[Ladera by the Sea 01] - A Wedding for Christmas

by Marie Ferrarella

  “Maybe they don’t know how to reach out and that’s why they’re coming down to talk with you. Maybe they’re hoping to make a new start,” Richard said kindly.

  “Maybe,” she echoed. But she couldn’t shake the nervous feeling that had taken hold of her. “You see only the good in people, don’t you, Dad?”

  “Well, if you go the route of seeing just the good,” he told her simply, “you’d be surprised how many people live up to that.”

  She held up an index finger, making a point. “Yes, but those people have souls. I’m not so sure that’s the case with Mike’s parents.” Although she’d gone through the motions of maintaining ties with the MacDonalds because they were Ricky’s grandparents, in her heart she’d never forgiven them for being so distant with their own son. Mike had deserved better.

  She pulled in a bracing breath. “You remember that thing I said earlier about letting you know if I’m having a crisis or an anxiety attack? Well, this might just be your lucky night, Dad, because I think I’m having both.”

  “Everything will work itself out, Cris,” he assured her. “And I’m not just giving them a pass, honey. I’m saying that some people change for the better. Think positive until you find out otherwise.” He took both her hands in his again, trying to impress this on her. “If you think negative and things do work out, you will have wasted all that time and effort by anticipating the worst.”

  She had another thought about that. “And if the worst does happen?”

  “Anticipating it has no benefit,” he stated. “Better to be hopeful than not.”

  Her father really believed that, she thought. But she herself no longer felt that way. Yet she didn’t want to make waves. It was bad enough that as the inn’s host, her father would have to deal with two humorless former in-laws.

  “I’ll do my best, Dad.”

  “Can’t ask for more,” he told her with a wide smile. “Now, until these people actually get here, I want you to put them out of your mind. Don’t try to second-guess what they want. We’ll find out when the time comes. Right now, we all want and need you to be happy.”

  She laughed. There was that wonderful support again, popping up when she needed it the most. “God knows, we all need you. Especially me.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Always here for you, Cris. Always here for you.”

  Her eyes crinkled as she smiled at him. “I know that, Dad.”

  And the best part of it was, she did.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CRIS HELD HER breath as she eased the door open, careful not to make a sound. Having finally closed the kitchen for the night, she had come upstairs to look in on her son and make sure he was asleep.

  Rather than a night-light, which he claimed created “spooky shadows” on the walls, Ricky slept with the lamp on his nightstand turned down low.

  She smiled to herself as she tiptoed into his bedroom. He was asleep now—after running around all day, how he wouldn’t have collapsed out of sheer exhaustion was hard to see. Cris had to resist the temptation to tuck the blanket around him a little more. Ricky’s much dragged around, much beloved stuffed animal, a mutt affectionately named Floppy for his big, floppy, cocker spaniel ears, was tucked into bed beside him.

  This was an image that she stored away in the recesses of her mind. Someday, she thought, when her son was all grown-up and off on his own, she would pull out this image and remember what it was like to have him still and close to her.

  What if Mike’s parents want to take him away?

  The terrifying idea came out of nowhere. With almost superhuman effort, she banished it, telling herself she was letting her imagination run away with her. Mike’s parents weren’t young anymore. Why would they want to raise a five-year-old?

  The answer was they wouldn’t, she silently insisted. Her father was right. She’d make herself crazy if she overthought this.

  There was nothing to be afraid of, she maintained fiercely.

  “I love you, little man,” Cris whispered, her heart overflowing as she gazed down at her son.

  Ricky stirred, obviously not as deeply asleep as she’d assumed.

  “I love you, too, Mama,” he responded, although his eyes remained shut. In another moment, he was back in the arms of Morpheus, the Greek god of sleep.

  That was close, she acknowledged.

  Taking care not to make any noise, Cris backed out of the room, then eased the door shut again. When she turned away, she came within inches of bumping into Alex. Only the greatest self-control had her swallowing the cry of surprise that instantly rose to her lips.

