Love Me Crazy (12 page)

“Shall we serve?” I ask him. I rise from my seat, lean over the table, and pick up the spatula, ready to help divvy out the precut portions. Salmon slides off the spatula onto the white tablecloth. I stare at the mess as if it intentionally did that to ruin me.

“I’ll take that one.” Quinn holds out his plate.

I salvage what I can and work the mush onto his plate.

“I think we’ll serve ourselves.” Ellie smiles and I lean back as the girls fight over portions.

When they’re done, Mrs. Covington leans forward, glances at me, then her plate. Right. I hop up from my chair. Quinn hands me her plate. Once I’ve successfully loaded it up, he sets it in front of her.

“Great service, huh?” He winks.

Not helping, Quinn. Shut up.

“Wow, that’s spicy!” Ellie spits out a hunk of meat onto her plate.

I almost burst into laughter. That’s definitely not proper etiquette.

Quinn
leans toward me and slides his plate between us. “Share with me, but don’t do that.” He points at Ellie’s plate with his fork.

“What?” she says. “It’s eating my tongue off.” She grabs her water goblet and gulps the contents.

Annabeth slide the spicy beef away from their other samples. “So is that one out?” she asks. “Spicy in this heat, and we’re liable to all melt into puddles.”

“Yes, definitely out.” Ellie fans her tongue.

“I like the salmon.” Kat licks both sides of her fork, ensuring she doesn’t miss any of the mint drizzle.

“Agreed. It’s so pleasant,” Annabeth adds. “Quinny, doesn’t it remind you of graduation dinner?”

“Eh, I like the venison,” Quinn says as Dean nods agreement.

“Of course you do; you were raised on it,” Mrs. Covington says. The clanking silverware and food discussions go quiet. “Surely you haven’t been gone so long you’ve forgotten your father’s favorite dish. I had the chef prepare it in his honor.”

Quinn shifts his gaze to the venison.

Ellie moves it around on her plate.

Kat takes a bite. “So you want Ellie to serve it on her wedding day to remind us why our lives fell apart? Awesome.”

“It didn’t fall apart, just got rerouted.” Ellie frowns and Dean coddles her like a kid who lost her blanket.

Annabeth and Dean ease back their chairs, distancing themselves from the conversation. I try to do the same but Quinn has a death grip on my chair.

“
It’s food. One of our family traditions,” Ellie says as she pops a bite in her mouth. “I think it’s a great reminder of who our father was. Thanks for including it, Momma.”

“
Was
,” Kat emphasizes.

Ellie’s eyes glaze over.

I grab Quinn’s napkin from his lap and hand it to her.

She dabs her eyes. “Remember the dock Dad and Quinn built so we could have our own private island in the swamp?” She smiles and drops her gaze to the venison. “Remember the magnolias he’d bring home? He’d put one in each of our rooms while we were sleeping. We’d wake up sneezing but didn’t care because they smelled so good. And remember how he’d stop on the side of the road after cotton-picking season and let us collect leftovers to make angel ornaments?”

Kat throws her napkin on the table. “I remember him dying. I remember Quinn leaving. I remember this family falling apart.”

Mrs. Covington clears her throat. “Maybe we should shift our focus back on the select—”

“I remember forgotten lunches and being left at cotillion classes and having to bum a ride from the teacher,” Kat continues.

“Surely there’s good in there somewhere,” Annabeth says, trying to be helpful. “Think positive. You have each other now.” She smiles at Mrs. Covington. “We have our family.”

“You aren’t family,” Kat reminds her. “Just a friend of Ellie’s and Quinn’s ex. Don’t act like his leaving involves you one bit.”

Annabeth’s eyes round. She turns pale but keeps her posture resolute, like nothing can sway her, least of all Kat’s comments.

I
push back from the table, but Quinn lunges for the arm of my chair and stops me. Our gazes meet. His wide eyes beg me to stay. Without looking away, I settle into the chair. He pulls it closer to his and taps nervously against the wood.

“Let’s move on,” Quinn says. “Ellie doesn’t need our opinions about what to serve at
her
wedding.”

“You are not the boss of us anymore. You left.” Kat stares him down, then turns toward Ellie. “
He’ll
leave again after the wedding and all you’ll have are pictures to remind you of how very stupid you were for believing he’d stay.”

