Picture Perfect (Weddings by Design Book #1): A Novel (19 page)

Indeed. No argument there. Any preconceived ideas I’d had about them were now gone, replaced by joy that they cared enough about me to share their hearts.

“Now we’re gonna do what the Bible says we should,” Twila said. “It’s what we always do when we’re up against a mighty army. We band together and pray. Where two or more are gathered together, there’s power to knock your enemy’s head off.”

“Roughly translated,” Bonnie Sue said with a wink. “But you get the idea.”

I certainly did, and all the more as Twila began to pray. In my twenty-six years of living, I had never heard a woman pray the house down the way that woman did. She prayed with the energy and effervescence of an evangelist leading a sinner down the path toward home. Power laced each word—not a hyped-up, made-for-TV power, but true God-breathed energy.

I couldn’t speak for Twila, but I was exhausted when her prayer ended. Well, exhausted and electrified. I couldn’t remember ever feeling more spiritually charged. Jolene called it a Holy Ghost hangover, and I had to agree.

In that hazy state, I received a hug from Bella, along with her assurance that she would back me up all the way to the lawyer’s office if need be. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that, but if it did, we were, as Twila called it, “prayed up and ready.”

I thought about the story of Joshua all the way back to
the studio. It stayed with me as I worked and invigorated me for the journey ahead. Who cared if I faced a huge battle? I’d won many in the past, hadn’t I? Hadn’t the Lord already brought me this far?

Greater are those who are with us than those who are against us.
Twila’s words raced through my brain, bolstering my newfound confidence.

Change was coming to every area of my life. I could feel it—in the way I walked, the way I talked, the way I held myself. Yes, change was in the air. In my love life. My occupation. My attitude.

My first order of business when I reached the studio? To call Drew and fill him in. My second order of business? To shut down early and head home in time to help Mama cook dinner. Boy, would she be surprised to see me home so early, and loaded with great stories to boot.

I arrived at the house to find I wasn’t the only one who’d received the memo to make some changes. I found my mother in the kitchen, cooking—of all things—ravioli. Her hair, usually salt-and-pepper, straight-cut at the shoulders, was now the prettiest shade of auburn I’d ever seen. I couldn’t quite get over the difference in her appearance. She looked a good ten years younger.

“Mama?” I drew near and smiled, giddy with delight over what she’d done.

Her hands trembled as she reached up to swipe a loose hair out of her face. “What do you think your father is going to say? You know how much he hates change.”

“Surely he will like this.”

“Well, do what you can to distract him when he comes in, okay? I’d like to put this off as long as possible.”

“Okay.” I gave her the
Reader’s Digest
version of my day,
then headed into the living room to await my father’s arrival. I flipped on the news, got his newspaper ready, and fluffed the pillow on his recliner.

Strangely, six o’clock rolled around and he still hadn’t shown up. A few minutes later I could hear the pots and pans in the kitchen, but still no sign of Dad. It just wasn’t like him to arrive home late on a weeknight. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time it’d happened.

Dad buzzed through the front door at exactly ten minutes after six, looking winded.

“Dad, you’re late.”

“I, um, well, I stopped at the flower shop and picked up a little something.” From behind his back he pulled out a bouquet of roses, so vibrant and red that they took my breath away. “Think your mama will like ’em?”

“Like them? She’s going to flip! What’s up? I didn’t forget your anniversary, did I?”

“Nope. Just felt like getting the woman flowers. A man can get his wife flowers, can’t he?”

Stop the world from spinning. I need to get off. Or at least check my compass to make sure I’m at the right house.

My father—my very predictable father—had done something unpredictable?

He put his finger to his lips and pointed to the kitchen. “I want to take these in to her before dinner and surprise her.” He gave me a wink, then headed to the kitchen.

I’d just started to give him a heads-up related to Mama’s new hairdo, but then decided to let him find out on his own.

Dad entered the kitchen, singing “Too-Ra-Loo-Ra-Loo-Ral” at the top of his lungs. For a moment, anyway. Just as quickly, he paused and stared at Mama, who turned toward us, a terrified look on her face.

His gaze never left my mother’s hair, but he couldn’t seem to speak. When he finally did, I hardly recognized his voice.

“M-Marie?” His voice cracked. “Is that you?”

Mama’s face flamed, and suddenly, standing there with her auburn hair and pink cheeks, she looked twenty years younger. “It’s me, Michael.” Her eyelashes took to fluttering, and for the first time I noticed she was wearing mascara. “I, well, I . . .”

“Your hair.” Just two words, but they spoke volumes. For that matter, so did the stunned look on his face. I’d never seen my father so perplexed. Or intrigued.

