“Which is exactly why we must research. Diligence is key.” Earline shuddered. “My goodness, is it hot in here or what? Has someone adjusted the thermostat?”
It was hot, all right, but it didn’t have as much to do with the temperature as one might imagine.
Jenna returned with extra bowls of banana pudding. “Here you go, folks. The perfect way to make everyone happy again. Let’s all settle in and have a good time. No more squabbling about politics. It’ll be Valentine’s Day soon—a time to remember why we love each other.”
I was pretty sure they didn’t hear a word she said. The bickering continued between Laz and Earline, who sat back down and took a couple of bites of banana pudding. Before long, Twila got involved. Turned out her views were just as strong as Earline’s, though they disagreed on which candidate was right for the job. Then Jolene made the mistake of saying she might switch to a different political party. This really set things off. She and Rosa took sides against Earline and Twila, who got pretty vocal. Laz carried on about the Food Party and managed to convince Bonnie Sue that she should serve as his campaign manager. Mama continued to fan herself and Pop ate all of the leftover banana pudding, since no one else was looking.
D.J. sat to my left, nibbling on pork ribs. When Tres said, “Daddy, why are they fighting?” my sweet husband just shook his head and said, “Ask your mother.”
“Mommy?” Tres looked at me and I sighed.
“They’re just having a discussion, honey. They really love each other.”
“They do?” Tres called out as the noise level rose. “Really?”
“Yes.” I raised my voice to be heard above the din. “We do love each other, don’t we, Rossis and Neeleys? My son is beginning to wonder!”
“Well, a’course we love one another.” Earline dismissed the idea with a wave of a hand, then went back to arguing with Rosa and Laz. Before long, Dwayne Sr. joined in. Jenna leaned our way and put her finger over her lips.
“Um, folks. . .?”
No one responded.
“Hey, everyone. . .” she tried again.
Still, no one responded.
“For the love of all that’s holy,” she screamed. “Quiet down in here! We have other customers and they’re complaining about the noise! This is a family restaurant. You know?”
I knew, all right. Poor Jenna. And poor Bubba! He stuck his head out of the kitchen door and hollered, “Do I need to call 9-1-1?”
“No. Just please ask your family to keep it down.” Jenna mumbled something under her breath and headed across the restaurant to wait on other customers.
I sighed as I shifted my gaze back to Earline and Laz, who were having it out over whether the U.S. should—or shouldn’t—provide shelter for refugees from war-torn countries. That discussion sent the participants over the edge. Laz turned red in the face. Earline turned redder. On and on they went, until I felt sure the police would be called in to break up the fight.
Fortunately, it all came to a quick end. Twila decided to stop mid-squabble and pray. Aloud. For all to hear. She pleaded God’s mercy on our family, Laz’s politics, and on our nation as a whole. If that didn’t make the folks at the next table feel better, nothing would.
They got up and left mid-prayer. I only knew this because my eyes were wide open so that I could keep an eye on my kids, who were chiming in with an occasional “Amen!”
When the prayer ended, everyone simmered down. Well, all but Mama, who looked so flustered she couldn’t seem to string two words together. Pop asked Dwayne Sr. to pass an untouched bowl of banana pudding and before long we were all eating in silence.
Awkward silence.
Still, awkward silence was better than awkward fighting, so I would take it.
By the time Jenna arrived with the coffee pot, Earline seemed to be in better spirits. Either the Lord had calmed her heart or she’d forgotten to be mad at Uncle Laz. Likely, the first.
Things went really well until it came time to pay the bill. Pop offered to pick up the tab, which got Dwayne and Earline flustered. Somehow, this led back around to a discussion about money, which led—once again—to politics. At this point Laz announced to the family two tables over that he was running for president. They pulled out their cell phones and started taking pictures of him. A couple of them uploaded the photos to social media.
Great. Now this whole thing would probably go viral and Uncle Laz really would have to run for president.
