by V. M. Burns
Jenna leaned close. “Okay, what’s the plan?”
I looked at my sister. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t give me that. I know my sister. When you start enunciating each and every syllable and you get that look in your eye, I know something’s up and you have a plan. Now, spill it.”
I shrugged. “No plan. Not yet anyway.” I sighed. “Let’s just provide as much support to Mom as we possibly can and get through this.”
Everyone nodded and we walked over to where my mom and Harold were to provide a wall of love and support.
Jenna held back and whispered in my ear, “So, we wait until it’s over and then we slash her tires, right?”
I shook my head. “Nope. We wait until it’s over and then we let Nana Jo shoot her. She can claim she thought it was a bear.”
I walked over to the Ice Princess and introduced myself. “Hello, I understand you’re Harold’s sister-in-law.” I emphasized the in law. She looked as though she didn’t appreciate the reminder she wasn’t a direct descendent of the wealthy Robertson family. Score one for our side.
She stared down her nose at me, but I stood tall and straight and stared back. “Since we’re going to be related, albeit by marriage, I wanted to introduce myself. My name is Samantha Washington. Grace Hamilton is my mother.” I turned to my sister. “This is my sister, Jenna Rutherford.”
Frank, Tony, and the twins walked over. Frank handed me a glass of champagne.
I took a sip. “And this is her husband, Tony. They’re both attorneys.” I didn’t bother to wait for her to acknowledge them but continued on with my introductions. “These are Jenna and Tony’s sons, Christopher and Zaq.”
The boys bowed.
“We’re so proud of them. They’re both on the dean’s list at Jesus and Mary University.”
JAMU was to the Midwest what Harvard and Yale were to the East Coast. In fact, in some polls, JAMU actually ranked higher than the two prestigious Ivy League schools.
I turned to Dawson. “This is Dawson Alexander, he’s the quarterback for the MISU football team and like a son to me.”
Dawson bowed respectfully.
“Frank Patterson is the owner of this establishment and a very good friend.” I noticed, with each introduction, my words became more clipped and my tone dropped. Unlike most people, when I was angry, I tended to get very quiet and enunciated more.
Frank inclined his head. “My pleasure.”
“I think you’ve already met my grandmother, Josephine Thomas.”
Nana Jo glared.
“Nana Jo recently returned from a performance in New York.” I leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “She’s a bit of a local celebrity.”
Margaret’s expression became shocked as she nodded to Nana Jo.
I looked around. “I can’t forget our dear friends, Jillian Clark and Emma Lee. Jillian is a student at MISU. She sings, dances, and was just offered an internship with the Bolshoi Ballet for the summer.”
Jillian blushed but stood tall and straight.
“And Emma Lee is a brilliant premed student at MISU. She comes from a long line of doctors.” I turned to Emma. Did you say there’s been a doctor in every generation of your family for two hundred years or three hundred?”
Emma smiled. “Actually, it’s four hundred.”
“Of course, she can trace her family lineage back to the Mayflower.” I looked around. “I think that’s everyone.” I stared at Oscar. “It’s obvious you’re Harold’s brother. I can see the family resemblance.”
He smiled and nodded but didn’t say anything.
I turned to Margaret. “And you are?”
She hesitated and a flush rose up Margaret’s neck and left her skin blotchy.
“I’ve heard so much about southern charm. You are from the South, aren’t you?” I added.
She gave a false nasally laugh. “Well, yes. Yes, I am. I’m from a small town in Virginia. I doubt you’ve heard of it. Few people have.”
“Try me,” I said.
She hesitated a few seconds.
“Sam used to be a teacher before she retired to start her own business,” Jenna said.
Margaret plastered on a fake smile. “Lexington. I’m from Lexington.”
“Lexington is where Washington and Lee University is. My uncle’s the president of the university,” Emma said with enthusiasm.
I smiled. “Emma Lee, you know, descendant of General Robert E. Lee . . . Washington and Lee.”
Emma laughed. “Well, we don’t talk about that much, other than to mention how grateful we are he wasn’t successful.”
Harold walked over to our group. “Aren’t you a relative of General Robert E. Lee too?”
Margaret laughed deprecatingly and fanned herself. “A distant relative . . . a very distant relative.”
Harold muttered, “I could have sworn you said you were a descendant.” He waited for an explanation, but none came.
* * *
Eventually, dinner arrived and we sat down to eat. Margaret barely said a word throughout the entire meal. However, we kept up a steady stream of conversation and ignored her. Mom no longer looked as though she would burst into tears at any moment, and we were on cruise mode. Engagement cake and coffee and we could get out of here. I breathed a sigh of relief too soon.
Margaret looked at her watch and leaned across the table. “What plans have you made for the wedding?”
Mom fluttered her hands. “Well, we haven’t nailed down our exact plans yet.”
Margaret gasped. “Not nailed down your plans? But, I thought I understood you are getting married on Christmas Eve.”
“We are getting married on Christmas Eve.” Harold patted Mom’s hand. “There are a lot of decisions to be made, but we’ve picked the cake and are close to picking the venue.”
“Dear me.” Margaret tsked. “I was afraid of this. The longer you wait, the less likely you are to get the best venues.” She glanced around the room as though to say this was clearly not the best, and I had reached my fill when it came to swallowing my words.