“Yes, well, you see, I’ve been thinking about this awhile, Michael. You’re partial to my hair in its usual state, I know. But every time I looked in the mirror, I felt . . . old. I was ready for a change, honey.” She brushed her hands against her apron and shrugged. “You know?”

“Well, you could’ve knocked me over with a shamrock.” He kept staring. “Not quite sure what to do here.”

“You could give me those flowers to start with.” Mama giggled as she stretched out her hands. “I’m assuming they’re for me?”

“They are.” He took several slow steps in her direction and passed them off. She blushed all over again, and he leaned down to give her a little kiss on the cheek. “Not completely sure I’m kissing the right woman. Hardly recognize you. Still, I suppose someone will clue me in if I’ve got the wrong gal. I’m pretty sure the Bible frowns on me kissing someone other than my wife.”

“Oh, you’ve got the right gal, all right.” Mama sniffed the beautiful roses, her face just as red as they were. “I’m definitely your wife. Same as always.”

“Hardly.” He scratched his head as he gave her another look. “Well, you’ve put me in a real pickle here.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. How in the world am I supposed to remember your birthday when you’re looking younger by the minute?”

That got a chuckle out of her, and soon my parents were kissing and giggling. I backed out of the room to give them some privacy.

I thought back to that precious moment in Drew’s studio when he’d first pulled me into his arms. How strong I’d felt. That same feeling of strength had washed over me afresh when Twila and the other Splendora sisters prayed with me. And now, as I watched my parents embrace, I realized the truth: there really is strength in numbers. No matter what I faced in this life, I could handle it with the people I loved surrounding me.

May you have the hindsight to know where you’ve been,

The foresight to know where you’re going,

And the insight to know when you’re going too far.

Irish proverb

W
ith my parents lip-locked, I headed upstairs, realizing we wouldn’t be having dinner anytime soon. I threw myself on the bed, my thoughts fully on the events of the day. Strange how one day could change everything. Not that I minded. Oh no. Change was good. Very good.

The smell of garlic permeated the whole house. Very odd, indeed. I could hardly wait for dinner. Still, as Bing Crosby
crooned “Embraceable You” from the stereo downstairs, I knew better than to interrupt my parents, whose laughter and jovial conversation wafted up the stairway from the kitchen below. Heaven only knew what I might walk in on.

Sometime around 6:20 the doorbell rang. I sprinted down the stairs and swung the door open, thrilled to find Drew on the other side.

“Well, hello,” I said. I couldn’t help the smile that followed. Something about the boy just made me giddy.

“Hello to you too.” His grin clued me in to the fact that he was happy to see me too. “I probably should’ve called first.”

“Don’t be silly.” My mother’s voice rang out from behind me. “You’re always welcome, Drew.” She gestured for him to step inside.

Drew raked his fingers through his hair, a sheepish look on his face. “I hope you don’t mind, but Mom asked me to stop by and get her Crock-Pot.”

Sure she did. Silly boy.

“Of course, of course.” My mother ushered him inside. “Would you like to stay and have dinner with us?” Her eyes twinkled. “I did the unthinkable. I made ravioli.”

“Really?” He looked stunned at this news. As he drew in a breath, I could see a “gosh, that smells great” expression on his face. Still, he didn’t offer to stay.

“I know, I know.” A smile lit her face. “But don’t you fret. Michael already knows and he’s fine with it, so there won’t be a scene. In fact, I think he might even learn to like it. Hope so, anyway.”

Drew grinned. “I’m sure it’s going to be great, but I really can’t stay. Mom’s in the car waiting.”

“Well, that will never do.” Mama scurried out the door, and moments later Corinne entered.

Before long the two women were thick as thieves in the kitchen, serving up a huge bowl of steamy ravioli and pulling hot, buttery garlic twists from the oven. Drew and I could hardly get a word in edgewise as they chatted, Corinne going on and on about Mama’s new look. Not that I cared to speak. Something about the smell of garlic on that hot bread nearly rendered me speechless.

We settled in at the table, and my father led the way with a heartfelt prayer. It wasn’t quite the same as Twila’s prayer, but close. Well, as close as Michael McDermott could come, anyway. After he prayed, Mama passed the ravioli and he gave it a funny look, but he scooped some onto his plate.

“Guess I’d better give this a shot if I want to go on living with the prettiest woman on the island.” He gave Mama a wink, and we all held our breath as he took a bite of the ravioli. His eyes widened. “What do you call this stuff again?”

“Ravioli,” we all said in unison.

“Remarkable.” He took another bite. “You’re sure it wasn’t invented by an Irishman?”

“Very sure,” I said, laughing. “Do you like it?”

“I’m ashamed to admit that I do. Can’t believe I’ve been missing out all these years.” He pointed to the serving bowl. “Pass that back over here. Didn’t take a big enough serving.”

