Mother of the Bride

by Lynn Michaels

  “Just fine.” Louella wiped her hands as she came to the door and lowered her voice. “We can manage, Cydney. You tend to your family.”

  “Oh God.” She sighed and winced. “How bad was it?”

  “Awful loud and awful angry. Poor Bebe. Your father laughed and her mama laughed and that just made it worse. It was funny. Bebe and Frodo.” Louella’s lip twitched. “But I can see why Bebe didn’t think so.”

  “Aldo asked me to find her and talk to her.”

  “You do that. We’ll take care of everything in here.”

  “You’re the best, Louella. How can we ever thank you? All of you.”

  “Just give us seats up front where we can cry our eyes out,” Louella said with a laugh. “And we’ll be happy.”

  “You’ve got ‘em. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Cydney crept across the living room, wedged her index fingers between the great room doors, held her breath and nudged them open. She peered through the crack and saw Bebe sitting on the dais, sniffling and wiping her teary eyes on a stack of Bebe and Frodo napkins.

  I love you, Aunt Cydney. I wish you were my mother. Cydney pushed the doors open a bit more, started through them and stopped. She wasn’t Bebe’s mother. No matter how much her heart ached watching her unfold a napkin, stare at it and burst into fresh tears, it wasn’t her place to comfort her. It was Gwen’s. Time for Uncle Cyd to butt out and get a cat.

  Gwen was slouched on her bed against a stack of pillows, her cell phone to her ear, her laptop on her knees when Cydney burst through the door without knocking. An ashtray with a half dozen or so cigarette butts sat on the corner of the nightstand. Fletch’s brand, by the filters. Here was another beef Cydney had with her father. Contributing to the delinquency of a Type A personality.

  “Gotta go.” Gwen flipped the phone shut and tossed it aside. “Don’t yell at me. I didn’t mean to laugh, but it was the funniest damn thing—”

  “Come on.” Cydney pushed the laptop off her sister’s knees, took Gwen’s hand and yanked her off the bed. “You’re gonna fix this.”

  She towed Gwen downstairs and across the living room, stopped outside the great room doors and laid her hands on her shoulders.

  “Bebe’s in there crying. Go tell her you’re sorry. Tell her you love her. Ask her to please forgive you.”

  Gwen arched an eyebrow. “And that’ll make everything all better?”

  “What have you got to lose?”

  “My daughter.”

  “I’m not fixing this, Gwen. I didn’t break it. You did. You fix it.”

  “I can’t. I don’t know how.”

  “I just told you how. Get in there and do it.” As Cydney reached for the pocket doors, Gwen caught her wrist. “Come with me.”

  “No. I’m sorry. I love you. Please forgive me.”

  “I’ve got that. You don’t have to repeat it.”

  “I’m sorry about the pizza, Gwen. I love you. Please forgive me.”

  “You are not forgiven. But I love you, too.” Gwen hooked an arm around her neck and hugged her. “What if Bebe yells at me again?”

  “She won’t. All she wants is her mother at her wedding.”

  “You’d better be right.” Gwen let her go and sighed, her expression grim. “Okay. Open the doors before I chicken out.”

  Cydney did, then shut them and turned away after Gwen slipped through them. She didn’t have time to eavesdrop. She had to find her father and kill him before her mother woke up from her nap.

  I don’t know why I bother, her little voice said. But I’d like to remind you what happened the last time you—

  “Oh shut up,” Cydney snapped, and raced up the gallery stairs.

  Well, her little voice said indignantly, but at last, finally, it shut up.

  She found her father’s bedroom, but Fletch wasn’t in it. He wasn’t anywhere. The R&R room, the basement or the deck. She even checked to make sure he wasn’t in the hot tub with Misha and Domino. If he wasn’t in the house, then he had to be outside. Maybe in the woods. If she took a gun with her and Domino’s sable coat, she could shoot him and claim she mistook him for a bear.

  It was a long shot, but Cydney decided to check Gus’ office on her way outside. Sure enough, there was Fletch, reading in Gus’ overstuffed chair by the big window that faced the lake. He took off his reading glasses and moved his feet over as Cydney sat down on the ottoman.

  “I want you to leave my mother alone,” she told him firmly.

