Covenant

by Ann McMan

  “Seriously, Mom? You’re not the only person in the room with an MD after her name.”

  “No,” Celine agreed. “But neither am I the only MD in the room wearing four Band-Aids on her right hand.”

  “That’s not my fault . . . I blame that vat of cheese that’s now causing the table to sag.”

  “Wimp.” Syd craned her neck to look out the window toward the driveway. “It looks like Lizzy is here.”

  “Good. I can’t wait to ask her about why she and Avi both played hooky this morning.”

  “Hooky?” Celine sounded intrigued. “What’s that about?”

  Maddie shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Dear Abby, here. Syd is the one with her finger on the pulse of burgeoning relationship intrigue.”

  “You know how I hate to gossip . . .” Syd wielded her wooden spoon. “But I think there’s a little something-something brewing there.”

  “Didn’t your brother just . . .” Celine began.

  “Exit, stage left?” Syd suggested. “Yes. And if you ask me, it’s good riddance for Lizzy.”

  “Yeah . . . well. ‘For what do we live but to make sport for our neighbors?’” Maddie quoted. “Lemme pour Lizzy a glass. I’m sure she could use it.”

  Lizzy joined them inside and was surprised to see Celine.

  “Oh, Dr. Heller,” she said. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  “Hello, Lizzy,” Celine greeted her. “And, please—call me Celine. Dr. Heller sounds too much like I could be the mother of a forty-year-old spinster.”

  “Forty?” Maddie was incredulous. “Forty? Jeez, Mom. And you criticize my math skills. Besides . . . I won’t be a spinster for long.”

  “That’s true,” Syd agreed. “You’ll begin serving your life sentence in approximately one hundred and twenty days . . . just in time for your fortieth birthday.”

  It was Maddie’s turn to toss a cherry tomato at Syd, who caught it handily and popped it into her mouth in one fluid motion.

  “How butch!” A voice bellowed from the doorway. “I always suspected you were a closet softball player. Lemme guess . . . shortstop?”

  David had arrived.

  Michael followed along behind him, wrangling a large tray of . . . something.

  “What’s that?” Maddie asked him.

  “Cupcakes.” Michael deposited the tray on the kitchen table. “About three dozen of them.”

  “I’d be the last person to look a gift horse in the mouth,” Syd noted, “but where’d you get three dozen cupcakes?”

  “He made them.” David was making rounds, kissing all the women—except Maddie, who glowered at him. “He catered some kind of Quinceañera soirée this afternoon.”

  “Isn’t that a mixed metaphor?” Maddie asked.

  “I’m ignoring you. As I was saying,” David continued, “the girls in attendance ended up being pretty typical fifteen-year-old Skeletors—so they ate like chickadees.” He fluttered his fingers at Michael. “I tried to tell you they’d rather have artichoke toast.”

  Michael rolled his eyes. “I thought the kids would enjoy them.”

  “Sure,” David agreed. “The kids. Henry . . . Maddie. They should each be able to dispatch a clear dozen.”

  Lizzy was admiring the intricate designs on the cupcakes. “These decorations are incredible. I’ve never seen this much icing on a cupcake.”

  “It’s all in the Number 48 star tip on the pastry bag,” David explained. “Michael uses the same one to apply styling gel to his hair.”

  “It’s how I maintain great loft.” Michael selected one of the cupcakes, and whispered to Lizzy. “Wanna split one?”

  “Oh, no you don’t,” Syd warned from the stove. “I’ve got my weight in taco meat simmering up here. Nobody eats nothin’ until we make some headway on all this damn food.”

  “Sheesh.” David made a beeline for the wine. “Who knew we were dining in Hell’s Kitchen?”

  Maddie cut him off at the pass. “May I help you with something?”

  “Is this an academic question?” he asked her. “If not, could you make yourself about nine inches shorter, cultivate a sense of humor, and kindly shift about three feet to the left?”

  “Don’t make me stop this car, you two,” Celine cautioned them using her sternest, professorial tone.

  “Now you’ve done it,” David whined. “You’ve upset Stanford Hopkins.”

  Lizzy was confused. “Who is Stanford Hopkins?”

