by Ali Brandon
When the applause died down, Reese said, “I want to start by remembering someone who should have been with us tonight. Rest in peace, Bernard. You’re missed, and you won’t be forgotten.”
He raised his champagne glass, and a somber murmuring of “Bernard” filled the room before everyone joined him in drinking to Mr. Plinski.
Then he set down his glass and smiled. “I’ve got another toast to make, too, and this one’s a happy one. And you don’t know how hard it’s been to keep it a secret these past few days. I’d like everyone to raise a glass to our newlyweds, Hodge and Mary Ann Camden, who made it official down at City Hall a few days ago.”
Delighted gasps filled the room, and calls of congratulations! followed as the second toast was made. Catching Reese’s gaze, Darla gave him a questioning look, and he nodded. So that was where Mary Ann was the morning of her brother’s death, she thought with a small pang on her elderly friend’s behalf, remembering the old woman’s white brocade suit, and her big smile that day.
A jovial Hodge stood, while Mary Ann modestly studied her plate. “Thank you, Detective Reese. Mary Ann and I didn’t mean to keep all of you in the dark like this. You understand that, given the circumstances, we didn’t want to make a production of our nuptials. But she and I have discussed it, and we intend to have a religious service the first of the year just to really make things official. And all of you will be invited.”
More applause followed this, and Darla smiled, happy that the elderly pair would have a second date to celebrate that wasn’t the same sad anniversary as Mr. Plinski’s death.
Then Reese raised his glass a third time. “Finally, I would like to toast our hostess, Darla Pettistone, who put together this bash tonight. You’re a good friend, Red. Connie and I appreciate everything you’ve done for us.”
This time it was Darla modestly staring at her plate as the group applauded her. When the clapping died down, she rose.
“Thanks, Reese, and everyone else,” she slowly began. “I have to tell you, excited as I was to start a new life with the bookstore, it was pretty hard moving away from Dallas. A few times in the first month, I really thought I’d made a terrible mistake. But now, after almost two years, I’m not sure I’d ever be able to go back home to Dallas again. Because Brooklyn . . . my store . . . my friends . . . that’s all home now.”
Smiling, she said, “And since I’m probably going to get weepy if I say anything more, why don’t we all stretch our legs for a minute, and then we’ll have the beautiful engagement cake that Doug made, and we can keep making toasts until Steve throws us out.”
Laughter and applause followed this, and then everyone rose and began milling around while Steve went to see if the cake was ready to be brought in. Darla was chatting with Martha when she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see Hodge.
“Excuse me, ladies,” he said. “May I borrow Darla for just a moment?”
“Sure,” Martha agreed with a smile. “We’ll finish catching up later on.”
As Martha strolled off, Darla gave the man an expectant smile. “Congratulations, Hodge. That’s wonderful news about the wedding. Now, what can I do for you?”
Hodge nodded toward the room’s far corner. There, a shrinelike table was presided over by a small statue of Kwan Yin, which Darla had learned from Steve was the goddess of compassion. The fragile white flowers that surrounded her had already begun to droop, and a scattering of petals lay like snowflakes at her feet.
“Can we talk in private for a minute?” the old man asked.
She followed him over there, assuming he wanted advice on his and Mary Ann’s upcoming wedding. Instead, after glancing about to make sure no one else was within earshot, he said, “I need to tell you something, but I need to ask first that you promise not to repeat what I’m about to say to anyone else . . . especially not Mary Ann.
“Don’t worry,” he added, obviously reading on her face the sudden concern that had swept her at his words. “It’s nothing terrible, but I want someone to know for the record.”
She considered that a moment and then nodded. “All right, I promise. Go ahead and tell me.”
The words came out quickly, as if he’d rehearsed them.
“It has to do with Mary Ann’s parents, and the fact they were arrested by the government back in the fifties for being Communists. She’s trying to spare my feelings, but I know that Bernard finally told her that I was the one responsible for turning them in.”
“That’s what she told me,” Darla confirmed. “She forgave you, though. She realized you were still a teenager and overly idealistic when you did it, and that you truly thought you were doing the right thing.”
Hodge nodded and gave her a sad smile. “Mary Ann has a good heart. She tries to see the best in everyone. And that’s why I lied to her, though it was more a sin of omission than anything else. I let her think I turned them in, but I didn’t. It was Bernard.”
“Mr. Plinski?” She stared at him, dumbfounded. “Are you saying that he actually turned in his own mother and father to the feds?”
“He did. It was just like Mary Ann said. He was young and overly idealistic, and he thought his parents were on the wrong path. He never thought they’d go to jail; he just figured some government official would put a big scare into them, and they’d cut out all that crazy stuff.”
He paused and sighed. “But then Mr. and Mrs. Plinski got tossed into prison, and Bernard realized he’d made a terrible mistake. He was afraid for Mary Ann to find out what he’d done, so he asked me if I’d take the blame. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t have her hating her own brother. So I agreed. And now that he’s dead, I really can’t tell her. But I needed to set the record straight with someone.”
“Hodge, you’re a true hero,” Darla said, giving his arm a pat. “I’ll keep your secret, until you tell me not to.”
