The Wedding Circle (4 page)

Maura Beth was growing weary of the gamesmanship and decided to turn the tables. “So you're thinking of appearing in something off the rack?”

The gasp at the other end of the phone was quite audible and genuine. “Maura Beth, what on earth would make you say a thing like that to me?”

“Oh, I don't know. Maybe the redundant nature of this phone call. We keep having the same conversations about everything, and you know good and well neither one of us is going to change her mind.”

Another gasp followed. “So you'd rather not hear from your mother? Is that what you're saying?”

In spite of everything, Maura Beth indulged a smile. If she could back down Councilman Sparks no matter what he threw at her these days, she could handle her mother's trademark manipulations. “Now, you know that's not what I'm saying. Mama, I just wish you would try to be a little more open-minded when you and Daddy come up here. Why don't you pack like you were going to Europe for the summer? You've done that enough over the years.”

The laughter that followed had a derisive edge. “Oh, surely you're not comparing Cherico to Europe, Maura Beth!”

“Mama, I don't know what else to say to you. Your hosts, the McShays, are perfectly lovely, generous people. All my friends are. You're going to have a wonderful time up here, if you'll just leave your preconceived notions at home.”

There was hopeful silence. Then, “Well, perhaps there's no harm in that. But I had another question for you. Do you think your father and I should actually read
The Robber Bridegroom,
or can we just kibitz? I did all the book reports I ever intended to do in high school and at Tulane.”

“Whatever you prefer. We have members of The Cherry Cola Book Club who come to eat and socialize, while others take the literary aspects very seriously. And then we have some who do both. If you'd be more comfortable just observing, then that's fine by me.”

Cara Lynn's sigh was clearly plaintive. “Then I guess we'll just sit on the sidelines. I'll just think of it as another dull party. But I have to be honest and tell you that we're not looking forward to the long drive up. Five and a half hours of plowing through Mississippi.”

“Mama, you're too much,” Maura Beth said, more amused than disappointed. “They don't let the kudzu completely cover the interstates up here, you know. A few feet of concrete are still exposed so you won't lose your way. And if you don't feel like driving, you can always fly to Memphis and rent a car.”

“No, thanks. The planes these days are like buses with wings. And they even charge you for the peanuts now. I can't think of anything I'd rather do less.”

“Then it's all settled,” Maura Beth added, wanting more than anything else to end the conversation before things got too out of hand and she was tempted to say something she might regret. “You and Daddy will drive up in two weeks for all the festivities and become the smash hit of Cherico. There's not a doubt in my mind.”

“All right, then,” Cara Lynn said, though not sounding wholly convinced. “If this is what you really want.”

“Trust me, Mama. It really is.”

There was no response at the other end, but Maura Beth could tell from the sound of her mother's breathing that she had something else on her mind. Finally, it came out.

“About your wedding dress . . .”

“Oh, I've narrowed it down to two since we talked about it last,” Maura Beth said. “I'll have pictures of both of the ones I like best from Bluff City Bridal in Memphis. When you come up, you can help me make the final decision. One's an A-line design, and the other is an Empire.”

“Empire?!” The disapproval in Cara Lynn's voice almost took on a life of its own. “Please tell me you aren't pregnant and that's the reason you didn't want to have the wedding down here!”

Maura Beth's initial surprise soon turned to exasperation, but she took a deep breath and steadied herself. “Of course not, Mama. You know me better than that. I just like the high waist, that's all.”

There was more silence—at least thirty seconds of it—and Maura Beth even began to wonder if they'd lost the connection. “Mama? Are you still there?”

“Yes, I'm here.”

“Listen, if you think the Empire dress will make people talk, we'll go with the A-line.” Maura Beth was careful to keep a smile in her voice, but Cara Lynn seemed determined to channel the drama queen inside.

“There was . . . something else I'd like you to consider. I didn't bring it up last time because, well, I was so distracted by all of your other wedding decisions. I'm just the mother of the bride, you know.”

