Courtney rose. “All right, you crafty lady. I will do my best with both the party and the wedding.”
“I knew you would.”
Courtney bent down and kissed Joyce’s cheek, then straightened, turned and ran smack into Kelly Carzo—waitress and, until this second, a friend.
Kelly, a pretty, green-eyed redhead, tried to keep hold of the tray of coffee mugs she’d been carrying, but the force was too great. Mugs went flying, hot liquid rained down, and in less than three seconds, Courtney, Joyce and Kelly were drenched, and the shattered remains of six mugs lay scattered on the floor.
The restaurant had been relatively quiet before. Now it went silent as everyone turned to stare. At least there were only a couple of other customers and a handful of staff. Not that word of her latest mishap wouldn’t spread.
Joyce stood and scooped Sarge out of harm’s way, then ordered Pearl to move back. “What is it your sister says in times like this?”
Courtney pulled her wet shirt away from her body and smiled apologetically at Kelly. “That I’m ‘pulling a Courtney.’ You okay?”
Kelly brushed at her black pants. “Never better, but you are so paying for my dry cleaning.”
“I swear. Right after I help you with this mess.”
“I’m going to get changed,” Joyce told them. “The prerogative of being the owner.”
“I’m really sorry,” Courtney called after her.
“I know, dear. It’s fine.”
No, Courtney thought as she went to get a broom and a mop. It wasn’t fine. But it sure was her life.
* * *
“I want to match my dress. Just one streak. Mo-om, what could it hurt?”
Rachel Halcomb pressed her fingers against her temple as she felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. The Saturday of Los Lobos High’s spring formal was always a crazy one for the salon where she worked. Teenage girls came in to be coiffed and teased into a variety of dance-appropriate styles. They traveled in packs, which she didn’t mind. But the high-pitched shrieks and giggles were starting to get to her.
Her client—Lily—desperately wanted a bright purple streak to go with her floor-length dress. Her hair was long, wavy and a beautiful shade of auburn. Rachel had clients who would fork out hundreds to get that exact color, while Lily had simply hit the hair lottery.
Lily’s mom bit her bottom lip. “I don’t know,” she said, sounding doubtful. “Your father will have a fit.”
“It’s not his hair. And it’ll look great in the pictures. Come on, Mom. Aaron asked me. You know what that means. I have to look amazing. We’ve only been living here three months. I have to make a good impression. Please?”
Ah, the most amazing boy ever asked me out combined with the powerful I’m new in school argument. A one-two punch. Lily knew her stuff. Rachel had never been on the receiving end of that particular tactic but knew how persuasive kids could be. Her son was only eleven but already an expert at pushing her buttons. She doubted she’d had the same level of skill when she’d been his age.
Lily swung toward Rachel. “You can use the kind that washes out, right? So it’s temporary?”
“It will take a couple of shampoos, but yes, you can wash it out.”
“See!” Lily’s voice was triumphant.
“Well, you are going with Aaron,” her mother murmured.
Lily shrieked and hugged her mother. Rachel promised herself that as soon as she could escape to the break room, she would have not one but two ibuprofens. And the world’s biggest iced tea chaser. She smiled to herself. That was her—dreaming big.
Lily ran off to change into a smock. Her mother shrugged. “I probably shouldn’t have given in. Sometimes it’s hard to tell her no.”
“Especially today.” Rachel nodded at the gaggle of teenage girls at every station. They stood in various stages of dress...or undress. Some had on jeans and T-shirts. Others were in robes or smocks. And still others modeled their gowns for the dance that night. “And she is going to the dance with Aaron.”
The other woman laughed. “When I was her age, his name was Rusty.” She sighed. “He was gorgeous. I wonder what happened to him.”
“In my class, he was Greg.”
The mom laughed. “Let me guess. The football captain?”
“Of course.”
“And now?”
“He’s with the Los Lobos Fire Department.”
“You kept in touch?”
