Tall Tales and Wedding Veils

by Jane Graves

  And that would be that.

  He wondered how far Heather’s father would go in thinking he was guilty of something sinister just because they were getting a divorce. The kind of condemnation Fred had heaped on him tonight had reminded him so much of his father that it had made the tiny hairs on Tony’s arms stand up. They were so much alike.

  And, oddly enough, Barbara was a lot like his mother.

  In his memory, his mother was little more than soft eyes, warm brown hair, and a whiff of perfume, and with every year that passed, it grew harder and harder to bring an image of her to mind. He wasn’t sure how much he’d idealized her in his memory, but even now, almost twenty years later, sometimes he missed her so much it hurt.

  Pushing back the covers, he rose quietly and went to his spare bedroom. He flipped on a lamp, opened one of the bottom dresser drawers, and pulled out an old brown shoebox. He sat down on the sofa and opened it, taking out a small stack of photographs that were tattered and discolored with age.

  The first one showed his mother in her early twenties. She wore a yellow halter dress and sandals, her shiny dark hair falling over one shoulder. She was sitting on a porch step, and she was laughing. His father had taken this picture when they were dating, and whenever Tony looked at it, he always found himself wondering when the laughter had stopped.

  He flipped through the others. One was a wedding photo of his parents, his father in his Navy dress uniform and his mother in a lacy white gown. There were several of Tony and his mother together when he was a toddler, then a grade-schooler. In one of the photos, his mother looked thin and gaunt, and he knew that one must have been taken near the end.

  He put the photos back and picked up a small book from the box—a storybook version of Peter Pan. Even now, he could still recite almost every word of it. He would never forget the sound of his mother’s voice when she read to him and the lively, sunshiny expression she always wore whenever his father wasn’t around. But the moment she heard the doorknob rattle, her laughter would die and her face would lock down, as if she was pulling shutters closed against an impending storm. After her funeral, Tony remembered lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, imprinting the sound of her voice on his brain so he’d never forget. Photographs helped him remember what she looked like, but the love and affection in a voice was something an image could never convey.

  Then he saw the small black box. He almost picked it up, then reconsidered. It had been a long time since he’d looked at its contents, and it would probably be a long time until he did again. He wanted to remember the days she lived, not the day she died.

  All the way up to her final moments of life, Tony always knew how much his mother loved him. But he’d never felt anything even resembling love from his father. Parents were supposed to shield a child from pain, not cause it, and his father had caused him more grief than any child should have to take.

  At six thirty the next evening, Heather sat at the computer in Tony’s office, butterflies fluttering around in her stomach. She took a few deep breaths to settle them, telling herself there was no need to be nervous. Everything was under control. The grand opening was going to be a spectacular event.

  She scanned the invitation list she’d pulled up to verify the names of the two food and entertainment reporters who were coming and scribbled them on a piece of paper. She intended to give it to Tony so he could remember who they were when they showed up, trying to do whatever she could to help him make a good impression. Truthfully, though, she didn’t know why she was worried. Once he turned on the charm, not a solitary soul could resist him.

  Tony poked his head around the doorway, a big smile on his face. “The sign’s up.”

  “Thank God they finished in time.”

  “Come take a look.”

  Heather jumped out of her chair and followed him out the front door. She looked up. There it was. And it was beautiful.

  “It’s official,” Tony said. “McMillan’s is now McCaffrey’s.”

  She looped her arm through his. “How does it feel?”

  Tony stared at the sign, nodding with satisfaction. “Pretty damned good.”

  “I don’t want you to worry about any management issues tonight,” Heather said. “Kayla and I will keep things running in the background.”

  “Okay.”

  “People are coming here to see you, so I want you free to be Mr. Hospitality. Just relax and enjoy yourself, okay?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Oh. Something else. You’ll make a good impression if you can remember the names of the reporters coming here tonight. I wrote them—”

  “Heather?”

  She spun around to see Kayla sticking her head out the door.

  “Chuck needs you.”

  “I’ll be right there.” She turned back to Tony. “I wrote them on a pad of paper on your desk.”

  “I’ll get it. You go talk to Chuck.”

  They went back inside. As Tony headed for his office, Heather went to the kitchen, every nerve in her body buzzing with excitement. She answered Chuck’s questions about the buffet, then checked her watch and took a deep breath. It wouldn’t be long now.

  Kayla came into the kitchen. “Where’s Tony? Erika wanted me to tell him she’s stuck in traffic on Central, so she may be a few minutes late.”

  “In his office. I’ll go tell him—”

  And then Heather remembered. Oh, God. The invitation list.

  She spun around and raced out of the kitchen, circled the bar, and headed for Tony’s office. She stopped short at his door, collecting herself, then walked in. And over his shoulder, she saw exactly what she prayed she wouldn’t—the Excel document that she’d forgotten to close when she went out to look at the sign. Tony turned slowly in his chair, his face tight with anger.

  “Heather? Did you send my father an invitation?”

