Tiger Lillie (23 page)

“Oh no. It’s perfect. Men like nice round butts. They really do.”

No kidding.

“No kidding, Lillie,” he says. “Who wants a pile of bones sitting on his lap? Ouch.”

We ride toward the house and I stare at the card. It didn’t really matter what he had written; the fact that he’d written it at all held me captive.

That and one word.

Brave.

“Brave? You think I’m brave?”

“The way you went out to Tacy’s to confront your brother-in-law? The way you went back? Of course.”

“That wasn’t brave. Hannah Grace could be dead now for all I know.” And it all goes liquid inside of me, like cold butter dropped in a hot skillet.

He pulls into a space near my house. He takes my hand. And he gathers me to him as I sob, mouth open and wet against his shirt. Even though we try to busy ourselves, to keep situations at arm’s length, they still progress inside our souls. They don’t stop eating at the lining. He breathes steadily, and after a minute I realize I’ve adjusted my sobs to his rhythm, or perhaps he adjusted his breathing to mine. And that quick observation stills my crying, and I turn my cheek to his chest and rest in the beating of his heart.

“Whatever you have to do, you do. I’ll be right there with you, Lillie.”

I sit up and shuffle in my purse for a tissue. “Stan’s wedding is in two days. The next day, that Sunday, I’ll go out there.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“I’d like that. Thank you.” I don’t want to talk about this anymore. So I blow my nose then put on some Chapstick. “I thought sure she’d use that cell phone by now.”

He smiles, then says, “The Admiral Fell Inn should be filling up now. Are you sure we booked enough rooms?”

Man, he’s good.

“Positive. And don’t forget, the majority of the guests are making their own arrangements. You sure you don’t want me to ride with you down to the airport to get your mom?”

“Oh yes. Definitely. She’ll be three sheets to the wind anyway. I mean, some things you don’t mind waving around for all the world to see, but some things you do.”

There are times when I look at him, a weakness unfolds. More to the point, a fragility, like the moist glittering wings of a butterfly uncurling from its cocoon, and I love him even more.

20

Lillie

The rehearsal dinner, given by Ursula herself, is the only normal thing about this affair. We are sitting in a private dining room at Sabatino’s in Little Italy, eating pasta and drinking wine, patiently biding our time until the desserts—cannoli, Italian wedding cake, gelati, tiramisu, and only Ursula knows what else—arrive. The Italian owners hover, aloof, dark men who give off that peculiar Mediterranean vibe when talking with the women they deem merely the female means to an end, not the end itself.

My cell phone rings as the dinner plates are cleared.

I read the caller ID. “It’s Tacy’s phone,” I whisper to Gordon. “I’ll be right back.”

In the hallway, on the third ring, I punch the button. “Tacy?”

“Stay away from my wife.” Rawlins’s voice sounds calm, but it scares me. My heart races.

“I can’t do that.”

“You will. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Are you threatening me, Rawlins?”

“I’m protecting my family. Nothing more.”

I hear a crash in my ear, and the line goes dead. He destroyed the phone. I know it.

On shaky legs I walk back into the dining room.

“How is she?” Gordon asks.

“It was Rawlins.”

“Blast.”

Exactly.

“Let’s go out there tonight. Just to scope out the scene. I’ve got to get them out of there, but I’ve got to know what I’m up against. I feel this is bigger than we know, Gordon.”

“I do as well.”

So it grows.

“Maybe we should just try and get them out of there.”

Gordon nods. “You’re the boss.”

Pleasance accompanies us. Truth is, she can whip me at rock climbing any day of the week. And she runs faster, too.

It’s three a.m.

I turn around in the passenger seat of the Volvo. She sits quietly in the back. “I know this is asking a lot the night before our biggest gig ever.”

She shakes her head and waves a hand. “This is more important. No matter what happens, Gert’s got everything under control. And she’s handy with a needle if we need any last-minute adjustments. Let’s just hope things don’t turn violent.”

Pleasance wears all black, climbing shoes snug on her feet if she needs to get up to the second floor.

“Thank you, Pleasance.”

“Sometimes we just have to do this sort of thing, Lillie. If there is any way possible, I’ll get that baby down.”