  “It’s a long story,” Maddie and Celine answered in unison.

  “It’s her editorial nom de plume—an homage to her advanced degrees.” David poured two glasses of wine and carried one over to Lizzy. “Come with me, you captivating, redheaded minx of a Florence Nightingale. I’ll spirit you away from these cretins and regale you with highlights of my award-winning tenure as a literary icon, and the esteemed Dr. Heller’s role as my translator.”

  “Literary?” Michael appealed to Celine. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

  “No.” Celine resumed dicing tomatoes. “It’s still garden-variety, gay German porn.”

  “I beg your pardon . . .” David steered Lizzy out of the kitchen. “It’s edge fiction.”

  Maddie motioned him along toward the doorway. “Cast not your swine before pearls.”

  Michael watched them leave before facing the rest of the group. “He’s baaaaaack.”

  They all laughed.

  ‘Give the man a glass of wine,” Syd told Maddie. “At this rate, he’ll need a box to go.”

  “Box?” Michael asked.

  Syd nodded. “After we polish off these bottles, Franzia is all we have left. I fear David already drank everything else.”

  Michael was aghast. “Is he still doing that?”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Maddie handed Michael his glass. “I’ve resorted to hiding the good stuff at work.”

  Celine laughed. “No wonder Byron told me to ask you about why you had a wine fridge in your clinic.”

  “Wait’ll you see how good it looks, Mom. Avi covered it with some kind of snazzy tapestry thing and a couple of those nice pieces of Jugtown pottery you picked up during your last trip to Seagrove.”

  “To use David-speak, Avi is the hot-looking boi, right? That’s b-o-i,” Michael clarified for Celine. “How’s that arrangement working out so far?”

  “Great. I think she’ll build up a client base in no time.”

  “Why isn’t she here tonight? She could’ve hitched a ride with us.”

  “Well, that’s complicated.” Maddie glanced at her mother. “Avi’s been talking some with Dorothy, so socializing with her outside the clinical setting would be a breach of protocol.”

  “Maddie?” Syd interrupted. “I think I see Charlie’s cruiser pulling in. I forgot to tell you I left my cell phone at the library. Roma Jean said she and Charlie would drop it off on their way to dinner.”

  Maddie headed for the porch. “Want me to invite them to stay and eat?”

  Syd smiled at her. “Why the hell not?”

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Henry was torn between pestering Charlie with endless questions about her police car, and clinging to Lizzy like a dryer sheet. It really was adorable. They were lucky Lizzy was such a good sport about it. More than once, she’d caught Syd’s eye and winked at her.

  Too bad my clueless brother didn’t have the sense or taste our son has . . .

  “No, Henry,” Charlie was explaining. “The car isn’t equipped with booster rockets—but it can go pretty fast. You have to be careful, though.” She glanced at Roma Jean. “You never know when you might encounter a wayward flock of canned peaches.”

  “It is that time of year,” Byron agreed.

  Buddy was still poring over every minute detail of the glass sculpture depicted in the poster Dorothy and Celine had brought him from New York. He’d recognized the chromatic scale represented by the dozens of glass tubes in the photo immediately.

  “Bach is in the music,” he s
aid. “The canons are God.”

  Dorothy seemed overjoyed by Buddy’s reaction to the poster. Syd saw her share a satisfied smile with Celine.

  For his part, Henry was thrilled with his New York Yankees cap. He asked Maddie if he could wear it inside the house, since it was a special occasion. Maddie said he could, but only until they sat down to eat supper.

  Michael and David were arguing with Byron about which one of them had the best pesto recipe.

  Byron was insisting that his version, with blanched almonds and cilantro, was the gold standard.

  “You have to use fresh cilantro stems, to make that,” David was insisting. “And it’s not in season right now. Ergo, you cannot make decent pesto in late August. That dried stuff is for shi—”

  Michael kicked him to stop his use of the expletive.

  “Ow!” David complained. “Why’d you kick me?”

  “Kids?” Michael warned.

  “Oh, pish posh. Maddie’s heard curse words before.” David was rubbing his shin. “That’s gonna leave a mark. Now I won’t be able to wear capris for a week.”

  Byron laughed.