  Her hand on her chest as if to physically still her pounding heart, Cris looked up at her older sister. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

  Their father had just told Alex who Cris’s letter was from and she had immediately gone searching for her sister, hoping against hope that the news hadn’t been upsetting.

  “No, I’m trying to give you an apology,” Alex told her truthfully. “If I’d known that letter was from the Wicked Witch of the West and her cohort, I wouldn’t have handed it to Dad to pass on to you.”

  At times Alex acted even more protective than their father. “Withholding mail is a punishable offense, Alex,” Cris said wryly.

  “So is murder,” Alex told her, threading her arm through hers. “But I’m seriously contemplating it.” There wasn’t a hint of a smile on her face or humor in her voice. “Taking out that woman permanently before she gets here could only improve society.”

  “We don’t know why she’s coming yet,” Cris pointed out, doing her best to be fair for Mike’s sake even though she could feel those giant butterflies in her stomach again. “After all they are Mike’s parents. Maybe Dad’s right. Maybe they’ve recognized the error of their ways and just want to mend fences, let the past be the past.”

  Alex withdrew her arm and stared at her. “You can’t possibly believe that, can you?” she asked, incredulous. “Cris, Mike eloped with you so he wouldn’t have to find an excuse not to invite them to his wedding. That alone should tell you something.”

  The tumult in her abdomen increased. It was all she could do not to put her hand over her stomach to hold it down. “They are Ricky’s grandparents.”

  Alex snorted. “I don’t care. I don’t trust them.”

  Cris knew exactly what Alex was saying and a large part of her agreed with her older sister. But she couldn’t indulge herself. She had to be the bigger person, see the bigger picture.

  “Maybe they’ve come to their senses and regret not being more a part of Ricky’s life.” Oh, God, she hoped that didn’t mean they were thinking of moving down here to be closer to him. Maybe it was selfish of her, but the prospect of seeing the barely veiled disapproval in their eyes, looking at her on a regular basis, made her feel even more nauseous.

  “Did they say so in the letter?” Alex asked. Her tone indicated that she already knew the answer to that question.

  Cris shrugged helplessly. “Well, not in so many words...”

  “How about in any words?” Alex challenged, her eyes intent on her sister’s.

  “She said they wanted to discuss Ricky’s future with me,” Cris replied quietly. “Dad said I shouldn’t worry and think the worst until it happens.”

  Alex slowly urged her sister toward the stairs. “Dad is a lovely, kind man who’s giving you advice straight out of a 1950’s sitcom. His philosophy belongs to a kinder, gentler time,” Alex told her. “Unfortunately, the very wealthy, less than warm-and-toasty Mr. and Mrs. MacDonald do not. If they were my ex in-laws—”

  “Former in-laws,” Cris corrected. “I didn’t divorce Mike,” she said, an incredible sadness echoing in her voice. “I lost him.”

  “Okay, former in-laws,” Alex conceded. “If they were my former in-laws, I’d
summarily tell them to get lost the next time I caught either one of them looking disapprovingly at me.”

  If only things were that simple, Cris thought, wishing with her whole heart that they were. But she had Ricky to consider. “I can’t do that.”

  “Well, I can,” Alex told her. The next moment, she was volunteering for the mission, almost begging for a chance to go through with it. “And I will. Just say the word, Cris. Please say the word.”

  “No, you won’t,” Cris told her firmly. “I’ll hear her—them—out,” she corrected herself. Because Marion MacDonald tended to take over any room she was in, at times it was hard to remember that she was only one half of the duo. Cris had no doubts that the woman also tended to forget she was married. She made the decisions in the union and was clearly the stronger-willed one.

  “Okay, you hear them out—and then can I kill them?” Alex wanted to know.

  This time Cris laughed. Alex had succeeded in making her feel better. “No, you can’t.”

