You’re Invited Too (25 page)

Speaking of Bubby . . . “Is our minister all in place?” I ask Lauren now, gesturing upriver.

Lauren rolls her eyes, but smiles. “Yep. She's all nestled into Vi's kayak at the curve in the river. Shuffleboard Dan is going to give it a shove into the water when the time comes, and then she'll paddle up at the perfect moment. It's not quite Elvis, like Alexandra Worthington requested, but she
is
wearing a hot pink muumuu and sequined Chucks—and waiting on your mom's signal.”

This is definitely going to be a wedding to remember. Exactly like Alexandra Worthington wants.

“Sadie, where do you want this?” I spin to see Dr. Bernstein and Officer Davis struggling with a giant mirror framed in gold leaf.

“I was hoping we could prop it near the food tables over by the reception site. Dr. B., can you write out the menu selections on it using these markers?”

I hand him special markers that write on glass and will erase when we're done.

“Sadie, I'm a doctor. You know the reputation we have for our handwriting, right?”

“Oh please, Dr. B. You're a
dentist
.”

He sighs deeply as I tuck the markers into the pocket of his jacket. “It'll get done.”

“Thanks!” I call after him and Officer Davis as they wrestle the mirror up the hill. Becca and Philippe pass them on their way down, holding hands. It's so weird to see that, but I have to admit, they look really good together. And happy.

“How goes it, peeps?” Becca asks.

I consult my clipboard again. “Decorations are pretty set. We still need to spread out all the blankets we collected to make them look like mini picnic spots. Each one gets a pillow and a teacup candle in the center, only we won't be lighting them when the sun goes down because of all the flammable fabric. Just for decoration. Then someone needs to organize all the food that people dropped by and—”

Becca cuts me off to say, “Mrs. Marks and Lance's mom are already doing that. Mrs. Travis brought a bunch of food from Stewie's, too, so it's almost like this thing will be catered. But better!”

“I hope they left out the liver and onions. Eww. But awesome otherwise,” I say. “I think we're mostly set. Becs, do you have the bouquet for the bride?”

“Yup! It's in my bike basket, hang on!”

When we found out we couldn't get flowers for the wedding in time, we thought about going around town and scrounging for them in gardens, but not that many flowers are still blooming this late in the year, and we were already asking everyone for so much else, and we didn't want to clean out their yards, too. Then Becca had the brilliant idea to take all the costume-jewelry brooches from the collection she'd begun at the Founder's Day yard sale to make the bouquet. Since then she's bought about a gazillion more off eBay (when the girl commits to a collection she commits), and Bubby contributed a ton of her own brooches to the cause.

Becca used a piece of colored card stock to make a paper cone and nestled a Styrofoam ball inside it like it was a scoop of ice cream. Then she took all the jeweled pins and poked them into the Styrofoam until every last inch was covered. With a long trailing ribbon tied to the cone, it's the most beautiful bouquet I've ever seen. I
hope
Alexandra will agree.

I trail Becca to the makeshift parking lot. “I expect guests will start arriving any second. We've got people stationed at just about every corner in town to direct any out-of-town cars this way.”

I smile at that image. I've loved Sandpiper Beach my whole entire life, but never more so than right this very second.

“I think we're ready,” I say, crossing my fingers and hoping for the best.

exhilaration
noun -

a feeling of happiness or excitement

Use in a sentence:

Sadie, Becca, Vi, and I are full of exhilaration that we've pulled this wedding together at the last minute. And that we never, ever, ever have to see Alexandra Worthington again.

A
nd here comes trouble,” Vi murmurs when Mr. Elldridge's black SUV swoops into the last bit of street parking we had saved for the bride.

We all take one huge, collective breath and step toward the car. Once everything got set up, the four of us ran over to the marina and changed—although we agreed to ditch the nice shoes for sturdy boots instead. The riverbanks are still a little muddy from the storm. Mr. Elldridge beams at us as he walks around to open the back door for Miss Worthington.

“Wait a moment,” she snaps just as he cracks the door. “I'm still fixing my eyelashes.”

Hands up, Mr. Elldridge backs away from his car.

“It's all right, Daddy,” Becca whispers to him. “We'll take it from here. Thanks for being the chauffeur.”

“Anything for my little girl,” he says. “Good luck.”

I could swear that he speed-walks away to the river site where everyone's waiting.

“I think you'll be happy with what we've pulled together,” Sadie says, in an only slightly trembling voice. “It looks really nice.”

The window slowly slides down to reveal Miss Worthington, decked out in her wedding dress, her hair up and with a (huge) sparkly tiara perched on her head. “Sadie-babe, what about the glider?” she demands, waving a mascara wand for emphasis. “I already had to do my own makeup. The least I can get is the glider. Is it coming?”

“Well,” Sadie says, “the runway at the little airport over in Live Oak Beach wasn't clear of debris yet, so—”

“What you're saying is that I don't have my glider.”

“Right . . .” Sadie trails off.

I try to pick up where she left off. “But you should see what you
do
have. It's pretty amazing.”

“What about my éclairs? You, Red, did you find my éclairs?”

Becca's eyebrows shoot up into her hair. “We were in a
hurricane shelter
,” she says.

“And?”

Sadie sighs. “We couldn't get any éclairs made in time, but we do have last-minute catering—sort of—and I promise it's some of the best food you'll ever taste.”

Miss Worthington makes a
hmph
sound. Somehow I don't think she's going to dig the barbeque from Stewie's or the Variety Shoppe's famous boiled peanuts. She doesn't say anything as she swipes at her eyelashes. When she finishes, she doesn't get out of the car.

That's not good.

