On the Way to a Wedding

by Stengl, Suzanne

  Had Mrs. Toony let him in? Was the old lady listening to this right now? Toria pushed the door shut with the end of one crutch.

  “Isabelle?” she heard Greg say. He stood in the middle of the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

  “Cutting out flowers,” Isabelle said. “Would you like to help? There’re some scissors in that box.”

  Greg didn’t respond to her question. Instead, he looked at the dining room table where Isabelle was unloading the bolts of material for the leis. “What is this?”

  “We’re making leis.”

  “Leis?”

  “You know,” Isabelle told him. “Those flower wreaths you wear around your neck when you go to Hawaii?”

  Greg paused for a beat, as though he was trying to catch up. “And you need these because?”

  “They’re for the Grad Dance. The theme is a Tropical―”

  He spun around to face Toria.

  “―Paradise,” Isabelle finished.

  “You’re working at the school?” He stood halfway between Toria and Isabelle. “You’re supposed to be off.” He pulled his shoulders back, standing taller, and possibly trying to intimidate her. “You’re supposed to be helping your mother with the wedding.” His eyebrows pinched and his mouth tightened.

  Was this another reality? She blinked. “I’m not marrying you, Greg.”

  “So you said.” He seemed to forcibly calm himself.

  Behind him, Isabelle continued laying out the bolts of cloth. “Would you like some coffee and cookies, Greg? Then you can help us cut out flowers.”

  Greg closed his eyes. Then, “I left an important meeting to talk to Victoria. I don’t have time to cut out flowers.” He leaned forward, his hands on the counters on either side of him. “Did your lawyer friend help you?”

  “My lawyer friend?”

  “The one with the weird name. Pro Something? Your prenuptial agreement?”

  “Oh, that.”

  “You don’t need one,” Greg said, and he smiled. The smile he used when he’d found a weak point in the customer’s argument. “You have no assets, darling. And―” he added, letting the pause drag, “―your mother has no assets.”

  “My mother?” What did her mother have to do with this?

  “In fact, she has less than no assets. Your father left her with quite a substantial debt.”

  Debt? No. “He—Certainly not. He didn’t have any debts.”

  Greg smirked. “You’d better ask your mother about that.” Then he pushed away from the counters, walked past Toria, and left.

  · · · · ·

  Ten minutes later, the coffee was ready. “He showed up this morning,” Toria said, “with a courier package in his hand.” She blew out a breath and crutched over to the table.

  “Yes, the ring.” Isabelle reached in the cupboard for mugs. “You’ve got to make your announcement. Tell the teachers.”

  “Why? What difference does it make?” She pulled out a chair and dropped into it. “I can tell them later.”

  “Greg is the only one you’ve told. He thinks you’re just angry.” Isabelle poured coffee into the clear mugs with the shamrocks around the rims.

  Toria had never expected Greg to get pushy. He was pushy, but not with her. Not usually.

  “Are you?”

  “Am I what?”

  “Angry about something? Are you waiting for him to do something so the engagement can be back on?”

  What? How could Isabelle think that? Toria stared at her friend. “No. The engagement is over. It never should have happened in the first place.” She slumped in her chair and looked at the black coffee. “I knew that, the day after he proposed.”

  Isabelle added milk to Toria’s coffee and pushed the cookie tin toward her. “But you didn’t do anything about it.”

  “No. I couldn’t. Not then.”

  “Your mother?”

  Toria let go of a tired breath. “Yes,” she said. “It made my mother happy. I couldn’t tell her.” And it seemed she couldn’t tell her now.

  “You’ve got to make your announcement. So somebody starts realizing this wedding is over. Or else Greg will keep showing up here and you’ll have to keep doing this little dance with him.”

  “Ryder.” If only she knew what to do about Ryder. She didn’t want him to know the engagement was off.

  “Ryder?” Isabelle prompted.

  “He’ll be bored with the grad decorating soon. And then he’ll be back at his work. Then I’ll tell the school.”

