by Mary Campisi
A Family Affair: The Weddings
A Novella
Mary Campisi
Mary Campisi Books
Contents
Wedding bells in Magdalena!
Information about Mary
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Epilogue
Introduction to the Excerpt
The Story behind The Butterfly Garden
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
About the Author
Other Books by Mary Campisi
Wedding bells in Magdalena!
What’s more charming than a Christmas wedding? How about two Christmas weddings? Join us as we head back to Magdalena in this holiday novella and witness two couples head down the road of happily-ever-after. But don’t expect that road to be nice and smooth. Is anything worthwhile ever easy?
Still, I’m betting on this town to help these couples through the rough patches and a good amount of snow to get to their happily-ever-after.
So, are you wondering who these couples might be? There are quite a few possibilities, but I’ve decided to give you the true gift of a good surprise!
Truth in Lies Series:
Book One: A Family Affair
Book Two: A Family Affair: Spring
Book Three: A Family Affair: Summer
Book Four: A Family Affair: Fall
Book Five: A Family Affair: Christmas
Book Six: A Family Affair: Winter
Book Seven: A Family Affair: The Promise
Book Eight: A Family Affair: The Secret
Book Nine: A Family Affair: The Wish
Book Ten: A Family Affair: The Gift
Book Eleven: A Family Affair: The Weddings, a novella
Book Twelve: A Family Affair: The Cabin, a novella
Book Thirteen: A Family Affair: The Return
If you love to read about second chances, don’t miss:
That Second Chance Series:
Book One: Pulling Home (also prequel to A Family Affair: The Promise)
Book Two: The Way They Were (Also prequel to A Family Affair: The Secret)
Book Three: Simple Riches (Also prequel to A Family Affair: Winter)
Book Four: Paradise Found (Also prequel to A Family Affair: The Wish)
Book Five: Not Your Everyday Housewife (Also prequel to A Family Affair: The Gift)
Book Six: The Butterfly Garden (Also prequel to A Family Affair: The Return)
BONUS MATERIAL: Included in this e-book is an excerpt from Mary’s The Butterfly Garden.
If you would like to be notified when Mary has a new release, please sign up at http://www.marycampisi.com/book/book-release-mailing-list/
To learn more about Mary and her books…
@MaryCampisi
marycampisibooks
https://www.marycampisi.com
[email protected]
Dedication
To my stepdaughter, Laura—wishing you much joy and love as you continue in your own happily-ever-after.
1
Lester lost Luella when she was just shy of forty. Bad heart with a family history of them, men and women. It was Luella’s frail condition that kept them from chancing a baby. The doctors didn’t advise against it, but they did lay out the odds of Luella encountering at least one complication. She’d wanted a baby so bad, but Lester hadn’t been willing to risk hurting her, or God forbid, losing her to fulfill an impossible desire. So, they’d remained childless, instead becoming the aunt and uncle who brought stacks of gifts to birthday parties, let their nieces and nephews order filet mignon and shrimp, and were known in their part of Texas as L and L.
When Luella died one Sunday afternoon two weeks before Easter, it near broke Lester’s heart and made him wish they’d tried for that child. It was painful to be alone, not even a dog or cat to keep him company. Nothing but pictures of his beloved wife and a packet of regrets. He’d tried so hard to keep her safe for fear the oxygen would get sucked from her and she’d die right in front of him. What better way to protect the woman he loved than to minimize the risks brought on by a pregnancy, too much exertion, a trip that would take her too far from her doctors? Lester couldn’t allow that, but what he could do was create a world for and about his wife. He could be her heart, her lungs, her breath, her first and second barrier to unpleasantness and pain—he could do all of it for her and he would. And for their entire married life, up until she drew her last breath, Lester Conroy did just that. He sold carpet and tile at the local flooring store so he didn’t have to travel, became chauffeur, cook, grocery shopper, and housekeeper. All to protect his Luella.
What he didn’t realize until weeks after he’d said his good-byes and watched the oak casket lowered into the ground of St. Mary’s Cemetery was that he hadn’t protected his wife at all. What he’d done and what he’d always regret was the prison he’d placed her in with his overzealous attempts to change the course of fate. Guilt ate at him, remorse taunted him, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Lester spent two weeks with several bottles of whiskey and when the third week approached, he rolled out of bed, dumped the rest of the bottles down the sink, and brewed a strong pot of coffee. The Good Lord wasn’t ready for him, not yet, so he’d better find a way to occupy his hours, and he’d better start before he had a taste for more whiskey.
Lester had spent hours observing people and he’d developed a knack for picking out details most folks missed. The details drove the questions. Why did the middle-aged woman in the diamond necklace and fancy outfit have scrapes on her elbows and forearms? And what about the man next to her? No wedding ring, no touching, but he did lean a hair in her direction, close enough to be a husband, a relative, or maybe something else altogether. The last possibility sent Lester’s brain on the hunt, made him ponder what might or might not be the cause of the scrapes and the relationship between the two. It was the curiosity and the incessant need to figure out the puzzle that bird-dogged him toward his next career, but it would be the need to fill his days with more than emptiness that would vault him into the private investigative field and eventually make him one of the most sought-after private investigators in Chicago.