  Chapter 23

  Heather stood there helplessly as the most awful sense of dread spilled over her. If she lied and said she didn’t send the invitation and then Tony’s father showed up, Tony would be angry. If she admitted she’d invited him, Tony would be angry. It was a lose-lose situation if she’d ever faced one.

  She decided it was time to tell the truth.

  “Yes,” she admitted. “I invited him.”

  Tony’s expression turned hot with anger. “I told you I didn’t want him here!”

  “Tony, please don’t be mad. I was just trying to help.”

  “Help? How is inviting that man here supposed to help?”

  “Family is important. And regret is a terrible thing. I think you want to reconcile with your father. You’re just scared.”

  “So you think you know me?” he said, his voice low and intense. “After a lousy couple of weeks, you think you know what makes me tick? I’ve got news for you, Heather. You don’t have a clue.” He stood up slowly, his blistering gaze causing her to take a step backward. “Do you have any idea what it’s going to be like for me if he shows up here? Do you?”

  “I didn’t do it to hurt you!”

  “I don’t give a damn why you did it! It wasn’t your decision to make!”

  Her eyes filled with tears, her vision growing blurry. The sight of his usually smiling face so contorted with anger chilled her to the bone.

  “I trusted you,” he said, his voice quivering. “I thought you understood how I felt about this!”

  Heather bowed her head. “You’re right. I . . . I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have—”

  “You’re damned right you shouldn’t have. This was going to be the biggest night of my life, and now you’ve ruined it. I hope you’re happy.”

  He brushed past her and stormed out of his office. Heather drew in a deep, shuddering breath, cursing herself for what she’d done, misery spilling over her like an ice-cold rain.

  She swallowed hard, trying to quell the anxiety that was building inside her. She could only hope that if Don McCaffrey showed up, he’d have a kind word for
his son instead of trying to force him to live up to standards he couldn’t meet and that it would be the first step on their road to reconciliation. That was the only thing that might possibly insure that Tony wouldn’t hate her for the rest of his life.

  Damn her. Damn her for doing this to me.

  Tony’s stomach was tied in knots, anger and apprehension eating away at him. He could only hope his old man had tossed the invitation in the trash, because if he decided to come, God only knew what he’d say.

  Your drinks are too weak.

  Apparently you have to hire slutty waitresses to keep a crowd in this place.

  Don’t you ever read the business page? This is one of the riskiest businesses you can possibly go into.

  When seven o’clock came and people started showing up, Tony greeted them with big smiles and handshakes. One of his greatest gifts was the ability to put a smile on his face regardless of how he really felt, and by God, he was going to do that tonight if it killed him.

  Then he had to endure Heather’s family showing up with smiles and hugs. When Fred came up and shook his hand, Tony didn’t miss the slight narrowing of his eyes that said Look out. I’m watching you.

  He schmoozed the reporters, pouring on the charm, even as his head was swimming with anxiety. He kept looking toward the door, scared to death that his father was going to show up and ruin everything.

  A few hours into the evening, the band took a break and Tony took the microphone. He thanked everybody for coming, made a few jokes, and told people about the plans he had for the future. But through it all, he felt dazed, as if he were standing outside his body hearing himself speak.

  Other people showed up whom Tony hadn’t seen in a long time, and all of them were thrilled that he had a business of his own. It should have been a heady experience, finally stepping up and doing something with his life with the whole world watching his success. But just as he’d start to enjoy himself, he’d remember what Heather had done, and his stomach would churn with dread. It was as if she’d lit a stick of dynamite, and he was waiting for it to go off.

  But as much as Tony was afraid of his father showing up, as the hours passed, an emotional tug-of-war started up inside his head. He didn’t want him here. Not if he was going to cause trouble. But if he didn’t come . . .

  It meant he just didn’t give a damn.

  And as the evening came to a close, that was the only conclusion Tony could draw. The dynamite hadn’t gone off. But in its place was a cold, dark feeling of loneliness that he almost couldn’t bear.

  After he sent the last employee home, Tony went to the bar and poured himself a shot of Scotch. He downed that and poured himself another one. He knew Heather was still in the kitchen. Doing what, he didn’t know. In a few minutes, he intended to be too drunk to care.

  He thought about how her whole family had come tonight, which had only highlighted everything that was dysfunctional about his. The only family he had was a few aunts and uncles in places he’d never even visited and a bastard of a father who couldn’t be bothered to come ten miles across town to see his son on one of the biggest nights of his life.

  Maybe he didn’t get the invitation. Maybe he had something else he had to do. Maybe . . .

  No.

  There he was, doing it again, just as he’d done a million times while growing up. Making excuses for an old man who didn’t care and never would.

  But his father wasn’t the only person he couldn’t depend on. For the first time in his life, he’d laid himself bare in front of a woman, telling Heather things he’d never told anyone before, only to discover that she was the kind of person who would do things behind his back and screw up his life in ways he couldn’t even imagine.

  In that moment, Tony realized he’d been right all along, that there was only one person on this earth he could trust. And to find him, he needed only to look in the nearest mirror.

