; and after the guests had been shown to their room to freshen up, everyone settled on sofas and chairs in front of the empty fireplace, sipping wine or something stronger. Then came the inevitable, awkward small talk.

“Your home is so spacious. I like it very much,” William said with a sweep of his hand. “I don't think I've ever seen such high ceilings. How high are they, if you don't mind my asking?”

Douglas puffed himself up. “Twenty-four feet. I wanted twenty-six, but my architect said we'd need reinforcing beams across the span if we went any higher. I guess I was aiming for the sky.”

“Yes, this was strictly Douglas's project,” Connie added, hoisting her glass of Chardonnay toward the roof. “He's the fisherman in the family, and this is his idea of heaven. As for me, I just like to look out the windows at the water—especially at the sunsets. You wouldn't believe the colors!”

“Sounds lovely,” Cara Lynn said, but with no real enthusiasm.

Maura Beth could have wished for a little more warmth from her mother—what else was new?—but for the time being, things were going as well as could be expected. Nonetheless, she decided to try and liven things up. “Did I tell you that Susan runs a little crafts boutique at the Cool Springs Galleria up in Brentwood, Mama? She even designs some of the jewelry she sells, I believe.”