  Alex gazed at her sharply, as if trying to analyze what lay beneath the protest. “Don’t tell me you like them,” she pleaded. At times Cris, like their father, was just too kindhearted, willing to forgive people and allow them a second chance whether they deserved it or not. In Alex’s opinion, Mike’s parents didn’t.

  “No,” Cris said honestly, “but I like you and I wouldn’t want to see you in jail for killing Ricky’s grandparents.”

  “We’ll play it by ear but I’m not making any promises about completely abandoning murder as a last resort,” Alex told her. When Cris gave her a look, Alex added, “It’s the best I can do. For now,” she said, changing the subject as she glanced at her watch, “feel like taking in a late movie?”

  “Only if it’s on television,” Cris answered. Exhaustion was finally catching up with her and she didn’t feel up to going out. “I’m feeling pretty drained,” she apologized.

  Alex was nothing if not flexible. “Okay, new plan. Why don’t we sit out on the veranda, just two single women, and talk about anything that comes to mind? My single-woman days are numbered,” she reminded Cris, in case her sister was going to turn this suggestion down as well, “and I’d like to make the most of what I have left. Humor me,” she requested, hoping that was enough to forestall Cris from begging off.

  Cris shook her head, quietly marveling at the almost seamless way Alex could always maneuver things to get the outcome she wanted.

  “You realize that you make it hard to refuse,” Cris accused.

  Alex laughed. “That’s the whole idea,” she told her. “So, how about it? Up to a little serious veranda sitting?”

  Being with Alex or one of her other sisters was far preferable to being alone with her thoughts right now, Cris knew. No matter how much she didn’t want to think about any problems and complications that might be just ahead with this visit from her former in-laws, she knew if she called it a night and went off to her room, that was exactly what would happen. Dark thoughts would fester in her mind and keep her awake, guaranteeing that tomorrow would turn into a disaster when she showed up for work emulating one of those zombie creatures that seemed so popular these days.

  “Okay, why not?” she finally conceded.

  “Wow, if you were any more enthusiastic, you might make me feel drunk with power,” Alex cracked.

  Alex didn’t have a lock on sarcasm, Cris decided. “Sorry, left my cheerleading pom-poms in my other locker,” she said.

  “Right next to your cheerful personality, I see,” Alex observed, determined to have the last word.

  Cris headed down the stairs. Maybe Alex was right, and she was being far too somber. She was blowing the letter out of proportion. Everything would be all right, she told herself. It had to.

  “Sorry,” she apologized, “it’s been a long day.”

  “Apology accepted,” Alex replied.

  Once they reached the first floor, they went out the back way to the wraparound veranda. The first hint of fall made the air nippy, and none of the inn’s guests were outside, taking in the night air. Consequently, Cris and her sister had their choice of seats.

  Cris opted for the first chair she came to and dropped wearily into it. Alex took the one right next to hers. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of crickets looking for each other and a little love in the dark.

  Then Alex broke the silence. “I hear we’re having a real Christmas tree again.”

  Expecting to be berated, Cris said defensively, “Actually, that wasn’t my fault.”

  “Who said it was a fault?” Alex asked innocently. “I didn’t say I thought someone was to blame. To be honest, I’m glad I was overruled,” she confided. “I was just trying to be frugal. But I like real trees as much as anyone in this family,” she went on, defending herself. “And when you come right down to it,” she continued thoughtfully, “I guess having a real tree is in keeping with the inn’s motif.” She grinned as she rolled the thought over in her head. “I doubt very much if they had artificial Christmas trees when Ruth Roman turned her home into a bed-and-breakfast. Was it Ricky who championed the choice?”

  Cris nodded. “But he had help.”

  “Yeah—” Alex laughed “—his mom.”

  “No, actually, it was the contractor you hired,” Cris said, having done her best to word the statement so that there was just polite, formal distance between Shane and her.