I picture her, Hannah Grace strapped to her back as she carefully locates proper footholds. I imagine myself wanting to cry out time after time, “Be careful!” and forcing myself mute. So I’ll dance like a boxer on the ground, left foot to right, right foot to left, ready to break any fall that might occur. Gordon holds my hand. “You just get your sister out of there, love. Pleasance and I will take care of the rest.”

It’s grown in the last few hours, this mission. If we get in, we might as well do what needs to be done. “I’ve never in all my wildest dreams imagined this.”

“Who does?” Gordon says. He’s ready as our driver. He’s pulling up along the side of the road, near the end of the driveway, where we’ll keep the engine running for our return.

I grab the door handle. “Ready then?”

Pleasance nods. “Let’s go, Lillie Pad.”

Over the border. Over the border. You can do this.

We work our way through the brush and onto the property, staying close to the bushes once we emerge. We watch for a while, checking the movement of the guard. His circuit becomes predictable. Around the house and out to the barn. Around the back of that building to the stables. That takes him about three minutes.

“We don’t have much time,” I whisper. And we make our plans.

As arranged, Pleasance runs toward the front porch to look inside the windows and check the locks on the front door. I run toward the almighty deck to do the same at the back entry.

I fear the boards will creak, but I should have known better. Not on Rawlins’s deck. How dare they?

Breathe. Breathe.

The motion sensors have illumined the scene, but I meld as far into the shadows as possible. There they are, three deadbolts above the doorknob. Wow. There’s no way.

I peer into the window. The light in the oven hood shines warmly, all looks clean and normal. A real-life kitchen. It all looks so normal.

Ouch!

A pair of iron arms circles me.

“Gotcha!”

I look down. They are large arms, covered in dark hair. They are not Rawlins’s arms.

Pleasance hollers and kicks as she is dragged up the porch steps by Rawlins. Dear God, he’s holding a gun. Why didn’t I bring mine?

“You didn’t know about the cameras, did you, Lillian?” he hisses. “You don’t get it, do you?” Will this be the day of his unstitching? He pushes Pleasance toward me. “Let her go, Anthony.”

The arms free me.

Rawlins leans against the deck railing. “You’ve given me no choice, Lillian. I’ve tried to be a good sport about this.”

“No choice? What do you mean, ‘no choice’?”

“Get out of here now, before I shoot you.”

“I want my sister!”

He moves forward, pointing the gun at me. “I said,
get out.
”

Gordon materializes.

“Who’s that?” Rawlins asks.

“My fiancé.”

Rawlins points to Gordon’s cane and laughs. “Wonderful. An invalid.”

Gordon steps forward. “You might consider a more rational approach to this, Rawlins.”

“I’m perfectly rational. Furthermore, this discussion is done.” He turns his back on us and places his hand on the screen door. He turns back to look at us.

“Come on, Lillie,” Pleasance says, breathing heavily. “There’s always tomorrow.” She stares Rawlins down, but he doesn’t budge.

“This isn’t the end of the matter,” I tell him. “Not nearly.”

“Oh yes, it is. You’ll see. Take them to their car, Anthony. You brought this on yourself, Lillian. It was one thing to battle this on your own, but now you’ve brought others into the situation. You’ll be sorry.”

He enters the house before I can retort.

We walk back to the Volvo, Anthony three steps behind, gun one step closer. He remains in the shadows as we climb inside the car.

Gordon speeds away. “I’m in this now, sweetheart. All the way.”

“Me too,” say Pleasance. “That man is scary. We’ve got to get them out of there.”

“Oh, we will,” I promise them and myself. “No mistake about it.”

Six a.m. I jam down the button on my old, wind-up alarm. Sorry, but nothing wakes me up like that shrill bell, only two hours of “sleep” not with standing.

Throwing back the covers, I jump out of my cozy bed and begin throwing on my jeans and T-shirt. This is our uniform today, until the wedding, of course. The T-shirts, bright orange for clear visibility, declare us EXTREME in purple letters on front and back. I ordered them and thoroughly enjoyed the groans as I unpacked them. My wedding clothes, the caramel dress and bone pumps, are already hanging in Gordon’s suite at The Admiral Fell.

Oh man. Tacy. I picture Rawlins and his big gun. A Glock no less.