  “You’re right,” Michael said to him. “I could’ve spared us all a lot sooner.”

  Syd smiled. Michael was right: David was back. How wonderful it was to see him being . . . David again.

  Celine and Maddie were sitting at the kitchen table, deep in conversation about something. Probably Dorothy, she guessed. She wondered if Maddie had decided to ask her mother about Dorothy’s music education? Celine looked at ease . . . more relaxed and at peace than Syd had seen her look lately.

  Hell. They all seemed more relaxed. Something had changed—but she wasn’t sure what.

  Maddie was laughing at something her mother had said.

  God, the woman was so damn gorgeous. Even now, after all their years together, a simple glance from Maddie could still dissolve her into a hapless pile of goo.

  She couldn’t wait until they were married . . .

  An idea occurred to her. And once she started thinking about it, she couldn’t stop.

  The oven timer dinged.

  It was time to take the taco shells out.

  And it was past time to take care of some other business, too . . .

  “Maddie?” she called out to her. “I need you for a minute.”

  Maddie excused herself from Celine and joined Syd by the oven.

  “What’s up?”

  “I want to get married,” Syd told her.

  “I know, honey. I do, too.” Maddie looked around at the bowls of food. “Is it time to get this show on the road?”

  “Not exactly. It’s time to get our show on the road.”

  Maddie was confused. “I’m not sure I’m following you.”

  “Meaning, I want us to get married. Here. Tonight. Right now.” She waved a hand to encompass all of their assembled family and friends. “While everyone is here.”

  “What? Are you . . . is this . . . I mean . . .” Maddie looked as dazed as she sounded. “You want to do this now? For real?”

  “Yes. For real. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. I feel like I’ve been wandering around in some kind of insane fog. It’s crazy. Everything I’ve ever wanted is already here. You. Henry. Our friends.” She took Maddie’s face between her hands. “This is right. This—all of this—is who we are.” She kissed her. “Come on, hot stuff. Time to put your money where your mouth is . . . let’s do this.”

  She could tell Maddie was blindsided by her sudden change of heart, but that didn’t stop her from kissing her back soundly before grinning like a Kewpie doll, and proceeding to whistle at their company.

  “Heads up, everybody!” she called out. “It seems like the chef, here, would like to tend to one not-so-small order of business before we eat.” She smiled down at Syd. “You wanna give them the news, blondie?”

  Syd leaned into her. “We’ve decided to get married. Right now—with all of you as witnesses.”

  “What?” David shot to his feet first. “Without telling us first? I didn’t even press this shirt.”

  “Seriously?” Michael asked with incredulity. “This is the first thing that occurs to you? Unless I miss my guess, Versace, this means you’ll be the one officiating.”

  “Officiating?” David brightened up immediately. “That’s right. I’m the effing mayor of this one-horse hamlet. And since I already filed your licenses last week, there are no impediments. So it’s a great idea to do this now, before I resign.”

  “Resign?” Maddie was shocked by his statement. “You’re quitting?”

  “You’re kidding, right?” David waved a hand. “Of course, I am. This town is only one Ferdinand away from a Bolshevik revolution. No way I want to be all up in any of that. I mean . . . olive drab pants and bad facial hair? I don’t think so . . .”

  Maddie beamed down at Syd. “I knew he’d get there . . .”

  Celine was suddenly in front of them. “My girls.” She hugged them both. “I couldn’t be happier.”

  “Come on, come on.” Byron was corralling everyone. “Let’s all crowd together in here. Two by two. Hustle it up. Come on Henry, Dorothy. Henry? Take your hat off, okay buddy? No . . . not you, Buddy. You’re fine.” He faced Syd. “Where do you two want to stand?”

  Maddie gazed at her mother with wonder. “Who turned him into Marie Kondo?”

  “I can’t talk about it.” Celine squeezed her daughter’s hand. “Do you have Oma’s ring?”

  “Yep. It’s upstairs in my bureau.” She kissed Syd on the temple. “Lemme go and get it.”

  “Bring yours, too,” Syd called after her.

  “Mine?” Maddie was confused. “I have one?”

  “Of course you do, nimrod. It’s at the back of your sock drawer.”

  “My sock drawer?”