  Whether by design or accident, Alex didn’t pick up on that distance. Instead, she pointed out one of the reasons the general contractor had been hired to begin with. “The one you knew.”

  Cris surrendered. There was percentage in fighting the obvious. “Yeah, the one I knew,” she acknowledged. “Shane agreed with Ricky about the tree, which was all Ricky needed. The whole thing escalated from there and—”

  “So tell me about this contractor who likes live Christmas trees,” Alex urged, leaning in even closer to her.

  Cris blinked and stared at her. “What do you mean, ‘tell you’ about him? You see him every day and you interact with him. You’re the one who has more contact with him, telling him what you want done around the inn.”

  Alex gave her a penetrating look. “I wasn’t asking about the obvious, Cris.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite,” Cris declared, surrendering for a second time. She tucked her feet under her on the chair and wrapped her arms around her knees, forming a tight little ball. “What were you asking about?”

  Giving Cris the once-over, Alex frowned. “Well, for one thing, why are you suddenly pulling your body into yourself like that? I swear, if you were a turtle, by now you would have disappeared completely into your shell. What gives?” Alex wasn’t trying to drive Cris off; rather, she was trying to bring her out—unsuccessfully at the moment.

  “It’s chilly,” Cris said defensively.

  “And the questions are making things too warm for you?” Alex asked knowingly.

  She hated it when Alex was right and she didn’t want her to be. Cris sniffed. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

  They were going around and around on this. Alex was prepared to remain there all night until she got Cris to admit to at least liking this Shane person.

  “What I’m talking about is that you seem to like this guy.”

  Cris supposed there was no harm in admitting to that—as long as she kept the admission light. “Well, he’s a nice man.”

  “Nobody said he wasn’t,” Alex indicated.

  “But I don’t ‘like’ like him.” Cris was quick to disclaim what Alex clearly believed before the discussion got out of hand. “Not the way you’re implying,” she insisted.

  Alex was not about to buy what Cris was selling. “Hey, Cris, there’s nothing wrong in letting yourself like someone again. Mike wouldn’t have expected you to become a nun. He would hav
e wanted you to pick yourself up and go on with your life.”

  Cris hadn’t lain on her bed, sobbing her heart out every morning, noon and night—even though she’d wanted to in the beginning. That should have been enough for her family.

  “I am going on with my life,” Cris insisted.

  But Alex shook her head. “Correction—you are putting one foot in front of the other, getting up every morning and following a routine.” She had to see the difference, Alex thought, didn’t she? “You’re there for Ricky, there for the inn, there for the family—”

  “That’s what I just said,” Cris declared. “I’m going on with my life.”

  Alex carried on as if she hadn’t been interrupted. “But you’re not ‘there’ for yourself. You’re not letting yourself feel, Cris,” she persisted, stressing the word.

  Okay, enough of being polite, of letting others think they knew how to conduct her life better than she did. “What I’m not letting myself do, Alex, is set myself up for another fall,” she said vehemently. “It hurts like you wouldn’t believe. Falling from the sky without a parachute would be easier in comparison.” Now that she’d started talking, she found she couldn’t stop. It was as if she had to purge everything from her system.

  “If I close my eyes, I can still see that marine and that chaplain, walking up the walk, standing there in the doorway, telling me how very sorry they were to be the ones to bring the news that Mike was coming home early, but not the way either one of us dreamed he would.”

  Was Cris afraid that Shane would suddenly enlist and wind up leaving her the way Mike had left her? “From what I hear,” Alex said, “Shane already served time, and left with an honorable discharge.”

  That made no difference, Cris thought. Scars were scars.

  “Lots of ways to be hurt, Alex,” she finally said quietly.

  Alex was not about to give up. “One of which is hiding from the world.”

  Cris drew herself up. “I am not hiding, I’m just affording the world a wide path.” She blew out a breath, more than tired. “Alex, I didn’t agree to come out here with you to be lectured.”