A Wedding on Primrose Street (Life In Icicle Falls Book 7)

by Sheila Roberts

  It turned out that Laney’s life wasn’t ruined, but an entire week of Anne’s was when Laney stopped talking to her. Cam convinced her to cave and Laney to apologize and life finally settled back down. But now, listening to Laurel, Anne could still remember that sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, the irrational fear that she and her daughter would never speak again, all over a prom-night curfew.

  Mother-daughter relationships were a complicated mixture of love, loyalty, irritation and resentment, and there was nothing like a wedding to stir that pot. Seeing Laurel sitting here in her office weeping gave Anne the uneasy feeling that she was looking at the Ghost of Wedding Future. No, she told herself. She and Laney might have had their differences over the years—what mother and daughter didn’t?—but she was no Laurel.

  “We never fight,” Laurel was saying. “This is not like my daughter.” She looked at Anne with tear-drenched eyes and a trembling lower lip. “What should I do?”

  Anne sighed. “Let her have the fish.”

  Laurel dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “Chelsea’s out of control, Anne. I can’t keep giving in to every crazy thing she wants.”

  “Sure you can,” Anne said gently. “I know it all seems a little silly to you, but it’s something she really wants. And honestly, a few fish won’t cost much. We’ll handle it so you won’t have to worry about what to do with them after the reception.” Anne had a couple of friends with ponds. They’d love more goldfish.

  Laurel blew her nose. “Fish, Anne. It was...the final straw.”

  “I know,” Anne said. “But think of all the presents you’ve given your daughter over the years, all the birthday presents, the Christmas presents, graduation gifts.”

  Laurel sniffed.

  “This is the most important gift, maybe the last big one, you’ll give your daughter. You want it to be special, to be what she really wants.”

  Laurel bit her lip and nodded.

  Kendra returned bearing coffee in a ceramic cup with the company’s logo on it—two entwined hearts dusted with confetti. Laurel took it and stared into it as if contemplating whether to drink the coffee or try to drown herself in it. “You’re right, of course.” She frowned at the cup and set it on the desk. “This is all becoming so...stressful.”

  “Don’t worry. We’re here to make it as easy as possible for you,” Anne said.

  Now Laurel did something she hadn’t done since she’d first walked into Anne’s office with her daughter. She smiled at Anne. “Thank you. Thank you for being so understanding.”

  “I have a daughter, too,” Anne said, “and we’re planning her wedding right now.”

  “Good luck with that,” Laurel said cynically. She sighed. “I just want Chelsea to be happy.”

  “That’s what we all want for our children.”

  “She doesn’t always know what’s best.”

  “They don’t,” Anne agreed. “But they have to live their own lives, and after a certain point, all a mother can do is guide her daughter.”

  Laurel nodded sadly.

  “The fish will be lovely.”

  “Yes, I suppose they will.” Laurel frowned. “What if they die?”

  Worse things had happened at weddings. Anne decided to keep that bit of information to herself. “Trust me,” she said. “It’ll be fine.”

  Laurel took a deep breath. “All right. The fish stay.” She rose, once more in control of her emotions, in control of the wedding. Or so she thought. “I’ll be in touch,” she said and sailed out of the office.

  “Well, that was exciting,” Kendra muttered after she left.

  “Never a dull day in the wedding business. You know that,” Anne said.

  “I bet she’s on the phone to her daughter as we speak.”

  “I bet you’re right. I would be.”

  “Me, too,” Kendra said. “Kids turn us into such softies. By the way, Coral wants to start wearing makeup.”

  “What did you say to that?”

  “I said, ‘Heck, no. We’ll talk when you turn fifteen.’”

  “I’m sure that went over well.” Anne could envision her nine-year-old niece flouncing out of the room, hurling threats that ranged from running away to hunger strikes as she went.

  “Oh, yeah. She told me I was a heartless monster. Then she went straight to her father and asked him.

