by Mary Daheim
Renie shrugged. “The Reverend George Kindred and Elsie Kindred. I assume he’s marrying the happy couple?”
“I guess so,” Judith replied. “I wasn’t informed otherwise.”
“Charles and Agnes Chump. Dare I ask?”
“That’s Crump.” Judith spoke through gritted teeth. “My handwriting isn’t that bad.”
“Yes, it is,” Renie argued. “You should’ve typed it out on the computer. That’s what I would’ve done.”
“Good for you,” Judith said sarcastically. “You spend more time on the computer than I do. Get over it.”
Renie wasn’t perturbed by the comment. “Last, but I assume not necessarily least, are Dr. Kilmore and Mr. Ormsby. Married or live-ins?”
“I assume they’re man and doctor. I mean, wife,” Judith said. “The reservation noted that Clayton Ormsby is Sophie Kilmore’s mate.”
Renie turned to the grandfather clock across the room near the big bay window. “It’s ten to six. If their flight’s on time, they should show up soon. Will the wedding be in here or in the parlor?”
“I prefer the parlor,” Judith replied. “That way I can set up the food during the ceremony. It just seems a better way to do it. For all I know, they may have some other guests coming for the reception. They could have more relatives and friends staying elsewhere in town.”
“They didn’t let you know?” Renie asked, frowning.
Judith sighed. “After going on twenty years as an innkeeper, I’ve learned to be flexible. To quote Grandma Grover again, ‘It’ll all be the same a hundred years from now.’”
“I was never sure what that meant,” Renie mused. “Won’t it be a lot different? Consider the early 1900s and all the changes since then. We had no computers or freeways or blenders or—”
“I think,” Judith interrupted, lest her cousin go on, “she meant it’d all be the same to us because we’d be dead.”
Renie looked affronted. “She couldn’t be sure. People are living longer. I was probably two the first time I heard Grandma say that.”
“You’re being obtuse,” Judith declared. “Stop. I think I heard a car pull up out front.”
“It can’t be your guests,” Renie said. “They need a bus.”
Judith ignored the remark. “I’m going to see if it’s them. If it is, you’d better join me so you can figure out who’s who.”
As Judith stepped out into the hall, Joe poked his head around from the dining room. “Bill wants to know if we’re eating at six. His ulcer, remember?”
Judith glared at her husband. “If Bill’s ulcer is bothering him, he can have some of the hors d’oeuvres I made for the guests. But don’t let him get near the wedding cake.” She continued on to the front door and peeked out to the street. On the near side of the huge laurel hedge that separated Hillside Manor from Carl and Arlene Rankerses’ property, Judith could see a pickup truck belonging to one of their sons.
“False alarm,” she told Renie. “It’s a Rankers. Your husband wants to eat now.”
“He can wait,” Renie said. “I’ll dish up dinner while you go through the formalities with the guests. Is Aunt Gert staying in her self-imposed prison or deigning to join us?”
“She’s staying in the toolshed.” Judith heard voices. “That must be them.” Hurrying to the door with Renie right behind her, she saw a silver stretch limo in front of the house. “Wow!” she exclaimed softly. “They travel in style. I should’ve charged more for the wedding festivities.”
“Add surcharges,” Renie suggested. “That seems to work for everybody else these days.”
A tall man who looked to be midforties was the first to emerge. He turned toward the porch. “Here comes the bride!” he shouted.
“That must be Arabella’s father,” Judith whispered. “Rodney Schmuck. You got that?”
“Yes. One down, eleven to go,” Renie grumbled. “Why don’t you make them wear name tags? I’m not good with faces.”
“It’s not a convention,” Judith murmured. “Welcome!” she cried as the tall man was followed up the steps by a strawberry-blond girl and a curly-haired young man. “I’m Judith Flynn. You must be . . . ?”
The middle-aged man moved in front of the younger couple and grinned at Judith. “You can’t imagine how I’ve waited for this moment,” he said, beaming even more widely. “Do you recognize me?”
