by Lexi Eddings
As Mike predicted, Jake wanted a low-key bachelor party. It consisted of an evening of thick steaks and single malt whiskey, followed by bad karaoke and a poker game at Jake’s place that lasted till the wee hours of the morning. Jake and his brothers cleaned Michael out of all his walking-around cash—which was more than most folks in Coldwater lived on for a month—but Mike didn’t seem to mind.
“Better for me to lose it to them while I’ve still got it,” he said. The threat of Dr. Hildebrand’s exposé made him push back his company’s IPO. Heather had left a text for Skyler asking about his progress with the cease-and-desist order, but he would only reply that he was working on it and would get back to her as soon as he knew something.
But for now, she decided no news was good news. Besides, the wedding of the century loomed.
To make up for her unscheduled week of vacation, Heather volunteered to work a double shift on Thanksgiving Day. After all, her parents were out of the country, bobbing around on a cruise ship somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico. Even though Michael had assured her she’d be welcome at the Evanses’ table, she thought the family deserved a quiet holiday by themselves. If there were no extra guests, maybe Mrs. Evans would even take it easy and order the precooked holiday spread from Piggly Wiggly.
She obviously didn’t know Michael’s mother very well.
According to Mike, his mom pulled out all the stops, and, refusing to allow anyone to bring anything to add to her menu, she served up the mother of all Thanksgiving feasts. The sideboard groaned under platters of white and dark meat, candied yams, homemade noodles, fluffy biscuits, a special family recipe for green beans flavored with bacon, several types of molded salad, and cranberry sauce that didn’t bear the slightest indentation marks from a can. There were three kinds of pie for dessert—pumpkin, chocolate, and peach—and for good measure, Shirley Evans had made her prize-winning cherry cheesecake as well.
“There’s so much left over,” Michael had told Heather, “you’re obligated to help eat some of it on Friday, so my folks’ refrigerator won’t burst.” He patted his flat belly. “Not to mention my stomach.”
In fact, all the Evans siblings were required to bring at least one guest. Shirley had made sure the entire wedding party got an invitation, calling it the “prerehearsal brunch.”
“Lacy’s worried that she won’t fit into her wedding dress tomorrow,” Mike said as they pulled up to his parents’ house. He’d ditched his Harley and was driving a Lincoln he’d had delivered from a dealer in Dallas. The contrast between the elegant, understated coupe and the garish red sports car Skyler drove was striking. “My sister’s vowing not to eat again until the reception.”
“Well, that’s not good. Sounds like she’s getting bridal jitters,” Heather said. “I’ll see if I can talk her off the hunger-strike ledge.”
“She’s not the one I’m worried about,” Michael said as he parked and came around the car to open the door for her. “Crystal and Noah got into a fight before we all sat down to dinner yesterday. It was pretty intense while we passed the stuffing, but I figured it would all work out by the time we were deep in our turkey comas.”
“It didn’t?”
“During the meal, Noah and Crystal kept up a running hissy fit under their breaths. Finally, he got up from the table before dessert. He left the house and didn’t come back.”
Heather had sensed tension between the couple at Riley’s recital, but she didn’t think it was so bad that Noah would ditch his family on a holiday.
“Come in, come in!” Mr. Evans met them at the door, shooing them through the opening quickly. “Mayhew had a squirrel get into his house the other day when he didn’t latch his door tight. Darn thing made off with a piece of plastic fruit from the lazy Susan on his dining table.”
“No kidding?” Mike said.
“Of course, you can’t blame the squirrel since Mayhew puts out feed for the vermin.” A small smile lifted the corners of Mr. Evans’s lips. “A man who feeds a squirrel deserves whatever’s coming to him.”
“How is your wife feeling?” Heather asked.
“Oh, she’s in fine fettle,” Mr. Evans said. “Took her last treatment on Monday, so she’s stronger every day.”
“She was determined to finish the course before the wedding. Good for her,” Heather said. “Why don’t I see if I can help Mrs. Evans in the kitchen?”