  Anne grinned. “And what did he say?”

  Kendra grinned back. “‘Ask your mother.’”

  “He’s either the smartest man alive or he’s a big chicken.”

  “Yeah. Which do you think?”

  Anne chuckled and went back to her computer.

  But even as she looked at the screen she couldn’t get the image of a tearful Laurel out of her mind. Would that be her a week or a month from now? No, of course not. Laney was a grown woman now, not a temperamental teenager, and they had a great relationship.

  And Laney knew that anything Anne suggested would be in her best interests. After all, Anne did this for a living. And she could be diplomatic; she could steer her daughter in the right direction.

  Couldn’t she?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Daphne, Wedding Hostess in Training

  Daphne’s first morning working for Muriel Sterling went faster than a plate of chocolate chip cookies at a family picnic. She got overheated organizing Muriel’s messy supply closet (thank you, hot flash) and then, since she still had time left, dealt with a backlog of emails from readers who’d been inspired by Muriel’s latest book.

  “I hate not replying personally,” Muriel had said, “but I tend to get bogged down when I’m writing back, and then I don’t get any work done on my new book.”

  So she’d delegated, giving Daphne a series of stock phrases she could use. “Thank you for taking time to write me.”...“So glad you found the book helpful.”...“Remember, new beginnings can be difficult but they can be made.”

  Daphne caught herself reciting that last line whenever an image of Mitchell’s handsome, smiling face came to mind. She’d thought they’d be together for the rest of their lives. The rest of their lives had lasted only six years.

  It was oddly comforting to read the emails from readers who one moment had been riding high and the next found themselves in life’s recycle bin, having to create something new out of what had become garbage.

  I lost my job, but after reading your book I know another door is going to open, wrote one reader. My husband died. Reading about how you coped after losing yours was so comforting, wrote another.

  Still another emailed, I thought life couldn’t get any worse when I got breast cancer, but then my husband couldn’t deal with it and left me halfway through my chemotherapy. That was when I didn’t want to live anymore. Thank God a good friend gave me your book. After reading it, I decided no way was I going to let all the bad stuff define who I am as a woman. I got a wig and I’ve been taking piano lessons. I already feel better about my life and hopeful for my future.

  Wow, and I thought I had it bad, Daphne mused. She began her reply using one of Muriel’s stock phrases, but then her fingers insisted on typing more. Your hair will come back lovelier than ever, I’m sure of it. Congratulations on all the positive things you’re doing.

  She was suddenly aware of Muriel reading over her shoulder and she gave a start. “Sorry. I got carried away.”

  “Don’t be sorry. That’s exactly what I would’ve told her,” Muriel said. “I knew you were the right woman to work for me.”

  The right woman, Daphne thought with a smile as she walked home from Muriel’s cottage. Yes, things were looking up. From now on, her life would be better. Manless and better.

  She went to the bank and opened a new account, then picked up the groceries her mother had requested. And because it was past lunch
time and, after all, a girl had to eat, she went by Gingerbread Haus to treat herself to a latte and a gingerbread boy.

  Cass Wilkes, an old-time acquaintance, was still there and happy to wait on Daphne.

  “Is business as good as usual?” Daphne asked as Cass rang up her order.

  “Sure is. But I’m putting in fewer hours these days, hiring more help. Life’s too short to work yourself to death. The kids are growing up fast, and I want to be able to spend more time with them. Did your mom tell you Dani’s expecting her first in September?”

  “No. Congratulations.” Daphne would love to become a grandma, but that was waiting in the future, since her daughter was currently too busy with her career to think about babies.

  “How about you? I hear you’re about to join the ranks of the single. Are you doing okay?”

  “I am. Who needs men, anyway, right?”

  “These guys are your safest bet,” Cass joked, handing over a gingerbread boy.

  Daphne pretended he was Mitchell and bit off his head. Very satisfying.