  “Really?” Fletch laid the book he was reading on his chest and laced his fingers over the spine. “What does your mother want?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask her. I’m telling you what I want.”

  “Why should I care what you want?”

  “You don’t have to care. Just leave Mother alone.”

  “What am I doing to her that you don’t like?”

  “Oh stop it, Dad. You’ve been flirting with Mother since the minute she came through the door. You needle Herb—”

  “Let’s say I’m not flirting with her. Let’s say I’m courting her.”

  “You’re a married man, Dad. You have no right—”

  “Neither do you, to march in here and give me orders. I’m not sticking my nose in your business. Keep yours out of mine.”

  “Mother is my business. You dumped her once and left me to pick up the pieces. I won’t do it again. Keep leading her on and playing with her emotions and I’ll be the one on Dan Rather blabbing the whole story about Domino and Misha.”

  “Oooh, threats.” Fletch smiled, his eyes twinkling. “And here I thought you hadn’t learned a damn thing from me.”

  “I learned plenty from you, Dad.” Cydney stood up. “I learned I don’t want to end up fifty-nine years old with a life like a train wreck.”

  “Maybe I’m trying to clean up the mess.”

  “Good for you. I hope you mean it.” Cydney walked to the door and looked back at him. “Just don’t strand my mother on the tracks.”

  chapter

  twenty-nine

  Her father paid no attention to a word Cydney said. He flirted and teased her mother all through dinner, until Georgette’s cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkled, and Herb developed a tic at the corner of his left eye.

  It was a lovely meal, prepared by the ladies of Crooked Possum. Ham with gravy and mashed potatoes, string beans and corn relish canned by Mamie. Sourdough rolls with butter and apple jelly.

  Aldo ate like he had a tapeworm. Cydney hardly at all. Her father kept shooting her smug, I-dare-you glances that tied her stomach in knots. Why had she confronted him? She should’ve kept her mouth shut.

  I tried to warn you, her little voice said. Cydney gritted her teeth.

  When Georgette got up to serve dessert, floating starry-eyed toward the kitchen, Cydney shot out of her chair to follow her. Gus closed his hand on her arm as she pushed through the swinging door. She knew his touch and felt her heart tug as she turned around.

  “I think Herb’s about to pop your old man. Should I let him?”

  “I’d like to say yes, but it’ll only make things worse. This is my fault. I told Dad to stop flirting with Mother.”

  “Bad move, babe. See if you can talk some sense into Georgette. I know you won’t quit till you try. I’ll keep a lid on Herb.” He put a kiss between her eyebrows. “You and me. Midnight. I’ll come to your room.”

  Cydney was still miffed, still thought Gus was a moron for thinking she was in the garage, but the simmer in his eyes made her pulse jump.

  “I’ll be there,” she promised, and hurried down the hall past the bathroom and the pantry, the warmth of his fingers lingering on her arm.

  “Darling.” Georgette stood at the island, filling a tray with plates of sliced pineapple upside-down cake. “Wasn’t that a wonderful meal? I’ve never mastered the art of ham gravy. I must ask Sarah her secret.”

  Cydney hied herself up on the rungs of a stool, spread her hands on the island and
leaned into Georgette’s face. “Snap out of it, Mother.”

  “Snap out of what?”

  “The trance Dad has put you in.”

  “I’m not in the least bit entranced.” A coy smile curved Georgette’s mouth. “But I think your father is.”

  “What about Herb? He looks like he’s about to blow a gasket.”

  “Of course he does. He thinks he has competition.”

  “Does he, Mother?”

  “Cydney. You’re making entirely too much of a harmless flirtation.”

  “I don’t think it’s harmless. I tried to tell you so yesterday, but you sent me upstairs to get Bebe. You wouldn’t listen to me, so I told Dad.”

  Georgette’s nostrils flared. “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him to stop flirting with you.”

  “Obviously he chose to ignore you.” Georgette picked up the tray and started around the island. “Which is precisely what I intend to do.”

  Cydney slid off the stool and stepped in front of Georgette. “Has it occurred to you that Dad’s flirting with you just to annoy Herb?”

  “Thank you, Cydney, for that lovely compliment.”

  “I love you, Mother. I don’t want to see your heart broken again.”