“Uh . . .” Judith stared at the newcomer. “Not offhand. Have you—”
Before she could finish the query, her guest enveloped her in a bear hug. “Gosh, it’s so wonderful to finally meet you!” he exclaimed, his voice shaking with emotion. “It’s a miracle!” He finally released Judith, holding her at arm’s length. “It’s me, your long-lost son! Are you as happy as I am?”
Chapter 2
What?” Judith shrieked, reeling at the man’s incredible statement. She would have fallen if he hadn’t still held on to her hands.
“Watch it!” Renie yelled, stepping out onto the porch. “If you’re her son, you damned near smothered your mother! Are you insane?”
“I am not insane,” he stated calmly, no longer beaming and making sure Judith could stand on her own before letting go of her. “Judith Grover Flynn is my mother. I have proof.”
“You c-c-can’t b-b-be,” Judith finally stammered. “I only have one ch-ch-child, Michael McMonigle. He’s really Flynn, b-b-but . . .” She didn’t feel like explaining that she’d been pregnant with her fiancé’s baby when she married Dan after the woman known as Herself had hijacked a drunken Joe off to a Vegas JP.
The young blonde found her voice. “Could we come inside? We stood in enough lines at the L.A. airport. Then our flight was delayed and we didn’t get in until after five.”
Judith noticed that the rest of the party had exited the limo and the driver was pulling out of the cul-de-sac. “Yes, come inside,” she said in a tight voice. “Please sit in the living room. I’ll get your information.”
Renie held the screen door open after Judith hurried inside. “Keep going,” she urged the guests. “The living room’s the second door on your left . . . you weirdos,” she added under her breath. “Holy crap. What next?” She waited for Judith in the hall. “Are you okay? You’re limping.”
Judith nodded. “I moved a bit too fast on my artificial hip,” she murmured. “Is this crazy or what?”
“They’re crazy,” Renie replied. “We’re not. Should we call in the husbands? Can Joe arrest them? Or call Woody?”
Judith shook her head. “They haven’t actually committed a crime,” she said, leaning a hand on the staircase balustrade. “They can only be charged with confusion at this point.”
“That’s good enough for me,” Renie muttered as they moved on to the living room, where her guests were foraging at the appetizer tray while a plump middle-aged redhead poured glasses of Vouvray from the wine bottles. “I’m rescuing our drinks from the coffee table,” Renie said. “We need fortification. I’ll top them off in the kitchen.”
Judith took her time to join the newcomers. “Mr. Schmuck,” she said, sounding more like herself. “Could you please sign the guest register? And may I see your driver’s license?”
“Sure thing,” Rodney replied, digging into the back pocket of his summer slacks. “I’m a southpaw. Are you? Always wondered where that came from. Figured it had to be on my mother’s side. Of course I’m not sure who my father was. You got any ideas?”
“I certainly don’t,” Judith retorted. “Let’s not discuss this mix-up right now. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re here for a wedding. There are some details we should go over before you all go out to dinner.”
“Oh, yeah, right,” Rodney said. “You should meet the rev. He’s in charge.” He motioned at a thin, balding fiftyish man who sported a jet-black goatee. “Over here, Georgie. Mama wants to meet you.”
Judith forced herself to hold her tongue. The rev loped toward her, extending a pale hand. “My pleasure, Mrs . . . ?” He looked at Rodney. “Fi
nn? Flint? Flipp?”
“Flynn,” Rodney informed him. “She was a Grover way back when. Right, Mama?”
Ignoring her bogus son, Judith shook the reverend’s hand. “What abomination . . . I mean, denomination are you?” She wanted to bite her tongue.
“Not any of the usual ones,” the rev replied solemnly. “Our sect belongs to the world. It’s called the Church of the Holy Free Spirit. We welcome each and every lost soul. Have you been saved?”
“I’ll find out later,” Judith replied. Like a hundred years from now when I’m dead. “Have you tried the hors d’oeuvres?”
“Not yet,” the rev said. “I fast between meals.”
“Prudent,” Judith responded, noting that the goatee looked as if it had been blackened with shoe polish. “I should show you the parlor. I’ve had weddings here before. That’s the best place to conduct the service because it’s so cozy, private, and intimate.”