  “If you ever want to go to Zelda’s for a huckleberry martini, let me know,” Cass suggested.

  Daphne was both touched and encouraged by her kindness. Who said you couldn’t go home again? “Thanks. I will.”

  She returned to Primrose Haus to find a metallic-blue truck filled with lawn care equipment parked outside, the words Hawkins Landscaping Service emblazoned on the side of the cab. Mother’s lawn guy was here. Daphne had seen him only once, when she’d come up to visit the year before, but she remembered him as a brawny man with a great smile. Not that she was interested. She didn’t care how brawny he was.

  Anyway, who had time for a man? She was going to be much too busy rebuilding her life to bother with the opposite sex. Tonight she’d read more of Muriel’s book.

  But first she had to make dinner. Like her mother, Daphne enjoyed cooking. She loved trying new recipes, experimenting with different herbs and food combinations and seeing what she could come up with. Mostly, she liked the fact that she could control what happened in the kitchen, and these days, that was more than she could say for the rest of her life. Her mother wasn’t always easy to cook for, especially as she got older. Daphne had heard everything from “It’s a little too salty for my taste” to “I can’t eat garlic anymore. It gives me heartburn.” For the most part, though, Mother actually liked what she made and complimented her on it. And cooking was one way she could do her share in the household and not feel like a burden.

  Mother had complained about her bunions hurting that morning, so Daphne had offered to make tonight’s dinner. Three-cheese stuffed chicken (light on the garlic) was on the menu, along with fresh asparagus and rosemary bread.

  Mother was taking a break with a cup of tea and a book by Vanessa Valentine, her favorite author. She looked up from the book when Daphne entered the parlor, grocery bag in hand, and seemed almost startled to see her. “You’re home earlier than I expected.”

  “Oh?” She was working only part-time. Had Mother been hoping she’d stay away until five?

  Before she could ask what, exactly, that meant, her mother had moved on. “How was work?”

  The job Daphne wasn’t going to be able to earn a living at? Okay, let it go. Things had been a little strained the past couple of days. They didn’t need to continue in that vein. She certainly didn’t want them to.

  “Great,” she said and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. “I like working for Muriel.” Muriel was positive and encouraging. She probably never found fault with any of her daughters.

  “I’m glad. She’s lucky to have you.”

  In light of her earlier reaction to Daphne’s new job, it was the proverbial olive branch. Daphne had no problem taking it. “Thanks.”

  She went to the kitchen and put away the groceries, then started out the back door to get some rosemary.

  “Where are you going?” Mother called. She sounded almost panicked. What was that about?

  “Just getting some rosemary for my bread. I’ll be right back.”

  “You don’t need to bother with that. Plain bread will be fine.”

  “No bother,” Daphne said and slipped out the door. Her mother loved rosemary bread. What had gotten into her?

  Daphne stepped onto the back porch just as Hank Hawkins came around the corner. In addition to his oh-so-manly build, he had brown, curly hair with a few wisps of gray hanging over a craggy brow, deep-set brown eyes and a superhero-size chin, square and...manly. His arms were like mini tree trunks. If he’d been a firefighter he would surely have been chosen to pose for a calendar. Mr. July Hot. Whew. She could feel the waves of testosterone coming at her.

  “Hi,” he said. “Daphne, right?”

  She nodded. Gosh, he was...manly.

  “Don’t know if you remember me. I’m Hank.” He pulled off a leather garden glove and held out a huge hand.

  “I remember.” She held out her own hand and his swallowed it. His hand was warm and slightly rough, and she was suddenly sizzling in spite of the chill in the air.

  Great. Of all the times to have a hot flash. That was all this was, she informed herself. Nothing more. Except she was hot where she didn’t normally get hot...

  Cooling down would’ve been a lot easier if he wasn’t looking at Daphne as if she was a bottle of cold beer waiting for him in the desert. She knew that look. She’d gotten it often enough over the years.

