A Summer Wedding at Cross Creek Inn

by Cheryl Holt

  There were gift bags at each place setting, and she didn’t know if Rachel had arranged for them or if Victoria DeAngelo had done it. Whoever was responsible, it was clear someone had understood the unwritten rules that had to be followed.

  Jennifer had been so nervous about Rachel that she hadn’t questioned her sister on any portion of the lunch, being terrified—should she inquire—Rachel would take offense and sabotage it. So far, Rachel was acting like a normal human being.

  Jennifer had tiptoed down alone to check the patio, but Alex had strolled by as she was snooping. The prior night, she’d had a ton of fun with him. She’d been furious with Eric, but Alex had calmed her down and had provided commiseration so she’d felt justified in her rage.

  He’d stepped in and played the part of host too. No one had missed Eric very much. Or if they had, they’d kept that opinion to themselves, so she’d been able to enjoy herself.

  Alex looked very similar to Eric, but very different too. From their facial features, they could have been twins, and they were the same height, but Alex’s hair was brown and his eyes a yummy hazel, while Eric’s hair was blond and his eyes a mesmerizing blue.

  In their physical characteristics, Eric was heavier, broader, and more muscular, due to the weight-lifting required for his modeling jobs. Alex was thin and lithe, like a marathon runner.

  At the moment, he was dressed casually, in shorts and flipflops, and he hadn’t highlighted his appearance with an expensive watch, sunglasses, or jewelry. He didn’t flaunt who he was, and it occurred to her that—out of all the members of the Benjamin family—he might be the only normal one.

  “Is Eric back?” he asked. “Have you seen him today?”

  “He and I had breakfast together.”

  “Really? He was supposed to have breakfast with my mom and dad, but he didn’t show up.”

  She scowled. “He skipped it?”

  “It wasn’t very pleasant, so he didn’t miss much.” He chuckled in a way she couldn’t decipher. “Was he sorry about last night?”

  “Oh, he was incredibly sorry. He sent me a room full of flowers as an apology. My suite is so stuffed with bouquets that I can hardly walk around.”

  “That sounds like Eric.” He snorted with disgust. “Did you forgive him for being an asshole?”

  “Of course. How could I not?”

  He nodded, as if pondering a deep issue. “How long have you known him?”

  “He and I first met when we were kids. He was a camp lifeguard one summer when I was twelve. All the girls fell madly in love with him, including me.”

  “I have no doubt.”

  “Then, when we met again a bit ago and realized that old connection, it seemed as if our relationship was meant to be.”

  “You believe that?” He stared intensely.

  “Yes, I believe it.”

  “You’ve been acquainted with him for . . . what? Three months? Four?”

  “Yes, four months, but we didn’t have to debate whether we should get engaged. From the start, it felt right.”

  He studied her carefully, as if he might confide a secret, but any comment would be about Eric, and she couldn’t bear to hear it. Not about Eric or any skeletons hiding in his closet. His family had collapsed after the divorce, and they didn’t like one another, but she didn’t need more details than that.

  Eric rarely talked about his brother, but he viewed Alex as a whiner and tattle. Eric also complained that Alex was too nice, and the world would eventually eat him alive because he wasn’t a fighter.

  Jennifer had never thought being overly nice was an adverse personality trait, and fighting was never beneficial, so despite Eric’s opinion of Alex, she didn’t necessarily deem them to be bad qualities.

  In her home growing up, they’d supported each other. Their two tragedies, that being her mother’s death and Amy’s drunk-driving car wreck, had been like bookends that pressed them together.

  With that pair of calamities binding them, she’d become very placid, and she surrounded herself with placid people. She was very loyal too and would never gossip about her dad or siblings. Not even about Rachel who could be exhausting, and she didn’t like how Alex was trying to lure her into a discussion about Eric.

  “I hope you have a delightful lunch,” he said. “The weather will be beautiful for it.”

  “I think so too.”

