The Wedding Promise (11 page)

“Well, there you are. Another reason you shouldn’t take it personally,” Claire noted.

She had pulled on the gloves and now set up a big bowl full of water and squeezed sliced lemons over it then tossed in the empty lemon skins.

“What’s that for?” Liza asked, watching her.

“So the artichokes don’t get brown. They stain your hands and nails something fierce. That’s why I wear gloves. . . . How did you leave it with the Bennets?” Claire asked.

“Sylvia said they planned to visit some other places today. I’ll probably get a call in a few days, saying they booked the wedding someplace else. I’m sure Jennifer is getting an earful in the car right now.”

“I’m sure she is. But that girl is tough . . . like a little sand crab. She’s sweet and tender inside, you can see. But she has a hard shell. Don’t count her out. I think she’ll get her way,” Claire predicted.

She picked up an artichoke, yanked off the tough outer leaves decisively, and chopped the pointy tips to a blunt edge.

Then she pulled it open and started scooping out fuzzy bits with a grapefruit spoon.

“What are you doing now?” Liza asked, peering over her shoulder.

“You have to get the pointy leaves at the bottom out.”

“It looks like hard work.”

“It’s time-consuming,” Claire conceded, “but worth the effort. I only bought a few, just for you and me. No one’s called for a room at the last minute, have they?”

Liza shook her head, reluctant to admit that the inn would be empty of guests this weekend. All the more reason to keep hoping the Bennet wedding would come through. But now that she had met Sylvia, she wondered if she ought to be more careful about what she wished for.

 

 

“Now, this place had a very pretty pond in back with a gazebo where we could hold the ceremony. Or Jen and Kyle could just take photographs there.”

Jennifer watched her mother hand her father a brochure from the Spoon Harbor Inn. They were all sitting around the kitchen table, discussing the wedding venues that Jennifer and her mother had visited after meeting with Liza at the inn the day before.

“And it’s a much larger space,” Sylvia continued. “I don’t think the inn can really accommodate the number of guests we’ll have.”

“But Kyle and I really want a small party, Mom. We don’t need a restaurant the size of Fenway Park,” Jennifer countered. “That’s not what we’re thinking of.”

“Please, Jennifer, let’s be realistic. There are friends and relatives we have to invite. It would be rude to exclude them, even if they aren’t on your list.” Jennifer’s mother glanced at her father, sending a distinct, “Help me out on this, would you?” kind of glance.

“Let’s talk a little more about the location and then worry about the guest list,” Frank suggested, spreading the brochures out on the table in front of him. They all showed smiling brides posed in gardens and gazebos.

“I spoke to the manager of the Spoon Harbor Inn this morning,” Sylvia continued. “He has a cancellation in August. The groom got cold feet. Someone’s misfortune, our good luck.”

“How did you like the place, Jen?” her dad finally asked.

“It was okay, I guess. I think it’s a little hokey. Kyle will, too,” she said.

“And the Angel Island Inn isn’t hokey? It’s seedy and run-down,” her mother said. “You’d rather be married in that empty lot she calls a garden than a lovely, picture-perfect setting?”

“Now, Sylvia, calm down. We need to try to figure this out,” her father cut in.

“It’s not that bad, Dad,” Jennifer insisted. “You can go see it for yourself. I don’t want to be married in some cookie-cutter, Barbie-bride factory.”

“No chance of that if you get married at the inn. It looks like a hotel in a horror movie,” Sylvia railed.

“Fine. Just . . . fine. This conversation is getting us nowhere.” Jen jumped up from her chair and marched toward the doorway.

“Where are you going, Jen? Kyle’s train won’t be in for two hours yet,” her mother reminded her. “You say you want to get married tomorrow, but you won’t talk with us long enough to make plans.”

“Let her go, Sylvia,” Frank urged. “You’re both upset now. We’re not getting anywhere.”

He picked up the folder with the inn logo on front and opened it, looking over Liza’s proposal. “You didn’t like this woman. Is that it?”

“She was very professional,” Sylvia admitted. “Though I know she’s never done a wedding before. That fact alone should make us steer clear—if we had any common sense about this situation.”

