Savour the Moment tbq-3

by Nora Roberts

“It’s never easy to handle those kinds of relationships and connections.”

  “I’ve tried.” Bibi’s red-rimmed eyes pleaded for understanding. “I really have. And they were divorced before we got engaged. Almost.And I love Sarah. I really do. And Brad’s great. They’re great together. I want them to be happy.”

  “That’s what counts most.”

  “Yeah.” She sighed, took a slower sip. “I signed a prenup. I even asked for it. It wasn’t about the money, even though she’s always saying it was. Is. We just fell in love. You can’t help that, right?You can’t help who you fall in love with, or when or how? It just happens. She’s pissed, that’s all, because her second marriage hit the skids and we’re still going. I’m sorry for all the trouble. Sarah doesn’t have to know, does she?”

  “No. At least not today.”

  “They weren’t even sleeping together anymore. When I met Sam they had separate bedrooms, separate lives. That’s like being separated, isn’t it?”

  Laurel thought of her own parents. “I guess it is.”

  “Maybe I was the reason Sam finally took the step and asked for a divorce, but I wasn’t the reason they weren’t happy together. It’s got to be better to take that step than to keep being unhappy together, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, I do.” Twelve years, Laurel thought. Yes, that did have to count for something. “Bibi, you have a good marriage, and a good relationship with your stepdaughter. You can afford to take the high road on this.”

  “She screamed at me. She threw champagne in my face. She tore my dress.”

  “I know. I know” Soothe, soothe, Laurel thought again. “Now, you can be the one to step back, to let it all go today, and focus on Sarah. To help make it the happiest day of her life.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” Bibi knuckled her eyes like a child.

  “I’m really sorry about what happened.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Laurel rose at the knock on the door.

  “And in about fifteen minutes, you’re going to look perfect.”

  “I—I never even asked your name.”

  “It’s Laurel.”

  “Laurel.” Bibi’s lips trembled up into a shaky smile. “Thanks for listening.”

  “No problem. Now, let’s get you ready again.” She opened the door to the hairdresser.

  THE BRIDE, BLISSFULLY UNAWARE OF THE BACKSTAGE DRAMA, STOOD with her father while her attendants walked toward the flower-drenched pergola. Some brides glowed, Laurel thought, and this one certainly did while the pretty, playful breeze fluttered the gauzy layers of her veil.

  Mac changed angles, and Laurel imagined caught that shimmer of joy and anticipation as Sarah turned her head to grin at her father.

  “Oh boy! Here we go.”

  The music changed for the bride. Laurel saw Sam glance toward Parker, give the faintest of nods. Appreciation or acknowledgment—maybe both. Then he walked his radiant daughter toward the waiting groom.

  “So far, so good,” Del murmured beside Laurel.

  “It’s going to be fine. Probably better they had their battle before it started. Got it out of their system.”

  “There won’t be any more trouble.” Parker’s tone was cold as January ice. “At least not from that source.”

  “What did you say to the father?” Del wondered.

  Parker’s smile would have frozen flame. “Let’s just say I’m confident the MOB and SMOB will behave in a civil manner, that Vows will be compensated for the additional hair and makeup fees, the gown repairs, and all damages.” She patted Del’s chest. “And we won’t need your services to collect.”

  “I need to go finish the setup.” Laurel checked her watch. “Not that far off time, considering.”

  “Do you want some help?” Del asked her.

  “No. Go ... get a beer or whatever.”

  She went back to her kitchen, where it was quiet and cool. Where she could sit for just a couple of minutes. Listening to Bibi had depressed her, and she needed to shake it off.

  Loveless marriages, unhappy homes, the X factor of another woman. She knew exactly the sort of miserable brew those ingredients created—and how long the bitter aftertaste could linger.

  Surely Sarah had tasted some of that brew, and likely more than once. Yet she’d stood beaming joy on her father’s arm. The father who’d been unfaithful to her mother, the father who’d broken the very vows she herself was about to make.

  Yes, she understood unhappy marriages, but she didn’t understand and couldn’t accept using that unhappiness as an excuse or rationale for being unfaithful.