  “My heart, my business.” Georgette brushed past her. “Bring the coffee and keep your nose out of my affairs.”

  Nice job, her little voice said snidely. Now Mumsy and Dadums are both pissed off at you.

  “Oh shut up,” Cydney snarled, and snatched up the coffee carafe.

  So what if she’d struck out with Fletch and Georgette? Gwen and Bebe were chatting like best friends when she came into the dining room. Two out of three wasn’t bad. Especially for a peashooter.

  “All right, everyone.” Georgette tapped her knife on her water glass once dessert was over and most of the table cleared. “Time to rehearse the ceremony. To your places in the great room, please.”

  Bebe and Aldo and Fletch rose obediently. Cydney and Gus and Gwen and Herb remained seated.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Georgette swept them all with a fiery eye. “You’re the best man, Angus. Go with Aldo.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Gus saluted and followed his nephew.

  “Herbert, you’re the usher,” Georgette ordered. “When I signal you from the piano, escort Gwen to the mother of the bride’s chair.”

  “Right away, Georgie-girl.” Herb offered Gwen his arm and squired her out of the dining room.

  “Cydney, you—” Her mother’s gaze swung toward her, then she blinked. “What are you supposed to do tomorrow?”

  “Wash glasses in the scullery?” Cydney suggested.

  “During the reception, perhaps. If need be. For now …” Georgette shrugged. “Pretend to be a guest.”

  “I think I’d make a much better fifth wheel.”

  “Oh don’t be petulant,” Georgette snapped, and spun out of the dining room. “Go sit somewhere and look weepy.”

  “That won’t be tough,” Cydney muttered.

  And it wasn’t. Her eyes filled the instant Gus took his place on the dais steps with Aldo. He looked s-o-o-o handsome. Even in a rumpled sweater and baggy jeans, even holding two fingers to the back of Aldo’s head as he’d done to his brother Artie in one of the childhood snapshots she and Louella had taken off the piano and packed away in a box.

  When Georgette played the opening chords of “The Wedding March,” Cydney’s throat closed. When Bebe came past her up the aisle on Fletch’s arm, her heart swelled with joy for her niece and ached with sadness for herself. This time tomorrow, Bebe would be married. And Uncle Cyd would be on her way home to Kansas City to buy a cat.

  “No, no, no!” Georgette banged a sour chord. “Measured steps, Fletch! Slow and measured!”

  “If we go any slower George, we’ll be crawling.”

  “Again,” Georgette commanded.

  Bebe and Fletch sighed and did it again. And again, and again.

  “For crissake, George!” Fletch shouted. “At this rate, the kid’ll be on Social Security before she gets up the aisle!”

  “If you’d start on the same foot you’d stay in step!”

  “What happened to slow and measured?”

  “Slow and measured and in step!”

  “It’s not difficult.” Herb swung out of his chair and into the aisle. “Here, Parrish. Let me show you.”

  “Sit down,” Fletch barked. “Stick to trying to trip me on my way up the aisle like you did last time.”

  “I did not try to trip you!”

  “Oh baloney! You’d love to see me fall and break my neck so you could give Bebe away tomorrow.”

  “What are you smoking in those cigarettes, Parrish?”

  “Stop it!” Bebe spun angrily off her grandfather’s arm, glared at him and then at Herb. “Stop arguing and picking at each other! I am not getting married in the middle of a war zone!”

  “Sorry, honey.” Fletch curved her hand around his arm. “Now look what you’ve done,” he said to Herb. “You’ve upset Bebe.”

  “I upset her? You started this!”

  “Herbert!” Georgette shouted. “Get up here and stand in for the clergyman. Cydney, what time will the minister be here?”

  “I don’t know, Mother. What time did you ask him to be here?”

  “Cydney.” Georgette paled. “The clergyman was on your list.”

  “My list?” Cydney’s stomach clutched. “What list?”

  “The one you snatched out of my hand at dinner.”

  “A week ago? That list?”

  “Of course that list! Item one said ‘Arrange clergyman.’ “

  “You made a copy. You did the shopping. I only glanced at the list.”

  “Oh forget the damn list.” Gwen wheeled out of the mother of the bride’s chair. “Which one of you called the minister?”