“Well, what didn’t you like? The information she put together seems reasonable,” he said, putting the folder aside. “The prices look good, too. She’s also offering a discount for guests who need to stay over. We do have a lot of out-of-town relatives,” he reminded her.

“Well, believe me, you won’t want your mother staying over at that place once you see it.” Sylvia dropped down in an armchair across from her husband. “I guess some people would call it charming or quaint. Some of the rooms were presentable. But whenever I’ve imagined Jennifer’s wedding, I pictured something much more elegant and . . . polished. She’s dreamed about her wedding day ever since she was a little girl. Remember how she used to play bride all the time?”

“Yes, I do,” Frank said with a soft smile. “I had to hum the music. ‘
Here comes the bride, all dressed in white . . . ’
I never knew the lyrics after that,” he added with a laugh.

“I know this place has sentimental memories for her and Kyle. I think that’s sweet. But that’s made her see it through rose-colored glasses. She doesn’t realize what it really looks like. I mean, to someone who didn’t fall in love there. Maybe she thinks it will be magically transformed on her wedding day—like an old shoe turning into a glass slipper?”

“Maybe,” Frank said thoughtfully. He paused and looked down at the folder, at the etching of the inn on the cover. “Maybe it will be, for her. . . . Would that be so bad, Sylvia?”

Sylvia sat back, startled at her husband’s question. “Don’t tell me . . . not you, too? You have to see this place, Frank. I promise you, you won’t like it any more than I do.”

“I’ll take a look tomorrow. But I think I’ve already seen it. Two views. One through your eyes and one through Jen’s.” He paused. “I don’t want to force her to get married someplace she doesn’t like, and see her unhappy on such an important day, Syl. This is the last thing we’re really doing for her. Before she leaves our house forever.”

Sylvia swallowed and looked down at her hands, twisting her wedding band around her finger the way she did when she was nervous. “Oh, you get so dramatic sometimes. She’s going to live in Boston. We’ll see her all we like. She might even rent a little weekend place out here.”

“I get dramatic?” He laughed out loud. “Sylvia, just think about what I said, okay? This is Jen’s day. I want her to have what she wants. Not what we want.”

Sylvia seemed about to answer but her husband stood up. “I need some air. I’m going out to walk the dog. When will dinner be ready?”

“Oh, not for an hour or so. I still have to put the potatoes in the oven.”

Sylvia returned to her cooking. It had been a long day. At this rate, she would never make it through this wedding, no matter how simple Jennifer wanted it.

Jennifer and Frank just didn’t get it. The real burden was on her shoulders. Jennifer might have her lovely daydreams, but she didn’t understand the realities of a wedding. If she got her way, she wouldn’t be happy with the results. Sylvia was almost sure of it.

She heard her husband call the dog, a golden retriever mix named Margo who’d been part of the family since Jennifer was in fifth grade. Margo was really Jen’s dog; she slept in her room and followed her everywhere when she was around.

Sylvia wondered if Jen would take Margo to Boston but suspected that would be impractical. The city would be hard on the old dog. Margo would miss Jen. They all would.

For an old dog, she still had spirit and stumbled down the stairs when Frank called. Sylvia heard him click on the dog’s leash, then call upstairs again. “Jen? Want to take a little walk? I’m bringing Margo out.”

Sylvia stood very still, listening. “Okay. I guess I have time,” Jen called back.

Sylvia’s heart sank. She knew what that meant. They would talk things over, and Jennifer would convince her father she just couldn’t have a happy wedding day if she didn’t get married at the inn. It wouldn’t take much. He already seemed more than halfway there.

Well, what can I do? I tried my best.
Sylvia sighed and started in on the potatoes, resignation setting in.

O
N Saturday morning, Liza decided to tackle the garden. Sylvia could have been more diplomatic, but her critique had struck a nerve. Liza knew the woman was right; the entire back of the property needed attention, especially now that the warm weather had come on so suddenly. It seemed as if the plants—and the weeds and clinging vines—had sprung up overnight.