And that’s how Gloria Blacksworth found him. Actually, he’d done some sticky work for one of her friends that ended as he knew it would: the husband sleeping with the younger woman. Gloria had come at him sideways, gave the appearance of innocence and vulnerability, but that woman could take on any man, sideways or upside down. She liked to play it meek when it suited her. What man could resist rescuing a “meek” woman, especially when she made him believe her next breath depended on him? Lester was a gentleman and he’d cared for a sickly wife too many years to ignore a woman in need.
Except Gloria Blacksworth had never been a woman in need. She’d been the huntress, out to destroy happiness, peace, and anyone who stood in the way of what she wanted. There were days when he wished he’d never met the woman, never agreed to investigate her husband, and certainly never compromised his integrity over the Nate Desantro-Natalie Servetti deal. But then what? Had he not participated in that sick debacle that almost destroyed Nate and Christine’s life together, where would he be now? And that damnable notebook? Why had he ever agreed to dig up hurts that could destroy lives? It was one thing to uncover a cheating husband, a thieving employee, or a stash of money, but to gather pages of dirt for blackmail purposes? That made him sicker than a dog with rabies.
Luella always said God had pl
ans for every living creature on this earth and maybe the deeds he’d done during his association with Gloria Blacksworth had opened his eyes, made him see he’d been numb since his wife died, treating assignments like puzzles instead of people with hearts to break and families to shatter. That’s the day he severed ties with Gloria Blacksworth and vowed to use his investigative skills to help others, not hurt them.
And that’s the day he opened up to letting himself admit the truth he’d been hiding: he loved Phyllis McGill and he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.
“Where’s the bride-to-be?” Pop fished around the sugar packets in the bowl at Lina’s Café, snagged two. Between Tuesday lunches with Lester, Wednesday breakfasts with Harry, and Miriam Desantro’s generosity from her kitchen, Pop had fewer and fewer meals to think about. He kind of liked that. In fact, he could get used to it real fast. Now all he needed was one more offer and he could get by with a few nights of grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or a toasted cheese with a cup of tomato soup. He rubbed his jaw, wondered if Ramona Casherdon might offer up a stuffed pork chop with mashed potatoes or the veal scaloppini dish he sampled at the last Bleeding Hearts Society potluck dinner. Pop glanced at the plate in front of him. Sure wasn’t a chop or veal, but the BLT had a nice crunch to it and he’d always favored Lina’s coleslaw. “Lester? Where’s the bride-to-be? Down at the hair salon getting some fancy hairdo and a manicure? Or do you think they talked her into a makeover?”
The old boy shook his head and turned the color of a Harvard beet. Next came the look that told Pop he was “trespassing into private property.” “She took the grandkids to Renova to do some shopping. Seems when you’re looking for shoes to match a bridesmaid dress, the sparklier the better.”
“Sounds about right to me.” Pop grinned and dug out a forkful of coleslaw. “Those two little girls are real corkers. I know they keep their mama jumping and their grandma, too.”
Lester nodded and let out a sigh loud enough to reach three tables over. “Phyllis loves those girls and I’m mighty keen on them, too, but they still haven’t learned the world isn’t spinning just for them.” Another nod, a louder sigh, this one stretching to the counter and the glass case filled with Lina’s specialty baked goods. “Did you ever hear of a mother traipsing two hours away to find some bracelet? And kids throwing a fit because they had to dust a chair or two? The other grandkids aren’t like that. They’re as kind and respectful as I’ve ever seen.” He rubbed his jaw, his blue eyes narrowing. “They didn’t ask for sparkly shoes or a bracelet that had jewels in it.”
Pop sipped his coffee, took his time about it, too, as he studied the man who’d changed from villain to friend since the whole episode with Stephanie Richmond. Lester might know how to track down a missing person or a thieving conniver, but he didn’t know squat about kids, especially the grownup ones like Phyllis’s two daughters. “It’s all in the parents. The mother won’t let those girls suffer a half second of unhappiness, even if it’s for their own good. Doesn’t matter what the father says.” He shook his head, thought of the last time the poor soul tried to stand up to his wife and how it turned out. “Poor man doesn’t have a chance in a houseful of females who want their own way. Even the dog’s a female.”
Lester bit into his sandwich, chewed a full fifteen seconds before he commented. “I gotta admit, Angelo, I’m not looking forward to diving in the middle of what’s sure to be a hornet’s nest.”
“No doubt.” Pop leaned forward, lowered his voice. “This is all new to you, Lester. You never had kids, so you don’t know the ins and outs of dealing with them. There’s the tantrums, the it’s-not-fair and you-don’t-understand routine, the pitting of parent against parent.” His heart jumped just thinking about Anthony back in the day and all the turmoil he brought into the house. He wasn’t the only one, though. Pop knew stories from most of the parents in town and except for one or two, like JJ Carrick and Mimi’s daughter, the kids turned out okay, heading into adulthood and their own eventual battles with parenthood. History repeating itself over and over. Of course, if you had no experience in this area, then you were like a trout out of water, and that’s when you needed advice. Pop suspected Lester might appreciate a little guidance right about now, seeing as the wedding was only a few days away.