  Heather had never spent a more miserable evening.

  All around her, people had been smiling and laughing and having a good time. The band had rocked the place. She knew that they were going to get great write-ups in the media and that people would be coming back, probably bringing friends. But she couldn’t concentrate on any of that. All she could think about was the anger on Tony’s face when he found out what she’d done. A few times this evening, she’d turned and caught his eye, and that broad, brilliant smile had faded to an icy frown. To have him look at her like that after everything that had happened between them just about broke her heart.

  But the worst part of all was her family showing up. Tony had put on a good face for them, and so had she. But as she pictured telling them in a few days that she and Tony were breaking up, it made her sick to her stomach. And knowing how wary her father was of Tony would make things doubly hard.

  Now she sat alone in the kitchen, the silence hammering away at her. She knew everyone else was gone for the night, but Tony was still out there.

  She couldn’t leave it like this. She had to talk to him.

  With a deep, shaky breath, she came out of the kitchen to find him sitting at the bar with a shot glass and a bottle of Scotch. That didn’t bode well for his state of mind, but she had to say something to him. Apologize again. Apologize a thousand times over if that was what it took.

  Taking a deep breath, she slid onto a barstool next to him.

  “Hey,” she said.

  He was silent.

  “I’d tell you I’ve been cleaning up some things in the kitchen,” she said, “but I’d be lying. I was staying around to talk to you.”

  Tony downed the rest of the Scotch in his glass.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “For sending that invitation.”

  “You already told me that.”

  “And I’m sorry your father didn’t come.”

  Tony reached for the Scotch bottle. “You know what, Heather? I’ve been thinking about that. You actually did me a favor by sending him that invitation.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He filled his glass again. “See, about a dozen times in the past three years, I’ve come real close to picking up the phone to call him. But I’ve always stopped. I was always afraid of him treating me like shit one more time, which would mean I’d know for sure I didn’t have a father anymore. I just didn’t have the guts to put that final nail in the coffin. But since you did it for me,” he said, raising his glass to her, “now I know I can just write the bastard off and never think about him again.”

  Tony’s tone may have been light, but his words weren’t, and hearing him talk like this made Heather very uneasy. So did the fact that he was drowning his disappointment in alcohol.

  “Maybe there’s a reason he didn’t show up,” she said. “Maybe he had something else he had to do tonight.”

  “If that was true, he could have called.”

  “Maybe he didn’t get the invitation.”

  “Heather. He got the invitation. He just . . .” He stopped short, swallowing hard. “He just didn’t want to come.”

  Heather saw a flash of sheer misery pass across Tony’s face, and her heart broke for him. How hard must it be for him to know that his own father wanted nothing to do with him?

  She reached out a hand and touched his arm, only to have him slap his palms on the bar and give her a big smile.

  “Well,” he said. “So much for that. The good part is that the grand opening was a big success. He can’t take that away from me, can he?”

  “No,” Heather said warily. “He can’t.”

  “I think this calls for a private celebration. Just you and me. Ah! I know.” He circled around the bar, grabbed a lime and a bottle of tequila, and held them up. “Ever do body shots?”

  “Tony—”

  He held up his finger to silence her. He sliced the lime in half. Picking up one of the halves, he came back around the bar and grabbed a salt shaker.

  “Now, there are a lot of ways to do this, but since you’ll probably tell me it’
s unsanitary if I have you lie down on the bar, I’ll use the lime-and-salt-on-the-neck technique.”

  “Let’s just go home, okay?”

  “I know, I know. You want to go straight to bed. Shame on me. I’ve spoiled you.”

  “I think it would be best if we both just got some sleep.”

  “Not until I’ve shown you this. You’re gonna love it.”

  “Tony? What are you doing?”

  “I told you. Body shots.” He reached up and rubbed the lime in a slow, sensuous circle on the side of her neck.

  “Don’t,” Heather said softly. “Please don’t.”

  “Now, you need to tilt your head a little so I can sprinkle the salt, or it’ll go right down your shirt.”

  She didn’t move. As she stared up at him, knowing what was really in his heart, her throat grew tight and tears filled her eyes.

  He leaned away, his smile vanishing. “Stop it.”

  Heather shook her head slowly, blinking to keep the tears at bay.

  “Damn it, will you stop looking at me like that?”

  “I know how much it hurts that your father didn’t show up, no matter how much you try to act as if it doesn’t.”

  “Let it go, Heather.”

  “Now I know why you have a different woman in your bed every night. Why you can’t get close to people. I know why you wear that gorgeous smile most of the time, and I know what makes you lose it. I know you dealt with more crap growing up than any kid should ever have to. But if you don’t stop keeping the world at arm’s length, you’re never going to have any kind of life.”

  He glared at her. “My life is just fine with me.”

  “No. You need relationships. You’re starving for them. But still you go on sleeping with every woman you meet and pretending that’s enough.”

  “Who the hell are you to judge me?”

  “That’s not what I’m doing. I’m just trying to make you understand—”