  She figured he’d leave then, but he hovered, seeming disconcerted. It was obvious he was dying to tell her something, and she wished he’d spit it out.

  “As of tomorrow,” he said, “I’ll be your brother-in-law. If you ever need assistance, you should contact me immediately. I’ll always stand your friend.”

  “Well . . . ah . . . great. I’m glad you will.”

  “Don’t ever trust my father or ask him for advice. Not with regard to any situation.”

  “He scares me to death, so I would never approach him.”

  “He scares me too, but then, he’s a scary guy.” He reached out and squeezed her hand. “Before you head off on your honeymoon, I’ll be sure you know how to get hold of me. If you’re ever in trouble, I’ll come right away.”

  It was a strange remark, as if he was afraid for her, and she wouldn’t delve into his reasoning. Clearly, he was warning her about his dad, but probably about Eric too. While she was sincere in claiming Dennis frightened her, she had no qualms about Eric. He could be oblivious, but he was fun-loving, kind, and incredibly generous.

  If he ever hurt her, it would be because he hadn’t been paying attention. It would never be due to malice, and she wouldn’t loaf on the deserted patio and trade stories about Alex’s dysfunctional family.

  He’d never recovered from their parents’ divorce, and he harbored deep feelings of resentment toward Eric and Dennis, so—if she sought information about them—Alex was the very last person she would ask to provide it.

  “Thank you for offering,” she blandly said. “I hope we’ll keep in touch.”

  “I hope we will too. I’ll be anxious to hear how you’re faring.”

  He left, and she peered out at the pretty tables, at the place settings and chilled champagne, and she smiled with satisfaction. With the sun shining down, the pine trees swaying in the breeze, and the snow-capped mountains off in the distance, the lunch would be perfect, and she couldn’t wait for it to begin.

  She had several hours to kill before the bridal lunch, and she was so jazzed from her hook-up with Eric that she couldn’t sit still. She was wondering if she shouldn’t dump Dennis and attach herself to Eric instead. What would the ramifications be?

  Dennis would never step aside and let his son have her. That ending would crush his massive ego, so how might he lash out? Could she and Eric survive his retaliation?

  He’d been lurking in their suite, ignoring her and trying to work, but simply being frustrated with the lousy reception. When he’d hurled a coffee cup across the room, she’d decided she should escape the Inn for a bit.

  The prick had threatened to divorce her over her legal dilemma, and he’d given her a week to make it disappear. He could have fixed the problem for her—if he could have been bothered to intervene. He could throw his weight around much more successfully than she could, but he wouldn’t because it involved Lindsey.

  He could have endowed a scholarship at Lindsey’s college or maybe built them a new building as a film school. The college administration would have cashed his fat check without blinking, and they’d all have agreed there had been no bribe.

  But no. Dennis would watch from the shore as she sank to the bottom.

  She’d had a car take her down to the village. It was a quaint little town with restaurants, giftshops, and rental kiosks that doled out bikes, kayaks, and fishing gear that tourists required for their mountain excursions. The sidewalks were packed, but she had on sunglasses and a b
aseball cap so she was invisible.

  She was outside an artist’s co-op, studying a sculpture in the window when she glanced down the block. There, on the next corner, was a woman who made her blood run cold.

  Her name was ridiculous: Liberty Bell. She was a model and aspiring actress, twenty-three, with glossy black hair that hung to her waist and big green eyes that were so mesmerizing they didn’t look human. She was six feet tall, so she towered over most everyone except for the largest men.

  She was wearing a one-piece romper, the hem cut uber-short to show off her magnificent legs. Her wrists, fingers, ears, and neck were covered with expensive bangles and other jewelry. It was obvious she was somebody, and people peeked at her as she passed by.

  A few females recognized her, and they snapped pictures with their phones so they could post to their various sites that the glamourous woman had been spotted in Cross Creek.

  Crystal was practically sick with envy, but with fury too.