“I married him.”
Before Lily’s mom could ask any more questions, Lily returned and threw herself into the chair. “I’m ready,” she said eagerly. “This is going to be so awesome.” She smiled at Rachel. “You’re going to do the smoky eye thing on me, right?”
“As requested. I have deep purple and violet-gray shadows just for you.”
Lily raised her hand for a high five. “You’re the best, Rachel. Thank you.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
Two hours later Lily had a dark violet streak in her hair, a sleek updo and enough smoky eye makeup to rival a Victoria’s Secret model. The fresh-faced teenager now looked like a twentysomething It Girl.
Lily’s mom snapped several pictures with her phone before pressing a handful of bills into Rachel’s hand. “She’s beautiful. Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure. Lily, bring me pictures of you with Aaron next time I see you.”
“I will. I promise!”
Rachel waited until mother and daughter had left to count out the tip. It was generous, which always made her happy. She wanted her clients—and their mothers—to be pleased with her work. Now, if only one of those eccentric trillionaires would saunter in, love her work and tip her a few thousand, that would be fantastic. She could get ahead on her mortgage, not sweat her lack of an emergency fund. In the meantime, Josh needed a new glove for his baseball league, and her car was making a weird chirping noise that sounded more than a little expensive.
If she’d mentioned either of those things to Lily’s mom, she would guess the other woman would have told her to talk to Greg. That was what husbands were for.
There was only one flaw with that plan—she and Greg weren’t married anymore. The most amazing boy in school slash football captain slash homecoming king had indeed married her. A few weeks before their tenth anniversary he’d cheated and she’d divorced him. Now at thirty-three, she found herself living as one of the most pitied creatures ever—a divorced woman with a child about to hit puberty. And there wasn’t enough smoky eye or hair color to make that situation look the least bit pretty.
She finished cleaning up and retreated to the break room for a few minutes before her last client—a double appointment of sixteen-year-old twins who wanted their hair to be “the same but different” for the dance. Rachel reached for the bottle of ibuprofen she kept in her locker and shook out two pills.
As she swallowed them with a gulp of water, her cell phone beeped. She glanced at the screen.
Hey you. Toby’s up for keeping both boys Thursday night. Let’s you and me go do something fun. A girls’ night out. Say yes.
Rachel considered the invitation. The rational voice in her head said she should do as her friend requested and say yes. Break out of her rut. Put on something pretty and spend some time with Lena. She honestly couldn’t remember the last time she’d done anything like that.
The rest of her, however, pointed out that not only hadn’t she done laundry in days, but she was also behind on every other chore it took to keep her nonworking life running semi-smoothly. Plus, what was the point? They would go to a bar by the pier and then what? Lena was happily married. She wasn’t interested in meeting men. And although Rachel was single and should be out there flashing her smile, she honest to God didn’t have the energy. She was busy every second of every day. H
er idea of a good time was to sleep late and have someone else make breakfast. But there wasn’t anyone else. Her son needed her, and she made sure she was always there. Taking care of business.
She’d been nine when her father had died suddenly. Nine and the oldest of three girls. She still remembered her mother crouched in front of her, her eyes filled with tears. “Please, Rachel. I need you to be Mommy’s best girl. I need you to help take care of Sienna and Courtney. Can you do that for me? Can you hold it all together?”
She’d been so scared. So unsure of what was going to happen next. What she’d wanted to say was that she was still a kid and, no, holding it together wasn’t an option. But she hadn’t. She’d done her best to be all things to everyone. Twenty-four years later, that hadn’t changed.
She glanced back at her phone.
Want to come over for a glass of wine and PB&J sandwiches instead?
I’ll come over for wine and cheese. And I’ll bring the cheese.
Perfect. What time should I drop off Josh?
Let’s say 7. Does that work?
Rachel sent the thumbs-up icon and set her phone back in her locker, then closed the door. Something to look forward to, she told herself. Plans on a Thursday night. Look at her—she was practically normal.