“What would help her most is if you’d call her Shirley,” Mr. Evans said. “And I’m George. No more of this Mrs. and Mr. stuff.”
“Thank you . . . George.”
That feels good. Almost like family.
Shirley and Lacy were both in the kitchen, each intent on doing the most work, each trying to get all the leftovers from the refrigerator and into serving bowls before the other one could do it. As a result, they spent more time in each other’s way than actually getting anything accomplished.
“I was thinking that the decorations at the church and the Opera House look a little sparse,” Mrs. Evans was saying as she put out the molded salads on the island. She obviously intended to use the space as a buffet, but since she and Lacy had different ideas about where each dish should go, there was much arranging and rearranging going on. After greeting them both with a hug, Heather decided the wise course was to offer to fill water glasses and otherwise stay out of their way.
“We already talked about the decorations, Mom,” Lacy said as she wrestled a big bowl of green beans from her mother’s hands and put them in a pan to warm. “The florist will bring the fresh flowers tomorrow morning and it’ll be fine.”
“I’ll admit those silk bows are pretty, but you’re only putting a spray of blossoms on every other pew and a sparse spray at that.”
“Less is more, Mom.”
“Honey, that makes no sense. Less is not more. That’s why they call it less. And you, my dear, deserve more.” Mrs. Evans poured some heavy cream into a bowl and began whipping it into submission. “I’ve got two dozen silk arrangements, all in your pink, navy, and ivory, loaded up in the back of the van. If we put those silks above the bows on the pews that don’t have fresh flowers, think how pretty they’d look in the pictures. It would certainly help fill in the space.”
“Mom, sometimes you don’t need to fill the space. You just need space.” Lacy’s mouth drew into a tight line, and her jaw seemed carved in granite.
Heather recognized that look. The decoration of the church and reception hall was a sore spot between Lacy and her mother that Heather thought had already been settled. Clearly, the mother of the bride wasn’t of the same opinion and wanted to reopen negotiations on the day before the ceremony. The bride was reaching the breaking point.
Heather needed to change the subject stat, so she sniffed the air appreciatively. “Mmm, something smells wonderful.”
“That’s Mom’s Day-After-Thanksgiving Turkey Potpie,” Lacy said, tossing Heather a wink and a look of gratitude.
“Well, it’s nothing fancy,” Shirley said, with a smug grin that wasn’t anywhere near as humble as her words. “It’s just a little something I throw together to make Thanksgiving leftovers feel more like a real meal.”
“Don’t you believe a word she says,” Lacy said, grabbing up the conversational ball and streaking for the hoop. “Mom’s dish is nothing short of a culinary miracle. She takes leftover turkey and noodles, adds some peas and carrots and a puff pastry top and voilà! Heaven in a baking pan!”
Lacy might be laying it on a little thick, but it seemed to be working. Shirley showed no sign of returning to the Great Silk Flower Debate. The last of the meal preparation went without incident, and soon the entire Evans clan, along with a good bit of the Tyler family, gathered to say grace. Then they filled their plates and divided into two groups roughly along gender lines. Heather; Jake’s mother, Mary Tyler; Lacy and her mother and sister, Crystal, along with Crystal’s children, settled around the dining table. The men and Laura, who was a devoted football fan, adjourned to the family roo
m to eat while watching the game.
“Doesn’t matter who’s playing,” Shirley said. “My George claims any game is a good game.”
Heather dug into her meal. After the second bite of pie, she cocked her head at the serving on her plate. “What did you say is in this pie again?”
“My turkey potpie is a bit of a catchall, I’m afraid. Noodles, veggies and—oh, no!” The whites showed all the way around Shirley’s eyes. “I forgot to put in the turkey.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate. Whoever heard of turkey potpie without any turkey? Even for a mostly family meal,” Crystal said, thoughtlessly ignoring the distress on her mother’s face.
Hard to call it a family meal when your husband is AWOL, danced on Heather’s tongue, but she bit the words back. Not only were they unkind, they didn’t need to be heard by Crystal’s kids either.