  Why didn’t people just end it? If they wanted someone else, or something else, why not break it off clean first instead of cheating, lying, tolerating, just existing?

  Divorce couldn’t be more painful for a couple, or the child or children stirred up in that brew with them, than the deceit, the pretense, that smoldering anger. Wasn’t that why, even after all these years, a part of her wished her parents would walk away from each other instead of pretending to be married?

  “Well, and here I’ve come in to see if I can help since you had all that trouble.” Mrs. Grady fisted her hands on her hips. “And here you are loafing.”

  “I’m about to get to it.”

  Lips pursed, Mrs. Grady walked over to tap Laurel’s chin up so their eyes met. “And what’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing. Nothing really.”

  Mrs. Grady had a way of using her eyebrows in certain expressions that had very clear nonverbal meanings. At the moment, they said

  bullshit.

  “It’s just that whole business before got under my skin. It’s nothing.”

  “It’s not the first time you’ve had donnybrooks at one of these dos. Won’t be the last either.”

  “No. It’s not really the fight. That—after the fact—was pretty entertaining. Parker won’t think so for a couple of days, but really, it had shining moments.”

  “You’re circling around it.”

  “It’s stupid. I ended up with the stepmother. Luck of the draw. I guess she felt sad and embarrassed, so she had to explain to me how she’d gotten involved with the FOB when he was sort of, but not really, separated, and how he and his first wife weren’t together so much as just occupying the same house.”

  “Most of the men who want a taste of something fresh say something like that.”

  “Yeah, which is lame and it’s false. But I think I believe her—the stepmother. But why does it matter? Why is it supposed to be okay if you get involved with someone who might be on the way out of a marriage? They’re still in it, aren’t they?”

  “That’s true,” Mrs. Grady agreed. “But life’s rarely a matter of truth and lies, without the gray in between.”

  “Then why the hell don’t they get out of it if they’re going to hook up with someone else?”

  In a gesture more practical than comforting, Mrs. Grady smoothed down Laurel’s hair. “People have their reasons for the damnedest things in my experience.”

  “She’s okay with it. The bride. I remember the consults, and the tastings, the rehearsal. She loves her parents, that’s clear. And she loves her stepmother. How do people manage that?”

  “It’s not always about taking sides, Laurel.”

  “No, it’s not. But you know, I never had a chance to take sides, or not, because they were both so wrong.” She didn’t have to explain she’d shifted to her own parents. “And even now, if I think about it, if I think about sides? It’s them on one, me on the other. It’s stupid, but part of me is still pissed off that they’re both so ... careless.”

  “You’re angry with them when you should feel sorry for them. They’re the ones who are missing out.”

  “They like their life—lives—arrangement.” She shrugged. “At this point it’s really none of my business anyway.”

  “Laurel Anne.” Mrs. G cupped Laurel’s face in her hands, using a name and a gesture rarely employed. “They’ll alwa
ys be your parents, so it’ll always be your business.”

  “Will I always be disappointed in them?”

  “That’s up to you, isn’t it?”

  “I guess it is.” She sighed, hugely. “Okay. Brooding time’s up. I need to get the groom’s cake and the rest of the desserts dealt with.”

  “I’m here, so I’ll give you a hand with it.”

  Together they carried boxes of pastries to the Ballroom.

  “I’m always dazzled by the flowers,” Mrs. Grady said as she looked around the room. “Our Emma has a magic touch. I like the colors for this one. Nothing pale about it, all bright and bold. Well, would you look at that.” She stepped over to study the wedding cake. “Talk about the magic touch. You’ve outdone yourself here, Laurel.”

  “I think it’s my new favorite summer cake. I’ll save you a piece.”

  “I’ll let you. Wedding cake’s lucky cake.”

  “So I hear. Mrs. G? Did you ever think about getting married again, or ...”

  Mrs. Grady let out a delighted laugh. “Oh, there’s been some or from time to time. I’m not doddering. But marriage?” She walked back to help Laurel with the desserts. “I had mine. I had my Charlie. My one.”