“At least I’ve got some good ideas,” Laz said. “Better than that guy with all the slogans, the one who’s getting married at Club—” Laz put his hand over his mouth and his eyes widened. “Sorry, Bella.”
“Wait.” Bonnie Sue’s gaze narrowed and she looked my way. “There’s something you’re not telling us, Bella. Who’s getting married at Club Wed? Someone political?”
“Yes, who is it, Bella?” Lily asked me. “Someone we would know?”
Ack. So much for keeping things on the down-low.
“She’s not allowed to say.” Mama fanned herself. “But it’s someone important. Very important.”
“Top secret.” Pop took a swig of his coffee. “If we tell you, we’ll have to kill you.”
“Oh my.” Bonnie Sue paled. “Then please don’t tell me. I have a few good years left, after all.”
“I’d like to stay alive, as well,” Jolene said. “Guess you’ll have to fill us in after-the-fact, Bella. Okay?”
“Okay. I promise I’ll tell you when it’s over. For now, though, we’ve been asked not to say anything publicly, so please don’t ask.”
“Ooo, I’ll bet I can guess.” Earline grinned. “That handsome Brock Benson is coming back, isn’t he?”
“Nope. Not Brock. Please don’t ask me any more questions, okay?”
“Okay.” Earline gave me a suspicious look. “But I’ll be waiting on pins and needles.”
She wasn’t the only one. I glanced around the BBQ joint just to make sure Agent O’Conner wasn’t seated nearby with any of his men. Nope, no one in a suit. A fella would stick out like a sore thumb, wearing a suit in the town of Splendora. Still, the idea that we might’ve just given away top secret information left me feeling a little squeamish inside.
Or maybe it was the combination of too much banana pudding and politics. Hopefully those two wouldn’t turn out to be a deadly combination.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Unchained Melody
We hang the petty thieves and appoint the great ones to public office.
Aesop
We somehow survived the political brou-ha-ha and forged ahead into the next week. I’d almost forgotten about the craziness of our family get-together until I received a call from Victoria the next Thursday. She sounded more wound up than ever, and I had a feeling it would take some serious wedding coordinator skills on my part to calm her down.
“I don’t mind admitting I’m getting nervous, Bella.” Her words came out shaky and faint.
“Why?” I shifted the phone to my other ear to better hear her. She must be out on the road again, traveling with Beau. Maybe they were driving through a tunnel or something.
“It’s the 28th of January. My wedding is in a little more than two weeks and I’m not feeling the Valentine’s spirit yet.”
“Well, no one is. Except the stores, I mean. They’re loaded with candy and decorations, but other than that—”
“I’m so caught up in the rush-rush-rush of getting from one campaign event to another, from one debate to another, that I’m barely able to think clearly about the wedding.”
“That’s why you’ve hired me, honey. I’ve implemented dozens of ideas since we spoke last. Do you have a minute to listen to them? Or, would it be better if we Skyped so I could show you the pictures I’ve collected?”
“Can’t Skype right now. I’m getting dressed for the debate. Sorry.”
“No need to apologize.” And that explained where she was at the moment. “I’d almost forgotten about tonight’s debate.
I guess we won’t be watching this time. D.J. and I have Bible study and the rest of the family is going to the movies.”
“That’s okay. I understand. But don’t you see my point? You guys are living a normal life, not caught up in the political stuff. I’m about to be a bride, for pity’s sake. I should be stressed about my wedding, not an election, right? I mean, what kind of bride is so caught up in a presidential race that she doesn’t have time to discuss her wedding?”
“We’re discussing it now. And please don’t fret. You’ve got two weeks. So, deep breath.”
“This just isn’t like me. I’m the organized one. Very OCD. From the time I was a little girl I had all my ducks in a row. So the idea that I’m off in—where are we again? Oh, right, Iowa—means that I’ve become someone other than who I used to be.”
“You’re in love with a man who’s running for the highest office in the land. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
She sighed. “That’s another part of me you don’t know. I’m always hardest on myself. I find it rather remarkable that I haven’t had a major breakdown by now.”