Then she gave him a quizzical look. “You probably already hashed this out with Reese, but I know that you went to Bygone Days the morning you and Mary Ann were married, but it was after she’d already left. Why were you there?”
The old man hesitated, glancing in his bride’s direction to make sure her attention was turned elsewhere. Then he said, “I went to see Bernard. I was hoping I could settle things between us—all of us—and convince him to attend our little ceremony. I wanted to surprise Mary Ann. Nothing would have made her happier than seeing her brother there.”
“And he refused, of course.”
“He did . . . but he also gave us his blessing. And he did agree to meet us for a celebratory dinner that night. But then . . . well, you know what happened.”
“But does Mary Ann know all this?” Darla asked in surprise.
Hodge shook his head. “I thought it best to wait until things settled down a bit. But we’ll be having a small memorial for Bernard sometime after Thanksgiving, and I’ll tell her then.”
Before she could reply to that, however, a flurry of movement near the door caught her attention. The cake!
“Time for dessert,” Darla told the old man with a smile. “Come on, let’s take a look. I know Doug did a fantastic job.”
But “fantastic” was faint praise for the large two-layer cake iced in white rolled fondant with gilt flowered stenciling all around the sides. Where the layers met, what looked like strands of gold beads wrapped around it, like pearls encircling a beautiful woman’s neck. The topper was a veritable bouquet of white fondant roses with gilded edges. The overall effect was one of classy beauty without crossing over into being girly or fussy.
And, as to be expected, a chorus of oohs and aahs accompanied the cake’s appearance, along with the requisite cell phone photos to be posted on social media. Doug took the accolades in stride, though Darla could see he was pleased with everyone’s reaction. But she noticed a strained expression on Connie’s face that surprised her. Surely the cake wasn’t too
plain for her?
Another round of toasts followed, and everyone returned to their seats while Steve presided over the cake cutting. After one taste of the gloriously light dessert, Darla swiftly changed her mental vote from Don’t dare cut that gorgeous cake to Would it be rude to take a second piece home?
But Steve had barely served the last piece and resumed his own seat when a cell phone whose ring Darla recognized as Reese’s went off.
“Darn it, Fi,” Connie burst out, slamming down her fork and bringing all conversation to a halt. “Can’t we have one night out that’s not spoiled by your job?”
He glanced at his caller ID and shook his head. “Hang on, I’ll handle this,” he told her as he quickly left the table to take the call. He was back a moment later, and from his expression Darla could tell he wasn’t happy. Resuming his seat, he turned to his fiancée and said, “Sorry, Conn, we’ve got a slight change of plans. I hate to tell you, but—”
“No!”
This time, the fork went flying, narrowly missing Hank and landing somewhere beneath the table where the engagement presents were lined up. She shoved back her chair and stood.
“I can’t take it anymore, Fi,” she cried, lower lip trembling. “It’s always running late and leaving early, and dead people lying around, and calls in the middle of the night. I know it’s your job and all, but . . .”
She trailed off. Then, with a determined expression, she yanked off the diamond engagement ring and slammed it on the table.
“I love you, Fi, but I can’t do this. I can’t marry you!”
Not waiting for a response, she snatched her purse off the back of her chair and made a beeline for the door.
The room was stunned into momentary silence so profound that Darla was certain she could hear the dying flower petals dropping around the Kwan Yin statue. Then Reese, whose expression was that of a man who’d been smacked over the head with a baseball bat, abruptly shoved back his chair and stood.
“Connie!” he shouted after her, though she was long since out the door. “Wait, you don’t understand.”
Steve and Hodge, meanwhile, leaped from their chairs as well, and quickly put restraining hands on him.
“Talking now is no good,” Steve warned him. “You must leave her be. Let her be mad for a while, then talk.”
“Steve’s right. Let her cool off and think about it,” Hodge urged. “I was married for forty years the first time. I know.”
“But how’s she going to get home?” Reese demanded, now looking like that baseball bat had hit him in the solar plexus.
“I’ve got a car,” Hodge told him. “Let me see if I can catch her—she’ll talk to an old man like me—and then Mary Ann and I will take her home.”
At Reese’s nod, he hurried off in the direction Connie had gone, then returned a few moments later. “She’s still here, waiting on a car. She agreed to let us give her a ride instead. Mary Ann?”
His wife rose to join him. She paused as she reached Reese, who’d sunk back down into his chair.
“Don’t worry, my dear,” she told him, patting his bulging biceps with a fragile hand. “Things always work out for the best.”
Once the Camdens left, the rest of the party began making their excuses as well, murmuring words of sympathy or encouragement as they walked by Reese. Jake and Alex were the last to go, and the former shot Darla a questioning look. Darla lightly shook her head in return, and Jake nodded her understanding.
And then, as the banquet room door closed behind the pair, it was just her and Reese alone in the silent room. Darla got up from her chair at the foot of the table and took the seat next to him.
“So what was the call?”
He’d been silently studying the ring that Connie had flung aside. At her question, he looked up and gave her a faint smile.