I try to shove it out of my mind as I pour a cup of strong coffee into my travel mug. Thank You, God, for timers on coffee makers. Thank You, God, Mom and Dad are still asleep and none the wiser.

Out the door and in the car, I make my way down to the floral tent setup on the pier. Cristoff didn’t come home last night as he and his team prepared the bouquets, which are quite amazing. It saddens me to think they’ll be dead by tomorrow. But a pallor has overshadowed all of this. I just need to make it through the day. I slow my steps and remember to pray, and I wonder what God will do, how I’ll ever be able to make the needed rescue. I long for the woods behind the manse, for the circling buzz of bees, for the rustle of a squirrel in the trees, but only traffic and the shutting of car doors sing along with my prayers. I feel no comfort, but a meaty resolve begins to build inside me, conceived by a muscular panic, hearty and unable to be restrained forever. I wish God would take care of Rawlins without my aid, but the collection of strength has begun, and more will arrive. To whom much is given, much is required, and my heart cries out, “Why me?” But I know the answer, spoken by my own voice.
Because there’s no one else who can.
I have failed in my own strength and now, while a different strength collects, I must wait on God.

Ten minutes later, I step inside the green-and-white striped tent. Cristoff runs over. “We finished thirty minutes ago. We’re set to go.”

“Good. Let’s get going on the reception setup. The rental companies should be arriving at eight.”

“Got it. Can you believe this? Did you ever, sweetie?”

“Not in a million years.”

“Let’s go. It’s going to take at least an hour to put the plants around.”

So we walk up the brick pier toward the barge. A mammoth white tent, the harbor purple with morning behind it, sails like a galleon. Streamers of flowers and ribbons scalloping the temporary handrails we circled around the barge’s perimeter—safety first for this sue-happy crowd—will lend the barge a sumptuous yet protected quality. Cristoff’s words, not mine. In other words, large but intimate. See? Anything’s possible.

“This is going to be great, honey.”

Cristoff already occupies the zone. “Let’s start with the magnolia trees. We strung the lights last night.”

The reception is set to begin at seven p.m., dotted with lots of twinkle lights and candles galore. Galore.

“How about the church?”

“We’re going over after this to start setting up the candelabra and the pew decorations. It should take several hours.”

You can imagine, right? Tulle, silk ribbons, ivy, roses, and all the rest I can’t remember and am not paid to.

“How about the table decorations?”

“On schedule. We’ve got the major portion of them together. The delicate blooms will go in during the ceremony.”

“The
Torsk
? How about that?”

“The flags are on, Lillie, and beyond that, there’s just not room for anything but the bar. I still can’t believe they’re even letting us use it.”

“Hey, money talks.”

He leans down and grabs the pale pink foil-wrapped pot of a magnolia tree. “Ready?”

“Oh yeah.”

Gordon arrives fifteen minutes later.

“What are you doing here, babe?” I ask.

“You don’t think I’d let you do this all by yourself, do you? I do feel like an unofficial member of Extremely Odd these days.”

Cristoff and his crew begin placing plants at light speed, consulting his carefully drawn diagrams. “It’s not like I don’t have help!”

“Then at least share a cup of coffee with me.” He holds up a basket. “They made this up for me at The Admiral Fell.” He pulls out a muffin the size of a footstool and holds it under my nose.

“You’re too much.”

“Yeah. Isn’t it fun? I’ll even tear the paper off for you.”

After last night, I could use a little pampering.

Okay, so I could list all the movie stars, rock stars, artists, and overall famous people, but I won’t. Suffice it to say, “Everybody is here.”

Everybody, dahling.

The wedding itself went off without mishap other than the fact that Ursula poked a heel through her long veil five minutes before her walk down the aisle of the church. Pleasance, a sea of calm during these times, sewed another length of tulle on in less than two minutes.

From where I sat with the family, a new experience for me (and a very hard one as I knew nothing about anything going on behind the scenes), I couldn’t help but cry. Stan sang her a song he’d written, and stodgy Ursula, looking gorgeous, actually wiped away a tear. Gordon squeezed my hand and whispered, “I honestly thought I’d never see this day.”

Miracles never cease, do they? I can only pray that’s true.