by Susan Schild
A man’s voice urged, “Just tell them, honey. You’re scaring them.”
Beaming, Dottie announced, “Well, we won!”
“Good, Mama,” Linny said encouragingly, imagining a plastic gold trophy for a rumba contest or a cubic zirconia necklace door prize at the Precious Jewelry at Sea show.
“Who won what?” Kate asked, bumping Linny with her shoulder to peer at the screen.
Her mother shook her head, her eyes wide. “Mack and I won fifty thousand dollars on the nickel slots.”
Linny gasped almost at the same moment Kate did.
“Hi, girls.” Mack’s head appeared on the screen and he waved at them. He gazed at Dottie, patted her shoulder gently, and clarified, “Actually, honey, we won five hundred thousand dollars.”
Dottie put her hands up to her cheeks. “I’m so excited, I got my zeros mixed up. We did! We won five hundred thousand dollars on six straight-across cherries! I’ll tell you all about it when we get home tomorrow. Mack says don’t let the word out or folks we don’t know will be turning up at our door asking for money.” She laughed gaily.
Of course he’d want her to keep it quiet. Linny elbowed her sister.
Kate rubbed her arm and shot her an indignant look. “What?” she whispered.
“You girls know, there’s a bit of truth to that,” Mack said soberly and rubbed a spot between his eyebrows. “They wanted to make a big to-do about it at the casino, but I suggested we not allow that.”
“Good idea,” Linny said, staring intently at his image on the screen. She searched for signs of his gigolo hood: a flashy, diamond man necklace or dyed black hair. All she saw was a clean-shaven, pleasant-looking man like the one in blood pressure medicine commercials taking his grandson fishing. Her eyes narrowed. The kind-looking ones were sometimes the worst.
Dottie went on. “Remember, our flight comes home Thursday at four-ten. Will you still be able to meet us?”
“Kate’s got a doctor’s appointment, but I’ll be there,” Linny said smiling. “I wouldn’t miss it!”
After the call ended Kate crossed her arms and shot Linny a reproving look. “What is wrong with you? Why are you so upset about such a lovely thing happening to Mama?”
Linny cocked her brow. “How do two people win at a nickel slot machine? Only one nickel goes in at a time, right?”
Kate exhaled noisily and pushed herself up from the couch. “I’m sure we’ll hear a logical explanation for it when Mama gets home.”
“That Mack is going to try to take advantage of Mama. She’ll end up in the poorhouse, or worse . . .” she muttered darkly. “Last week I saw a show where a man preyed on lonely widows, married eight of them at the same time, and smothered them one by one.”
Kate gazed at her and raised a brow. “Sweets, I hate that you married a man who cheated and lied and stole your money, but not all men are like that. Mack seems nice, and Mama’s not foolish.” She patted her arm. “You need to stop watching those crime shows. Really, you do.”
“All right, all right,” Linny said. Still, she had a few questions for benign-looking Maximillian aka Mack, if that really was his name.
A few moments later Kate gathered her coat and purse. Linny stood on the porch and waved as she drove off. She smiled when she saw Kate’s latest bumper sticker: Don’t Make Me Use My Teacher Voice.
In the kitchen she picked up her phone and checked messages. She had a new voice mail and entered her password. She drew in her breath as she recognized Ceecee’s voice.
In a buttery drawl, her future mother-in-law said, “Good morning, Linny darling. Rush and I would be so honored if you’d let us throw a little party for you before your wedding. I know you two are iffy about the actual date.” She paused meaningfully. “But when you do decide, will you please let me know just as soon as possible? I’ve been having so much fun thinking about themes and menus! You know, I have had quite a bit of experience in party planning,” she trilled. “I was a two-time chairwoman for the SPCA Puparazzi Charity Ball, and I’ve planned one other wedding, too. . . .” Ceecee trailed off, gave a meaningful little cough, and picked up steam again. “A few days ago I mailed you a package of my ideas. Take a look-see and let me know what you think. I don’t want you to have to you worry about a thing, what with your little career keeping you so busy. Ta-ta, darling.”