Maura Beth continued to extend the olive branch. “Mama, you're so much more than that, and you know it. So please go right on ahead and tell me what's on your mind?”

“It's just that you and I are the same size. And I was thinking that maybe you might consider wearing
my
wedding dress. It's in wonderful shape since it's been in cold storage all these years with my winter furs. You've seen it in my wedding pictures, of course. It's sort of A-line-ish. And if you wore it, that would bring at least a little of our New Orleans tradition into the ceremony.”

Well, there it was—full-blown. Maternal pressure as only Cara Lynn Mayhew could conjure up. What to say and what to do? Delaying tactics definitely seemed the order of the day.

“Could I mull it over a bit and get back to you?”

“Yes, of course you can. I just thought I'd go ahead and put the bug in your ear.”

“Oh, it's there, Mama. I can feel it crawling around.”

Finally, a note of laughter from the both of them lightened an overwhelmingly leaden conversation. “Yes, well, you think about it and let me know. I could even bring my dress up on my visit and let you see it up close.”

“Okay, Mama. I promise I'll get back to you soon.”

After they'd hung up, Maura Beth stood beside the kitchenette counter frowning for the longest time. She wasn't even going to tell Jeremy about this latest development. It was just between herself and her mother, and she needed to dig down and make the right decision. An old, A-line-ish dress versus something brand-new and sparkling. Her mother's approval versus pleasing herself. Which was it going to be?

 

It was after Maura Beth's candlelight dinner of spaghetti, French bread, and tomato and avocado salad an hour or so later that Jeremy got the idea. “I don't know why we didn't think of it before,” he began, while helping Maura Beth clear the cozy dining table that still managed to take up half of their living room. “I mean, all this time we've been focusing on your parents coming up for
The Robber Bridegroom
review. But sooner or later, the Brentwood McShays and the New Orleans Mayhews have got to get together. It's probably a good idea to get that over with before we leave for the honeymoon, don't you think?”

Maura Beth tried her best not to smile at his attempt at humor but couldn't help herself. “There you go again, Jeremy McShay. Such a grasp of the obvious.”

“So, why not invite my parents down from Brentwood for the book club meeting, too? Let's be optimistic for a change. Maybe our mothers will really hit it off. For instance, they could talk about Mom's craft boutique down at the Cool Springs Galleria. It's exactly the kind of upscale store you said your mother likes.”

Maura Beth began her task of rinsing off dishes. They had agreed to take turns, and this happened to be her night. “I don't know. Mama's not too much of an artsy-craftsy type, although she does love jewelry. She's more of a ‘shop 'til you drop' girl—particularly when it comes to the right clothes.”

Jeremy handed her another plate and snickered. “Well, then, they could talk fashion. That would give them something in common. Plus, Mom went to Sweet Briar, and you said your mother went to Tulane, right?”

“Only until she got engaged. She'd never admit it, of course, but that's why she enrolled in the first place. And sure enough, she met Daddy there while he was in law school.”

Jeremy lifted his right eyebrow smugly. “So what's the big deal if she was on safari? You were the result, Maurie, and as far as I'm concerned, it doesn't get any better than you.”

She turned to him briefly and flashed a flirtatious smile. “It's just that I was very serious about becoming a librarian at LSU. I had a completely different approach to my education. I knew exactly where I was going, and my parents haven't really gotten that into their heads to this day.”

“Well, look at it this way. Dad taught psychology at Vandy for decades. That's three very good private schools among the in-law résumés right there. Chances are, they'll all hit it off.”

“I certainly hope so. But do Connie and Douglas have enough space to accommodate the four of them out there?”

“They've got three huge bedrooms,” he told her, “and you've seen how high the ceilings are downstairs. Uncle Doug always claims there's an echo in the place whenever anybody walks in and says, ‘Hello!' No, I think our parents couldn't bump into each other if they tried.”

