A Wedding in Truhart (15 page)

“And I can provide Cozy Candles if you'll host a candle party for me. I'll give you a discount—” shouted Marva, always mindful of her home based businesses.

Corinne rolled her eyes and hit her on the shoulder. “This isn't about you, Marva!”

Mom spoke up trying to stop the fight. “Charlotte sent me some pictures of bouquets and arrangements. I'll get them to you, Bridgette. Just make sure you keep track of how much I owe you—like you did after our Fourth of July picnic celebration last year.”

We went through a list of things that needed to be handled. My mother had already found a nice hotel near Gaylord that would be perfect for the extra guests. Everyone agreed that the Red River Lodge would be an ideal restaurant for a rehearsal dinner. It had great steaks and a room large enough to fit the out-of-towners. My jaw clenched at the memory of Atlanta's elegant and sophisticated restaurants. There just were no other options in the county.

“Photography is next,” said Mom. Even though I could have handled the photography, my mother felt I should enjoy the wedding. I had helped photograph weddings, but it wasn't something I took pleasure in. I was relieved not to be asked.

“I have a really fantastic photographer you should use. If he is available you won't regret it. He is the best in Northern Michigan,” suggested Regina Bloodworth, the mayor's wife. Mom took notes.

Father Bob from St. Francis was happy to officiate the wedding at the inn. My mother seemed stuck on the idea of a wedding in the lobby, but all I could think of were those curtains and the couches. I was searching online for slipcovers and curtains from an outlet website. I just had to figure out how to approach my mother without insulting her. Then she surprised me.

“I really need help getting the inn in order. We have peeling paint and a leak in the dining room roof that I have been ignoring for way too long,” she said quite loudly.

“I can do that,” said a gruff voice from the back corner of the room. Mom looked toward Grady Fitzpatrick, sitting with his back against the wall, and I wondered at the unlikely surprise on her face. For a moment the room went silent.

Then several women started whispering, and Regina Bloodworth didn't even try to lower her voice. “You aren't going to hire that drunk, are you, Virg—”

My mother interrupted her. “Why, Grady, that would be perfect. Let's talk about that after the meeting.” She sent the ladies a withering look and I couldn't help feeling proud. I only wished I could be as gracious someday.

Corinne reached out and rubbed Mom's shoulder. Her back was to Grady, so he couldn't see her lips. “Thank you,” she mouthed.

A huge discussion about which beauty parlor to use took up a half hour and almost ended in war. Two beauty parlors graced Main Street in Truhart, and a third was down Crooked Road. Everyone's loyalties were divided. My mother ended the discussion with a simple statement that Charlotte may not even need a beauty parlor because she had learned how to apply her makeup and do her hair from being on TV.

“What food are you going to serve, Virginia?” someone asked.

Aunt Addie had been happily sitting in the middle of her gaggle of friends, enjoying the attention of being in the bride's family and in the know. But now she perked up. I could see the wheels spinning in her head as she thought of all her favorite menus throughout the years.

But Mom rested both hands on the table in front of her and pretended to brush away a crumb. “Well, the food is going to be special.” She grinned and I recognized an expression that I had seen before. It was the same look she gave us kids before we opened our birthday presents. Everyone sat forward and waited.

“Nestor is coming up for the wedding. He is going to be our chef!”

Everyone clapped and several women jumped up in excitement.

“But he never comes in the winter,” said Corinne.

My mother looked like the cat that swallowed the cream. “Well, he is coming this time.”

Nestor Nagel was a summer resident who was a legend in our town. He was the best cook east of the Mississippi in the opinion of many, and a favorite among the women in town. Well past his prime, Nestor had never married, loved cats, and could play a mean game of euchre. He had recently retired from his winter job as the head chef at a famous restaurant in the Keys and had been featured once on the Food Network. But we just knew him as Nestor. His recipes were top secret and he was in demand at every church cook-off or bake sale. My relief was palpable. For the last few days I was trying to picture June Lowell eating baked ziti from a buffet and chicken nuggets with ketchup.

“Oh, this is going to be the best wedding Truhart has ever seen,” said Marva, jiggling in her chair. Even Aunt Addie agreed.

“Anything else?” asked Corinne.

“Well, the cake,” said my mother, reaching for a binder. Phyllis Gentry, owner of the Log Cabin Bakery, had brought a book to show my mother. It had little tabs for all kinds of occasions, and Mom opened it to the section with pictures of wedding cakes.