  “Do you believe that?” Laurel asked. “That there’s one person? One?”

  “I do, for some of us. For others, if things don’t work, or you lose someone, there’s another. But for some there’s the one, beginning to end. No one else can fit. No one else gets into the heart the same way, and lives there.”

  “Yeah. No one else. But you’re not always the one back.” She thought of Del, then made herself shake it off. “Do you miss him, still? Your Charlie?”

  “Every day. Thirty-three years this November. I miss him every day. But I had him, didn’t I? I had my one. Not everyone can say that.You can.”

  Slowly, Laurel shifted her gaze over.

  “He’s been your one from the start. Took you long enough to go after him.”

  Why deny it? Laurel thought. Why pretend otherwise with someone who understood so well? “It’s scary.”

  Mrs. Grady let out a laugh. “Sure it is. You want safe? Find a nice puppy you can train to come to heel. Love’s supposed to be scary.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if there’s no fear there’s no thrill.”

  “If that’s true, then I’m thrilled half to death.” Laurel cocked her head. “That’s Parker’s signal. Cocktail and dinner hour.”

  “Go on and give her a hand. I can finish this.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I like to get my hand in now and then. Go on.”

  “Thanks. Thanks,” she repeated, laying a hand over Mrs. Grady’s. “I’ll make sure you get that cake.”

  Alone, Mrs. Grady shook her head and sighed. Her girls, she thought, knew all there was to know about weddings. But love turned them upside down.

  Then again, she supposed love was meant to do just that.

  WHEN THE HOUSE CLEARED, LAUREL JOINED THE OTHERS FOR A little unwinding on the terrace. Del put a glass of champagne in her hand.

  “You earned it.”

  “Damn well did. Thanks. Where’s Parker?”

  “Something to do.” Mac stretched out her legs, curled her tired toes. “She’ll be right down. Sorry I missed the Battle of the Mothers. I heard it was worth the price of admission.”

  “Brief but brutal.” Laurel yawned and thought of fluffy pillows and cool, cool sheets.

  “Do you have many wrestling matches?” Mal wondered.

  “I got punched in the face once.” Carter wiggled his jaw.

  “It adds an element,” Mal decided. “Good food. Great cake.” He lifted his beer in toast to Laurel, then watched Parker come out looking as if she’d spent the day sipping tea rather than riding herd on a couple hundred people.

  “Your winnings,” she said and handed him an envelope.

  “Thanks.” He hiked up a hip to stuff it in his pocket. “So you do all this again tomorrow?”

  “Hugely.” Emma groaned. “We usually have smaller events on Sundays, but this time of year we have plenty of big ones. And with that in mind, I’m going to bed.”

  “Better walk my girl home.” Jack stood to take Emma’s hand. “I’ll drop the truck off on Monday, Mal.”

  “Got it. Better get going myself.”

  “Thanks for pitching in.” Mac stretched. “Come on, Professor. Let’s go home and kick the cat out of bed.”

  “Can’t move yet.” Pleased it was close, Laurel dropped her head on Del’s shoulder. “Need a minute. Bye, Mal,” she added. And closed her eyes.

  “I’ll walk you out. See the rest of you tomorrow,” Parker added as she turned to lead Mal around the house.

  With her head still on Del’s shoulder Laurel opened her eyes. “I knew breeding would do it.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Parker’d be obliged to walk Malcolm out if I stuck here with you. They look good together.”

  “What? Come on.”

  She made an effort to clear her fuzzy brain, then gave up and closed her eyes again. “Sorry. I forgot who I was talking to. Of course there are no sexual sparks there, nothing smoldering beneath the surface. Nope, nothing there at all.”

  “He’s not her type.”

  “Exactly. No obsessing unless it’s about me. Haul me up, will you?”

  “If he’s not her type, why the talk about sparking and smoldering?”

  “It was probably me.” She laughed as he pulled her to her feet. “I get sparky and smoldery when you’re around.”

  “Good one. Excellent way to shift my attention.”

