Wedded Bliss

by Kathleen Y'Barbo

  “All right, then, you’re busy, too. Can’t you change your plans and make your honeymoon and these contract negotiations in London coincide? I’m sure your fiancé would understand, and it would give this Esteban fellow a little more time to do whatever it is he does.” Bob paused, knowing full well Amy wasn’t buying a bit of this. Still, he had to try. “Besides, England’s not half bad this time of year. You could hold off on the flight today and have the preacher marry the two of you this weekend. Say, why don’t I make a couple of calls and get you two into a castle somewhere instead of that Greek cruise you wanted to take? I’m sure—”

  “Daddy.”

  Only Amy Tratelli could make a single word speak volumes. “Look, honey,” he said slowly, “I know you’ve worked hard on landing this contract, but can’t you handle the rest of the negotiations from Latagnier?”

  “You’re not serious.” Again a boarding call interrupted their conversation. “I’ve got to go, Daddy. Please just do this.”

  He watched as the wind sock at the end of runway B lifted and caught a stiff north breeze. “All right, so this is a big deal. Surely there’s someone you trust to see to the details.” Bob forced a chuckle. “It’s not like I’ll remove you as vice president if you delegate this one.”

  “Daddy.” A well-placed pause was followed by a sigh. “Stop kidding around.”

  Bob’s heart wrenched. How very much she sounded like her mother. If only Karen were alive. She’d be up to her eyeballs in wedding plans and never complain a moment, even when the plans changed or a pressing business trip intervened.

  But Amy was more like him than Karen. The business had become Amy’s life. Sometimes her fierce dedication to Tratelli Aviation caused Bob to wonder if she had any more room in her life for the husband she was about to wed.

  “If it makes you feel any better,” she said, “Chase has taken on a three-week audit here in London. He’s due to arrive on Tuesday.” Her giggle took him on a quick trip back to her childhood once more. “Why would I want to come home when my fiancé is here?”

  “Why indeed?” Bob rubbed at the ache in his temple. “Amy, you don’t know what you’re asking. The only thing I had to do for my wedding to your mother was show up at the right place wearing the clothes she picked out for me.”

  “No,” she said softly, “but I know who I’m asking.”

  “Three weeks? I’ll give you two weeks, Amy,” he said. “If you’re not home by then, the wedding’s off.”

  “Yeah, right.” Amy chuckled. “Just leave it to Yvonne and stop worrying about it, all right?” She paused. “Please?”

  Bob lifted his gaze to the brilliant blue sky and swallowed the rest of his objections. He’d handle this. For Amy. And for Karen.

  “Sure, honey, whatever you say. I’m sure Yvonne would love to take over the role of wedding planner while you’re gone.”

  “No, Daddy, we’ve got a wedding planner. Hold on a sec. I’ve got a beep.”

  While he waited, Bob hit the pager and called for Yvonne. The pager buzzed three times before his daughter’s breathless voice flooded his ear.

  “All right. Sorry,” Amy said. “Now, do us both a favor and take a deep breath. The wedding will come off without a hitch, and Yvonne will do just fine with the details until I get back. Now I must go. I love you, Daddy. Tell Yvonne thanks for me.”

  Yvonne. Bob punched the button again. Where was she?

  He settled the phone back on its cradle and stared out at the horizon. Likely as not, Yvonne was just down the hall making coffee. Or maybe she’d stepped out to run an errand.

  No matter. As Amy said, everything was under control.

  Besides, it was a great day for flying. An absence of clouds and a slight breeze tempted him to walk away from the confines of his corner office and take to the brilliant blue skies. Maybe the Cessna. Or possibly that little jet he was thinking of purchasing.

  A check of his watch assured Bob he had plenty of time to make the drive to Baton Rouge and be back in time to change for dinner. Dinner. Where was he supposed to be tonight? There were plans of some sort, something vaguely important.

  Only his PDA knew for sure.

  Well, his PDA and Yvonne.

  He punched her line once more. Odd that he got nothing but silence in return.

  Snagging his flight jacket, Bob palmed his truck keys and bounded for the door. Whatever awaited him tonight, surely it wouldn’t happen before six or seven. He could be back well before then.