I look to Sadie, who's deep in thought. Finally, she blows her bangs out of her eyes and reaches up to start to pull her hair into a ponytail before she remembers that her hair's been “done” by Becca, who'll lose it if Sadie messes it up.

“Look,” she says. “You just need to come out and see it. Everyone pitched in, and it's going to be a wedding to remember.”

Miss Worthington gives Sadie a withering stare. Then she surveys the rest of us. “Why is Blondie still blond?”

Vi opens her mouth, probably to tell Miss Worthington exactly where to stuff it, but before she can say anything, Miss Worthington starts talking again.

“Is the string ensemble here?”

“No—” Sadie says.

“What about my out-of-town guests?”

“Well, a little more than half of them are here. The ones who got in before the storm hit or who drove in today,” Sadie answers.

“Half?”

“More than half,” Sadie says in a small voice.

I'd have thought that one was pretty obvious. A hurricane usually means no one is flying in or out of town. She should be thrilled that a bunch of them did get here. But I know by now that logic isn't Miss Worthington's strong suit. Not by a mile.

Miss Worthington is actually glaring at us now. “I don't understand. I
hired
you to create my perfect day, and yet—”

Just then Ms. Mize, the algebra teacher/musician, swoops in and inserts herself between us and Miss Worthington.

“I know we haven't met,” she says in this bubbly voice, “but I have to tell you how wonderful it was to see most of the town out helping people find their way to this wedding! And only most because I think the rest are here doing other stuff. It's just all so charming and quaint. Everyone must think so much of you.”

“Ms. Mize plays the violin and agreed to step in when the string ensemble couldn't make it down from Wilmington,” Sadie explains.

Miss Worthington just blinks at Ms. Mize, who smiles at her and then excuses herself to get into place for the wedding march.

“I'm . . . confused,” Miss Worthington says.

“The guides,” I fill in. “We asked people who weren't coming to the wedding to help direct the traffic here, so that both the out-of-town guests and Ike's local guests could find the new venue.”

“Oh, I . . .” Miss Worthington touches her makeup case, and I'm pretty sure she was too busy looking at her face the whole ride over to notice any of the guides.

“And this is for you.” Becca unwraps the brooch bouquet from its pink tissue paper and holds it out for Miss Worthington.

She stares at it for a moment. Then she slowly opens the door and emerges from the car, white lace wedding dress cascading around her and the white sparkly tennis shoes Sadie convinced her to wear when the wedding relocated. She takes the bouquet and holds it as if it's something breakable.

“I hope you like it,” Becca says.

Miss Worthington just nods, still looking at all the little brooches that make up the bouquet.

“Do you think she likes it?” I whisper to Sadie.

Sadie shrugs. It's hard to tell with Miss Worthington, especially when she's oddly silent like she is now. It makes me think of how the others told me she acted at the cake tasting.

“Well, let's, um, head this way.” Sadie points toward the riverbank.

As Miss Worthington takes a few steps forward, Becca eyes the train of her dress dragging across the damp ground with this horrified look. She tosses the tissue paper from the bouquet to Vi, and gathers up the material to keep it from getting dirty.

Miss Worthington stops abruptly in front of the sign that Vi and Mr. Alberhasky made. Becca stumbles a little, and I reach out to catch her arm. Miss Worthington points at the sign. “What's this?” she asks in a sort of wobbly voice.

I peek around her. Oh my God. Miss Worthington is actually getting teary! I sort of expect a comet to hurl itself across the sky, or the tides to reverse completely.

“Dad and I made it,” Vi says. “Do you like it?”

“Do I like it?” she repeats, sounding a little flustered. Her little smile pretty much answers Vi's question.

“Everyone pitched in,” Sadie says.

I point across the grass, where a group of people are milling around—not guests for the wedding, but people we all know and see every day. “Principal Carney brought a mirror from home that we could write the menu on for the reception, and Miss Suzie, the librarian, collected quilts and blankets to use for seating. Mrs. O'Malley gave us a bunch of lace doilies she made, to use for decorations.”

Everyone in the group, dressed in jeans and sweatshirts, is smiling at Miss Worthington. A few people wave, and Jonathan, Principal Carney's four-year-old son, shouts, “You look so pretty, Miss Westy-ton.”

“I don't understand. I'm just . . . I can't believe you got so many people to help. How did you convince them all? They don't even know me.” Miss Worthington pats at her eyes, probably trying to banish those tears I saw before they ruin her makeup.

“Well,” Sadie says. “Even though you're new here, you're one of us now.”

“This is the kind of thing we do in Sandpiper Beach for one of our own,” Becca adds.

“But how?” Miss Worthington asks.

“We put out the call, and people came. Got it all done in two shakes of a sheep's tail,” Vi says.

“Just like that,” Miss Worthington murmurs. “You ladies have outdone yourselves. This entire town has outdone itself.” And then she strides off toward the group, bouquet in hand, and Becca racing to keep up without dropping the train.

When the rest of us catch up, Miss Worthington is moving down the row of townspeople, shaking their hands and telling each one of them thank you. Even cute little Jonathan, who hugs her around the leg. “I want all of you to come to the wedding,” she says.

“But none of us are dressed up,” Miss Suzie says.

Miss Worthington waves her bouquet. “Who cares? I just want you all to be there.”

“Hmph!”

I turn around to see where that grumpy noise came from. An older woman in a cloche hat and stuffy-looking vintage dress stands behind us. One of Miss Worthington's out-of-town guests, I guess.

She turns to the man on her arm and says, “I had to go to every vintage shop in Cincinnati before I found this hat! And now she's letting
anyone
in!”

The woman stalks off toward the riverbank, and Miss Worthington actually giggles. Giggles! Like a happy kid instead of a stressed-out, bossy adult.