Lester tinkered with his coleslaw, his thin lips pulled into a frown, his weathered forehead creased like one of the fans his Luella had favored on hot summer nights. “I care about those kids and I’m not trying to replace their grandpa—”
“Hold on, right there. Nelson McGill was a no-good, conniving runaround who spent more time on a barstool than he did with Phyllis and those girls. Nobody cried when the man died, except maybe his girlfriend, Kitty Hinkersham.”
“We all got regrets, Angelo.” Lester’s drawl pulled out the pity in those words, spread it across the table. “Me as much as any other man.”
“Are we gonna have to have this conversation again?” Pop sighed, stuffed a potato chip in his mouth, and chewed. Talk about an overactive conscience. The man was not going to forgive himself for his “partnership” with Gloria Blacksworth, even though he had no way of knowing how dark her soul was or that she intended to do harm to her own daughter. Lester wanted to confess to Phyllis’s kids before he married their mother. Heck, there’d even been a time or two when he’d mentioned coming clean in front of the whole town. Was the man nuts? Pop believed in honesty and doing the right thing, but you could only take that so far before it backfired and burned a hole right through your good intentions.
“There’s not much Phyllis and I don’t agree on, but this is a big one.” Those blue eyes turned bright. “Exchanged words the other night and it was as close as we’ve ever come to a fight.”
“You don’t say?” Pop rubbed his jaw, tried to picture Lester Conroy raising his voice or his blood pressure. Hard to imagine.
“What happens if the truth slips out after we’re married?” He placed his lanky arms on the table, leaned forward. “You never think anybody’s going to find out, but I built a pretty good business uncovering what was supposed to be kept hidden. All it takes is one curious mind to ask a question and then it’s an avalanche.”
“Not to worry. Nobody’s going to say anything.”
Pop would always wonder if the Good Lord sent Natalie Servetti Trimble through the door that second as a reminder to Pop that he didn’t sit on the right or left hand of the Almighty and whatever he said was conjecture, not knowledge. It took Lester a few seconds to recognize the woman he’d worked with to stage Nate Desantro’s fake seduction. She sure didn’t look the same now, did she? Oh, she still had the face that could grace the cover of a magazine, though she’d scrubbed it clean, except for the shiny stuff on her lips and the glow on her cheeks. Was the glow from one of those “natural-looking” makeup concoctions or did it have more to do with happiness and hormones? Hard to say, but he’d bet on the happiness and hormones equation, judging from the way she smiled and clung to her new husband. Who would have thought? Pop’s eyes slid to the middle of her loose-fitting shirt. Gone were the days of skin-tight and painted on. He’d heard she was expecting and he’d bet a dozen pizzelles the rumor was true. Pop slid a look at Lester, whose weathered face had gone paler than the flour Pop used for his pizzelles. “Don’t look like she used to, now, does she?”
“Nope.” Lester cleared his throat, zeroed in on the edge of his plate. “Not at all.”
“That’s what love will do to a person.” Pop cast one last look at the town’s bad-girl-turned-devoted-wife and said, “Let it go, Lester. People start over all the time and they don’t go making a grand apology for all of their past transgressions. They just move on and don’t look back. And that’s what you need to do.”
The lanky Texan sighed, shook his head. “Easy to say, hard to do, Angelo. I hurt a lot of people, and I’ve got to live with that. I don’t know why Phyllis wouldn’t let me fess up to my misdeeds.” He dragged a hand over his face,
heaved another sigh. “At least tell her daughters. They deserve to know before I marry their mother, but Phyllis says it’s none of their business, and you know how she can get when she sets her mind against something.”
“You mean stubborn?”
Lester raised a bushy brow. “That’s a nice way of saying it.”
“I know all about your fiancée and her stubbornness.” Indeed, he did. Hadn’t he had it out with her two weeks ago when she refused to make his bacon crispier? Lester said it was wedding jitters, but Pop didn’t believe it. She’d buried that no-good husband of hers, worked at the café and cleaned houses on the weekend when the girls needed extras, and finally found a slice of peace with her grandbabies and that dang dog she loved more than any person. Phyllis could be as welcoming as a slice of strawberry pie unless you crossed her and then, watch out! Pop rubbed his jaw, tried to reason with Lester whose expression said he thought he might give the confession idea one more shot before calling it quits. That was worse than a bad idea and Pop intended to tell him. “You need to let it go and move on. Who would you rather have mad at you—the town or your future wife? Me, I’d take the whole town over Phyllis.”
“Angelo—”
“I’m telling you, Lester. Phyllis has her reasons and I agree with her. What sense does it make to tarnish her choice in picking you for a husband?” He shook his head, remembered all the years of pain and embarrassment husband number one brought to her door. “You confess and your name will be in the gutter next to Nelson McGill’s. That what you want? And never mind you—what about Phyllis and all the people traipsing in here every day? You want that on your head?”
“Of course not. I’d never do anything to hurt her, but I got a feeling that withholding information like this will come back to bite both of us like a copperhead lying in wait.”