  As he rounded the corner, he slammed into an empty chair. Yvonne’s empty chair.

  Taped to the back was an envelope with his name on it. Bob ripped it open and read the note. He sank into the chair and slapped his forehead. How could he have forgotten? Yvonne had penciled in the dates on his desk calendar.

  This was awful.

  A mess.

  And worse, he’d caused the whole thing when he gave his most loyal employee a gift on her twenty-fifth anniversary with the company.

  Just to be sure, he read it again. “You were on the phone with Amy, and I didn’t want to interrupt to say good-bye. The temp service is sending someone over on Monday. See you in three weeks. Aloha, boss, and thanks again for the vacation!”

  Two

  Two weeks later

  “It’ll be fine, Daddy,” Amy said. “I’ll only be gone another week. I’m taking in the sights in London while my darling finishes the audit he’s working on.”

  Bob gripped the phone so hard he expected it to snap at any moment. “Can’t you and Chase take in the sights around Latagnier? You’ve got a wedding in a month.”

  “A month and two days,” his daughter reminded him. “Besides, you’ve been getting the reports, right? Things ought to be sailing along.” When he didn’t immediately respond, she added, “You have been getting the reports from the wedding planner, haven’t you?”

  “Oh,” he said casually, “I’m sure they’re around here somewhere.”

  A nervous chuckle rolled toward him from the other side of the line. “Of course, Yvonne wouldn’t let something like that slip. Just ask her. I’m sure she has them.”

  “Well, there’s a bit of an issue with asking Yvonne. She’s in Hawaii until a week from Monday.”

  “Hawaii?” Was it his imagination, or had his daughter’s voice gone up a full octave?

  “Her anniversary bonus, remember? The woman’s been with Tratelli Aviation since you were two. I forgot I promised her a vacation this month.” He paused and tried to figure out how to convince Amy of what he was about to say. “Everything will be fine. As soon as we hang up, I’m going to ask the temp for the reports.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes, dear,” he said. “I’m buzzing her now.”

  He hurried to hang up, fully expecting his temp to respond quickly to his page. When she didn’t, he tried the intercom.

  “Jeanette, I just realized I haven’t seen any of the wedding planner’s reports. Would you bring them to me? There should be two of them plus any old ones Amy attached to the e-mail.”

  Bob released the button on the intercom and waited. Two weeks and three temps later, he was wishing he hadn’t been so generous with Yvonne.

  It was selfish of him to feel that way, and he knew it. Without Yvonne, he’d be a floundering single dad who never learned to braid hair or tie a bow. Rather than feel sorry for himself that he was lost without Yvonne, Bob knew he should be thanking the Lord for providing her. And for causing the dear woman to stick with him all these years, even past the age when most would have taken retirement. Surely without God’s intervention, Yvonne would have come to her senses and fled a decade ago.

  “Mr. Tarantino?”

  “Tratelli,” he corrected. “Why don’t you just call me Bob?”

  “All right, Mr. Bob. What kind of report did you say you wanted? Something on weeding planes?”

  He sighed. Yvonne would be back soon. This was doable.

  In the meantime, he’d figure a way t
o communicate with the latest in a line of temps. At least this one hadn’t smelled as if she bathed in gardenias, and she certainly wasn’t as distracted as the first woman the agency sent. That gal had put a call through to Tokyo, then punched the hold button and forgotten to tell him.

  Another sigh, this for the phone bill and the lengthy apology he had to give his Japanese customer. And for the fact that temps were hard to find in a town as tiny as Latagnier.

  If Yvonne didn’t come back soon, he might have to sink to the ultimate low: calling his mother for help. Amalie Breaux Tratelli would handle this and anything else that came her way.

  She always had.

  The thought was tempting, but with Mama soon to turn eighty-six, and Pop still spry at ninety, the last thing he intended to do was haul them back from their annual visit to the Tratelli family home in California. He knew how much Pop loved the brief time he spent there each year, even if his real home now was here in Latagnier. Mama said it made him feel connected to his parents. Bob thought it might be more than that.