One other wedding. Your little career. Linny felt herself flush with irritation. This was her third whirl with mothers-in-law and it was always dicey, especially right at the beginning. Her first mother-in-law, Lauralee, had sweetly tried to strong-arm Linny into wearing the butt-ugly, mutton-sleeved gown she’d worn at her own wedding, and Linny’s second mother-in-law, Sherry, had worn a backless, low-cut white gown to Linny’s wedding to Buck. An emergency back-up bride, presumably.
Hurrying to the counter, Linny flipped through the pizza coupons and catalogues and plucked out a fat white mailing envelope from Ceecee that was addressed in a loopy but perfect cursive. Taking a deep breath, Linny opened it and pulled out a sheaf of papers.
The first flyer featured an abnormally handsome man passionately kissing a woman on a wooden motor launch speeding by gondolas on what had to be the Grand Canal. The sticky note atop it read, Nuptials in Venice? Very Amal and George. So romantic!!
Linny rolled her eyes, and flipped to the next. On a picture of Highclere castle, Ceecee’s note read, Lady Mary/Lady Rose/Downton Abbey theme? Elegant! Linny groaned. So much for simple.
The top half of the next page featured a male skater in an outfit that bulged around his manly parts. He was tossing his spangled wisp of a partner in the air. The bottom half of the page featured Omar Sharif in a fur hat, his eyes smoldering as he gazed at Julie Christie. The sticky note read, Winter Olympics/Dr. Zhivago theme? Even though spring or summer wedding (please let me know date as soon as possible!), we could improvise: horse-drawn sleigh (only on wagon wheels) and lightweight fur hats (faux, of course).
Good Lord. Linny stopped reading and rubbed a spot between her eyebrows. Jack had told her Ceecee had been spellbound by the Olympics in Sochi and was counting the days until the Winter Games in PyeongChang in 2018. But it was her and Jack’s wedding! She shook her head, amazed at Ceecee, but pictured a linen/cotton blend fur hat and started to chuckle.
Speed reading the final suggestions, Linny saw the brochure from St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, where she’d already been married once before. The note read, Have you thought about a church wedding? This is such a darling-looking chapel!
Linny tapped the brochure on the counter and blew out a breath. Rattled, she had one crazy thought after another. Maybe the church gave discounts for repeat brides. Maybe she could use her old wedding pictures of her and Andy and Photoshop in a new groom. Linny shook her head. It was going to be hard to snatch the reins back from strong-willed Ceecee. She hated to bother Jack at work, but she needed a reality check. She found her phone and called his inside line.
After two rings he picked up, sounding harried. “Hey, Lin. What’s up?”
Her voice went up an octave. “Your mama is planning a Kardashian-style engagement party for us, and my mama and a mysterious stranger won five hundred thousand dollars on the nickel slots.”
Jack whistled. “Whoa. Big news on the mama front today.”
He was irritatingly calm. “But, Jack . . .” Linny started to explain the gravity of the situations but stopped when she heard voices in the background and a dog howling.
Briskly, Jack said, “Lin, I’ve got to go. Surgery. We’ll talk tonight. Honey, try not to worry.”
Easy for him to say. Linny ended the call. Turning to the dogs snoozing back to back on the kitchen floor, she put a hand on her hip and called to them, “We won’t let anyone hijack our wedding or our mama, right, boys?” Both dogs raised their heads, and gazed at her with liquid brown eyes, seeming to telegraph their agreement.
* * *
Inspired by a dish that the sombrero-wearing Birdie had whipped up in the session o
f her Fun Frugal Mom’s cooking class, Linny smiled proudly as she pulled from the oven the Chick a Boom Boom Chicken Burritos. By eliminating the onions and going light on the spices, she hoped she’d created a mild dinner that even the pickiest eater couldn’t object to. Glancing out the window, she smiled. Illuminated by the mercury light of the barn, she saw the platform for the new megatree house in the sprawling pin oak. Neal steadied a ladder and gazed up at Jack, whose long legs dangled from the tree-house flooring. She shook her head at the large, multilevel fort with the deep green metal roof. When she and Kate were kids, their tree house had a beat-up corrugated plastic roof and uneven scrap wood sides they’d scrounged from their daddy’s lumber pile. She picked up the walkie-talkie to call them for supper but got no response. Calling again with no answer, she tapped her fingers on the counter, frustrated. She had so much she needed to tell Jack. All day she’d had knots in her stomach about Mama winning big and falling under the spell of the dance instructor, and Ceecee orchestrating an extravaganza prewedding party.