  And right now he looked to her like the last chocolate chip cookie on earth. Stop that! You are done with men. Even if she wasn’t, she wouldn’t take up with this specimen. He was probably still in his forties. And if fifty was the new forty, then forty was the new thirty, and that made him too young for her. Boy toy, boy toy, chanted her hormones. She told them to shut up.

  “How long are you here?” he asked.

  “I’m here to stay. I’m getting divorced.” Now the heat on her face was pure embarrassment.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged. “It happens.” To me. A lot.

  “So, what are you going to do?”

  “I’ve started working for Muriel Sterling, and I plan to help out with my mother’s business.”

  That sounded good, and at least her mother was willing to give it a try, but Daphne knew Roberta still didn’t trust her not to screw up. Daphne supposed she had reason. While she’d been perfectly competent at her job in Seattle, there was something about being under her mother’s watchful eye that made her performance level sink like the Titanic.

  Hank, ignorant of the mother-daughter dynamic, nodded. “She could use it. Roberta’s a firecracker, but she’s starting to slow down. Even so, she can still run circles around most of us.” He’d probably said that to be polite. Big and strong as he looked, Daphne suspected Hank had plenty of staying power. Staying power...sex. Don’t go there! Too late. She’d gone. With Hank. Well, just pull yourself back, fool.

  “Are you settling in okay?” he asked.

  “Yes. This is an easy town to settle into.”

  “It is. I imagine you know everyone here.”

  “I know a lot of people,” Daphne agreed.

  “So, how full is your calendar?”

  Oh, boy. He wasn’t wasting any time. The hot flash got hotter and she peeled off her jacket. “Pretty full.”

  “Too soon, huh?”

  “You could say that. Or you could say I’m through with men,” Daphne added. Might as well stop this plane before it takes off. And parts of her were ready for takeoff.

  He nodded, absorbing that information. “Guess I can’t blame you. I’ve got an ex. I understand the feeling.”

  “I’ve got two. This will make number three.”

  His eyes popped wide. “Whoa.”

  “Yeah, whoa.” How pathetic. She bent ov
er to break some needles off the gigantic rosemary bush by the back porch, hoping he hadn’t noticed the five-alarm fire on her face.

  “Sometimes it takes a while to find the right person,” he said in a chivalrous effort to put an optimistic spin on her failures.

  “And sometimes you never do.” She stripped a small branch and stood up. “I’ve decided to become a lesbian.”

  Now his eyes were as big as golf balls.

  “Nice talking to you, Hank,” she said and went back inside the kitchen. She almost ran into her mother, who was hovering by the door.

  “Were you talking to Hank just now?”

  It was the same tone of voice Mother had used when she was a little girl. “Were you in the cookies?” Come to think of it, she’d used that tone of voice plenty of times when Daphne was an adult. “Are you seriously thinking of marrying that man?”

  “Just visiting,” Daphne said, depositing the rosemary on the kitchen counter.

  “He’s divorced, you know.”

  It was hard to imagine any woman wanting to get rid of a man like that. Uh-oh. Here came the heat again, fast as a gas-stove burner. Daphne blotted her forehead and got busy digging around in the cupboard for yeast.

  “The last thing you need is another man in your life,” Mother said. “You don’t have good luck with men.”

  As if she needed it pointed out to her? “I’m aware of that,” Daphne said stiffly.

  “I just don’t want you to make another mistake.” Mother ran a hand over Daphne’s hair, pulling it away from her face, the same motherly gesture Daphne had often used on her own daughter when they were having a serious conversation.

  “I know,” Daphne said, trying to erase the irritation from her voice. “I’m not planning on it.”

  “Sometimes things happen that a woman doesn’t plan on,” Mother said. “You’re better off not even talking to him.”

  “I’m not going to be rude.” What was she supposed to do, hide in the house when he came over? If you had any sense you would.

  “Daphne,” Mother said sternly.