Besides, Shirley needed her attention more than Crystal needed a rebuke. Lacy’s mom was tearing up. Her sweet face crumpled.
“Oh, I’m such a dunderhead,” Shirley said. “How could I forget the turkey?”
“You’re just coming off chemo. You’ve got a daughter getting married tomorrow,” Heather said. “There’s a lot on your plate at the moment.”
“Yeah, but none of it is turkey,” Shirley’s grandson Ethan looked up from his tablet long enough to say.
Like mother, like son.
“Come with me, young man, and we’ll get you some,” Heather told the little twit in clipped tones.
Both Ethan and Riley trailed her into the kitchen. She took the platters of turkey from the refrigerator and warmed them. Then she gave the children their choice of light or dark meat before offering the platters around to the football fans. The men and Laura were so wrapped up in what was happening on the gridiron, they hadn’t even noticed the meat was missing from the main dish. But as long as Heather didn’t block their view of the TV screen, they were grateful for a slice of turkey or two.
By the time Heather returned to the dining room to eat her meal, Shirley was all smiles. Lacy, however, looked like a storm cloud.
“What’s up?” Heather whispered while Crystal and Shirley debated the comparative merits of Lenox and Wedgwood bone china.
“Mom wouldn’t stop berating herself about the potpie, so I agreed to let her decorate the church and reception hall with those stupid silk flowers just to cheer her up. The tears turned off like a spigot,” Lacy muttered. “If I didn’t know better, I’d bet she forgot that turkey on purpose.”
“Sounds like a sucker bet to me,” Heather said. “No takers here.”
Chapter 31
I don’t get all the junk with the caterers and florists
and colors and music when a wedding all boils down
to one of the shortest sentences in the English language.
I do. Why is there so much fuss over two little words?
—Michael Evans
The women, except for Laura, spent the afternoon at the church and Opera House, finalizing the decorations. In a groundbreaking compromise, they added only half of Shirley’s beloved silk arrangements. Later that evening, the wedding rehearsal went off without a hitch, though there was a bit of confusion for the musicians. Lacy wanted the bridal party and the groom to process from the side entrances while the hand-bell choir played. Then once everyone was in place, the organ would take over. As a fluty rendition of Pachelbel’s Canon in D began, the rear doors of the sanctuary would open, and Mr. Evans would escort his younger daughter down the aisle.
Heather arrived at the church the next morning an hour before the ceremony was set to begin. She peeked in the sanctuary, where the florist with real flowers was trying in vain to find a place to put her creations. Shirley had evidently returned after the rehearsal dinner and added a few more “pretties”—a huge silk arrangement on the altar, and ropes of artificial blooms strangling two candelabra on either side, along with the rest of the sprays on the pews.
“More is definitely . . . more,” she muttered.
On her way to the Sunday school room on the second floor that had been set aside as the bridal dressing room, Heather ran into Michael on the stairs. He looked so handsome in his navy tux, she had to remind herself to breathe.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he said as he drew her into his arms and bent to kiss her. “And before you ask, yes, the groom is here. Jake’s getting into his dress blues.”
“Good,” Heather said. “And good thing it’s not bad luck for the best man to see the maid of honor.”
“Lacy and Jake don’t need luck. They’ve got each other.”
“Yeah, if they can just get through the wedding,” Heather said. “Did you see what your mother has done to the sanctuary? Or more importantly, has Lacy seen it?”
He lifted a quizzical brow at her, as if he didn’t understand her concern.
Men.
“Yeah, she saw it. The family came through that way when we arrived.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing.”
That was ominous. “Really?”
“Yeah, come to think of it, she’d been chattering like a squirrel up until then, but she didn’t say a word after that. Not even when we parted company upstairs.” When he kissed her forehead, she realized she’d been frowning. “Don’t worry. It’ll be OK.”
“Michael, haven’t you ever heard that calm comes before the storm?”
“It’s just stuff, Heather, all the decorations and menus and junk. It’s not important.”
“It’s important to your sister.” And to pretty much every woman on the planet. “A woman wants her wedding to be an expression of who she is and what she wants for her future.”
