One side of the walk was lined with stores, everything from an old-fashioned cheese shop to a wooden toy maker to a Häagen-Dazs and a Gap. On the other side, small-craft docks jutted out into the water. There were lanterns strung from poles to light the way for nighttime boaters. The water lapped up against the pylons, making a soothing, sloshing sound. Abby took a deep breath of the evening air. She loved coming down here at night.
“It must have been so cool growing up here,” Tucker added.
He reached out and entwined the fingers of his free hand with Carol’s. They exchanged a private look. Abby turned her head.
“Yeah, we loved it,” Abby said. “Carol especially. She used to visit every day to throw bread into the water and watch the fish come up for it. And then, of course, yell at all the fishermen.”
Carol laughed as a breeze blew her hair back from her face. “Oh, God. I was so obnoxious.”
“You yelled at the fishermen?” Tucker asked, grinning.
“I figured someone had to tell them what they were doing was murder,” Carol replied with a shrug. “Might as well be me.”
“What would your twelve-year-old self think if she knew you were marrying a rancher?” Abby joked.
The smiles slowly fell from their faces. Abby looked away again and sipped at her cardboard cup of coffee. He was a rancher, right? And Carol was a vegetarian and animal rights activist. She was just stating the obvious. And if stating the obvious made Carol wake up and realize she was making a mistake, then she was doing her sister a favor, right?
“Oh, hey,” Carol said suddenly. “I’m gonna run into the bookshop and see if Raina’s around. I haven’t seen her since I’ve been home.”
“Okay. We’ll be out here,” Tucker said.
Abby resisted the urge to chase after her sister shouting, “I know what you’re up to!” It couldn’t have been more obvious that she was leaving her and Tucker alone on purpose. She and Raina Burton, whose family owned Burton Books, were only casual friends in high school. Carol normally wouldn’t have gone out of her way to see the girl. Abby had been set up.
“So,” Tucker said.
“So,” Abby replied.
“Can we walk out to the end of one of the docks?”
“Sure.”
Together they clomped along the nearest dock, an uncomfortable silence hovering between them. When they got to the end, Tucker sat down and dangled his legs over the edge. Feeling awkward standing alone, Abby sat too.
“Listen, Abby, I know this whole thing’s gotta be tough on you,” Tucker began.
Oh, I so don’t want to have this conversation, Abby thought.
“I mean, it’s gotta be weird. Carol and I just met and maybe I’m not exactly the person you envisioned for her,” he added. At that moment Abby realized she never had envisioned the guy Carol would end up with. Up until recently she’d never really thought past next week.
“We know what our obstacles are and we’re working them out,” Tucker continued. He looked Abby in the eye for the first time and hazarded a smile. “I guess I just hoped that you wouldn’t be one of them.”
Abby’s stomach felt hot. There was nothing worse than being put on the spot.
“Carol loves you. You’re pretty much the most important person in her life,” Tucker continued. “I know it would mean a lot to her if we got along and it would mean a lot to me, too.”
Abby looked down at the water, her eyes threatening tears. She had no idea what to say. If there was one thing Abby was bad at it was one-on-one, loaded conversations. She usually avoided them at all costs. But he did sound sincere.
Abby thought of Carol. She thought of how she might feel if Carol treated Noah like dirt. Then she just wanted to throw herself off the dock and drown. The last thing she wanted was to cause Carol pain. She loved her sister, and she knew Tucker was right— that Carol loved her, too.
“So? Whaddaya say?” Tucker asked.
“Well, if it really means that much to you. . . ,” she said jokingly.
“Thanks.” Tucker’s face brightened. “I’m really not a bad guy. I swear.”
“I guess you couldn’t be,” Abby said. “I mean, if Carol likes you. She has very discerning taste.”
“That she does,” Tucker said. “She thinks I’m OCD about socks? Would you believe it took her two hours to buy a pair of jeans the other day?”