  The prior week, her assistant had pointed out a tidbit buried in an entertainment magazine that claimed Dennis had a girlfriend—Liberty Bell—and that he’d taken over the Hollywood portion of her career. Crystal had scoffed and told her assistant that Dennis hadn’t even met Liberty Bell and had no desire too. But . . .

  The bastard!

  She’d convinced herself that it was nonsense. For all she knew, Liberty’s agent had planted the story so she’d be linked to Dennis, but with the wretched girl strolling around in Cross Creek—while Dennis was there too—Crystal was being slapped in the face with exactly what was happening.

  Dennis was cheating on her with a much younger, very beautiful woman, and the prospect was maddening. She was aware of what sort of pig her husband could be, what sorts of favors he could extract from a female in order for her to obtain what she wanted from him.

  Crystal, herself, had started out that way. She’d been determined to have doors opened, and Dennis had opened them for her.

  When she reflected on it now though, it seemed tawdry and salacious. Times were changing, attitudes too, and if there was ever an investigation into how she’d snagged Dennis, it would be another weight of disgrace to add to the ones that were already being piled on top of her.

  Earlier, when she and Dennis had quarreled, he’d threatened to divorce her, but she thought she was too smart to be tossed over by him. He’d rid himself of plain, boring Sharon after he was weary of her, and Crystal couldn’t ever have envisioned being trapped in the same boat.

  She worked so hard to be the wife he needed! Would the idiot dump her? For a twenty-three-year-old model?

  The notion didn’t bear contemplating, and she was tempted to march across the street and confront the Amazonian slut. How dare she come to Eric’s wedding! What gall! What nerve! But there were cameras everywhere, so she couldn’t.

  She whipped away and hurried off to find her driver. She was desperate to return to the safety of the Inn before she exploded with rage.

  Rachel assessed the charming patio and grinned with approval. She was still seated in her chair at the head table, watching the party break up.

  The luncheon had been a huge success. The food had been delicious, the service impeccable, the scenery spectacular. Jennifer had been plied with loads of fun presents, including plenty of lingerie to spice up her marriage to her gorgeous husband.

  The guests were hugging, chatting, making plans for the evening, and Rachel was patting herself on the back.

  She’d never previously been invited to be a bridesmaid, so the party was the first and only one she’d ever arranged. As a kid, she’d never been popular, so she hadn’t had a ton of friends. After Amy’s car wreck, Rachel had become toxic to the few girls who’d been close, and they’d gradually drifted away.

  She’d learned to be content with the tiny world that had been left, where she took care of her dad and managed his house for him.

  When Jennifer had asked her to be maid of honor, if had been a position she’d secretly coveted, but hadn’t expected to receive. She’d been prepared to be overlooked by her sister, then she would have stewed in silence over how she was never appreciated.

  She’d been so jealous that Jennifer was marrying—and not just any LA guy. No, she was marrying a rich, handsome male model! Rachel had been green with envy—until she’d met Eric at Easter. She’d begun furtively tracking him on-line and cataloguing scraps of information that occasionally popped up on the web.

  He wasn’t movie-star famous, but he’d often be spotted at a trendy restaurant or bar with a woman who was movie-star famous. His picture would be in the tabloids for being escort to a goddess, and Rachel was trying to figure out what he’d really been doing in New York when he’d claimed weather had delayed him.

  She was crossing her fingers that it was egregious enough to have been recorded by a voyeur with a phone. Once a photo surfaced, she’d download it and stick it in the folder she was calling, Stupid Eric Stories.

  In the meantime, she had to be happy for Jennifer and pretend he wasn’t a snake in the grass. She was dying to tell Jennifer her true opinion, but Amy was very wise, and she’d warned Rachel that Jennifer would never want to hear it.

  It would crash down later on though, and she’d be very adult about the whole thing. She would never say to Jennifer, I could have told you so, but Amy wouldn’t let me.