“Well, hold off on the breakdown till after the wedding, okay? And just leave everything to me. Want me to fill you in on the things I’ve already done?”
“Please.”
“Okay. Let’s start with the food. I spoke to the caterer and we’ve finalized the menu. It’s going to be amazing. As far as desserts go, Scarlet has promised her most beautiful cake yet. She also had the best idea for teacup shaped cookies. And teapots, too. We can wrap them individually and put them at each place setting as a gift. What do you think?”
“Sounds great.”
“She can even monogram them with your initials. It’ll be classy looking. Scarlet wanted me to pass along some sketches of the cake. I think you’re going to love it. It’s Victorian, through and through, and in your color scheme.”
“How horrible is it that I haven’t even had time to talk to my own cake decorator, Bella?” Victoria released a groan. “What kind of bride lets her coordinator do everything?”
“The kind who’s trying to help her fiancé win a bid at the White House.”
“Hmm.” She paused and I read doubt in the blank space.
“Anyway, I think you’re going to love the table settings. I have a vendor in Houston that specializes in fine china. They’ve found a pattern that’s perfect. I’ll send you a picture, if you like, but trust me. . .it matches the cake, the flowers, everything. It’s divine.”
At this, she laughed. “I get it. DeVine.”
“Oh, right.” I chuckled. “Anyway, it’s the most beautiful Victorian pattern you’ve ever seen. Perfect for Valentine’s and ideal for a tea party.”
“Tea party.” She sighed. “You do think the tea party idea is going to be pretty, right? I mean, I’m not just going along with it because of Beau—though he does love the idea. I hope my guests don’t think it’s too. . .political. You know? Do you think my guests will read too much into this?”
“No, not at all. They’ll just think it’s lovely.”
“Yeah. I hope so. Not that my guests even know where the wedding is going to be held. Craziest wedding invitations ever. Guests were all instructed to wait for a phone call the day ahead. My poor aunt from Montana didn’t even know how to go about booking her flight until I told her it was close to Houston. That’s all they would let us say to our guests. And don’t even get me started on the chaos this has caused between my parents and Beau’s mother. Everyone’s up in arms.”
“It’s just a season, Victoria. You know? I’ve been through seasons that I thought were impossible, but they all came to an end and a new season started. You’ll see.”
“If he wins the election, though. . .” Her words drifted off and an uncomfortable silence rose up between us. “I hate to even say those words because he’s so determined, so convinced he’s going to be the next president of the United States.” Another paused. “Which would make me the first lady. And what kind of first lady would I be if I don’t even take the time to design my own wedding cake? How can I take on the problems of the country if I let someone else pick out the china for my wedding reception?”
“You’d be like every other first lady in the history of first ladies. Do you really think they have the time to deal with the finer details? Of course not. They have people for that. Just relax, Victoria, and let me be your people. It’s what I do. It’s what I love to do.”
“You don’t mind?” She sniffled.
“Not at all.”
I somehow managed to get her calmed down, and before long we were enmeshed in a conversation about the upcoming ceremony. I promised to send her pictures of china patterns, along with the sketches Scarlet had sent over. Then we turned our attention to the flowers.
“My good friend Cassia runs the flower shop here,” I explained. “She’s the best. I’ve told her to order two thousand flowers in various shades of pink, lavender and ivory. She was beside herself. I’ve never seen her this excited.” A pause followed. “You know, I really have to thank you, Victoria. My vendors have never done a ceremony this big before. Your wedding is bringing some much-needed income to the island. So, instead of apologizing, you need to know how grateful we are. When all is said and done, we’ll have the honor of saying we hosted the wedding of the century for the man and woman who could potentially be the president and first lady of the United States.”
“Right.” She paused. “Potentially.”
Just one little word. But I had a feeling that word was the driving force in Victoria Felicity Brierley’s life right now.
“If I could just see into the future, I think I’d be a lot calmer.” She sighed. “You know?”