“It usually takes me three,” Abby confessed.
They both laughed and Abby looked down again, the unpleasant warmth fading and leaving a sort of reluctant tingle in its place. Maybe she could do this. Maybe Tucker wasn’t so bad after all.
“It’ll be nice to have an ally,” Tucker said, lifting his coffee to his lips. “You’re aware that your parents are one hen short of a henhouse, right?”
“Oh, I’m aware,” Abby said. “Normally I’d tell you to run while you still could, but I don’t think Carol would appreciate that, so all I can do is say . . . good luck.”
She held out her hand to him and Tucker shook it with a smile. “Thanks,” he said.
Abby grinned. “You’re gonna need it.”
Save the Date, Pardner!
We’re gettin’ hitched!
Carol Marie Beaumont has lassoed herself a groom in
Tucker Clint Robb.
The ceremony will take place August fifteenth
at the Dove’s Roost Chateau
Watertown, Massachusetts
Be there or be hog-tied!
• 5 •
Till Death Do Us Part
Abby padded downstairs in her oversized Lockport Academy T-shirt and went directly for the fridge. Her eyes at half-mast, she reached in for a can of pineapple chunks and her hand hit something gooey. Frowning, she pulled back her custard-covered fingers and looked inside the refrigerator. The entire second shelf was filled with desserts—chocolate mousse, raspberry tart, custard cups and strawberry trifle, among other things.
“What the . . . ?”
She shoved the trifle and custard aside and dug into the back for her smoothie ingredients. When she slammed the door a moment later, a note that had been taped to the fridge fluttered to the floor. Abby bent to pick it up with her free hand.
Carol—
Congratulations on your engagement!
May I suggest one of our signature desserts to complement your wedding cake? I’m leaving these samples with your parents, but we can make anything your imagination desires. Feel free to give me a call!
Sincerely,
Cheryl Martin
Delectable Desserts
Abby dropped the note on the counter. Unbelievable. If there was one rule her parents always adhered to it was that wedding business never invaded the residence. That was why they always worked on favors in the catering kitchen and had designated an office as the craft room downstairs. But apparently now that Carol was the bride, all rules were off.
Abby turned to dump her things on the counter, but it was covered with bridal magazines, their pages book-marked with Post-it notes. Sighing, she used her elbow to shove them out of the way and knocked over an open box in the process. It hit the floor and little vials of confetti exploded from inside, showering the tile with silver wedding bells, pink hearts and white doves.
Abby groaned loudly, dropping the pineapple, the carton of yogurt and a tray of ice on the counter. She picked up the box and used her arm to swipe the confetti toward the side of the room. It was way too early to be breaking out the vacuum.
Taking a deep breath, she peeled a banana and then tossed it along with the rest of the ingredients into the blender. It wasn’t until the grinding noise started to wake her up that she realized how quiet it was. Too quiet.
She stopped the blender, her hand still holding the lid down. Wasn’t it Sunday? And if it was Sunday, wasn’t it big breakfast day? So where exactly was the big breakfast?
Just then she heard the voices, heated and strained, coming from outside. They got closer and closer to the front door until
it finally burst open and suddenly the room was full of noise. Her father, her mother, Carol and Tucker were all talking over one another as they entered the house.
Tucker placed a big brown bag of bagels on the counter and leaned toward Abby.
“You’ll want to run,” he said under his breath. “Now.”
“What’s going on?”
“Like I know? They’ve been arguing about color schemes for the last forty-five minutes,” Tucker said. “Honest to God I’ve never even heard of some of the colors they’ve brought up. I mean, what’s cerise?”
Abby was about to answer, but her mother’s voice cut her off.
“Red? How can you even think about red, David? This is a summer wedding!” she cried.
“Red is her favorite color, Phoebe,” her father replied, leaning back into the counter. “Isn’t it, Carol?”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“What about an all-white wedding? If everything was just covered in white it would be just—”
“Boring. Just boring is what it would be.”
