Daughters of the Bride

by Susan Mallery

  “I’m good,” she told him.

  “You sure? Josh mentioned that Heather hadn’t remembered to bring snacks last time. I could take care of that.”

  “I’m handling it. Besides, you have to miss some of his games for work.”

  “Yeah, but I could help when I’m not working. You wouldn’t have to do it all yourself.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “At least that way you know it will be done right?” he asked. The tone was light, but there was something in his words.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t trust easily.”

  She put down her pizza and glanced toward the living room. When she returned her attention to Greg, she made sure her voice was low.

  “If you’re asking if I trust you, I would say it depends. You’re a good father and I appreciate that. Josh needs his dad in his life. As for the rest of it, we’re divorced, Greg. What does it matter what I think of you?”

  He pushed his plate away. “You’re never going to get over what happened, are you? It doesn’t matter how many times I tell you I’m sorry. That I want to make things right. You don’t care. I screwed up and you can never forgive me.”

  Her stomach started to hurt. “You don’t care about my forgiveness. You just don’t like being the bad guy. It cuts into your self-image. Get over it. Like I said, you’re a good father. I never say anything bad about you to Josh. We work well with him. That’s more than most divorced couples have.”

  “Don’t you ever wish we could be friends again? There were rough times while we were married, Rachel, but there was a lot of good, too.”

  There had been, she thought to herself. Lots of laughter and love. At least at first. But then things had changed. She’d grown up and he hadn’t. While she’d taken care of their child and their house, Greg had gone out with his friends. He might have cheated only after ten years of marriage, but he’d let her down a long time before that.

  “I like things how they are now,” she told him. “Separate. You have your life and I have mine.”

  For a second she thought he was going to protest. To say he wanted something else. Something more.

  Her chest tightened and her heart pounded. Hope, anticipation and fear blended into a churning mess that didn’t sit well with her pizza. Because no matter what face she showed to the rest of the world, she knew the truth. That despite what she said and how she acted, she’d never gotten over Greg. It wasn’t that she couldn’t forgive him, it was that she couldn’t forget him. He’d obviously moved on and she was stuck still in love with him.

  “That’s what I thought,” he told her, his voice resigned. “What’s done is done and there’s no going back.”

  The hope shriveled and died, much like her heart had done that day two years ago when she’d taken one look into his eyes and had known the truth.

  “I should be going,” he told her. “Have a good week.”

  “You, too.”

  He called out a goodbye to Josh, then let himself out the back door. Rachel wrapped up the rest of her small pizza. She couldn’t eat any more tonight. And while Josh would protest the lack of meat, he would still snack on it tomorrow when he got home from school.

  Later, after her son was in bed, Rachel sat alone in the living room. The house was quiet, the only sounds coming from outside when a car drove by. She told herself that everything was fine, that she was doing okay, but she knew she was lying about all of it.

  * * *

  Quinn stared at the house. It was three stories and about forty-two hundred square feet. Big windows, a nice yard, on a quiet street.

  “Never gonna work,” Wayne announced.

  “You haven’t seen the inside,” Quinn pointed out. “What if it’s perfect?”

  Wayne—a sixtysomething former marine—sighed the sigh of those cursed with too much intelligence who were forced to deal with ordinary mortals.

  “I’ll explain it to you Barney-style,” he said, speaking slowly.

  Quinn held in a grin. Explaining something Barney-style meant speaking slowly and simply, as if to a child. Wayne was nothing if not colorful.

  The older man had been with him about seven years. Before that he’d been a dispatcher for a trucking company and before that a marine. They’d met under unusual circumstances. When Wayne’s son had died, he’d tried to drink himself to death. Quinn had been the one to take him in and sober him up. Then he’d offered him a job as his assistant. He’d been shocked as hell when Wayne had accepted.

  “You Barney-style all you want,” he said. It was Monday morning. He hadn’t slept well the night before, and he needed more coffee. Having Wayne walk him through the details just might be entertaining enough to make him forget his lack of caffeine.

  “It’s not a verb,” Wayne grumbled. “You’re getting the phrase all wrong. Damned civilians.”

  Quinn held out his hand. Zealand groaned, then handed over five bucks. Because whoever got Wayne to complain about the world not being “marine enough” first won five dollars.

  Quinn pocketed it, then nodded at Wayne. “Tell me why this isn’t a good idea.”

  Wayne swore under his breath. “There’s not enough parking,” his assistant began. “We could pave over the grass, but you know the neighbors are going to complain. All those windows—” He pointed to the front of the house. “Every one of those is a place for noise to get in from the street and out from the studio.”

  “I produce music, not noise,” Quinn protested.

  “That’s what you call it. The folks who live in the neighborhood won’t agree. What are you going to do? Cover the windows and put up soundproofing?”

  Quinn looked at Zealand, who shrugged.

  “Then why have windows?” Wayne asked. “You’re running a business that goes late into the night. You can’t have bands coming and going at two in the morning. This is a small town, boss. They have their ways.”