“Very nice,” he murmured. “I trust your judgment. We’ll talk more tomorrow. I must pray for a few moments.” With a slight bow he moved away to the bay window.
The strawberry blonde was tugging at Rodney’s short-sleeved shirt. “When are we leaving for dinner? This wine sucks donkeys.” She sneered at her half-empty glass. “It’s not from California. Or France. Yuck.”
Judith felt obligated to stand up for the local vineyards. “I try to show visitors that we have our own wineries here in this state. Many of them are excellent.”
“Not this one,” the blonde shot back before her azure eyes widened. “Am I supposed to call you Granny? I’m Belle.”
“Call me Judith. Please. I can find a different wine if you’d like.”
Belle shook her head. “No thanks. We have a seven o’clock reservation somewhere on the bay.” She turned around. “Where’d the nerd go?” She moved off to the far end of the table where a skinny man with a shaved head and a shapeless woman with long, straight gray hair were filling their faces with appetizers.
“The nerd?” Judith said to Rodney, who’d already drained his wineglass and was fingering a cigar in his shirt pocket.
“She means the groom,” he explained. “She calls him that because he’s a tech wizard. Makes big bucks with Zootsky. Huge honkin’ deal up in Silicon Valley, one of the biggest high-tech companies around. Started there when he was only seventeen. Guess he’ll be runnin’ the place in a couple of years. Great to be young, huh?” He grinned again. “I bet you must’ve had a pretty hot youth yourself, Mama.”
“Studying to become a librarian was very rewarding,” Judith said, reverting to her previous tight tone while handing him the guest book. “If you’ll sign this and show me your driver’s license, please . . .” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her cousin enter the room.
Renie paused briefly by Judith. “The husbands are eating dinner,” she announced, and kept going toward the buffet table.
“Not this husband,” Rodney said, scowling while handing over his wallet. “Truth is, I’m hungry. The airlines are cheap about snacks these days. I remember when you got a real meal.”
To Judith’s relief, the California driver’s license looked authentic. She already knew the Visa card was good, since the Schmucks had paid in advance and the charge had already cleared. “You should meet the missus,” Rodney was saying as he signed the register. He turned and shouted across the room. “Millie! Get your rear in gear and meet Mama.”
Judith assumed Millie was the tall woman who wore her dark hair in a French roll and had a red patent-leather purse slung over her left shoulder. She batted what looked like false eyelashes and appeared to mouth the word later.
“Oh, well,” Rodney muttered. “She’s enjoying herself. Guess I’d better do the same.”
“By all means,” Judith said. “Oh—I noticed you signed the register as ‘self-employed.’ What do you do for a living?”
Rodney beamed again. “I’m a motivational speaker. And a damned good one. Aren’t you proud of me, Mama? I’ll show you my proof of maternity after we unpack.” He patted Judith’s shoulder before heading to the buffet table and barely avoided a collision with her cousin, who was eating Brie on a cracker.
“They’re all a little weird,” Renie declared. “Let’s eat what’s left of dinner. Joe took your mother’s meal out to the toolshed. Did you convince Rodney he’s not your long-lost son?”
“I couldn’t convince Rodney it’s Friday,” Judith replied as they left the living room. “He’s either nuts or . . .” She paused, setting the guest register down on the new marble-topped credenza by the staircase.
“Or what?” Renie inquired.
“I don’t know. That’s what bothers me.” She gave Renie a bleak look. “I’m not sure I want to find out.”
Joe Flynn was disgusted. “Let me handle this goofball,” he said after Judith had recounted Rodney Schmuck’s incredible declaration.
Renie waved her fork. “Hey, turn him over to Bill. He can probe his psyche and find out why he’s goofy.”
Bill looked exasperated. “I can’t figure out what’s really wrong with my squirrelly patients. I just sit there and think about what I want to watch on TV after dinner. It’s the only way I can stay awake.”
Renie gazed at her husband. “Tell them about the Hindi woman you had the other day.”
“What’s to tell?” Bill replied with a shrug. “It took me fifteen minutes to realize she was speaking in Hindi. Or something. The only odd thing was that I closed the window on her sari. Then she really became unraveled. Kind of interesting.” He shot a sly glance at his wife.
