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“Nothing. Nothing really.”
Mrs. Grady had a way of using her eyebrows in certain expressions that had very clear nonverbal meanings. At the moment, they said
bullshit.
“It’s just that whole business before got under my skin. It’s nothing.”
“It’s not the first time you’ve had donnybrooks at one of these dos. Won’t be the last either.”
“No. It’s not really the fight. That—after the fact—was pretty entertaining. Parker won’t think so for a couple of days, but really, it had shining moments.”
“You’re circling around it.”
“It’s stupid. I ended up with the stepmother. Luck of the draw. I guess she felt sad and embarrassed, so she had to explain to me how she’d gotten involved with the FOB when he was sort of, but not really, separated, and how he and his first wife weren’t together so much as just occupying the same house.”
“Most of the men who want a taste of something fresh say something like that.”
“Yeah, which is lame and it’s false. But I think I believe her—the stepmother. But why does it matter? Why is it supposed to be okay if you get involved with someone who might be on the way out of a marriage? They’re still in it, aren’t they?”
“That’s true,” Mrs. Grady agreed. “But life’s rarely a matter of truth and lies, without the gray in between.”
“Then why the hell don’t they get out of it if they’re going to hook up with someone else?”
In a gesture more practical than comforting, Mrs. Grady smoothed down Laurel’s hair. “People have their reasons for the damnedest things in my experience.”
“She’s okay with it. The bride. I remember the consults, and the tastings, the rehearsal. She loves her parents, that’s clear. And she loves her stepmother. How do people manage that?”
“It’s not always about taking sides, Laurel.”
“No, it’s not. But you know, I never had a chance to take sides, or not, because they were both so wrong.” She didn’t have to explain she’d shifted to her own parents. “And even now, if I think about it, if I think about sides? It’s them on one, me on the other. It’s stupid, but part of me is still pissed off that they’re both so ... careless.”
“You’re angry with them when you should feel sorry for them. They’re the ones who are missing out.”
“They like their life—lives—arrangement.” She shrugged. “At this point it’s really none of my business anyway.”
“Laurel Anne.” Mrs. G cupped Laurel’s face in her hands, using a name and a gesture rarely employed. “They’ll always be your parents, so it’ll always be your business.”
“Will I always be disappointed in them?”
“That’s up to you, isn’t it?”
“I guess it is.” She sighed, hugely. “Okay. Brooding time’s up. I need to get the groom’s cake and the rest of the desserts dealt with.”
“I’m here, so I’ll give you a hand with it.”
Together they carried boxes of pastries to the Ballroom.
“I’m always dazzled by the flowers,” Mrs. Grady said as she looked around the room. “Our Emma has a magic touch. I like the colors for this one. Nothing pale about it, all bright and bold. Well, would you look at that.” She stepped over to study the wedding cake. “Talk about the magic touch. You’ve outdone yourself here, Laurel.”
“I think it’s my new favorite summer cake. I’ll save you a piece.”
“I’ll let you. Wedding cake’s lucky cake.”
“So I hear. Mrs. G? Did you ever think about getting married again, or ...”
Mrs. Grady let out a delighted laugh. “Oh, there’s been some or from time to time. I’m not doddering. But marriage?” She walked back to help Laurel with the desserts. “I had mine. I had my Charlie. My one.”
“Do you believe that?” Laurel asked. “That there’s one person? One?”
“I do, for some of us. For others, if things don’t work, or you lose someone, there’s another. But for some there’s the one, beginning to end. No one else can fit. No one else gets into the heart the same way, and lives there.”
“Yeah. No one else. But you’re not always the one back.” She thought of Del, then made herself shake it off. “Do you miss him, still? Your Charlie?”
“Every day. Thirty-three years this November. I miss him every day. But I had him, didn’t I? I had my one. Not everyone can say that.You can.”
Slowly, Laurel shifted her gaze over.
“He’s been your one from the start. Took you long enough to go after him.”