“Remember your suggestion about the special surprise? Well, that was Pinky calling to tell me that his friend who was supposed to give him a ride bailed, so he was going to walk, but that meant he was going to be even later than he already was. So I was gonna ask Connie if her special surprise could happen another time, and then my whole life just blew up in my face.”
“Reese, I’m so sorry,” she told him, sympathetic tears brimming in her eyes. “Maybe if she sleeps on it, she’ll realize she didn’t mean it.”
Reese shook his head. “Nah, Red, she meant it. I guess I shoulda known, a broad like her needs a guy who’ll pay attention to her every waking minute. And I just can’t make that happen.”
He twirled the ring between his fingers and then nodded toward the table with all its gifts. “What should I do about those?”
“If you’re talking etiquette, the presents go back to the givers. If you mean logistics-wise, I’m going to settle up with Steve now, and I’ll ask if he can hold them for a couple of days until everyone can pick up their gifts in person.”
She returned a few minutes later and told him, “Everything’s taken care of, so I’m going to head home now. Will you be all right?”
He nodded and stuck the engagement ring in his shirt pocket. “I’ll get over it,” he said, though Darla suspected the casual response covered a truly trampled heart. “I guess seeing the dress before the wedding turned out to be bad luck, after all.”
Then, with a shrug, he added, “Can I give you a lift back?”
“If you’re sure you don’t mind, that would be great. Let me get my stuff.”
She retrieved her gift from the table and then, feeling only slightly guilty, grabbed a couple of slices of engagement cake that Steve’s staff had individually boxed.
The short ride back to her brownstone was a silent one, though Reese made sure to jump out and hold open the car door for her once they’d arrived. “You need help carrying any of that up?” he asked, his smile wry as he watched her juggle the cake boxes.
“I’m good,” she assured him. “Give me a call tomorrow if you feel like talking.”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”
But he waited until she’d reached the top of the stoop to call to her, “Hey, Red. Up until the last few minutes it was a really great bash. Thanks.”
Once inside her foyer, she glanced back through the window to see that he was still parked along the curb, no doubt waiting to make sure she got inside okay. When she made it up to her apartment a few moments later, Hamlet was waiting at the door with a score of noisy demands.
Giving him a quick, “Hang on, Hammy,” she flipped on the lights and set down her things on the dining table, and then headed to the window. She was just in time to see Reese’s battered sedan pulling away from the curb two stories below. What a gentleman, she told herself, her attitude only partially facetious. He’d waited to see her lights come on in the apartment before he left.
That, or he’d decided to try calling Connie before he drove off.
“Tough night, Hammy,” she told the cat as she went into the kitchen to check his food and water. Reaching into the drawer for a fork, she went back to the dining table. There, she retrieved the white-and-gold gift-wrapped box, along with one neatly boxed slice of cake, and went to her computer.
While she waited for her programs to boot up, she unwrapped the gift box and pulled out the vintage cake topper she’d bought for the couple. Studying the slightly battered figures, she couldn’t help but compare them to Reese and Connie’s crumbling relationship. Then, fork in hand, she opened the cake box and took a bite.
“I’d share,” she told Hamlet, who’d padded in to join her, “but you’re not supposed to eat processed sugar.”
She opened her email and then, on impulse, checked her trash file. The email from her ex was still there. Not certain why she did it, she dragged the message into her inbox and then hit “Reply.”
Dear Troy,
she wrote between bites of cake,
Sorry for the delay i
n writing back. It’s been a pretty hectic week. But, sure, we can get together when you’re in town. Call me at the bookstore when you get settled, and we’ll pick a time and place. My cell number is in my signature file. Remember, you’re paying.
She hit “Send” before she could change her mind, and closed the laptop case before she could recall the message. Then, forking up another bite of cake, she joined Hamlet on the sofa.
“Yeah, I know, I should have told him never to write me again, but what can I say? I’m a soft touch. Everyone deserves a second chance and, who knows, maybe he’s really sorry. Maybe he’s really changed.”
Or, maybe not.
But even if he turned out to be the same old Troy, she was a brand-new Darla, she reminded herself in satisfaction. She’d left Dallas an angry and somewhat frightened divorcée, not quite sure what her great-aunt’s bequest to her really meant for her future. Now she was an independent businesswoman running a successful store and surrounded by good friends, while living quite contentedly alone in the heart of what had once been a strange city. Being able to get through a civil evening with her ex-husband would prove to her, if not him, that he really had been an idiot to let her go.
“You know how people are always talking about closure,” she told Hamlet. “Well, that’s what seeing Troy again will be. Then it’s onward and upward, as C. S. Lewis put it.”
She waited for a hiss, or a leg fling. But for once, Hamlet refrained from a snarky reply. Instead, quite politely, he reached a paw toward what was left of her engagement cake.
“Oh, why not?” she said with a chuckle as she dabbed a bit of fondant on his paw. She smiled fondly at him as he took an experimental lick, and then quickly finished off the icing. Giving him another tiny taste, she added, “Besides, there’s nothing better than sharing dessert with your best friend. And when it comes to best friends . . . well, Hammy, you’re most definitely the cat’s meow!”