“Oh, pick something really fancy, Virginia,” said Aunt Addie as my mother pointed to a simple basket-weave design with flowers on top.

“I like this one,” said Marva. Her finger rested on a picture of a cake that took up an entire table. It had two massive round bases shaped like islands, a bridge connecting the two, and bride and groom figurines crossing the bridge. Each base was several layers high and was topped by a pagoda with luminescent birds perched on each peak. The proportions were all off. The birds were twice as large as the bride and groom.

“You know, that is really something else, Marva,” Mom said with a smile that was as sugary as the cake. “But Charlotte has simple taste. I think the one with fresh flowers is nicer.”

Marva turned her large frame around and pointed her finger at me. “Well, when it's your turn, Bump, you take a look at this cake here. Simple is nice, but bigger is better.” She laughed.

“When it's my turn, Marva, I'm going to elope!” I said as I flashed her a smile.

“Who's eloping?” a familiar voice from the doorway said.

Every head in the dining room swung toward the sound. It had been more than three years since he had visited Truhart. But by the way he casually leaned against the door frame of the dining room, he looked like he hadn't been gone ten minutes.

“N
ick!” Mary Conrad sat back in her seat with her hand on her chest. She wore her heart on her face. It almost hurt to see her happiness. She rose unsteadily from her chair, still clutching her chest, and enveloped Nick in her arms. I wasn't the only one who'd missed Nick.

If Charlotte was the homegrown celebrity who put Truhart on the map, Nick was the boy wonder who had made it big in the outside world. Now, like a show-and-tell project, Nick was passed around the room as each of the ladies, who had watched him grow from a scrawny boy to a stunning specimen of a man, took turns greeting him. Marva shook like a Jell-O mold as she rocked him back and forth, and Corinne managed to smear lipstick on his chin when she reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek. Aunt Addie just put her hands on her hips and told him he looked like he needed to eat more.

He patted his stomach and then leaned over to give her a hug. “Feel free to help me with that, Aunt Addie.”

I remembered how his flat stomach felt with its ripple of rock-solid muscles and the way a sprinkle of hair led up to his chest and down to . . . well, I wouldn't change a thing about him. He was much better groomed than the last time I had seen him in his old jacket, with messy hair and wrinkled clothes. But he was no less handsome. Dressed casually in jeans and a barn jacket, with a tan sweater and blue button-down underneath, he could have been the cover model for
Men's Health.

While he made the rounds, I crossed my arms in front of me and observed the spectacle. To the average person Nick looked like a bashful schoolboy being fawned over. But it slowly dawned on me that there was something off. It was the stiff way he held his shoulders and the smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He was holding himself back.

“I'm so sorry, Nick, you just missed Ian,” Mom said. “He left for what he calls ‘a gig' yesterday.”

“I know, I called him while he was on the road,” Nick said, looking down at her. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze and then turned toward the table in the corner where I sat. Lowering his chin, he headed my way with a smooth gait that parted the sea of ladies like Moses parting the Red Sea. I resisted the urge to meet him halfway. He stopped right in front of me and looked down with a feral gleam in his eyes that could not be mistaken for anything other than lust. For a moment I thought he was going to take me in his arms and kiss me like he had on the picnic table.

“Hi, Annie,” he said softly.

Then he reached out to pull me up and plant a kiss on my mouth. Conscious of the room full of some of the biggest gossips in the county, I moved just before his lips landed and he caught the side of my mouth. No one else seemed to notice anything unusual in the way he greeted me. Thank God. I caught a smirk on Nick's face as he stepped back and looked me up and down.

Why hadn't I dressed in something nicer? I had felt so comfortable in my shapeless flannel shirt. But now I just felt like a pillow. Nick's eyes traveled back to my face, and I was spellbound by the heat radiating from his gaze. Thank goodness his back was to the rest of the room.

The ladies returned to their chatter and were now on the topic of groomsmen's tuxedos and bridesmaids' dresses.

Mary Conrad left the conversation behind and walked up to us, putting her hand on Nick's back as if she was making sure he was real. “You should have told me you were coming home, dear. I would have made up your bed and cooked you a decent breakfast,” she said.