This, of course, made my mother’s night. She lit into a fun conversation about the Food Network, and before long we were all talking about Rosa and Laz’s show, Mama going on and on about her favorite episodes. She somehow convinced my father to try several other Italian foods over the upcoming weeks, including her favorite, fettuccine Alfredo. Would wonders never cease?

We laughed and talked all the way through dinner. As I
glanced across the table at Drew, as I took in the joy on his mother’s face, I flashed back to that day at Bella’s house. Seated around her table with so many people gathered around her, I’d felt envious. Now I was living the same life. Okay, a similar life. With ravioli on the plate, no less.

For some reason, this got me tickled. I had to laugh.

“What’s up, Shutter Speed?” my dad asked, giving me a funny glance. “You okay?”

“More than okay, actually.” I took Drew’s hand and gave it a squeeze under the table. He squeezed back, a sure sign that he was enjoying the evening too.

At ten minutes till seven, my father dabbed his mouth, swallowed down the last of his glass of tea, and rose. “Better hurry.”

“Hurry?” Mama moved the dirty dishes to the kitchen.

“Well, sure. That stupid dancing show is on in a minute or two.”

The whole room grew silent, and we all stared at him.

“Since when do you care about
Dancing with the Stars
?” I asked.

“Who said I cared? Just curious, that’s all. Wondering what Brock Benson is going to do tonight. He got the first ten of the season last week, you know.”

“Right.” I could hardly believe my father had taken note of that.

It didn’t take much to convince Corinne and Drew to stay to watch the show, especially with my father on board.

“I’ve been a fan of Brock Benson’s ever since Drew photographed his wedding.” Corinne dabbed her lips with her napkin. “Was there ever a more handsome man in the world?”

“Tell me about it.” Mama fanned herself, and my father rolled his eyes.

Instead of clearing the table, Mama and Corinne went straight to the living room, pausing only long enough for my mother to show off a new picture of my sister’s baby girl.

I rose and began to put the dishes in the kitchen sink. Drew followed me. When we found ourselves alone in the kitchen, he slid his arms around my waist and pulled me close. After giving me a gentle kiss on the forehead, he whispered, “I’ve been dying to do that all night.”

“I’ve been dying for you to do that all night,” I countered, then gave him a kiss on the lips, guaranteed to tide us over until after the show.

By now the sound of our parents’ voices rang out from the living room. I popped my head through the door and offered to make coffee. This got a nod from Mama, but her eyes never left the TV.

Minutes later, coffee cups in hand, Drew and I joined them. I took a different place on the loveseat than usual, wanting to give him the better spot. He took it and gave me a wink. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of my father as he gave us both a sideways glance. No doubt he would have some questions about my sudden affinity for a Kincaid. I didn’t mind, though. Couldn’t wait to tell him, in fact.

Settling into my spot, I glanced at the television in time to see Brock coming down the steps with Cheryl on his arm. They were both dressed as pirates. Behind them, the speed skater made his entrance along with his partner, a pretty blonde.

My dad groaned. “For the life of me, I don’t understand why that skater is still on there. He’s lousy. He fell flat on his face last week and got the lowest scores in the competition.”

We all turned to face my dad. He shrugged and said, “What?”

“You’ve actually been watching, then?” my mama asked.

“Of course not.” He reached for his newspaper and opened it. “You all know I wouldn’t be caught dead watching a dancing show.”

“Mm-hmm.” I laughed.

“So what’s on the agenda for tonight?” Corinne asked. “Why is Brock in a pirate costume?”

“I’m not sure. I did hear that he and Cheryl are starting with the Viennese waltz,” I said. “Must be pirate themed, I guess.”

“Ooh, the waltz.” My mother sighed. “I just love a good waltz.”

“You do?” My father looked amused by this.

“Mm-hmm. And I’m sure Brock will do a great job. He’s so—”

“Dreamy,” Corinne interjected, then sighed. “I know. I agree.”

Drew let out a grunt and focused on the television.

Brock and Cheryl’s lead-in package ran, focusing on their antics in the rehearsal room and talking about their characters.

“How cool is that?” I said after hearing the details. “They’re reviving Brock’s character from his most famous movie,
The Pirate’s Lady
.”

Mama released an exaggerated sigh. “That’s my favorite movie of all time. He played Jean Luc Dumont, the pirate we all loved to hate.”

“I remember that one,” Corinne said. “The whole thing was sort of a play on the old
Taming of the Shrew
theme. He looked great in his pirate costume then, and he looks just as great now.”

“Wait.” My father put the newspaper down. “You’re telling me that’s the same guy from all of those pirate movies?”

“Well, of course, Dad. I thought you knew that.”

My father shook his head. “I guess I do see the resemblance.”