Covering up the burritos with foil, she slipped them back in the warm oven and called them again. Jack picked up. “Hey, Lin.”
She pressed the button. “Supper’s ready. You all at a good stopping point?”
The line crackled. “We are. We’ll be right up.”
While she waited, Linny flipped through the recipes from her cooking class, trying to sort the winners from the losers. “Fun and frugal moms plan their menus a month at a time,” Birdie had boomed out to her students. Linny slumped. She had trouble planning one night at a time, but better stepmothers were probably that organized.
She glanced at the clock on the stove and frowned. Where were they? Overcooked burritos would taste like cardboard, yet one more reason for them not to pass muster with Neal. Determined not to sound annoyed, she walkie-talkied down to the tree fort again. Jack picked right up, sounding breathless, and said. “Sorry, Lin. We’re almost at the house. Found a hitch with the crossbeams we had to fix so the floor wouldn’t give out.”
Hard to argue with that. Still, she shook her head as she ferried the meal to the table.
* * *
Later, from under her eyelashes, Linny tried to be surreptitious as she watched Jack and Neal for reactions to the meal. After a few minutes scraping forks and no conversation, Jack grinned at her. “Another winner, Lin. I’m going for seconds.” He pushed his chair away from the table and Linny gave him a grateful smile.
Neal pushed his food around the plate, but Linny noticed he’d eaten three quarters of his burrito. She couldn’t resist. “How do you like your supper, Neal?”
He frowned thoughtfully as he took a nibble from the bite on his fork. “It’s almost as good as Taco Bell.”
She studied him. Was Taco Bell his gold standard, or was he once again turning his nose up at her cooking? She’d take it as a compliment, no matter how it was meant. “Why, thank you, Neal,” Linny said pleasantly, reminding herself to be grateful that he hadn’t compared it to Vera’s cooking.
“My mom makes really good burritos, though,” he added.
Linny nodded and looked away. Of course she does.
After supper Jack wiped down the counters and asked Neal, “You all finished with your homework?”
“Almost,” Neal hedged as he finished drying a pan.
“What does almost mean?” Jack asked.
“I can look it over one more time,” Neal muttered, not looking at his father.
“Good plan,” Jack said evenly and gave Linny an exasperated look.
After Neal wandered off to his room to check his homework, Linny pulled Jack down beside her on the sofa, took his hand, and breathed a sigh of relief. Finally. “You won’t believe all that’s happened. . .” she began, her words tumbling out.
Jack’s cell rang. He grimaced and sent her an apologetic look as he picked it up from the end table.
Linny sank back in the cushion, feeling deflated. What did she need to do around here to get some undivided attention? Maybe they needed a take-a-ticket machine like at the deli.
Jack glanced at her and mouthed, Vera.
Great. She lay down on the couch, picked up the remote and pretended to scroll through the TV channels as she listened to their conversation.
Jack spoke in the guarded voice he always used with his ex, but Linny also heard the too calm tone he got when he was alarmed. Vera did most of the talking, and Jack said, “Are you sure . . . ? She did . . . ? When . . . ? We’ll be there.” When he ended the call, his jaw worked.
Quickly forgetting her pout, Linny pushed herself up. “What’s going on?”
Jack glanced at her, his eyes lit with worry. “Vera got a call from Ms. Courtland, Neal’s teacher. He’s getting Ds in math and is failing science.”
“His two favorite subjects,” she said, trying to take it in.
He nodded, looking grim. “He’s always been on the honor roll.”
“Why is he doing poorly?” she asked, searching his face.
He looked away for a moment. “Ms. Courtland thinks he’s having anxiety about us getting married, or so Vera claims.”
“Vera claims . . .” She cocked her head. “Do you think that’s true?”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I’ll find out. I’ll talk to Neal now, and we have a meeting with his teacher scheduled for Thursday afternoon.”
“We?” she asked and stared at him. “We aren’t married yet.”