“When Lacy comes down that aisle, all she’ll see is Jake waiting for her at the end of it. Isn’t that her future? Isn’t that what matters?”
“I guess.” Now if she could just convince the bride.
When she ducked into the changing room, Lacy, her mother, Crystal, and Laura were all there. With her mother’s help, Lacy was stepping into her gown, but the bridesmaids were already in their dresses.
“They’re pink!” Heather said. Not only were they pink, they were hurt-your-eyes pink. Lacy had wanted soft pink as an accent, a bare hint of color to balance the strong navy. Two heavy hues would look like the battle of the sexes on a color wheel.
“I know,” Shirley said, beaming. “I was concerned there might be a mix-up, and sure enough, the company sent the dresses in navy to the Bride Side. And they came at the last minute, too, so there wouldn’t have been time to return them. But while I was in Tulsa visiting Michael in the hospital, I dropped by a shop there and picked up the pink ones, just in case. Oh, I’m so glad I did. Aren’t they just to die for?”
If you want to go out as a giant flamingo queen.
From across the room, Lacy looked at her wearily, as if to say, Resistance is futile. Just put on the dress.
Even though Heather was sick about having to wear a color that would be more at home on a Rio beach during Mardi Gras, she didn’t want to cause any more problems, so she slipped into the eye-popping sheath.
At least Shirley hadn’t thought to buy matching pumps.
Thank God for small mercies.
Shirley’s attention was distracted by the fact that Crystal’s eye makeup was smudged, so Heather took the opportunity to have a quiet word with Lacy as she helped her adjust her veil.
“You look beautiful. Are you OK?”
“I’ll do,” Lacy said grimly. “At the end of the day, I’ll be married to Jake, and I’d walk through fire for that man, so Mom’s gauntlet of shocking pink and death by silk roses won’t stop me.” The bride sighed. “But to tell the truth, I feel like this wedding already has two strikes against it.”
Heather thought about trying Michael’s argument that the details didn’t matter, but she could see that to Lacy, they did. So she smoothed her friend’s hair and made sure the beautiful bouquet of real blooms the florist had brought found its wa
y into Lacy’s shaky hands before Shirley could replace it with one made of her “forever flowers.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, look at the time!” Shirley said when Lacy’s dad rapped on the door so he could escort his daughter down the stairs. She scurried away to be paraded to her seat in the front row, while Heather, Crystal, and Laura made their way to the left side entrance to the sanctuary.
Heather hoped George had some calming words for his daughter, because Lacy was barely holding it together.
The hand-bell choir began a piece that could charitably be described as a “joyful noise,” and the bridal party coordinated their entrances. Each bridesmaid briefly met the corresponding groomsman at the front of the nave and then separated to either the bride’s or groom’s side. Riley went in before Heather, dropping clumps of rose petals on her way. Her basket was empty long before she met her brother Ethan, whose iPad had been pried from his hands and replaced with a pillow bearing the rings. When Heather and Michael met, her heart nearly banged its way out of her chest. He was so handsome. She felt sure the whole congregation could feel the attraction vibrating between them.
Before Heather turned and walked up a couple of steps leading to the raised area before the choir loft, she let herself wonder how it would feel to be meeting Michael at the altar, not as maid of honor and best man, but as bride and groom.
Would she care about the decorations and details or would she only see the man?
The point was moot. He hasn’t asked you, silly.
As the hand bells were building to their clanging climax, Jake, flanked by Pastor Mark, joined them at the altar. Once the last chime died away, Heather turned to face the back of the church, where her friend in all her bridal glory would soon appear.
In the days that followed, several theories arose about what happened next. Some said Pastor Mark’s head was down, scanning the order of service likely, and thus, he was distracted. Mrs. Chisholm, ever the ray of sunshine, opined that he must have had a ministroke and was unaware of his surroundings on that account. Some said it wasn’t the pastor’s fault at all because clearly the organist had fallen asleep, though how anyone could sleep through that bombastic hand-bell piece was a mystery as deep as the miracle at Cana.