  Eric’s mother, Ms. Kildare, slid onto the chair next to Rachel. They’d been introduced, but Rachel hadn’t spoken ten words to the wealthy, aloof woman. Rachel noticed that she was a bit off balance, as if she’d had more than her share of the champagne.

  “This was a lovely party, Rachel,” she said.

  “Thank you. I was hoping other people liked it. I’ve never planned an event like this, and it was a lot of work.”

  “Jennifer seemed very pleased.”

  They peered over at her sister. Jennifer was surrounded by friends and all teary-eyed, the emotion of the day catching up with her. She had the rehearsal dinner that night, and Rachel supposed she’d be a weepy mess once it was over.

  “The fridge magnets are pretty,” Rachel said. “It’s the perfect gift for everybody.”

  “It’s my turn to say thank you.”

  “They’re small enough to fit in a suitcase with no problem.”

  “That’s exactly what I thought.”

  “Did you paint them yourself?”

  “Yes. When I was younger, I used to fancy myself as an artist, so I wanted to create something personal.”

  “Why were you an artist just when you were younger? Aren’t you still an artist now? There’s no age limit attached to it.”

  Ms. Kildare appeared momentarily stunned by the observation. “You’re absolutely right. I quit when I married Eric’s father, so I’m accustomed to referring to it in the past tense.”

  “So . . . start again. There’s no reason you can’t, and no offense, but your ex-husband is an asshole. I wouldn’t let him put up any barriers to control me.”

  Rachel had had too much to drink herself, and as the horrid remark slipped out, she clapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I said that out loud.”

  Ms. Kildare laughed. “Don’t worry about it. He is an asshole, so I can’t scold you for being truthful.”

  “Then can I also admit that I’m glad his wife didn’t come to the lunch?”

  “Not as glad as I am!”

  “I don’t like her.”

  “I don’t like her either.”

  Ms. Kildare snickered nastily, and Rachel grabbed a champagne bottle and refilled their glasses.

  “Why would she skip it?” Rachel asked. “She would have sat at the head table with us, and she’s so conceited. I can’t imagine her missing the opportunity to lord herself over all us peons.”

  Ms. Kildare leaned nearer and murmured, “She probab
ly assumed she was too marvelous to lower herself.”

  “Her daughter too!” Rachel agreed, relishing the chance to gossip and warming to the subject.

  “They’re both having some publicity trouble. Over that college bribery scandal? Maybe they’re hiding.”

  “We can only hope,” Rachel said, and they clinked their glasses together.

  Along with Eric Benjamin, Rachel had developed a vehement dislike for Crystal and Lindsey, and it was another issue she’d like to raise with Jennifer, but again, Amy had warned her not to. Whenever Rachel bumped into one of them, she yearned to run to Jennifer and ask, Why would you marry into that awful family?

  Rachel would drown herself in the ocean before she’d have such unpleasant people as her in-laws.

  “I haven’t chatted with you yet,” Ms. Kildare said. “You’re still at home with your dad, right?”

  “Yes. I drew the lucky—or it might be the unlucky—straw to watch over him after my siblings grew up and moved away.”

  “I think it was the lucky straw. I like him; he’s nice.”

  “I like him too. He’s been the best dad ever.”

  “Your siblings flew off to new lives,” Ms. Kildare said. “Do you ever wish you could too?”

  “Actually, I might go to college in the fall.”

  Rachel had no idea why she’d made the claim. In the past, the prospect hadn’t appealed to her. She liked residing with her dad. It was just that, lately, she was chafing over how she’d never considered a different path.

  Her brother and sisters had escaped Portland, but Rachel was trapped in the same old spot. She could alter that situation, couldn’t she?

  Amy had talked about leaving the commune and coming home. If she followed through, Rachel would be free, which was cool to contemplate, but scary too.

  “You should go to college,” Ms. Kildare said quite enthusiastically. “I’m a great believer that women should get as much education as they can. I gave up on my degree, and it’s another regret that haunts me.”