Since there were no guests staying over, Claire was taking the weekend off. Liza didn’t really know what the housekeeper and cook did with her time away from the inn. Maybe she visited friends or attended her church in town, where it seemed she was involved in a lot of committees and activities. She never mentioned any family, though.

Of course Claire had her own life, apart from the inn. But for some reason, it was hard for Liza to picture it. Claire seemed so much in her element under this roof.

Liza had made herself some coffee and now stood on the brick patio near the back door, surveying the daunting job. Getting rid of the weeds and the overgrowth was the first thing to do. Then she could figure out how to fix up the flower beds.

She didn’t know much about gardening, though she had helped her aunt from time to time. Elizabeth used to say that the garden was like a canvas. It was a big blank space with infinite possibilities. It was up to the gardener to fill in the colors and shapes with flowers and make a masterpiece.

Liza headed into the shed and rolled out the red wheelbarrow that held garden tools and gloves. She pulled on the heavy gloves and knelt down at the nearest bed. Her aunt was an artist, and the garden had been a masterpiece when she lived here and had her health. Liza knew that with some work, it could look lovely again—well, with a lot of work and an outlay of funds for the new plants.

But it would be worth it. Not just for the wedding—that might not even happen now—or even for the guests who would visit this summer. But because the inn deserved to have a lush, bountiful garden, the way a beautiful woman looks even lovelier in a special dress.

Liza worked a few hours. The sun rose higher in the sky and brought the heat of the day. She grabbed a big water bottle and put on a baseball cap and some sunblock and she kept working. She got the Weed Wacker going and swiped it along the overgrown edges of the beds, careful not to mow down everything in her path. It made an awful sound but got fast results.

She was concentrating hard on steering the machine to avoid obliterating good plants along with the weeds when she heard a voice at the gate. Liza took her finger off the controls and looked up to find a large group of people, peering at her over the gate.

She quickly recognized Sylvia and Jennifer. There was also an older man, who stood with his hand on Sylvia’s shoulder—obviously Jennifer’s father. And a young handsome man about Jen’s age, who stood right beside Jennifer, obviously Kyle, the groom.

“Hi, Liza. Sorry to bother you. We called but there wasn’t any answer,” Jen explained as they opened the gate and walked through.

“Oh, sorry. I started out here early. I must have missed the message when I went inside before.”

“This is my dad, Frank,” Jennifer said.

Frank shook her hand and smiled. “It’s a warm day for gardening.”

“Yes, it is, but I have to get started sometime.”

“—and this is Kyle,” Jennifer added, an unmistakable note of pride in her voice.

“Hi, Kyle.” Liza stretched out her hand, then realized it was covered in dirt. “Sorry,” she said. “But it’s good to meet you.”

“It’s great to meet you, Liza,” he said sincerely. “I was so sorry to hear that your aunt passed away,” he added. “She was such a great lady.”

“Yes, she was,” Liza agreed. “Thank you.”

“It’s wonderful the way you’ve taken over this place. Preserved it, I mean,” Kyle said.

“I’m sure you had some good offers from builders for the property,” Jen’s father added.

“Yes, we did, my brother and I. We own it together. He lives in Arizona,” Liza explained. “But we decided that I would give a try at keeping up the family tradition.”

“Lucky for us,” Jen said, ignoring the look her mother was giving her.

“I was afraid that Jen was going to tell me that the inn had been knocked down and all she found was a big modern house or some condos,” Kyle added. “The place looks terrific, just the way I remember it.”

He looked over the building with a warm expression, as if seeing an old friend he’d lost touch with over time.

Kyle was very much the way Liza had pictured him. Tall and fair, his good looks a match for Jennifer’s natural beauty. He seemed smart and mature, if a bit more serious than Jennifer. “Could we look around a bit?” Jennifer asked. “We can find our way without your help, if that would be all right.”

Liza didn’t mind that idea at all. She felt dirty, sweaty, and self-conscious and figured that the family probably wanted to talk privately.

“Of course, go right in. Take your time. Go upstairs if you like,” she added.

“Thanks. We won’t be long,” Frank said. The group let Jennifer lead the way. Liza could tell she was excited to show the inn to her father and Kyle. She wondered what they would think of it, particularly Frank Bennet.