2
“MRS. TROWBRIDGE IS DEAD.”
Sienna Watson looked up from her desk. “Are you sure?” She bit her lower lip. “What I meant is, how awful. Her family must be devastated.” She drew in a breath. “Are you sure?”
Seth, the thirtysomething managing director of The Helping Store, leaned against the door frame. “I have word directly from her lawyer. She passed two weeks ago and was buried this past Saturday.”
Sienna frowned. “Why didn’t anyone tell us? I would have gone to the funeral.”
“You’re taking your job too seriously. It’s not as if she would have known you were there.”
Sienna supposed that was true. What with Mrs. Trowbridge being dead and all. Still... Anita Trowbridge had been a faithful donor to The Helping Store for years—contributing goods for the thrift shop and money for various causes. Upon her death, the thrift shop was to inherit all her clothes and kitchen items, along with ten thousand dollars.
Unfortunately, nearly six months before, Sienna had received word of Mrs. Trowbridge’s passing. After the lawyer had given his okay, she’d sent a van and two guys to the house to collect their bequest...only to be confronted by Mrs. Trowbridge’s great-granddaughter. Erika Trowbridge had informed the men that her great-grandmother was still alive and they could take their vulture selves away until informed otherwise.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Seth said now as he pushed up his glasses. “The lawyer gave you the key to the house.”
“Something he shouldn’t have done. You know, it wouldn’t have happened if they’d hired a local lawyer. But no. They had to bring one up from Los Angeles.”
Sienna had apologized to Mrs. Trowbridge personally. The old lady—small and frail in her assisted-living bed—had laughed and told Sienna she understood. Great-granddaughter Erika had not. Of course, Erika was still bitter about the fact that Sienna had not only snagged the role of Sandy in their high school production of Grease but also—perhaps more important—won the heart of Jimmy Dawson in twelfth grade.
“She was a nice old lady,” she murmured, thinking she would have liked to have sent flowers. Instead, she would donate that amount to The Helping Store in Mrs. Trowbridge’s name. “I wonder if there’s anything left in her kitchen.”
“You think the granddaughter took things?”
“Great-granddaughter, and I wouldn’t put it past her. If she had her way, Erika would clean the place out. At least we’ll get the cash donation.”
“I’m meeting with the lawyer in the morning.”
Sienna was the donation coordinator for The Helping Store, one of a handful of paid staff. The large and bustling thrift store was manned by volunteers. All the proceeds from the store, along with any cash raised by donations, went to a shelter for women escaping domestic violence. Getting away from the abuser was half the battle. Over the years, The Helping Store had managed to buy several small duplexes on the edge of town. They were plain but clean and, most important to women on the run, far from their abusers.
Her boss nodded toward the front of the building. “Ready to tap-dance?”
Sienna smiled as she rose. “It’s not like that. I enjoy my work.”
“You put on a good show.” He held up a hand. “Believe me. I’m not complaining. You’re the best. My biggest fear is that some giant nonprofit in the big city will make you an offer you can’t refuse and I’ll be left Sienna-less. I can’t think of a sadder fate.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised. Oh, sure, every now and then she thought about what it would be like to live in LA or San Francisco, but those feelings passed. This small coastal town was all she knew. Her family was here.
“Isn’t David from somewhere back East?” Seth asked.
She pulled open her desk drawer and collected her handbag, then walked out into the hallway. “St. Louis. His whole family’s there.”
Seth groaned. “Tell me he’s not interested in moving back.”
There were a lot of implications in that sentence. That she and David were involved enough to be having that conversation. That one day they would be married and, should he want to return to his hometown, she would go with him.
She patted her boss’s arm. “Cart, meet horse. You’re getting way ahead of yourself. We’ve only been dating a few months. Things aren’t that serious. He’s a nice guy and all, but...”
“No sparks.” Seth’s tone was sympathetic. “Bummer.”