Maura Beth turned from the dishes and caught Jeremy's gaze firmly. Neither of them was afraid to look the other straight in the eye when something important needed to be said. “I want you to understand one thing, though. You and I will bend over backward to welcome my parents and try to assure them that we know what we're doing. But if they still balk when all is said and done, it won't change my mind about our marriage. Sure, it would be nice to have their blessing. But if that doesn't happen, it's their loss. Not to mention, it's our life.”

Jeremy gave her an impulsive hug and another of his lingering kisses. “That's my Maurie,” he said, pulling back with a smile that was definitely on the sexy side of wicked. “Hey, why don't we leave the dishes for later and head on in to that purple bedroom of yours? I'll fire up this little votive candle I just blew out and take it in with us.”

She didn't hesitate, quickly wiping her hands on the lavender dish towel hanging over the sink. “You just lead the way. I didn't make any dessert.”

4

Sneaky Boys, Sneaky Men

A
n unexpected little drama at The Twinkle Twinkle Café was unfolding, and Maura Beth was there to witness it from start to finish. She, Periwinkle Lattimore, and Mr. Parker Place had huddled at one of the larger tables during the lull between the lunch and dinner crowds, and were planning the menu for the upcoming visit of the Mayhews and the Brentwood McShays.
The Robber Bridegroom
review and potluck was less than a week away, so there was a sense of urgency in their give-and-take; but everyone was in a cooperative mood, realizing the importance of the event. They had gotten as far as the first course when Periwinkle's trusty waitress, Lalie Bevins, emerged from the kitchen with her son, Barry, in tow. He was doing his best to pull away from her, but she was having none of it.

The family resemblance was very striking. Mother and son had the same round, rosy-cheeked faces and short stature. They parted company dramatically when it came to their dark hair, however; she wore hers slicked back in a ponytail tied with an ordinary rubber band, while he had engineered his into trendy-looking, short spikes. To further announce his presence to the world around him, Barry sported a blue-green tattoo on his right forearm that read in big block letters:
I'M STILL GROWIN'

“Miz Peri, Mr. Place, Miz Mayhew,” Lalie began, acknowledging each of them with an exaggerated nod. “I want y'all to hear this from the horse's mouth. Go ahead, son, tell 'em!”

Barry said nothing at first, flashing on his mother all the while.

“You're not goin' anywhere until you tell 'em!” she insisted, holding firmly on to his arm.

“What's this all about, Lalie?” Periwinkle asked, putting her pen and paper aside for the moment and rising from the table.

“His sassy little girlfriend is what,” she answered quickly. “You tell 'em right now, Barry!”

“I didn't think it'd be such a big deal, Miz Peri. Honest,” he finally managed. “It was just one baked custard is all. I sneaked one to my girlfriend, Mollie, when she came in yesterday. I'll pay for it myself if you want.”

While Periwinkle seemed to take the confession without blinking, Maura Beth could not have been more surprised to hear it. She'd received nothing but glowing reports from Periwinkle about The Twinkle's first home delivery boy. Indeed, the brand-new Twinkle in a Twinkle takeout service was catching on, and Barry Bevins was getting rave reviews from all over Greater Cherico in the form of unsolicited phone calls from satisfied customers. And so far, he had yet to run a stop sign or red light, been caught speeding, or made so much as the tiniest dent in The Twinkle's white-panel van.

Maura Beth sat back and marveled at the way Periwinkle skillfully handled the situation. “Well, Barry, you must be goin' out with an invisible girlfriend because I didn't see her in here yesterday, and my eye doctor says there's not a thing wrong with my vision. So what's the real story here?”

“Umm . . . well, Miz Peri, Mollie came in the delivery door in back when you and Mr. Place were on a break.”

Periwinkle raised an eyebrow. “Was this the only time you've helped yourself to food without telling us?”

He appeared to be considering his options—his eyes darting around like pinballs before he finally spoke. “Well, there was one more time. But that's all, I swear it. And please don't blame Mollie. She didn't ask me to do it. I was just tryin' to impress her, I guess. But, well, she did tell me once that she'd like to try something that had sherry in it. She, uh, dares me to do things a lot.”