  “Why not tell him now?”

  “Because.”

  Because she’d known Greg for six months. He’d been friendly, charming, interesting. And safe.

  She’d known Ryder for two days. Barely. And from the moment she’d met him, her heart and her mind had been torn apart in a race to keep up with each other. If she got close to Ryder, she knew she could feel something with him that she didn’t want to feel. She didn’t know what it was, but it was scary.

  A scary, risky feeling.

  He thought she was getting married. And that was a good thing for him to think.

  Chapter Ten

  He’d started out driving to Catherine’s, and then somehow his route had changed and he’d ended up in his parents’ neighborhood in Valley Ridge.

  His father would be home.

  They hadn’t talked since the second Sunday in May, when they’d all met at the Keg for the obligatory Mother’s Day feast. And they’d talked as little as possible.

  As he parked out front of the house, his cell rang, playing its familiar William Tell Overture tune. It was beginning to grate on him. He reached for the cell and checked the readout.

  A bolt of relief hit him. It wasn’t Catherine. It was Jim.

  “O’Callaghan.”

  “Your fiancée is looking for you.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Ryder, I―” Jim hesitated. “She told me not to say anything, but . . .”

  “Tell me.”

  “She wants me to keep tabs on you. Let her know where you are.”

  His brain paused, digesting that. He should have felt distressed, but he didn’t. The astonishing thing was, he was not surprised.

  “And will you do that?”

  “Hell, no. I mean, I don’t want to upset her, but―”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll upset her myself.”

  He turned off the phone and dropped it on the seat beside him. She was probably phoning his mother too. He glanced at the house again. Lights all on.

  He was here for the second time in a week, when he usually avoided dropping by at all. And tonight his father would be home.

  He put the truck back in gear and drove away.

  · · · · ·

  The next morning the sun was gone, and the sky was gray, filled with heavy clouds that rolled along, threatening more rain. Toria plugged the kettle in and reached for the teapot.

  Thursday morning already, her first week off work, and she wasn’t any closer to Kalispell than when she’d set out on Monday.

  Maybe she should postpone her trip? Maybe she should give her mother time to adjust to the idea of . . . no more wedding. The wedding plans had kept Samantha happy. Visiting Aunt Glenda, and getting Aunt Glenda to come to Calgary, that was going to upset her mother. The two sisters had not spoken to each other since January when they’d argued.

  The kettle whistled and Toria unplugged it.

  With the old sense of hopelessness weighing her down, she took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and focused on the box of tea. A gold box with a green banner, a calm woman dressed in purple and sitting in a garden near a silver teapot made to look like a fountain.

  In January, Samantha and Glenda had had their big argument. And in the end, Greg had smoothed it out. But it wasn’t over.

  Toria sighed, feeling stuck between the two sisters.

  She opened the box of tea, took out a tea bag, and then dropped it into the Brown Betty pot. At least,
she wouldn’t see Ryder this morning. Last night she’d called and left him a message, that she’d meet him at the school at one o’clock.

  As she poured the hot water into the teapot, the buzzer sounded.

  Good. Isabelle was here. Toria put the lid on the teapot, crutched over to the intercom, pressed the button, and felt relief settle over her. Isabelle was taking her out for breakfast and then they would go to the school.

  Counting the flowers they’d made last night, Toria dropped each one into the Hudson’s Bay shopping bag. When she heard the knock, she crutched over to the entrance, silently holding the count at seventy-three flowers, and opened the door.

  “Mom?”

  “Good morning, Victoria,” her mother said, as she walked inside holding a silver box in her hands. “Are you still using those crutches?”

  What kind of a greeting was that? And what was her mother doing here anyway? Her mother rarely visited here. “I’m not supposed to put weight on my ankle,” Toria said. “Not until next Tuesday.”

  “Oh. Well. As long as you can walk down the aisle.” Her mother closed the door. “You’ve got two full weeks so it should be all right.”