“Are you implying there’s something wrong with North Harbor Café?” I folded my napkin and stared at her. “Because if you are, I’m about two seconds from—”
No one got to hear what I was two seconds away from doing because, at that moment, a whirlwind came up the stairs wearing three-inch heels and a white suit with a white mink coat and matching hat. When she reached the top step, she stood for dramatic effect, shrugged out of her coat, tossed it over the railing, and announced, “No fear, Lydia Lighthouse is here.”
We stared at the figure, but before we could figure out what on earth a Lydia Lighthouse was, Margaret hopped up from her seat. “Lydia, darling.” She hurried over to the woman and the two air-kissed. Then Margaret turned to face the group. “When I heard my brother-in-law was planning to get married in a few weeks, I knew I’d find the perfect wedding present.” She turned to the white clad figure. “Lydia Lighthouse is the wedding planner for the elite. She’s traveled all over the world and will be able to insure all of the right people are invited and the wedding will be in the society pages and best magazines.” She paused as though waiting for applause. None came.
Lydia Lighthouse was my mom’s height, slightly over five feet, but not by much. She was as thin as a rail and looked to be in her early fifties.
Nana Jo leaned close to me. “She’s got on more makeup than a five-dollar hooker.”
Lydia Lighthouse definitely wore a great deal of makeup and her false eyelashes were so long, it looked as though she had caterpillars on her eyelids. She had blue eyes, fair, pale skin, and her hair was bright red; she wore it pulled back under her mink cap. Lydia Lighthouse waltzed across the room, placed a white clutch handbag on the table, and pulled out a long cigarette holder and gold lighter.
“Is that a real cigarette?” I was stunned. It had been such a long time since I’d been around anyone who smoked a real cigarette, let alone inside a r
estaurant.
“Sure is.” Nana Jo grinned.
Frank walked over to Lydia Lighthouse. He discretely whispered, but he might as well have saved his breath.
Lydia stared at him as though he’d just landed from an alien spaceship. “What do you mean I can’t smoke inside? What kind of establishment is this?”
Frank gritted his teeth. “It’s actually illegal to smoke inside restaurants in this state.”
Lydia made an elaborate motion of flinging her lighter down. She huffed and then collected herself and plastered on a smile. “Oh, well, when in Rome.” She smiled. “Would you please get me a glass of champagne,” she ordered rather than asked.
Frank hesitated for a moment but smiled and gestured to one of the waitstaff, who promptly brought the whirlwind a drink.
Unlit cigarette dangling from one hand and glass of champagne in the other, the whirlwind stood at the head of the table. “A toast.”
Everyone stood and raised their glasses.
“To the happy couple, may they enjoy many years of wedded bliss.” Lydia raised her glass.
We all raised our glasses and toasted Mom and Harold.
Lydia sipped her champagne.
“Who the hell are you?” Nana Jo asked the question that was dancing around inside all of our heads.
Lydia looked up in surprise. “I thought I’d introduced myself.” She smiled and spoke loud and very slowly as though Nana Jo was hard of hearing and losing her faculties. “I’m Lydia Lighthouse.”
Nana Jo narrowed her eyes and stared. “I heard you the first time you gave that ridiculous name. What I mean is why are you here? This is a private party. Who invited you?”
Lydia’s smile froze and her icy blue eyes grew as cold as Lake Michigan right before a storm.
Margaret must have noticed the temperature drop and a quick headcount had to tell her she was drastically outnumbered if a brawl started. She hurried to intervene. “I was just explaining that Lydia Lighthouse is the premiere wedding planner in the country and she’s agreed to help plan Grace and Harold’s wedding.”
You could have heard a cricket chirp in the silence that followed.
“Now, who is the bride?” Lydia looked around the room. Her gaze rested on Emma and Zaq and her brow furrowed. “I always tell my couples how important breeding and pedigree are.”
Emma colored and Zaq started to stand, but Emma restrained him. His eyes were stormy and he looked ready to explode.
I could see Jenna bristling. However, Lydia continued, oblivious to how closely she was to being tossed out on her ear. “I breed Yorkies. You have to be really careful of the bitch because you never know what you’ll get in the end.” She laughed.
Nana Jo stood. “What in the name of God are you talking about, and you’d best be careful because you’re pretty close to getting stabbed.” Nana Jo fingered her knife.
Lydia looked at Nana Jo, puzzled. “I was talking about the importance of breeding. Weddings are a union. What you put into this union will determine what you get out of it.” She stared at Margaret, who looked embarrassed and blushed. “For example, my entire family is full of blue-eyed redheads with a fiery temper. Me, my brother, my husband, my parents, my grandparents—nothing but redheads. So, you always know what you’re getting.” She laughed, but when no one joined in, she sighed. “However, when you combine a loving, generous man and a sweet, caring woman, you will have a union that overflows with love and is able to survive anything.”
Nana Jo sat down and muttered something that sounded like “crazy witch.”
“Who’s the bride?” Lydia looked around.
Mom raised a tentative hand. “I am.”
Lydia waltzed over to my mother. “You just leave everything to Lydia. I’ll make sure your wedding is the event North Harbor, Michigan, will never forget.”