“You realize you can't be sneakin' food from the restaurant, young man. But if you'd asked, I would have worked out something for you—like maybe half price because you're an employee.”

“Are you . . . gonna fire me?” he asked, blushing bright pink and staring down at his sneakers.

Periwinkle exchanged glances with both Maura Beth and Mr. Place but somehow managed a stern smile. “I believe in second chances because our customers have told me you're gettin' their food to them on time. Miz Connie McShay out at the lake swears by you.”

Barry looked up, brightening considerably. “Yeah, she's my biggest tipper. Same order every time—lotsa tomato aspics.”

Periwinkle maintained her somber tone. “You understand that the second chance I'll give you is based on no more freebies from the fridge when nobody's around, don'tcha?”

“I think you should dock him, no matter what, Miz Peri,” Lalie put in, her nose in the air. “He needs to learn him a lesson. I didn't bring him up to steal from people, especially from someone who's been as good to me as you have. It's prob'ly 'cause his father and me got divorced when he was little. I've tried to do my best with him on my own.”

“Tell ya what,” Periwinkle said, taking it all in with a serene demeanor. “You pay half price for the two you stole, Barry, and I'll consider we're even. Have we got a deal?”

“Yeah, we got a deal. Thank you, Miz Peri,” he answered, looking very relieved as the two shook hands.

“And you don't have to sneak your girlfriend in the back door, either,” Periwinkle added. “You bring her in through the front so we can visit and get to know her a little better. That is, if you're serious about the relationship. I have to assume you are, the way you're movin' my custard on the sly.”

“Yes, ma'am, I am,” Barry told her with conviction in his voice. “I mean, I'm sixteen now, and I have this real good job here. Hey, there's nothin' I like better than drivin' all around town. I sure never thought I'd get paid for it and get such awesome tips. These two high-school buddies a' mine, Scott and ‘Crispy'—well, his real name's Lawrence, but he likes bacon so much we all call him Crispy—anyhow, my buddies are so jealous of the money I'm makin.' And then they both wish they could be goin' out with a hottie like Mollie Musselwhite. It's so sweet—I got it all over 'em.”

“You keep at it, son. I can assure you that being a hard worker will impress any sixteen-year-old girl. And when it comes to tips, here's the best one I can give you about women in general: We're all of us on the lookout for solid, responsible men,” Periwinkle told him.

“Well, I think it's a good thing we nipped this in the bud,” Lalie said, getting in a final word. “It was Mollie's mother who called me up and put me on to it, and I brought it straight to ya as soon as I heard, Miz Peri.”

“For which I thank you.” She paused to reflect, briefly bit her lip, and then nodded. “So, I think we're done here.”

At which point Lalie and Barry headed back into the kitchen and Periwinkle resumed her seat, gathering her notes in front of her once again. “Now, where were we, folks? I believe we'd whittled it down to either a cucumber and red onion salad or my tomato aspic for the first course.”

“I vote for the cucumber and red onion,” Mr. Place said. “Not quite as heavy on the tummy in this August heat, you know. By the way, that was well done back there with Barry.”

Periwinkle's smile was clearly not of the surface variety, and she even winked at him at the end. “There's nothin' I can't handle, Parker.”

Maura Beth quietly observed the two of them throughout the rest of the meeting. It was the subtle things she couldn't help but notice: a stolen glance now and then; the tone of voice they used with one another; even reaching out to touch in what could only be described as a flirtatious manner. It was becoming apparent that they were probably moving beyond the friendship stage. Periwinkle had even suggested as much to Maura Beth recently. “Parker's just such a change from Harlan and those sneaky ways he tries to take advantage of me,” she had revealed at one point. “But Parker's pastries aren't the only thing sweet about him, and I think I'm ready for that kind of man in my life right now.”