He put his arm around her shoulder. “I'm only here for a day, Mom. I had a last-minute meeting in Detroit that finished yesterday, and I figured I would rent a car and come up here and then fly home Sunday. Besides, I know old Finn is probably taking my bed these days. No need to push him out prematurely,” he said, referring to his mother's oldest Labrador.

“Well this is wonderful, isn't it, Annie? It's been a long time since you've been back, honey.” She fondly laid her head on her son's shoulder. “I am so glad all my nagging has finally paid off.”

“It's not like we never see each other. We just met up at Melissa's in Chicago last month.”

“But that's not home,” Mary said.

I walked over to the sideboard and grabbed a mug for Nick. I felt like I was intruding in the conversation, and since I agreed wholeheartedly with Mary, I didn't trust myself to keep my mouth shut. When I returned, I shoved the cup of coffee into his hands. He tasted it and looked down in surprise that I had added just the right amount of sugar. Long ago I had made note of what he liked in his coffee.

“I do it for guests all the time,” I said.

He nodded his thanks with that crooked grin I was enjoying more and more, and I wondered how his mother hadn't noticed her son flirting shamelessly with me. She kept talking as she explained her plans for the night.

“The Harrisburg Arts Association is hosting an art show tonight at the St. Francis parish hall. I have several quilts entered. Why don't you come with me? George Bloodworth and Jerry Landry are the auctioneers and everyone would love to see you.”

Nick's lips compressed in a thin line. “I'm pretty tired, Mom. I was looking forward to a quiet night.”

“Nick, honey, it's been ages since you saw some of those people. They were friends of Dad's and I know they would love to see you.”

“That's all right. I can hang out at home. Or better yet, I'll wander around here at the inn. What are you doing tonight, Annie?” His eyes traveled over my face and landed on my lips, which still felt parched under the glow of his stare. I licked my upper lip absently. He stared at my tongue as it finished its journey. I hadn't meant it as a seductive ploy, but based on his reaction, I made a mental note to use it sometime in the future.

Nick cleared his throat, and I placed my hand on my chest to make sure my heart hadn't catapulted out of me. I wished we were back on I-75 and alone in a car. This was too public a place for these emotions.

Mary was saying something and I forced myself back to reality. “We put Annie to work. She is taking pictures at the art show for the newsletter. She won't be here either, Nick. So why don't you come with us?”

Nick looked away from my face and blinked, focusing on the rest of the room. “I'm not sure I am up to a large crowd tonight, but I could help with some of this wedding planning. I'm sure there is something around here that needs to be done.” He ran his hands through his hair and raised his eyebrow as he looked back. “That is, unless someone has suddenly decided to elope?”

“Oh, that was just Annie,” said Mary, letting the crease in her forehead melt away. “She says she's going to elope when it's her turn.”

“Is she?” said Nick with a choking sound.

Was he making fun of me? “Oh, I was just talking off the top of my head. I'm not getting married or anything. I mean, I'm not planning anything, just if it were me and not Charlotte.” I stumbled over my words.

“Yes?” Nick prodded, leaning toward me.

“I was just commenting to Marva that I didn't want to have a big cake and all these complicated details if I were to get married. That's all,” I said, emphasizing the last two words and daring him to laugh again.

“Well, she'd have to
date
someone first,” interrupted Aunt Addie, coming up behind me. “We tried to set Annie up with Sterling Gutman's nephew, but she said he had a fish mouth!”

I put my hand over my eyes in mortification.

“Did she?” asked Nick.

“I'm relying on you to introduce her to some of your friends, Nick. Someone tall enough for her to wear heels around, and smart enough to figure out how to keep her from sticking her foot in her mouth.”

Nick laughed. “I don't know anybody that smart, Aunt Addie.”

I lowered my hand to glare at him.

The meeting was breaking up and the ladies grabbed their purses and called out their good-byes. I waved to several of them as they hurried out the side exit that led directly to the parking lot.

“Did you drive from your mom's?” I asked Nick.

“No.” He turned to Mary. “After the dogs tackled me, I wandered around the house, trying to figure out where you were, Mom. The wall calendar showed a meeting here this morning, so I thought I would walk over and see what was up.”

“Well, Marva and Corinne picked me up, so I am sure they can give you a lift home,” said Mary.

“No, that's okay. I'll hang out here for a while, then walk back,” he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “We'll catch up at home.”