Why deny it? Laurel thought. Why pretend otherwise with someone who understood so well? “It’s scary.”
Mrs. Grady let out a laugh. “Sure it is. You want safe? Find a nice puppy you can train to come to heel. Love’s supposed to be scary.”
“Why?”
“Because if there’s no fear there’s no thrill.”
“If that’s true, then I’m thrilled half to death.” Laurel cocked her head. “That’s Parker’s signal. Cocktail and dinner hour.”
“Go on and give her a hand. I can finish this.”
“Are you sure?”
“I like to get my hand in now and then. Go on.”
“Thanks. Thanks,” she repeated, laying a hand over Mrs. Grady’s. “I’ll make sure you get that cake.”
Alone, Mrs. Grady shook her head and sighed. Her girls, she thought, knew all there was to know about weddings. But love turned them upside down.
Then again, she supposed love was meant to do just that.
WHEN THE HOUSE CLEARED, LAUREL JOINED THE OTHERS FOR A little unwinding on the terrace. Del put a glass of champagne in her hand.
“You earned it.”
“Damn well did. Thanks. Where’s Parker?”
“Something to do.” Mac stretched out her legs, curled her tired toes. “She’ll be right down. Sorry I missed the Battle of the Mothers. I heard it was worth the price of admission.”
“Brief but brutal.” Laurel yawned and thought of fluffy pillows and cool, cool sheets.
“Do you have many wrestling matches?” Mal wondered.
“I got punched in the face once.” Carter wiggled his jaw.
“It adds an element,” Mal decided. “Good food. Great cake.” He lifted his beer in toast to Laurel, then watched Parker come out looking as if she’d spent the day sipping tea rather than riding herd on a couple hundred people.
“Your winnings,” she said and handed him an envelope.
“Thanks.” He hiked up a hip to stuff it in his pocket. “So you do all this again tomorrow?”
“Hugely.” Emma groaned. “We usually have smaller events on Sundays, but this time of year we have plenty of big ones. And with that in mind, I’m going to bed.”
“Better walk my girl home.” Jack stood to take Emma’s hand. “I’ll drop the truck off on Monday, Mal.”
“Got it. Better get going myself.”
“Thanks for pitching in.” Mac stretched. “Come on, Professor. Let’s go home and kick the cat out of bed.”
“Can’t move yet.” Pleased it was close, Laurel dropped her head on Del’s shoulder. “Need a minute. Bye, Mal,” she added. And closed her eyes.
“I’ll walk you out. See the rest of you tomorrow,” Parker added as she turned to lead Mal around the house.
With her head still on Del’s shoulder Laurel opened her eyes. “I knew breeding would do it.”
“Hmm?”
“Parker’d be obliged to walk Malcolm out if I stuck here with you. They look good together.”
“What? Come on.”
She made an effort to clear her fuzzy brain, then gave up and closed her eyes again. “Sorry. I forgot who I was talking to. Of course there are no sexual sparks there, nothing smoldering beneath the surface. Nope, nothing there at all.”
“He’s not her type.”
“Exactly. No obsessing unless it’s about me. Haul me up, will you?”
“If h
e’s not her type, why the talk about sparking and smoldering?”
“It was probably me.” She laughed as he pulled her to her feet. “I get sparky and smoldery when you’re around.”
“Good one. Excellent way to shift my attention.”
“And true.” She felt wobbly, and half drunk with fatigue. “Are you staying the night?”
“That was the plan.”
He glanced toward the door as they approached the stairs, and Laurel knew damn well he considered strolling out just to ... be Del, she decided, when it came to Parker.
“See, I’m sparking and smoldering again.” She nudged ahead of him, stepped up to bring their mouths on level for a kiss.
“Sweetie, you’re all but asleep on your feet.”
“True, which makes me a lousy Saturday night date.”
“I like to look ahead, to Sunday morning.”
“A Sunday morning date sounds perfect,” she said as they walked upstairs. “Especially since it’s an evening event, and I don’t have to be up at dawn. How about eight o’clock?”