  Bob knew this yearly visit, always timed to coincide with the Oscars, was his father’s way of honoring the parents who encouraged him and loved him. No way would he call them back from such a mission.

  Besides, February in California was highly preferable to February in Latagnier, Louisiana. If not for the wedding, he, too, might. . .

  “The wedding! What did you ask me? Oh yes, the wedding planner,” Bob said slowly. “I think his name is Enrique or Edward or. . .” He paused to think. “No, it’s Esteban. Yes, that’s it. The contact information should be in Yvonne’s inbox. Look under Weddings by Esteban. It’s a Baton Rouge number, I think. Or maybe New Orleans.”

  A long pause. “I don’t see anything in the inbox. Just some memos and a flyer for a spring fair at church.”

  “A flyer?” Bob shook his head and rose. “I think you’re looking in the wrong inbox. I’m referring to the inbox on Yvonne’s e-mail program.”

  “E-mail?”

  Bob rounded the corner to see his latest temp rifling through Yvonne’s desk. “What are you looking for?” He held his hands up as if to fend off another of the woman’s silly answers, then glanced up at the clock. “Never mind. Say, why don’t you call it a day?”

  “Call it a day?” She pushed back from the desk, revealing a blinding combination of rainbow-striped skirt and brilliant orange blouse. “But it’s only twelve thirty. I just got back from lunch.”

  “I realize that.” He cleared his throat. “But I’m feeling generous. Surely you’ve got other things you could be doing.”

  “Well. . .” Her smiled broadened. “I do have some laundry I’ve been putting off.”

  “Laundry, excellent. Now I suggest you get to it. Oh, and go ahead and take tomorrow off.”

  He watched the woman gather her things and rise. “Are you sure? I mean, I wouldn’t want to leave you here without decent help.”

  “It’s happened before,” Bob said casually, “and I’ve managed. Now, go. Hurry before I change my mind.”

  “Suit yourself, Mr. Tarantino.”

  In the fastest move she’d made all day, the woman sprinted for the door. She left in her wake a desk littered with papers, a phone off the hook, and a computer with a suspicious blue screen.

  “That’s Tratelli. Bob Tratelli.” He shrugged as the door swung shut. “Never mind. Funny how the one time you actually heard me say something without repeating it was when I told you to go home.”

  No matter. Tomorrow was Wednesday. Maybe he’d take the rest of the week off.

  “Now, to find those wedding reports.” He pushed the chair out of the way and reached for the wad of documents on the floor beneath the desk. “This looks like a good place to start. If I’m lucky, I might not be here all night.”

  Bob searched for fifteen minutes; then a stroke of brilliance sent him hurrying back to his computer to find the contact information for his daughter’s wedding planner. He left two messages with Esteban in the span of an hour, then climbed into his truck. If the wedding planner wouldn’t call him, he’d pay a call on the wedding planner.

  ❧

  The truck rolled to a stop in front of Esteban’s Baton Rouge shop exactly ninety minutes later. Bob threw it into park, then stretched the kinks out of his shoulders.

  Amy would owe him for this one. He shook his head. “I could’ve been flying today. Good thing I love you so much, kiddo,” he muttered to himself.

  Staring at the elaborately decorated and curtained window with the gold leaf sign that read Weddings by Esteban, Bob groaned. The last thing he’d ever want to make his living at was planning weddings. Whatever made a person do it on purpose was beyond him, although he knew from experience they made plenty of money at it.

  Bob made one last attempt to phone the wedding planner to make an appointment before hanging up and slipping the phone into his shirt pocket. “All right,” he said as he strode toward the door, “let’s talk weddings, Esteban.”

  Before he reached the double doors, his eyes registered a padlock and an eviction notice taped to the door. A call to his buddy in the Baton Rouge police department, and Bob learned that the wedding planner had fled Baton Rouge, and there was no hope of him returning to complete the arrangements for Amy’s wedding.

  At least not from inside the jail cell that awaited him.

  He sat back against the soft leather of his truck’s seat and closed his eyes. What were the odds that the only wedding he’d ever have to be a part of would involve a man who decided to take his money and run off?

  Bob scrubbed at his face with his hands and exhaled. “Now what, Lord? You know I can’t disappoint Amy, but I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. I never thought I’d pray this, but could You show me how to marry off my daughter?”