  Toria tensed. “Mom―”

  “Otherwise, maybe they can make you a cast or something.” Samantha glanced at her watch.

  Toria squeezed the handles of her crutches and tried to breathe deeply.

  “You can’t use those crutches,” Samantha said, as she walked through the kitchen toward the table. “It wouldn’t look right, and it would spoil the pictures.”

  The tension changed to annoyance. “Mom―”

  “What are these?” Her mother examined the pretend plumeria.

  “They’re for the leis.”

  “Leis?”

  Now the annoyance was replaced with guilt. Because, as clearly as she knew anything, Toria knew her poor mother would have trouble letting go of her fairy tale wedding.

  “You know,” Toria explained. “In Hawaii? They―”

  “I know what leis are, for Pete’s sake. But why . . .”

  “We’re making them for the Grad Dance decorations.”

  “Grad Dance?”

  “At Aberton. I’m volunteering—helping them―”

  “Volunteering? But why?”

  Because I’ve signed off for the year and they already have a replacement for me. “I can’t go back to my regular―”

  “Oh, I see. This will take your mind off the stress of the wedding.”

  Stop it! “Mom, I’m not getting married.”

  Samantha scowled at her, holding the silver box close to her chest and tightening her lips in a thin line. “You still want to postpone?”

  “No, not postpone. I’m not marrying Greg. The engagement was a mistake.” A huge mistake. A mistake she should have fixed a long time ago.

  “Victoria.” Her mother fake smiled. “You haven’t been yourself lately.”

  “And Mom?”

  Samantha opened her mouth, ready to speak.

  “Greg was here,” Toria told her, rushing the words. “Last night.”

  “Oh, good.” And now a genuine smile.

  “He said Dad left debts.”

  “He what?” Surprise etched Samantha’s face and she clutched tightly to her silver box.

  “Is that true?”

  Almost immediately, the surprise was replaced by anger, then something that looked like . . . uncertainty?

  “Of course not. Why would he say something like that? That was silly of him.”

  Toria tightened her grip on the crutches and stood up straight. A new strength flowed into her. “You can’t spend more money on renovations. You don’t have the money.”

  Her mother opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. Tilting her chin, she said, “So now you’re going to tell me what I can buy?”

  “No. I just meant―”

  “It’s not your concern. Don’t worry about it. We have plenty of money.”

  “Maybe you do.” Toria gripped her crutches. “But I don’t. I don’t have any money.” A picture of her car in the ditch played in her mind. “I have to buy a new car.”

  “Greg can―”

  The buzzer sounded and Toria felt relief flow through her. Saved by the bell. Or, in this case, the buzzer.

  Her mother frowned.

  “It’s Isabelle.”

  “Not that woman. I can’t stand her.”

  What? Who wouldn’t like Isabelle? “Why not?”

  “She puts ideas in your head.”

  Toria moved toward the door. “She’s driving me to school. We’re working on grad decorations together.” She reached the intercom and pressed it.

  “But what if we need you for a decision?”

  “Mom! Listen to me!” She twisted around on her crutches and almost stumbled. “I said I’m not getting married.”

  “You’re just upset.” Her mother presented another false smile. “And you don’t have to yell. It’s not ladylike.”

  “I’m not upset!” But she was. “All right I am upset—because you’re not listening to me.”

  Samantha patted her silver box and smiled harder. “Geraldine said it’s all right if you don’t get her china pattern.”

  “Well . . .” How could she answer? “Tell Geraldine, thank you!”

  “Victoria, don’t be like that,” her mother said, setting the box on the table as though everything was perfectly fine. “Now, come and look at this.”

  Praying that Isabelle would hurry, Toria hobbled over to the table.

  Samantha opened her box revealing little bits of fruit cake wrapped in clear plastic and doilies, and tied with curling gold ribbon. “We thought you’d like to see the party favors.”

  · · · · ·

  Isabelle jammed Toria’s crutches into the back of the Firebird and headed for the driver’s seat. “Did Ryder return your call?”