“He could capture me and take me aboard the ship, and I wouldn’t breathe a word of argument.” Corinne released a contented sigh.

Brock and Cheryl took their places center stage, and the camera zoomed in on his face.

I chose that moment to drop my bombshell. “Dad. Mama. There’s something I need to tell you.”

“What’s that, Hannah?” Mama didn’t look away from the television.

“Brock Benson.” I pointed at the screen as the music for their dance began. “He’s coming here.”

“What?” Mama paled, and Corinne nearly dropped her cup of coffee.

“Here, to our house?” Mama reached for the remote and paused the television show midstream.

“Looking for a new dance partner?” my father asked.

“No. He’s coming to serve as grand marshal at the Dickens parade.”

“Oh my goodness.” Mama fanned herself. “Well, I read in the paper that we had a special guest star coming to lead the parade, but I never guessed it would be Brock Benson.”

“The
Daily
is doing a piece on him tomorrow,” I said. “So everyone will know after that. But I wanted to give you a heads-up. Now you can say you heard it first.”

“How do you know this?” My father’s gaze narrowed.

“Well, I’m not at liberty to say.” I grinned. “But you can trust me on this. Brock is coming. And I’m going to do my best to get us a private audience with him.”

At this news, I thought my poor mama was going to have
heart palpitations. She began to fan herself, then rose and paced the room, going on and on about how she’d colored her hair just in time.

“Only one thing I can’t figure out,” Corinne said. “If he makes it through this week of
Dancing with the Stars
, how can he be in two places at once?”

“Yeah, how does that work?” my dad asked.

“I’m sure he’ll make it past this week, and if he does it’s likely he’ll be looking for a place to rehearse while he’s here.”

“You mean he might bring his dance partner with him?” My father seemed to like this idea.

“Who knows? I’m sure his wife will be with him.”

“Erin’s great,” Drew said. “You’re going to love her.”

“I’ve seen her pictures in the tabloids,” I said. “And I’ve followed her character on
Stars Collide
. But what’s she like in person?”

He grinned. “She’s very . . . bubbly. Fun. One of those overly dramatic types, but in a good way. They seem like a good match.”

Funny. As I heard the words “a good match,” I realized I’d finally met mine.

“Erin and Brock are both interested in helping people in need. Unlike most Hollywood celebrities, they focus less on politics and they’re both people of faith. No doubt about that.”

Wow. Made me want to meet Brock even more.

But first we needed to watch him dance the waltz. Mama grabbed the remote and pressed Play. Soon all of the ladies were sighing and the men were rolling their eyes.

The rest of the show passed in record time. When the final dancer took the stage, my cell phone rang. I reached
for it, surprised to see Bella’s number. My heart sailed to my throat as I anticipated what she might say. Just as quickly, I calmed down. I thought about Joshua at Ai and got a visual of Twila praying the house down earlier today. With a woman like that on my team, I could face any news Bella might have for me.

Drew gave me an “everything okay?” look as I scooted out of the room, and I nodded to reassure him. Once inside the safety of the kitchen, I took the call.

“Hey, Hannah.” Bella’s voice rang out. “Glad I caught you. Sorry to call during
Dancing with the Stars
. I know it’s a mortal sin.”

“Actually, I believe it’s a cardinal sin, but I don’t suppose that matters.” I chuckled, relieving the tension between us.

“Just wanted you to know that I called our attorney.”

“You . . . you what?”

“I called our attorney. Actually, he’s my second cousin twice removed. But having a good attorney comes in handy during situations like this. Just wanted you to know that you were right. Sierra and her publicist don’t have a leg to stand on. So don’t sign the addendum. Stick with the original and we’ll move forward, no matter what they threaten to do. If George kicks back on this, I’ll get the attorney involved. But I doubt I’ll have to do that.”

Relief trickled through me, and I suddenly felt as if I’d lost twenty pounds—ten from each shoulder.

“Are you . . . are you mad at me?” I asked. “I never meant to cause any trouble, I promise you.”

“Of course not.” She paused. “I’ll admit, I kind of panicked when I thought about what George might do. He’s pretty intimidating. But I know Sierra better than that. She’s a great girl.”

“Humph.” Might be better not to chime in here.

“No, really. She’s a diva for sure. And a little flighty too. But I’m telling you, the reason she’s been so picky about the photos is because she listens too much to what George has to say. All it took was a phone call to Sierra to straighten this whole thing out. Once she figured out what George was asking you to do, she changed the plan.”

“Really? Is she mad?”

“You worry too much about whether or not people are mad. She’s not, by the way. But I want you to know that they still plan to release the photos, only now they won’t say they were released against her will. It will all be done in the open, and you’ll be given credit for your photos, wherever they appear.”