“I know there have been a lot of times in my life when I wished I knew what was coming. But, in retrospect, I’m kind of glad I didn’t know. I mean, what if things don’t turn out the way you want? What if he doesn’t win? Won’t you be glad you didn’t see that coming?”
There. I’d said the words aloud.
“Beau-Beau would be devastated.” Victoria’s voice grew faint again.
“And you?”
“I. . .I. . .” She paused and then said, “Sorry, Bella. Have to go. They’re telling me it’s almost time. Wish him luck, okay?”
“I’ll pray for him, Victoria. Praying for God’s best.”
“Thanks, Bella. We appreciate it.”
I knew she meant those last words, and I also knew that praying for God’s best might result in a different outcome than she hoped for.
Then again, from the tone of her voice, maybe Victoria Felicity Brierley wasn’t really sure what to hope for. One had to wonder, anyway.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I Can’t Stop Loving You
When I was a boy I was told that anybody could become President; I'm beginning to believe it.
Clarence Darrow
On the morning of February 1st Uncle Laz placed a large sign in the front yard of the Rossi home that read Lazarro Rossi for President. According to my brother Nick he also hung two large posters in Parma Johns with similar wording, which had created quite a buzz among the customers. I couldn’t help but wonder what prompted my uncle to make a spectacle of our family like this, but what could I do to stop him? And I shuddered every time I thought about how Earline would react, once she found out. No doubt she would take him to task. Or question his sanity. The rest of us were already doing that.
I gave the sign in the yard a closer look as I pulled into the driveway of Club Wed next door. Looked like he’d used a pizza box to make it. Not the most professional approach, but it did seem to go along with his “Food Party” theme.
Theme.
Just thinking of the word reminded me of the upcoming tea party wedding. I needed to place a call to the caterers. After speaking with them I remembered that I needed to check in with my other vendors. I decided to set up a group call that included Scarlet, Gabi, Cassia and Hannah—the cake decorator, wedding dres
s designer, florist and photographer. Ten minutes later, I had everyone on the line. Hearing all of them at once wasn’t a piece of cake. They gabbed like BFFs who hadn’t seen each other for months. Should I remind them that they all lived within three miles of each other? Nah. I’d let them have a good time and then shift gears to talk about the wedding.
“Ladies, are you ready?” I asked when my patience wore thin.
“Ready,” Hannah said.
“Me too,” Scarlet chimed in.
“I’m here, Bella,” Gabi added.
“And me,” Cassia interjected. “Can’t wait!”
“Okay, before we talk about anything else, I wanted to let you know that we’ve hired a caterer this time around. It just made sense. Just got off the phone with them. We’ve finalized the list of appetizers and foods.”
“Why?” Hannah sounded genuinely perplexed.
“Because I don’t really know much about the kinds of foods Beau wants and, to be honest, I’m terrified of someone getting food poisoning or something random like that.”
Scarlet laughed. “Bella, please. With all of the weddings you guys have done, has anyone ever gotten food poisoning?”
“No, but this would be the time it would happen. And trust me when I say that no one in our family knows anything about the kind of foods they want. Fancy stuff. You know?”
“Like what?” she asked.
“Ham, Brie and Apple Spread , Crab Louie Salad with Horseradish Panna Cotta, Spicy Tuna Tartare in a Sesame Miso Cone, Chinois Chicken salad in Miniature Won Ton Shells. . .and a ton of other things I can’t pronounce, most of it finger-food sized to fit the garden party theme. Earl Grey Pots de Creme, smoked trout with sliced cucumber and onion. And then there are the sweets: Orange-Cardamom Madeleines, petit fours in five different colors to match the plates, Almond scones with lemon curd and fresh raspberries. . .shall I go on?”
“Wow. I’ve never even tasted half of that stuff,” Scarlet said. “And I work in a kitchen.”
“Right?” I said. “Neither have any of us. So, how would we know if it came out right? We wouldn’t. Rosa doesn’t trust herself to do it and Laz just laughed when I gave him the list.”
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