The Wedding Party (30 page)

She would have to make amends, grovel a little, promise a lot and ultimately put out. She couldn't remember a time she'd ever danced to that particular tune and wondered if this is what marriage did to women.

 

Stephanie's car wasn't ready at three, nor was it ready at four, so she talked Jake into going to the coffee shop in the mall across the street while they waited. “There's something I've been trying to work up the courage to talk to you about,” she said.

“I hate when you want to talk to me about something that requires courage.” They sat in a coffee shop that gave the illusion of being a sidewalk café, with a little fence around the perimeters, but it was inside the mall. Shoppers hefting their purchases hurried past, going from store to store. Muzak played in the background and potted trees dotted the indoor landscape.

“I haven't talked to Mom about this, yet, but I'm going to—soon. I just don't want to screw up her wedding plans.”

“I have my own opinion about that, but go ahead…drop your bomb.”

“It's not a bomb, Daddy. I'm going to make a major lifestyle change. I'm going to do it whether anyone approves or not, but I want you to know the details, up front.”

“Let's see,” Jake said, rubbing his chin. “This would be the ninth major lifestyle change for you in the last two years, right?”

She just smiled indulgently. “Something like that, yes. I'm taking a leave from teaching.”

“Really?” he said, his eyebrows shooting up. The one thing that had been constant with Stephanie since childhood was her love of literature and her desire to either teach or follow her grandmother's direction and become a librarian. “To do what?”

“To take care of Peaches.”

“Aw…Stephie. First of all, Peaches doesn't really need you to—”

“Here's what I want you to do, Dad. I want you to listen to my whole plan. Then you can say whatever you want.”

“Okay. You give it to me. Then we'll talk.”

“Peaches
does
need someone around, which is why she's staying at Mr. Conklin's house right now. She's having these spells…and has been having them for a long time. Much longer than she told Mom. It started out as just not being able to remember where things were, but not like your car keys—like your
car.
Sometimes she couldn't even remember where she was. She'd look around the grocery store and get all con
fused about where, exactly, she was. But you know what? Clever Peaches
faked
it. She just didn't want anyone to impose any…I don't know…
limits
on her. She shouldn't have done that, you know. She should've started medication to slow down the progression.”

“She told you this? That these little periods of confusion go back a ways.”

“Uh-huh. Of course, she wants to live in her house again. And of course she shouldn't. Not without help. There's really no way she can afford full-time care in her house. What I'd like to do is take a leave from teaching and move in with Peaches. It's going to be a long, long time before she'll need any kind of nursing home. She just needs a companion. Someone to keep an eye on her, help her out with transportation. And I am her legal guardian, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, but he struggled with it. He rubbed the back of his neck. “This isn't what I want for you, Steph. To be twenty-five and baby-sitting your grandma. You're too young to give up your youth like that. It's not a great idea. Your mom will—”

“I grew up in that house, Daddy. I love Peaches's little house. The one who really can't do it is Mom. She's too bossy, too fussy. Peaches would kill her in her sleep.”

“Well, I didn't want to say this, but…I don't know if you can. I mean, there are certain standards of…Stephanie, you would have to clean and cook. And we both know you're better at reading.”

Surprisingly, she only laughed. “I know. I've been pretty selfish, haven't I? Daddy, we're not going to have Peaches too much longer. Who knows how much lucid time she has left. I don't want to miss it. I don't want to regret how I spent this time.”

At that moment, Jake was incredibly proud. “Have you told Peaches?”

“I did. She thanked me for the thought, but I don't think she thinks I'll follow through. Isn't that too bad, Dad? That there were so many times I didn't follow through?”

“Don't be hard on yourself,” he scoffed. “You're just a girl. You got your degree, after all. You're a good teacher.”

“I am,” she said, sitting taller in her chair. “I don't think I'll be away from teaching that long. I have lots of years to teach, but Peaches probably only has a few years at home.”

“What does Grant say about this idea?”

She instantly glanced into her coffee cup. Tears threatened and she fought to hold them back. “I haven't talked to Grant about this yet.”

Jake lifted her chin with a finger. “Stephie, is there something else you want to tell me?”

“No,” she said. “Except that I will talk to Grant about it. He's studying for finals right now, but pretty soon, when he's done with that…School will be out for me, Peaches's house will be finished, Grant will be on break, Mom and Dennis will be—Hey, you said something about having an opinion about that.”

“I have opinions about everything,” he said.

“On that subject?”

He shrugged. “Better left unsaid.”

“You don't much like Dennis, do you?”

“Aw, he's an okay guy, I guess. For a
nurse.
”

“You're jealous!”

“Jealous? Me? Ha! I offered to give her away, didn't I?” But Stephanie was no longer listening. She was distracted by the sight of a young man at the serving counter who was both flirting with a young waitress and paying for his coffee. Jake followed her stare and identified Fast Freddy Rainey. “You know that guy, Stephie?” Jake asked.

“I've met him,” she said, watching him carefully. In fact, he hadn't bothered her lately—no phone calls, notes or flowers—and she was momentarily afraid he'd resumed his pestering and had followed her.