But Maura Beth also wondered frankly just how open they were prepared to be about their relationship and what steps they might take next. Yes, it was the millennium, but it was still the small-town South and all that came with that. A burgeoning romance between a black man and a white woman might not attract the attention it once did, but it still wasn't the sort of thing it was wise to flaunt. Not to mention that he was still living with his elderly mother, Ardenia, on Big Hill Lane, and Periwinkle still drove home every night to her house halfway between Cherico and Corinth, thankfully with audiobooks from the library to keep her company. Was some sort of epic change looming on the horizon?

Periwinkle was pleased with all the decisions she, Maura Beth, and her Parker had made earlier regarding the upcoming dinner for the parents of the bride and groom. The menu had been set: cucumber and red onion salad; followed by spice-rubbed, grilled chicken breasts with homemade chunky salsa; and finally, Parker's key lime icebox pie for dessert. Despite what she had heard about Maura Beth's parents, she couldn't imagine that anyone could possibly be picky about delicious fare like that. After all, her livelihood was based on the truism that everyone spoke the common language of good food.

Now it was time to close up and drive home at the end of yet another successful day of business at The Twinkle. Her Parker had made it known from the beginning of his employment that he didn't much like her being the last one standing at ten o'clock every night, and he had intervened as the gentleman he was.

“I don't mind staying a half hour longer to lock up with you,” he had insisted that first time on the job. “I'd feel better about things.”

“Hey, I've done it for years, and I'm a big girl,” she had told him. “I have mace on the premises, and I took a self-defense class a few years back. You just go on home and look after that sweet little mother of yours. You give Ardenia my best, now.” And with a carefree wink, she had sent him on his way ahead of her—even if their send-offs these days had now escalated into long, heartfelt hugs, followed by delicious little pecks on the cheek.

In fact, the warm, fuzzy feelings generated by their latest good-bye were coursing through her veins as she turned the back-door key and headed toward her Impala. She always parked it in the slot beside the big, rusty-looking Dumpster, which for some reason she had come to think of as a stout sentinel looking after her precious Twinkle. She was also daydreaming about the humorous text she had received during the dinner service from up-and-coming country singer, Waddell Mack, telling her that he planned to stop by The Twinkle next time he was passing through Cherico on his way to Nashville. i hear ur place is word of mouthwatering, the text had concluded, causing her to break out into laughter to the surprise of everyone working in the kitchen. Why, if he actually showed up and ate her food, she might just have to start a wall of autographed celebrity pictures! That might really put The Twinkle on the map!

Thus, her guard was down when the long shadow cast from a nearby streetlight fell ominously across the asphalt stretching out in front of her. In an instant, her arms were encircled and pinned behind her as a gruff male voice declared: “Guess who, Peri?”

She felt like she had been stabbed with a hypodermic full of adrenaline as she got out a couple of piercing screams for help. But the voice immediately intervened. “Stop all that yelling, Peri! It's just me, Harlan!”

He loosened his grip, allowing her to break away from him. Then she spun around, her eyes filled with contempt. “What the hell do you think you're doing?! You scared me to death sneaking up on me like that!”

“It was just a joke. I didn't mean anything by it. But seriously, I need to talk to you,” he said, softening his tone a bit.

She brandished her car keys in front of his face. “Some joke! You see these? I was fixin' to put your eyes out with 'em. Or give you a swift kick to that almighty junk of yours you prize so highly. What on earth's wrong with you? You wanna talk to me—you call me up like a normal human being and say what you gotta say. Or you show up in broad daylight when there are witnesses around. Whadda you mean stalkin' me like this in the parking lot?”

“Stop making such a fuss. I wanted to get it straight from you,” he continued, exhaling as she lowered her keys.

“Get what straight from me?”

The lines in his face definitely hardened. “Don't you play so innocent with me, Peri. You know damn well what I'm talking about. Is it true that you're seeing that . . . that—”

She cut him off quickly, thrusting the keys at him once again. “Don't you dare say that word to me! Don't you even think about it!”

His laughter was dismissive. “I was gonna say . . .
that pastry chef
. See? You got all huffy for nothing.”