  He opened his eyes and waited for the Lord to present a plan. While he waited, he ticked off the possibilities in his mind.

  Calling Amy might result in unnecessary panic, so he set that alternative aside for now. His mother would fly back immediately and miss attending the Oscars ceremony this weekend, so he couldn’t phone her until next week at the earliest.

  Then it came to him. Hire another wedding planner. Surely Esteban was not the only wedding planner in town. There had to be someone else in the city who would take on the responsibility of seeing the wedding through to the ceremony.

  “Thank You, Lord. That’s a brilliant idea.”

  Bob reached for his laptop and connected it to his phone to pull up the Internet. He’d make a list of planners, and since it wasn’t yet two in the afternoon, he’d visit them all today and get estimates.

  How hard could it be to find someone to put together a wedding that’s a full month away?

  ❧

  Bliss sank into the nearly scalding water and inhaled the warm scent of vanilla. She’d splurged on the bath products, but considering she’d never been one to shop much or spend a lot of money on herself, she justified the purchase as acceptable.

  After all, in the two weeks since the Cake Bake had been open, Bliss had already surpassed the amount of sales she’d estimated in her business plan. Only the thought of what would happen should she give in to her penchant for overworking made her keep to her vow of doing no more than one wedding per week.

  She blew out a long breath and watched the bubbles ripple and part, then lifted her right leg and rested her pink painted toes on the edge of the tub. Pedicures were her other weakness, one she’d decided was almost a necessity back when she was on her feet twelve hours a day in her capacity as executive chef.

  Now pedicures and vanilla bath salts had become luxuries. Or were they part of her recovery? Probably so.

  The scar that started on the inside of her knee had faded, but the evidence of her accident would never completely disappear. The marathons she used to run were a thing of the past, but given time and physical therapy, she might once again be running a 10k instead of contenting herself with walking to and from the m
arket. Bliss sighed. For now, that would have to be enough.

  The phone rang, and she rolled to her side to make a grab for it. Her mother’s number blinked onto the caller ID, and for a second, Bliss thought of letting voice mail catch the call. Daughterly duty, or perhaps the fact she knew her mother would get in the car and drive over, compelled her to answer the phone.

  While Mama made small talk about the weather, her Bible study lesson, and the status of her garden, Bliss clicked on the speakerphone and reached for her towel. By the time she slipped into her pink poodle pajamas and began cleaning her face, Bliss had begun to wonder the purpose for her mother’s call.

  “So, darling, I understand you’re doing the cake for the Vincent wedding.”

  Bliss worked makeup remover onto her cheeks, then swiped at it with a cotton pad. “Two of them, actually,” she said. “I’ve got Laura Vincent’s wedding in March and Carolyn Vincent’s in May.”

  “Oh my,” her mother said. “I had no idea both sisters were engaged. And what a coup for you to get both weddings.”

  “Yes,” Bliss said while stifling a giggle, “two Vincents. It’s quite a coup.”

  “Honey.” The warning tone in Mama’s voice was unmistakable. “You aren’t overdoing it, are you? You know what the doctors said.”

  Irritation flared, but Bliss clamped down on the feeling. Mama had earned the right to ask such a question. She dabbed at her face, then snagged the moisturizer.

  “Yes, I know, and I’m keeping to the schedule I agreed to. Monday, Wednesday, and Fridays from ten to four, and once a month, I work four hours on Saturday.” She paused. “In fact, I’ve already turned away two potential customers because I couldn’t fit them in.”

  “You did?” Relief flooded her mother’s tone. “I’m glad to hear you’re not. . .I mean, what with the other thing. . .”

  Bliss stopped rubbing her face and frowned. This time her irritation won out. “It’s okay, Mama. You can say it. Aneurysm. In addition to my bum knee, I have an aneurysm.”

  “A small one, but oh my, I think sometimes of how bad things could have been if you hadn’t had the accident and had to get that MRI.” Bliss could hear Mama suck in a breath, then let it out again. “Let’s not talk about this, honey. Long as you’re following doctor’s orders, that thing—”