  “Uh huh. I knew it would be the last place you’d ever look.”

  “I could’ve told you that, Kemosabe,” David scoffed. “I mean, the whole world knows you only ever wear the same five pairs.” He bent to whisper to Lizzy, who was fiddling with her cell phone. “She’s just like Einstein: all black, no patterns.”

  “Yeah.” Maddie headed for the stairs. “What-ever. Back in a flash.”

  “You’re really sure about this, Syd?” Celine asked her. “No dress? No big spring wedding?”

  “I’m absolutely sure. Not an iota of hesitation. Well . . .” she deliberated. “Maybe just one. I wish my mom and dad could be here.”

  “We’re here, honey!” a voice boomed out.

  Syd was shocked. It was her father’s voice. She looked past Celine to see Lizzy holding up her iPhone. There were her parents, smiling away on the tiny screen, looking like they’d just won the lottery.

  “I FaceTimed George,” Lizzy explained. “I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

  “We’re so happy, honey.” Syd’s mother gushed. “As much as I hate not being there with you two, I’m thrilled I don’t have to wear the shoes.”

  Syd looked at Celine for support. “This is my struggle.”

  Maddie came back down the stairs carrying the two ring boxes.

  “Did you look at yours?” Syd asked.

  Maddie nodded, shyly. “It’s perfect. It’s exactly like Oma’s. How’d you pull that off?”

  “I have my ways.” She winked at Celine.

  “Yes, you do.” Maddie clapped her hands. “So, are you ready?”

  “After I get one more thing.”

  Syd crossed to the wide windowsill near the back door and retrieved the vase of ghost lilies. “Roma Jean?” she called out. “I need you for a minute.”

  Roma Jean joined her in the kitchen. “Nice going, Miss Murphy. I just knew you’d ditch the Say Yes to the Dress jazz in the end.”

  Syd laughed. “Do you think you could not call me Miss Murphy right now?” Syd pulled a white lily out of the vase and handed it to her. “Especially since you’re my maid of honor?”

  “No way!” Roma Jean
glanced over at Charlie, then back at Syd. “Me? For real?”

  “For real. I was going to ask you anyway—but now you don’t have to buy the dress.”

  “Take the offer, RJ,” David called out. “I saw the dress . . . believe me, you’d never wear it again.”

  “I’d love to . . . Syd.” Roma Jean blushed. “I’ve never been a maid of honor before. What do I do?”

  “It’s simple,” Syd explained. “You have one job: you hold Maddie’s ring, and hand it to me when it’s time.”

  “That reminds me . . .” Maddie cast about. “Where’s my best man?”

  “I’m here, Maddie.” Henry pushed forward. He’d put his new Yankees cap back on. “See, Syd? I’m wearing a hat.”

  Syd smiled at him. “You look very handsome in it, too.”

  “Okay, Sport. Here’s Syd’s ring. You hold on to it tight until I ask you for it. Okay?”

  He nodded and took the ring. “I won’t drop it.”

  They all moved into the family room. Syd carried the rest of the lilies, and she and Maddie took their places in front of David, with Roma Jean and Henry at their sides.

  Pete had somehow decided to accompany Henry, and the big dog sat looking dignified and proper beside him, at full attention. Of course, that meant Rosebud assumed she should be in attendance, too—so she made her presence known by constantly rubbing against the side of Maddie’s leg.

  Maddie tried to chase her off, but David stopped her.

  “Will you kindly leave that tuxedo cat alone? She’s the only one here who showed up appropriately attired.” He cleared his throat. “Okay. I had to look this service up, so forgive me for having to improvise.”

  The entire group gave him their full attention as he wielded his cell phone with a flourish.

  “Dearly beloved,” he began, “we are gathered here today to celebrate one of life’s greatest moments, the joining of two hearts—and to give recognition to the worth and beauty of love. By so doing, we add our solemn testament to the covenant, which shall today be undertaken by these two women.

  “Should there be anyone who has cause as to why this couple should not be united in marriage . . . yadda, yadda, yadda . . . we’re totally skipping this part . . .”

  He faced Syd. “Okay. Who gives this woman to be wed?”

  David waited for George to shout, “Her mother and I.”