“Like red is so original?”
“At least it has something to do with our daughter!”
Carol pushed her hair behind her ears and her ring twinkled in the sunlight streaming through the windows. Abby just could not get used to that rock. It seemed so out of place on her sister’s finger.
“Do we really need a color scheme? Can’t we just mix it up? Have it be sort of au naturel?” Carol said, looking innocently hopeful. Both her parents turned toward her.
“But, Carol! You have to have a color scheme!” they said in unison.
Ooookay. Time to bail, Abby thought as the argument escalated. She reached for a travel coffee mug, poured half the smoothie into it, and inched around the perimeter of the kitchen until she got to the stairs. Tucker shot her a helpless sort of smile.
“Sorry,” Abby mouthed.
“Save yourself,” he mouthed back.
Abby turned and bolted up to her room. Maybe Tucker wasn’t so bad after all.
That afternoon Abby returned home from a long run to find a wedding in progress. The bride was just starting down the aisle in the backyard, so she slipped as quietly as she could through the side door, then headed up to her room to call Delila.
She was just sitting down with her cordless when Carol burst into her bedroom, the color high in her cheeks.
“Hey. Knock much?” Abby said.
“Sorry.” Carol closed the door. “I need to talk to you.”
Abby put the phone aside, intrigued. This was high intensity stuff, whatever it was.
“Abby, I have never seen Mom and Dad like this,” Carol said. She pushed her hands through her hair as she paced the area rug in front of Abby’s bed. “First it was color schemes, then they moved on to invitations and place cards and whether to invite Donny and Beth and if so, whether we should have an open bar. . . .”
Abby stifled a laugh. Donny and Beth were the raging alcoholics of the family who just loved to make a scene at any and all functions.
“It’s not funny!” Carol said. “I’m telling you, you should have seen them! I think my wedding is going to kill their marriage.”
Abby chewed on her lip. “Come on, Carol. Don’t you think you’re being just a little dramatic?”
“No! No I don’t!” Carol sat down on the bed and pulled one leg up on top of the blankets, then started gnawing on her already gnawed fingernails.
“Okay, stop doing that before you draw blood,” Abby said, putting her hand over her sister’s.
“Sorry,” Carol said. She pulled her angry, red pinky free and sucked on it. “You have to help me, Abby. You have to help me plan the wedding. If Mom and Dad do it, they’re going to kill each other. I swear it’s like this whole thing has set off some kind of latent power struggle between them. They’re not themselves.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute,” Abby said, pushing herself off her bed and backing up slightly. “You want me to plan your wedding?”
“Well, not the whole thing,” Carol said. “I just need your help taking some of the responsibilities off Mom and Dad.”
“But Carol . . . you said all I had to do was show up. I hate weddings. You know this.”
“I know,” Carol said. “Which is why you know I wouldn’t ask unless I thought it was important. Abby . . . I just want to have a nice wedding. And it would be great if our parents made it through it in one piece.”
Abby saw the sadness and hope in her sister’s eyes and felt herself caving. The last thing she wanted in this world was to plan a wedding, let alone her sister’s premature, ill-advised one. But how could she turn down a face like that from the person she loved most in the world?
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and dove. “I’ll do what I can.”
“Oh! Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Carol cried. She hugged Abby so tight, she could barely breathe.
“I wouldn’t thank me yet,” Abby said as she finally extricated herself from her sister’s freakishly strong grip. “I’m sure I’m going to suck at this.”
“Not possible,” Carol said.
Abby couldn’t help but smile at her sister’s confidence. “Oh, and hey! I get to pick out my own maid of honor dress,” she said.
“That’s a given,” Carol told her. “I promise.”
She squeezed Abby’s hand, gave her one last grin and walked out the door. From the yard Abby heard the string quartet break into the classic bridal recessional.
Abby wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.