“We can’t all have your one true great love.”
“You’re right. Gary is amazing. Okay, then, let’s get you to the Anderson House so you can dazzle the good people who make— Who are you talking to?”
“The California Organization of Organic Soap Manufacturing, and they’re at the Los Lobos Hotel. The Anderson House has bees.”
Seth’s expression brightened. “The Drunken Red-nosed Honeybees? I love those guys. Did you know their raw honey has thirty percent more antioxidants than any other raw honey in California?”
“I didn’t and I could have gone all day without that factoid.”
“You’re jealous because I’m smart.”
“No, you’re jealous because I’m pretty and our world is shallow so that counts more.”
Seth laughed. “Fine. Go be pretty with the soap people and bring us back some money.”
“Will do.”
Sienna drove to the hotel. She knew the way. Not only because her hometown was on the small side—but also because nearly every significant event was celebrated there.
The Los Lobos Hotel sat on a low bluff overlooking the Pacific. The main building was midcentury modern meets California Spanish, four stories high with blinding white walls and a red tile roof. The rear wing had been added in the 1980s, and luxury bungalows dotted the grounds.
Given the pleasant Central California weather, most large-scale events were held outside on the massive lawn in front of the pool. A grand pavilion stood on the lawn between the pool and the ocean, and a petite pavilion by the paddleboat pond.
Sienna parked the car and collected her material. As she walked toward the rear entrance of the hotel, she saw that the windows sparkled and the hedges were perfectly trimmed. Joyce did an excellent job managing the hotel, she thought. She was also a generous contributor to The Helping Store. And not just with money. More than once Sienna had called to find out if there was a spare room for a displaced family or a woman on the run. A year ago Joyce had offered a small room kept on reserve for their permanent use.
Helping women in need was something Joy
ce had been doing forever. Nearly twenty-four years before, when Sienna and her sisters had lost their father, and Maggie, their mother, had been widowed, the family had been thrown into chaos. A lack of life insurance, Maggie’s limited income and three little girls to support had left the young mother struggling. In a matter of months, she’d lost her house.
Joyce had taken them all in to live at the Los Lobos Hotel. Now Sienna smiled at the memory. She’d been only six at the time. Missing her father, of course, but also discovering the joy of reading. The day the Watson family had taken up residence in one of the hotel’s bungalows, Joyce had given Sienna a copy of Eloise. Sienna had immediately seen herself as the charming heroine from the book and had made herself at home in the hotel. While it wasn’t the same as living at The Plaza, it was close enough to help her through her grief.
Sienna remembered how she’d called for room service and told the person answering the phone to “charge it.” Most likely those bills had gone directly to Joyce rather than to Maggie. And when she’d begged her mother for a turtle, because Eloise had one, a guest had stepped in to buy her one.
While there was pain in some of the memories, she had to admit living at the hotel had been fun. At least for her. It was probably a different story for her mother.
She entered through the rear door and started down the hall toward the meeting rooms. At the far end, she saw a familiar figure wrestling with a vacuum. As she watched, Courtney tripped over the cord and nearly plowed face-first into the wall. A combination of love and frustration swelled up inside her. There was a reason the phrase was “pulling a Courtney.” Because if someone was going to stumble, fall, drop, break or slip, it was her baby sister.
“Hey, you,” Sienna called as she got closer.
Courtney turned and smiled.
Sienna did her best not to wince at Courtney’s uniform—not that the khaki pants and polo shirt were so horrible, but on her sister, they just looked wrong. While most people considered being tall an advantage, on Courtney the height was simply awkward. Like now—her pants were too short and, even though she was relatively thin, they bunched around her hips and thighs. The shirt looked two sizes too small and there was a stain on the front. She wasn’t wearing makeup and her long blond hair—about her best feature—was pulled back in a ponytail. She was, to put it honestly, a mess. Something she’d been for as long as Sienna could remember.
Daughters of the Bride Page 2