  The dark sky spit a few drops of rain on the windshield. “He didn’t need to. He’ll just show up at the school. If he wants to.”

  “He wants to.”

  “Why? You seem sure of that.”

  “I am.”

  A tiny flare of hope ignited but, just as quickly, guilt extinguished it.

  The wheels of the Firebird squealed as Isabelle took the corner a little too sharp, turning left onto Collins Street. “So how come your mother looked so . . .”

  “Upset?” Toria suggested.

  “Upset is putting it mildly.” Isabelle merged into the traffic on Dottridge Avenue.

  Speckles of rain gathered on the windshield. Not enough for wipers yet. “She’s trying to convince me I’ve made a mistake—cancelling the wedding.” Toria grabbed hold of the armrest while the Firebird’s motor roared and Isabelle changed lanes. “She’s going ahead as though the wedding is still happening.” An understandable approach, since her mother thrived on denial.

  “Your Aunt Glenda needs to talk to her.” Isabelle shoulder checked and maneuvered to the right, getting ready to exit.

  “I know.” The water on the windshield feathered into patterns. “As soon as I give Mom some time to adjust to the idea of no wedding, I’ll phone Aunt Glenda. I’ll have to tell her everything on the phone.”

  “Will Glenda come?” Isabelle asked, as she turned on the wipers.

  “Yes.” And hopefully Glenda could coax some reasonableness into Samantha. They were approaching the exit onto Stelmack Boulevard. “But it’s going to upset Mom.”

  The more she thought about it, the more Toria knew she had to do something soon. Before her mother emptied her bank account on useless renovations.

  The Firebird rumbled, adjusting to a decreased speed. “What is it with those two?” Isabelle turned onto Stelmack.

  “Years of rivalry,” Toria said, remembering bits of conversations with her mother. “She thinks Glenda was the favored child.”

  The wiper blades squeaked over the glass, halfway between the points of needing and not needing wipers. “Because?”

&nb
sp; Toria could hear her mother’s voice, complaining about her sister Glenda. “Apparently, no matter what Samantha did, Glenda did it better. Better report card. Better friends. Bigger bouquet of flowers for Gramma’s birthday.” They were almost at Wickens Street. “My mother was the little sister who never could.” More rain splashed down, smoothing out the path of the wipers.

  Isabelle slowed for the next turn. The engine emitted low, heavy strokes. “So if the big wedding is supposed to impress Glenda, why not invite her?”

  Pain and regret twined in Toria’s heart. It wasn’t about trying to impress Aunt Glenda. Not anymore. “She’s not just impressing her sister. She’s impressing everyone. Mom loves making impressions.”

  Signals that told the world, watch me, see how great I am, you can’t keep me down.

  “And―” Toria added, “―there would have been pictures to send.” Like waving a red flag. A passing transport fanned a spray of water over the Firebird.

  “She would have done that? Sent pictures?” Isabelle curved onto Wickens.

  “Of course.” That was how her mother operated. “The pictures represent reality the way Samantha Whitney wants it to be. Perfect.” Toria looked out the window at the gray world slipping past. In her mother’s pretend world, everything and everyone was perfect. “She wants me to be perfect.”

  “You already are, dear.”

  No, she wasn’t. She was always competing—against some unseen, impossible standard. She was never good enough. Smart enough. Pretty enough. Not for her mother.

  And not for Greg, who always seemed to find more ways she could please him. Quit your job, finance a new car, move the wedding date ahead.

  Way ahead. A year ahead.

  A distant flash of lightning brightened the sky for a second. Just a few more blocks and they’d be at Tim Hortons.

  And then, a thought came. She’d told Ryder he could help with the waterfall, but he could only supervise the building, not do the actual building. And he had not tried to change her mind.

  But why would he want to? He had no interest in her or in what she did. The only reason he was helping at the school was to give himself something to do while his partner apprenticed. The students were simply a distraction for him. And so was she.

  “You might have to leave town for that day.”