“Okay, the first thing I need you to do is come up with a song list,” Carol told Abby. It was later that evening and the two sisters and Tucker were sitting under the stars in the backyard, kicked back on lawn chairs. Carol had a fat, spiral-bound book titled The Ultimate Wedding Planner on her lap. It was already jam-packed with budget lists, graphs and tear sheets from magazines.
“You guys don’t want to do that yourselves?” Abby asked. “It’s your wedding.”
“Yeah, but beyond Sarah McLachlan and the Beatles, I’m musically challenged,” Carol said.
“What about you?” Abby asked Tucker.
“I’m all about Tim McGraw,” he said, arms crooked behind his head.
“Okay, I’m on the music!” Abby announced, widening her eyes. She uncapped the pen and got to work. “No ‘Celebration,’ no ‘Hot, Hot, Hot.’ No . . .”
“Put down songs they can play,” Carol said with a laugh.
“Oh. Right,” Abby said.
She glanced over at Noah’s van, which was sitting in the delivery parking lot. He had gone inside fifteen minutes ago to collect the cake plates from that day’s wedding and had yet to return. Her heart had been pounding ever since he’d shown up.
“I’m going to go make a phone call, sweetie,” Tucker said, getting up and pulling out his cell phone.
“Who ya callin’?” Carol asked.
“Oh, just my dad. He left me a message earlier. Something about the tuxes,” he said. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
As Tucker walked in through the back door, Noah came out. Abby suddenly felt like she was on the verge of collapse. Good thing she was already sitting.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” she replied.
“Can I talk to you?” He tilted his head toward the van.
“Sure.” Abby somehow squeezed the word through her windpipe.
This was her chance. She was going to study Noah for any and all signs of crushing.
Just keep it cool, she told herself, wiping her palm on her jeans. Act normal.
“So you decided to give this whole wedding thing a shot,” Noah said as they walked. “I just wanted to say I think that’s really cool.”
“Thanks.” Abby studied his eyes, looking for some sign of the feelings Christopher had mentioned.
Nothing.
“What’s that?” Noah asked, glancing at the pad she still clutched in her hands.
“Oh, song list,” Abby said. “I’m working on what not to play. I have many ideas on the subject.”
Noah smiled. “Need any input?”
He didn’t touch her or move closer to her or execute any of the acknowledged flirting techniques. He just stood there and looked at her. Abby tried not to drown in disappointment.
“Please. She’s already sucked me into this nightmare,” she said, finding her voice. “You should save yourself.”
“And you should accept help when it’s offered,” Noah replied. “It’s only gonna get crazier.”
“Good point,” Abby said, noting that his hair was mussed and his shirt was stained from the bakery. If a guy liked a girl, wouldn’t he clean himself up before coming to her house? “Okay. You want to come up with the songs they’re allowed to play? I can’t seem to think of anything.”
“Done,” Noah said.
“Thanks. I’m feeling totally clueless,” Abby said.
“Well, that’s nothing new,” Noah joked.
“Ha ha,” Abby said, her face burning. Christopher was so off. These were not the words of a person in love. Or even in like.
“I’ll e-mail you or something,” Noah said, getting in the van.
“Cool,” Abby said.
“Anything for you, Ab.”
Abby sighed as Noah backed up and headed down the driveway. Maybe Christopher is right. A breeze lifted her hair off her neck and she shivered.
“Carol! I’m gonna go get a sweater!” she called out, glad for an excuse to be alone for a few seconds and refocus her brain.
“Okay!” Carol replied.
Abby jogged inside, down the hall to the residence and up the stairs. She was positively giddy.
Okay, calm down. Noah gives you one nonsarcastic remark and suddenly he’s in love with you? Not likely, she told herself. You’re basing most of this on an observation by Christopher Marshall. This is the same person who thought Frankenstein was a true story.
She was about to head into her room when a voice froze her in her tracks.
“No . . . no . . . you can’t do this to me.”
The Bridesmaid Page 6