  “Neither one of us, apparently,” Georgette snapped.

  “How could you do this?” Bebe howled at her grandmother. “How can Aldo and I get married without a minister?”

  “It’s all right, Bebe.” Cydney pushed out of her chair and hurried toward her. “We’ll find a minister by four o’clock tomorrow.”

  “Who, Uncle Cyd?” Bebe whirled on her, shaking and white-faced. “Who will you find?”

  “Uh, well—”

  “In a pinch I can call Elvin,” Gus said, coming quickly down the dais steps. “He’s a justice of the peace as well as the sheriff.”

  “I’m not a convict! I don’t want to be married by the sheriff!” Bebe wailed, then burst into tears and raced for the pocket doors.

  “Beebs!” Aldo shouted, and ran after her.

  “Bebe!” Gwen called, dashing behind Aldo. “Wait, honey!”

  Cydney didn’t think she’d stop. She thought her niece would keep running. Out of the great room, out of the house. Her heart leaped, expecting it, but Bebe spun around in the doorway. She threw one arm around Gwen, the other around Aldo, and they bore her away, sobbing.

  “Nicely done, Parrish.” Herb glowered at Fletch. “That was even better than last night’s Scrabble game.”

  “Oh, put a sock in it, Herb. You’re just pissed ‘cause I won.”

  “I’m pissed because you won on words like pulchritude and fornicate and the way you ogled my fiancee throughout the damn game.”

  “George was my wife long before she was your fiancee, Herb. I think that earns me ogling rights.”

  “If you don’t knock it off, it’s gonna earn you a fat lip!”

  “That’s enough, boys.” Gus stepped between them and flung up his hands. “If you two can’t get along, you can leave.”

  “Good idea.” Herb turned toward Georgette. “Get your things, Georgie-girl. We’re spending the night in Branson.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Herbert. I’m staying right here.”

  “Me, too.” Fletch dropped into a chair, crossed his arms and stuck his chin out at Herb. “But if you’d like to go, don’t le
t us stop you.”

  “Fat chance I’d leave you alone with my fiancee, Parrish.”

  “She’s my wife, Herb.”

  “Both of you stop it!” Georgette shot off the bench and spread her hands on the piano. “I am the mother of your children, Fletch, not your wife. You have one around here somewhere, if you can find her. I suggest you look in the hot tub. And how dare you, Herbert, imply that I can’t be trusted with my ex-husband. I’ve never been so insulted.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way, Georgie-girl. You know I—”

  “And stop calling me Georgie-girl,” Georgette snapped. “I hate it.”

  “Boy, so do I.” Fletch made a face. “Yech.”

  “Stay out of this!” Georgette and Herb shouted at Fletch, then Herb swung toward him. “My fiancee is not spending another night under the same roof with you, Parrish.”

  “Your fiancee is spending the night wherever she damn pleases, Herbert,” Georgette seethed. “Both of you stop pulling at me!”

  “Great job, Herb. Now you’ve upset George.”

  “If you’d stayed in France where you belong—”

  “Knock it off!” Gus thundered. Cydney jumped. Georgette blinked and Herb took a step back from the blistering scowl on Gus’ face. “Okay, boys. I’m the warden, so here’s the deal. No more fights or threatening to belt each other. Next one who starts it gets tossed out on his ass. You two are not going to ruin Aldo and Bebe’s wedding. If I see you within ten feet of each other tomorrow before Bebe walks down the aisle at four o’clock, I’ll have Sheriff Cantwell lock you in the garage. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Fletch grumbled.

  “Got it,” Herb growled.

  “Good. Anything you want to say, Georgette?”

  “Yes, Angus. Thank you.” She gave Fletch and Herb a scathing glare, her eyes glittering. “I’ve never been so mortified in my life. Don’t either one of you dare speak to me. Not a single word.”

  “Okay, fellas. Thems the rules. Now let’s find Bebe so you can shake hands and tell her you’ve settled your differences. Then I want you to go to your rooms and stay there until morning.”

  Gus thumbed toward the doors. Fletch slapped his hands on his knees and got up. Herb and Gus followed him down the aisle. Once they were gone, Georgette sat down on the piano bench and looked at Cydney.