“Enough,” Quinn yells. He bangs the table with his palm. The plates jump and my heart leaps into my throat. He rises to his feet. “I’m sorry I left. I shouldn’t have, but Dad
is
dead. We are not. Stop living your lives like this family’s doomed, and for crying out loud, quit the bickering. It’s just goddamn venison.”

I bite my lip and shrink against the chair.
Disappear. Disappear.
This would be a good time to have a superpower.

“I don’t care what you serve. It’s your wedding, Ellie; do what you want.” Quinn plops down in his chair.

Kat and Annabeth pull their chairs closer to the table and busy themselves testing the chicken. Ellie stares at Quinn in disbelief.

She shakes her head, then rolls her gaze toward me. “I’m not sure I want a sit down meal anymore. Maybe Dean and I should mingle instead of sitting in assigned seats for an hour. Cassidy, what do you think?” Her eyes, puffy from crying, scan mine.

I
glance at Mrs. Covington, expecting her to answer for me, since I haven’t run any suggestions by her. Her eyes, a pale gray compared to the Covingtons’ trademark blue eyes, close. She spins her finger in the air, a gesture I’ve learned means answer, but answer right.

“I think you’re right, a sit-down dinner hinders socializing and dancing. Heavy hors d’oeuvres are another option if you prefer to mingle, and it might be a way to, you know, calm the fires.” I run my fingers over the tablecloth, thanking God for the numerous dinner parties my parents forced me to attend.

“Yes. Maybe completely different menus,” Ellie says.

I turn toward her. “Ellie, this is your wedding. You chose the grove because it held happy memories; make sure the food does, too.”

Her eyes flick from one placard to the next. “I want a new menu,” she whispers. “But what?”

I whip out my phone and open my notes app. “What’s the meal you and Dean had on your first date?”

“Shrimp and cheddar grits for me, filet mignon for him.” She watches me type it in.

“If you go with the hors d’oeuvres versus sit-down dinner, maybe we offer stemless martini glasses of grilled shrimp. Maybe nix the grits because of the heat, or have it simmering so it doesn’t congeal. The guests can spoon it over their shrimp if they wish. We can marinate the shrimp in a cayenne sauce and broil cheddar on top. And for another appetizer, filet mignon kabobs with roasted mushrooms?”

She nods. “I like that.”

“Name the meal you guys had the night he proposed.” I jump my cursor down two lines and wait for her answer.

“
You’re brilliant!” Ellie beams.

“No, it’s just I’ve been to plenty of parties where all that’s required is mingling and eating.”

“Still, what would I do without you? You’re like a wedding goddess and a peacekeeper wrapped into one.”

That’s a compliment, right? “You shouldn’t be worrying about food, music, flowers, or if everyone’s getting along. That’s my job.
Our
job.” I glance over at Mrs. Covington.

Ellie looks beyond me to her mother. “How does everything sound? Doable?”

“Like you said, she’s brilliant.” Mrs. Covington smiles and a touch of appreciation brightens her eyes and lifts her wrinkles.

“Is that enough variety, Mrs. Covington?” I ask. “Should we add fruit and possibly chicken?”

“Yes, I think that would complement the other selections. Maybe a citrus chicken and berries versus melons?” She points at my phone, then rises from the table. “Meet with the caterer and see if the changes are doable, otherwise, we’ll have to see if the kitchen staff here can accommodate the head count. Where are we with numbers?” She tugs on her cardigan and smooths the wrinkles in her linen pants.

“Five twenty,” I say. “We could forfeit a third of the tables if we go the hors d’oeuvres route.”

“Let’s cut half and up the number of dance tunes; this will force the guests to mingle. Eleanor, how does that sound to you, darling?”

“Like a dream. Dean and I’ll work on the song list.” She rises from the table and walks Mrs. Covington to the door. “Won’t you stay for dinner?”

“
I’m going to head back to the town house in a bit. I learned much today and need to digest it over a bottle of wine.” She kisses Ellie’s cheeks. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

“You know,” Quinn says as he makes his way over to her, “a little SoCo might work faster.”

She pats his arm and smiles. “Still as thoughtful as I remember.”

“Part of my charm.”

I join Quinn and Ellie in the foyer. “Quinn, the tailor called and said he could squeeze you in tonight. Seven okay?”

“Tux at seven, sure.” He nods then adds, “And thanks for your—for everything.”

“Yes,” Ellie says. “I’m sorry you had to hear all of our problems.”

“We all have them.” And that’s the truth.