Renie’s brown eyes snapped. “Stop. Or you’ll be the one who’s sorry about the sari.”
Bill shrugged again and attacked his boysenberry pie à la mode.
Judith looked at Joe. “Will you talk to Rodney tonight?”
“That depends,” he replied, “if they get back before eleven. I’m not staying up to interrogate your latest loonies. I can do that at breakfast.”
“Okay,” Judith agreed. “But they should be back fairly early. Their dinner reservation was for seven. I won’t stay up late either. I refuse to have to listen to Rodney insist I’m his mother just before I go to bed. I might have nightmares. Why would he do such a thing?”
“Maybe,” Renie suggested, “as Uncle Al would say, he’s ‘got an angle.’ Are you sure he’s a motivational speaker? I don’t think Schmuck could motivate me to leave a burning building.”
“I only know what he told me,” Judith admitted. “I didn’t get a chance to ask if other guests were coming to the wedding.”
“Forget it for now,” Joe advised. “Maybe the guy’s delusional. Or he’s got you mixed up with somebody else. You can’t be the only Judith Grover in this country. Both names are common. When your parents had you, Judith was a very popular name for girls.”
Renie had forked in a mouthful of noodles and ground beef, but it didn’t stop her from jumping out of her chair. “Ahmgundchwakrdznaw.” She hurried into the kitchen.
Joe looked at Bill. “What did she say?”
“Who knows?” he responded. “She doesn’t always make sense when her mouth isn’t full.”
Judith glared at both men. “She’s going to check the name via the Internet. I can translate when Renie’s eating. We’re only assuming that my maiden name is the one Rodney researched, but it makes sense.”
Renie’s return was quick, mercifully after she’d swallowed her food. “There are pages of Judith Grovers. And Judy Grovers. I stopped after the first two. They’re all over the place.”
“That’s a relief,” Judith said. Then she added softly, “I think.”
By five to eleven, the wedding party had not returned. The Flynns headed up to bed on the third floor’s family quarters. Just as Judith was about to drop off to sleep she heard voices through the open bedroom window. The Schmucks and their companions let themselves in and apparently headed to the second floor. There had been no opportunity to give them their room assignment
s, but they could sort that out for themselves. Judith nestled her head into the pillow and fell asleep. Tomorrow was another day—and a busy one. She needed her rest.
But when she dreamed, it was of a baby version of Rodney in a bonnet and diaper, grinning as he shook a blue rattle and shrieked, “Mama, Mama, Mama!” Judith woke up just after two. Joe was snoring softly while the wind rustled the cherry tree in the backyard. She stayed awake for what seemed like a long time. When she finally went back to sleep, she dreamed her mother was trying to run over Sweetums with the wheelchair. That was ordinary and somehow comforting. Judith awoke, feeling reasonably refreshed.
Joe was already in the kitchen when Judith arrived downstairs a little before seven. Unfortunately, so was Millie Schmuck, who was wearing a crimson Japanese robe.
“You can read, can’t you?” she was saying to Joe, who was holding a typed sheet of paper.
“Only if I run my finger under the words,” he replied, his round face innocent. “We have had guests with allergies and other dietary restrictions before. How do you feel about gruel?”
Millie sniffed. “As you can see, some members of our party have restrictions about what they eat. Is it gluten-free?”
Joe kept a straight face. “Yes. I was a dietitian before I retired.”
“Very well.” Millie ignored Judith with a swish of satin and left the kitchen. “No mistakes,” she called over her shoulder. “Stuart is a lawyer.”
“And I’m not,” Joe muttered.
“You certainly weren’t a dietitian,” Judith murmured. “When did you start telling lies to people?”
Her husband shrugged. “I guess your knack for lying has rubbed off on me.”
“I never lie,” Judith declared. “I only tell small fibs to be tactful or to explain my reasons for asking questions that might seem inappropriate or what—”
Joe waved an impatient hand. “Skip the excuses, I get it. What if I make my own version of Joe’s Special and call it Something for Everyone with Gastrogut Gripes?”
“You’re going to lie to guests again?” Judith asked in a tone of reproach.