  “And true.” She felt wobbly, and half drunk with fatigue. “Are you staying the night?”

  “That was the plan.”

  He glanced toward the door as they approached the stairs, and Laurel knew damn well he considered strolling out just to ... be Del, she decided, when it came to Parker.

  “See, I’m sparking and smoldering again.” She nudged ahead of him, stepped up to bring their mouths on level for a kiss.

  “Sweetie, you’re all but asleep on your feet.”

  “True, which makes me a lousy Saturday night date.”

  “I like to look ahead, to Sunday morning.”

  “A Sunday morning date sounds perfect,” she said as they walked upstairs. “Especially since it’s an evening event, and I don’t have to be up at dawn. How about eight o’clock?”

  “Eight works.”

  “How about meeting me in the shower?”

  “A Sunday morning shower date? Even better.”

  She drew him into the bedroom, then remembered to shut the door—something she rarely if ever did. Something she rarely had reason to do. She walked over to the terrace doors. “I like these open on summer nights. Does that bother you?”

  “No. I didn’t hear Parker come in yet. Is she still out there?”

  Laurel rolled her eyes, considered the options. Turning she shed her suit jacket, slowly unzipped her skirt. “Maybe I’m not so tired after all.” She stepped out of the skirt so she wore only a chemise, panties and heels. “Unless you are.”

  “I’m getting an unexpected second wind.”

  “Must be the fresh air.” And moving to him she put a great deal of effort into distracting him. It was the least she could do, she thought as his hands went to work. For friendship.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  PARKER POKED HER HEAD INTO LAUREL’S KITCHEN. “GOT A minute?”

  “Yeah. I thought you had a consult and a tour.”

  “Had both, did both.”

  Laurel scraped vanilla beans into the mixture of milk and sugar in her saucepan, added the pods. “How’d we do?”

  “The consult nailed down several details, and added more. The tour booked the last Sunday we had available next May.” She glanced toward the mudroom, and the sheet of plywood blocking it off from the space and the banging and buzzing beyond it. “It’s not as noisy as I thought it might b
e.”

  “Not if I keep the TV or radio on, and pretend it’s background noise at an event. Could be worse. Well, it was worse during the demo, so this is almost tranquil.”

  “And it’ll be worth it, right? With all the extra space.”

  “So I keep telling myself.”

  “What are you making?”

  “Pastry cream.”

  “Want something cold?”

  “Wouldn’t mind.” Laurel prepared an ice water bath for the last stage as Parker fixed two glasses of lemonade.

  “No date tonight, right?”

  “No date. The guys are off to cheer the Yankees and eat hot dogs.” Laurel glanced up, arched her eyebrows. “Girl night?”

  “I’m thinking. Especially as I think I found Emma’s wedding dress.”

  Laurel paused. “Seriously?”

  “Well, I know what she’s after, and it feels like I started a tradition with Mac’s. I’d like us to surprise her tonight, so she can try it on, see if it works.”

  “I’m in.”

  “There’s something else I’d like to talk about.”

  “Talk.” Laurel gave the mixture a stir as it came to a boil.

  “I’m told Jack asked Malcolm Kavanaugh to join us at the beach house in August.”

  “Oh?”While she turned that over in her head, Laurel removed the saucepan from heat, covered it. In one of the bowls on her counter she broke four eggs, then broke another four, separating them and adding the egg yolks to the bowl. “I guess they’ve gotten to be pretty good friends. Plus, there’s plenty of room, right? I can’t wait to see the place myself. To wallow in the place,” she continued as she began to whisk. “To bury myself in the glory of vacation until I—Sorry,” she said when Parker held up a hand. “I get carried away with the idea of doing whatever the hell I want to do for days and nights at a time.”

  “To continue. I just got off the phone with Del, who called to swear to me on his life that he had nothing to do with the invite.”

  “Well, you punished him over the Fourth of July deal.”

  “I did. I may have to punish Jack.”

  “Aww.” Amused at the thought, Laurel added the sugar and cornstarch she’d already mixed together to the eggs, kept whisking.