Freddy turned from the counter with his steaming cup and wandered into the café in search of a table. He was laughing to himself, no doubt over some wildly clever line he'd just laid on the waitress. He spied Stephanie and stopped short, sloshing hot coffee over his fingers. His eyes took on an instant panicked gleam as he saw Jake. Jake made the tiniest smile, an almost imperceptible nod, and Freddy began to back away. His heel caught on the leg of one of the café's wrought-iron chairs and he stumbled backward, spilling hot coffee on himself and a seated patron. He fell into a rack of cups and they went crashing to the floor in a pile of ceramic pieces, but Freddy didn't stop. He scrambled to his feet and, while looking over his
shoulder to be sure he wasn't being chased, fled the café.

Jake picked up his cup and took a leisurely sip. “Mmm,” he said. “Your friend is…what? A little shy?”

Stephanie looked at her dad through narrowed eyes. “Something's going on here,” she said. “Freddy took one look at us and ran for his life.”

“Really? Maybe he mistook me for someone else?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I
highly
doubt it.”

 

The Bridal Boutique was crowded with the female members of a wedding party trying on their gowns for alterations. The seamstress was ready to pin up the hems and let in or let out the bodices, as the case may be. In a not at all uncommon response to stress, or perhaps some other biological event, the bride had put on nearly twenty pounds since choosing her gown. And her face was peppered with new acne. And she was mean as a badger.

“Moth-her! Look at this goddamn neckline! This goddamn thing was
not
like this when I picked it out!”

The seamstress, Mrs. Rodriquez, a woman in her sixties who had been doing this work for many, many years, slowly pulled herself up from her place on the floor where she worked on the hem of the gown, and tried to examine the neckline in question. “This is the same gown, miss, but if you like, we can fix in some lace or tulle—”

“Except I didn't buy a gown with any goddamn lace or tulle, now, did I?”

“Birdie, Birdie,” the young woman's mother admonished. “Let's stay calm and fix these things as best we—”

“I can't even
breathe
in this goddamn dress!”

Agatha stood back and listened, unimpressed. There were five bridesmaids in various stages of undress, all picking at each other's dresses, pulling them into better fits by pinching inches of satin at the sides, the waist, complaining about the style, the color, the fabric. But at least they did so more eloquently than the beast known as Birdie.

“I knew this blue would look nasty with my complexion,” said one.

“The color is okay for me, but could you possibly find an
uglier
dress?” asked another.

“At a thrift shop, maybe.”

“Check out Birdie's,” whispered the fourth. “She looks like a beached whale.”

“I
heard
that!”

“Drug of choice? Chocolate?”

“Are you going to do anything about this?” the bride demanded of the seamstress, towering over the little woman like a bear cowering a pussycat.

“It's not a problem, miss. The seams have to be let out right here, and right here,” she said, pointing to the sides of the gown. “Then, if you like, a little of the same lace on your train can be applied to the dé-colletage to make it slightly more modest. Here, you
slip your arms out, lower the dress, we'll open the seam and see what we have.”

“We'd better have a perfect wedding gown in one week or I'm going to sue you!”

“Birdie, Birdie,” begged the beast's mother.

There was the tinkling of the bell to the shop and Agatha went, gratefully. She was a little less grateful when she saw it was Dennis, and he wasn't smiling. “Hello, Dennis. I guess I should have expected you.”

“Why did you go to the restaurant, Aggie?”

She shrugged lamely but met his gaze bravely. “She called just before lunch, begged me to stop by if only to say hello, and my curiosity got the better of me.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “And what did you think?”

“Of Charlene? That she's very beautiful. Very sophisticated. And very much planning a wedding.”

“I had absolutely no idea she was doing that.”

“Well, the women appeared to be having a wonderful time. Until—” She stopped and winced as a shriek came from the back of the store.

“
Ouch!
Be careful with those goddamn pins!”

Agatha shook her head in disgust, then turned her attention back to Dennis. “Ahem. They were having a wonderful time until your sister's mishap. Is she all right?”

“She'll live. As you get to know my sister better, you'll find she is very unpredictable.”

“And is that likely to happen?” she asked. It was impossible for her to hide the sarcasm in her voice.

Dennis chose not to answer. “I'm on my way to Charlene's right now. I have no idea what to expect.
It might be a very unpleasant evening, but when I leave there tonight, there will no longer be wedding plans in the works.”

She clutched her hands together at her waist and looked down at the floor. She couldn't help feeling very sorry for Charlene Dugan. But, she reminded herself, calling off the wedding and ending the relationship were two separate issues. Dennis had already said he would stand by Charlene, support her through difficult times with her mother's illness. And, really, wasn't that the kind of man Agatha wanted in her life?

This could drag out for a painfully long time.

“Would you like me to call you later? When I leave her house?” he asked.

She lifted her gaze. “Dennis, that's entirely up to you.”

“If it's not too late, I'll call,” he said, turning to go.

“Try not to—” she started. He turned back to her and she was about to tell him to be gentle or to try not to hurt Charlene, but there was another sharp cry from the back. Agatha lifted her hand in farewell and returned to the wedding party in the fitting room.

The bride was standing before the mirror, her wedding gown opened in the back and lowered to her waist so that her arms were free. She wore a miserable-looking corset and girdle. Mrs. Rodriquez gently held the gown by the shoulders so that the bride could slip her arms into the gown and pull it up to her shoulders again.

Agatha had a vision of Charlene, so smart and styl
ish and fun-loving, crumbling to the floor when Dennis told her there would be no wedding. And Dennis, chivalrous as he was, lifting her up, consoling her, kissing her, holding her, giving in.