“If this is about us, I think you should be there,” Jack said evenly. “We need to get to the bottom of this. I’ll start by talking with young Mr. Avery.” He rose and strode off to Neal’s room.
The discussion started quietly but got louder. Linny heard Jack say something about smart young man and buckling down. Neal’s retorts involved a not my fault and stupid. As their voices rose, her stomach did backflips. What if Neal got emotionally scarred by their getting married? They could be one of those nongelling, unblendable families Mary Catherine had warned her about. Not wanting to think about that possibility, she hurriedly picked up the remote, found the funny home videos show, and turned up the volume. Staring at the screen, she worried as the man stepped on the rake, the girl rode her bike off a pier, and the toddler launched a football at his father’s crotch.
A few minutes later a door shut hard, and Jack slumped onto the sofa beside her.
She muted the TV and, almost afraid to know, asked, “How’d it go?”
He shook his head, looking baffled. “He just didn’t do the most important projects.”
“Why?” Linny asked, shaking her head in disbelief. “Neal loved those classes.”
“All I could get out of him was that he thought the assignments were ‘stupid.’” Jack rubbed his eyes with his fingers. “His mom and I try to stay on top of the curriculum, but he hid a few key assignments and due dates from us.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “Something else is bothering him, and it may be us marrying. Hopefully, we’ll find out on Thursday.”
Jack draped his arm around her shoulder and changed the channel to one of their favorite shows, Railroad Alaska. Tonight Linny was riveted by the program. The train crew faced danger that threatened to derail their beautiful train, The Spirit of Seward: ice on the switches, the threat of avalanches and possible deadly collisions. She shivered as the engineer and his crew set off on their perilous journey. Was her marriage to Jack just as fraught with danger? If their marrying was going to cause psychological damage to Neal, how could it work?
Back home, she tossed her keys on the counter and let the dogs out for a run. As she shrugged out of her coat, her shoulders sagged. She was so tired. Picking up the phone, she called Jack. “Back home, safe and sound,” she said, kicking off her shoes and dropping onto the couch. “How’s Neal?”
“Asleep or pretending to be asleep,” Jack snorted. “Probably worn out from all that stonewalling and tap dancing he did tonight.”
She tried to find a brig
ht side. “At least we know there’s a problem. That’s good, right?”
“True,” he said, and the silence spun out. “We didn’t get much of a chance to talk. You never told me about the mamas.”
She hadn’t. There’d been too much drama with Neal. She didn’t feel much like talking now but made herself tell him about Dottie’s big win and Ceecee’s wedding ideas. When she’d finished and listened to his reassurances, Linny felt flat. She’d really needed him to listen to her in person and hug her and reassure her.
In a small voice, Linny said, “Jack, seems like last week we were staring at each other all hypnotized and having hour-long make-out sessions. Now we’re meal planning and going to parent-teacher meetings and worrying about Neal’s anxiety about us marrying.” She paused for a moment, feeling wistful. “I know it’s part of the deal with a child to consider and marrying at our age, but I don’t want us to miss all the lovely courtship stuff.”
“I know,” he said, sounding chagrined. “I’ll work on that. Give me a chance and I’ll get back to being romantic. A regular Lance Romance,” he assured her.
Linny couldn’t help but smile at him, thinking he never was a Lance Romance. She had no complaints, though. His restrained, John Wayne–type of intensity took her breath away more than any poetry-spouting, sensitive Lance Romance could. “I look forward to that,” she said, rubbing her forehead.
“So, you are coming to the meeting?” Jack asked, sounding tentative.
“I am,” she said. “Goody. I get to spend more time with Chaz and Vera.”
He gave a sheepish chuckle and paused for a moment. “Hey, I learned the chords to that Sam Hunt song. It’s still rough, but do you want to hear it?”
“I do,” When had he had time to even practice? Flushing with pleasure that he’d taken to the guitar, she shook her head bemusedly as she heard clunking and rustling through the line as he got set up for his telephone serenade. She adjusted the pillow under her head, toed off her shoes, and listened. Though still tentative, Jack had a decent voice: warm, rich, and true. Linny smiled and closed her eyes as the love song spun out. Pretty darned romantic.