  “What do you know about small towns?” Quinn asked.

  “Enough.”

  “I take it you’re not a fan.”

  “Not really. But you said you wanted to move here, so here I am.”

  “Poor Wayne.”

  “Yeah, I’m suffering.”

  Zealand chuckled.

  Quinn thought about what his assistant had said. “You’re right. A house doesn’t make sense. Why don’t the two of you go check out some industrial spaces? But they have to be relatively quiet. We can’t be next to some factory that bangs all day and night.”

  “Right. Because only the bands can do that.”

  Quinn looked at him. “Which kind of banging do you mean?”

  Wayne frowned. “Both, I guess.”

  “You’ve learned our ways well, young Obi-Wan.”

  Wayne sighed again. “You’re really moving here.”

  “I am. You’ll learn to love it. There’s a boardwalk and a pier. It’s over a hundred years old.”

  “Piers do not get better with time.”

  “Lots of families with kids. Teenagers during spring break. What could be more perfect?”

  Wayne started for the car. “Are you talking? Because all I hear is a buzzing sound.”

  “Speaking of buzzing, there’s a very famous honeybee that summers here sometimes.”

  “You say one more word about the bees and I’m going back to LA. I mean it. I’ll quit.”

  Zealand chuckled as he slid into the backseat.

  Quinn started the engine of the Bentley. “The Drunken Red-nosed Honeybee is known to be industrious and gentle.”

  Wayne rested his head in his hands. “Kill. Me. Now. That’s all I ask.”

  “Sorry, my friend. You’re the only one with that kind of training. You’re going to have to suck it up and suffer.
Like you always do.”

  Wayne straightened. “Tell me about it. My life is pain.”

  6

  SIENNA HANDED OVER a wrench to the man stretched out under her kitchen sink. “You could just call a plumber.”

  “I know how to replace a garbage disposal.”

  “So you say. But if it explodes, it will take me with it.”

  “That would be a loss for all of us.”

  Jimmy, her landlord, friend since grade school and ex-fiancé, turned so he could see her. “I mean that. The loss part.”

  “You’d better. I don’t want to be sliced into little pieces by an exploding garbage disposal.”

  “No one does.”

  She sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor of her rented duplex. The small, two-bedroom place suited her. It was clean, pretty, and had a yard. Jimmy was the best kind of landlord—he mowed the lawn, did repairs quickly and had the carpets cleaned at least twice a year. In return, she paid her rent on time and did her best to be a good tenant.

  Theirs was a relationship that worked.

  “How’s business?” she asked.

  “Good. I have a couple new listings. Three houses closing this month.”

  “Who would have thought?”

  Jimmy chuckled. “That I would turn out respectable? Stranger things have happened.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  Back in high school, Jimmy had been more interested in surfing than studies. He’d drifted through school. Still, he’d been funny and kind, with a sexy attitude that had captured her schoolgirl heart. They’d dated all through senior year. When she’d left to go to UC Santa Barbara, he’d followed. While she’d attended classes, he’d surfed and worked odd jobs. Sometime during her freshman year, they’d gotten engaged. That had lasted nearly a year. Their breakup hadn’t been dramatic, just the realization that they were too young and they wanted different things. He’d gone home and she’d stayed in college. But they’d remained friends. She liked knowing that Jimmy was in her life.

  She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly five thirty. She still had time.

  “Hot date?” Jimmy asked.

  “A date.”

  “Ouch. Does he know about your lack of enthusiasm?”

  “I’m enthused.”

  “Not really. It’s that David guy, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I take it he’s not the one.”

  “No. He’s very nice and we have fun.”

  “But?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know. We have a lot in common. He’s smart, well-educated. We vote the same.”

  Jimmy snorted. “You vote the same? Seriously? That’s your criteria now?”

  “Of course not. It’s just...”

  Jimmy slid out from under the sink. “Stand back. I’m about to test this thing.” He pointed to the far side of the kitchen. “Go stand there. I’ll put my body between you and the explosion.”

  “Talk about a gentleman,” she teased. “There are so few of you left these days.”

  “Most of us have died in garbage disposal accidents.”

  She scrambled to her feet and walked to the other end of the kitchen. Jimmy turned on the water and flipped the switch. The steady hum of the garbage disposal filled the room.

  “Impressive,” she told him when he turned it off. “Very impressive.”

  “I’ve got game, I’ll admit it.” He washed his hands, then dried them with a towel. “So why do you see him? It’s not like you need a boyfriend.”

  Ugh. They were back to David. She leaned against the counter. “I don’t know. I like him, I guess.”

  He raised his dark eyebrows. “You guess?”

  “He’s very solid and stable. That’s nice.”

  “Unlike your surfing ex-fiancé?”

  “You’re plenty stable now.”

  “I’m practically staid.”

  She took in the dark, shaggy hair, the three days’ worth of beard, the earrings and the tattoos on his arm. “Jimmy, people will call you many things, but staid isn’t one of them.”