Chapter
9

Quinn

“Quincy?” Mom knocks gently on the door. Like she even knows how to be gentle. “Quincy, open the door.”

“The darkroom stays dark for a reason. Can we talk later?” I dump more developer in the tray before submerging the photo.

“
Since you’ve decided to grace us with your presence, I’ve seen the Covington spirit collapse. The wedding is weeks away and I can’t have your sisters portraying a divided front because they can’t agree whether to hate you or love you. Deal with this, Quincy.”

I sling the plastic tongs across the room into the sink and run my hand through my hair. I inhale a little too strongly and cough out the sulfuric stench of mixed chemicals. “Just . . . leave. Okay? I don’t know what to tell you. I’m sorry. I really am, but I won’t beg for their forgiveness. They’ll come around when they’re ready.”

“John Quincy Covington, open this door now.” Mom bangs harder, snapping me from the recollection.

I scan the room, and not seeing anything light sensitive except the ruined picture in the developer, I rinse my hands, unlock the door and swing it open.

“Thank you,” she spouts.

I stare at her, waiting for her knife-jabbing words to bleed me dry.

She inhales; her chest puffs up. Her lips tighten across her face but the wrinkles around her eyes soften. It’s the first time I’ve seen her go mild since I’ve returned.

“Let’s find middle ground. Be the brother they need.”

“That’s just it, Mom; they don’t
need
me anymore, so don’t push the issue.” I dry my hands on my shirt, then tuck them in my pockets.

“You’re the one who walked away.” She purses her lips and sighs, nostrils flaring larger than a horse’s. “Before this wedding, make amends with your sisters . . . and the community.”

“Is that what this is really about? The community? Shall I run an ad in the local press and beg forgiveness on bended knee? Or shall I tell them the truth?”

Her lips tighten over her teeth.

“
Why is it so important for me to catch up with everyone? They’re different. I’m different. I went to the yacht club like you asked, what more do you want?”

“You’re right, we’re all different. Five years changes a person.” Mom grabs my arms and gives it an affectionate squeeze. Something she hasn’t done since I was young. “Some change for the better . . . like Annabeth.”

I growl and wrench my arm loose. “I’ve long gotten over Annabeth. While yes, she can be a charming girl and has proven time and time again how well she fits in with the Covingtons, she doesn’t fit in with me. Like you’ve said, five years changes a person. It changes your perception of your past and sets expectations for people you bring into your present. Please, can we drop this?”

Mom looks as if I’d slapped her. I didn't mean to sound so brash but, God, what do I have to say to get my point across?

“How can you say she doesn’t fit in with you? You haven’t even talked to her. All I’m asking is for you to give her an hour of your time. Be sure, before you write her off completely.” Mom pats me on the arm and offers a smile. A freaking smile. “Don’t say a pair of shoes doesn’t fit before you’ve tried them on. They just might be exactly what you’re looking for.”

Unbelievable. “I can do that, but only if they’re the right size. The ones you want me to like are two sizes too small and I know for a fact they’ll suffocate me.”

Her lips part, bob together several times then she huffs out an exhale. “I’m heading to town. Don’t forget to get measured for your tux and suit. I had to beg the tailor to add to our order, so be prompt and gracious.” She turns on her heels and marches up the steps. No sorry. No indication she heard one word of our conversation. Kind of like the day I left.

I
head back into the darkroom and just as I press the door closed, it nudges open. What now?

Kat pushes her way through. She blinks several times, eyes adjusting to the faint orange glow. She walks beneath the hanging photos, touching every other one. “You’re good.”

She hoists up onto the counter, pulling her legs in and wedges into the corner. I study her, then the freedom outside the door. When she was small, she’d sit in here for hours, twirling her blond hair around her fingers. Not talking. But she’s all opinion lately, so who knows what she’s doing here. Aside from shooting poison darts out her eyes.

I close the door, lock it, and move back to the enlarger to redo the photo. I pull out the negative and flip it over before sliding it back in place. Cassidy’s fuzzy profile marks the tabletop. I twist a knob until the freckles on her nose come into focus. I’d caught her sitting under the magnolias on one of my ventures across the property. I’d snapped the picture, freezing her carefree gaze peering through the leaves as she squeezed a book to her chest. I run my finger over her parted lips, wishing I could feel their warmth instead of the cool board beneath the projected image. I flip the light and the image disappears.