“All right, but I have to warn you, I don't have much in the fridge. If I had known you were coming I would have stocked up.” She shook her head as she turned back to Marva and Corinne, who were arguing at the side door. “Oh no. There they go again. They argued the whole way here about which foods cause gas, and I'm sure it will be something even worse on the way home.”

Nick watched his mother walk away and shook his head. “Some things never change.”

“I guess it seems that way.” I wanted to tell him all about the way things had changed since he left. But I didn't.

He took a sip of coffee and I grabbed my own mug as we made our way down the hallway to the front lobby. His eyes wandered from the crack in the ceiling to the worn carpet beneath our feet. Was he remembering the games he played here when he was younger? Or did he notice all the ways the inn was falling apart?

Grady and Mom were deep in conversation in front of the fireplace. She gestured to some of the peeled paint that needed the most attention and he nodded as he followed her pointing finger.

Not wanting to disturb their conversation, Nick and I retreated to the staircase. Like when we were kids, I sat down several steps up from the landing and he followed, sitting one step below me. Leaning against the railing, I asked him, “So, how was business in Detroit? You have been there a few times now.”

“It was pretty successful, actually. Our Midwest division has a great new team leader and his concepts on repurposing old buildings are really innovative.” He told me about a new start-up division that wanted to convert an old warehouse to loft offices. I watched his eyes light up as he explained how they were using old materials from the warehouse in the new designs. It was disarming to see him so electrified. I asked him to describe the newest project and he put down his coffee mug and painted a picture for me, shaping his hands in the air as they became imaginary office buildings in front of us.

“I know it seems hard to picture, Annie, but imagine this—the third floor conference room will have a wall of glass that will overlook the exposed beams and wood of an atrium on the ground floor.” Somewhere in the conversation, Nick had stretched out lengthwise along the step with his back against the wall and I had stretched myself the opposite way with my back to the rail. As we faced each other, Nick's hand rested on my knee. He talked and I nodded, transfixed by the strange and innovative beauty of the building he was describing.

“But that is so different from the high-rise buildings you showed me in Atlanta, isn't it? I mean, those were all new construction starting from scratch, right?”

“Yes. Not many of the architects in the Atlanta office are willing to invest in the urban renewal projects, which tend to be small-scale and less profitable. But, honestly, if you could see them you would love the smaller projects.”

“Actually, you did a pretty good job describing them without me seeing them. I think it sounds wonderful, Nick.” I couldn't help it. I was gushing like a silly teenager.

We were interrupted by Aunt Addie coming down the stairs with a pile of folded towels in her hands. “Look at you two. Hanging out on the stairs just like you did when you were kids.”

“Yeah, except Ian would have run his Tonka truck off a ramp into your potted plants by now, Aunt Addie,” Nick said, looking up at her.

“Either that or Annie would have convinced you all to slide down the steps using your sleeping bags like toboggans,” she said, sweeping past us as we folded our knees and left her a path between us.

“Aunt Addie, I only did that a few times,” I called after her.

“More like a dozen times,” interjected my mom over Aunt Addie's shoulder as she grabbed the newel post and looked up at us. “Until you broke that vase. Dad grounded you for a month after that.”

“I still think you overreacted.” I turned to Nick, wanting to explain further. But what was the point? “This is why middle children have issues, you know.”

Mom stood next to Grady, who looked on with interest, and placed her hand on her hip. “Oh, here we go . . . Does this sound familiar to you, Nicholas? How many times has Annie complained about her birth order?”

“I lost count, but I know I'd be a rich man if I had a penny for—”

I kicked him in the shoulder and he grabbed my foot and wouldn't let go. “Hey, that's my golf arm! Be careful,” he said.

“Maybe it will help your golf game. It certainly can't hurt it,” I said, trying to free my foot.

“Children, children . . . It's a fine day outside,” said my mom as if we were five. “Why don't you two go out so I can show Grady the rest of the things that need fixing in this inn.”

I opened my mouth, ready to protest, when Nick let go of my foot and abruptly stood up, grabbing my arm and pulling me up with him.

He took my coffee mug and put it on a nearby table. “Come on Annie, let's go out and play like your mom wants us to. I should be getting home soon anyway. I'll race you to the second hole,” he said, referring to the old shortcut we used to take that led across the golf course to the Conrads' house.