  “You say the sweetest things. So what’s up with David? Why don’t you dump him?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I should.” She frowned. “It’s so strange. I love my job. Seriously—it’s the best. And I like living in Los Lobos. I have a really good life.”

  “But?”

  “But there’s something I can’t put my finger on.” A restlessness, she thought. The sense of missing something important.

  “Are you upset about your mom?” he asked. “About her getting married?”

  “God no. She’s been a widow twenty-four years. If anyone deserves to move on, it’s her. Neil’s a great guy. We all like him.”

  “Just checking. Weddings do funny things to people.”

  “I promise, there will be no drama with my mother’s wedding. She’s a mature, responsible woman marrying a great guy.”

  “I got an invitation to the engagement party.”

  The thought of Jimmy being there made her smile. “Good. Are you going?”

  “I thought it would be fun. You and David will be there, right?”

  “We will.” She found herself wanting to ask if he was bringing a date but then realized she didn’t want to know. Which wasn’t fair. Of course she wanted Jimmy to be happy. He was a great guy.

  “Why aren’t you engaged or married?” she asked.

  He pressed a hand to his chest. “You spoiled me for other women.”

  That made her laugh. “Right. You were so broken after our engagement ended that you took up with the one person I dislike more than anyone.”

  “You are referring to the fair Erika?”

  “You know I am.”

  “But she’s lovely.”

  “She’s mean, and if I recall correctly, she dumped you.”

  Jimmy’s expression of amusement never wavered. “That she did. I suspect she was only trying to prove she could get me, not that she could keep me.”

  “If I had an ego, I would say she went after you because I stole you from her in the first place.”

  “You do have an ego and it’s well deserved. And you did steal me.” He glanced at the clock. “You have a date and I have to clean up my mess here.”

  “What?” She followed his gaze. “You’re right. Thanks for reminding me.”

  She walked down the tiny hall to the master bedroom. It wasn’t big, but her queen-size bed fit fine, along with the dresser she’d had since she was twelve when her mom bought all three girls new furniture. The piece wasn’t anything she would have chosen now—it was too ornate, with carving on the corners and drawer pulls in the shape of birds. But somehow it connected her to her past.

  She walked into the en suite bathroom and used a headband to hold back her short hair. After washing her face, she applied moisturizer and sunscreen, then put on makeup.

  David was taking her out for Mexican food, which meant casual rather than fancy. She slipped on a white tank top and short denim skirt, then chose black suede peep-toe wedges with a little fringe at the ankle. Drop earrings and several bangles completed the outfit. She fluffed her short hair back into the spiky style she wore, then grabbed a cropped black faux leather jacket for later—when it got cool—before returning to her kitchen.

  Jimmy had mopped up from his work and put everything back under the sink. He looked up from loading his toolbox and whistled. “You clean up good. I prefer you messy, but clean works.”

  She laughed. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

  “Nope. Just observant. David doesn’t stand a chance. But none of us ever did.”

  Sweet words. Not true, but sweet.

  Her second engageme
nt had been to a guy named Hugh. They’d met her senior year of college. He’d been from a prominent banking family in Chicago and had been in Santa Barbara for his post–graduate school first job. Apparently, he was required to work his way up in another bank before joining the family empire.

  Hugh had been charming, successful and easy to be with. They’d fallen in love almost immediately. She’d met his family over winter break at a ski resort in Vail, then had brought him home over spring break. He’d proposed at sunset on the beach.

  After graduation she’d taken a job at a nonprofit in Santa Barbara and had started organizing their wedding. The plan had been to stay there for three or four years before moving to Chicago when he entered the family business.

  Everything had changed when his father had had a heart attack and Hugh had gone back to take care of the company. She’d quit her job and joined him a few weeks later.

  What she told everyone was that once she got to Chicago, she’d realized they weren’t as in love as she’d thought. That she didn’t like the city or being so close to his family. But the truth was different.

  The truth was that his family hadn’t liked her. Apparently, they never had, especially his mother. She hadn’t fit in with their friends or their lifestyle. She wasn’t classy enough. All of which Hugh had explained within a week of her arrival. He hadn’t ended things, exactly. Instead, he’d asked for more time. And for her to change.

  “You’re beautiful,” he’d told her, his voice and expression equally sincere. “That helps. But you simply don’t have the right background. With some coaching and time, you could really be the right package. I can’t make any promises, Sienna, but I want us to try to make this work.”

  Not exactly the words a fiancée longs to hear. Assuming she was still his fiancée. Which he’d clarified with a slight shrug and “Oh, and Mom thinks you should return the ring until we’re sure.”

  She’d handed him the two-carat diamond ring he’d placed on her finger only three months before and had walked out. When she’d flown back to Los Lobos, she’d told everyone that Chicago and Hugh weren’t for her. She’d never once admitted the truth. That she hadn’t been good enough. At least not on the inside. While her outsides had passed muster, the rest of her had been lacking.