A Wedding in Truhart (9 page)

We turned to the right down another corridor lined with windows. I could hear the sounds of “My Melancholy Baby” coming from a piano down the hallway.

“So, that room back there is where your reception is going to be held?” Mom asked Charlotte.

The woman looked back at us. “Yes. And I must say that it will look so wonderful with the springtime blossoms out the windows.”

“Oh, can we just peek for a minute?” Aunt Addie asked. “I would love to see what it looks like. Maybe we can get a few ideas, Charlotte. Marva's daughter had a great balloon archway at her wedding.”

The woman sent her a startled look. “I'm sorry,” she said with a crisp voice. “We pride ourselves on assuring all our guests' privacy. It just wouldn't do to have everyone who comes to our club peeking. I'm sure you understand.”

“Of course,” said Charlotte quickly as we continued to follow the woman down the hall. I narrowed my eyes and scowled at the lady's rigid back as our feet clicked on the shiny polished marble floor. Charlotte sent me a pleading look. I'm sure she was worried I might say something rude. How little she trusted me. I usually only
thought
rude things.

As we entered another room I could see pastel-colored couches arranged in small groupings and a man in a white tuxedo playing a baby grand piano on our left. To the right were a half dozen linen-covered tables set with rose-colored glasses and hurricane lanterns, surrounded by small arrangements of pink and white roses.

I blinked at the women around the room. Charlotte had been justified when she worried about our clothes. From the sparkling jewelry dangling from their ears and necks to the spiked heels on their feet, these women were dressed for the kind of event that could grace the pages of a high society magazine.

“Charlotte,” a familiar voice called from the other side of the room.

Charlotte waved to June, who stood with several well-coiffed older women. She wore a silk suit that shimmered with a subtle hint of silver. Jessica stood beside her, looking bored to tears, in a pink chiffon dress with a brown bow at the waist.

I sighed. Now I knew just how underdressed we were. Even the teenager's clothes looked nicer than Mom's cotton pants and gauzy blouse and Aunt Addie's blue polyester dress.

“What's wrong?” asked Charlotte.

“I should have stolen your shoes anyway. And maybe that cute little black purse with the sparkles.”

“No way, that was a Michael Kors. I would never have let you borrow that one.” Charlotte gave a nervous laugh and put her shoulders back before walking across the room to greet June. I shifted my weight, trying to balance the gifts in my hands. Maybe we should have left them in the car.

“Can I take that from you?” asked a young woman in black pants and a vest from behind me.

“Oh, if you just tell me where to put these, we can manage.”

She pointed us toward a table that looked like it had been designed especially for the room. Then I realized it was actually mounds of shower gifts that made it look so gorgeous. Dried-flower bows and elaborate ribbons adorned the beautifully wrapped gifts. The wrapping paper alone probably cost more than what Mom and I had paid for Charlotte's present. After Mom put her armful down and wandered off with Aunt Addie, I tried to find an unobtrusive spot near the back for our gifts. Would anyone notice if I hid them under the table?

“Excuse me,” said a blonde wearing a white suit with a fur collar, as she skirted by me to put her gift on the table. It was wrapped in yellow and white toile wrapping paper with real calla lilies tucked in the bow.

“Wow. Nice,” I said under my breath. I wasn't just talking about the gift. The lady looked like she belonged at Buckingham Palace.

“I know,” confided the waitress. She helped me make room on the table.

“Do they even own jeans?” I didn't realize I said it aloud.

“I doubt it,” the waitress said under her breath.

“Well, there is always a chance they're wearing granny underwear from the dollar store. At least that's what I'm going to tell myself all night.”

She started to laugh and caught herself. “I'll get you a big drink—how's that?”

“Perfect.”

I turned back to the room and found myself face-to-face with a willowy woman in a peach-colored lace dress. “You're Charlotte's sister,” she said, holding out a limp hand.

“I'm Annie.” I tried not to squeeze her tender hand to death with my firm grip. Several other women joined us.

“How nice you could come down here for the shower. I hope the weather holds, but I hear it's going to pour tomorrow. When do you have to fly back?”

“Oh, I am driving. I'm planning on going back tomorrow.”

“Driving? Oh my. Is that a long way to drive? I am trying to remember where Charlotte is from . . . Ohio?”

What was it with Ohio around here?

“No, just a little farther north. Michigan.”

“Michigan? Near Detroit?” She looked a little shocked.

I had several friends from Detroit and I wished I could have said yes. I almost pulled out my hand to show where Truhart was on the mitten. Using our hands as a map was a little inside trick we did in Michigan, but that might have been beyond this woman.

“Oh.” I could see her trying to figure out what to say after that. We stood smiling at each other for a moment and I was just about to ask her about herself when she blurted out, “I drove to our condo in Hilton Head last year and that was over four hours away. The traffic was really bad at one point and I almost gave up and turned around. How long is your drive?”

“About sixteen hours with stops.”

Her eyes grew large. I could see the wheels turning in her head. A lady nearby laughed, thinking I was making a joke. I looked back at her with a straight face and she realized I was telling the truth.

“But I will make a lot of stops to break it up.”

“Of course . . .” she said as her voice trailed off.

“What do you do in Michigan, Anne?” asked another woman.

“I teach art. But I'm unemployed right now.”

They looked at me in embarrassed sympathy, not sure what to say.

“Well, this economy is just so terrible right now, isn't it?”

I nodded and faded into the background as they changed the subject. Growing up in an inn, I had learned how to converse with people easily. Everyone in our family was fairly good at the art of small talk. Aunt Addie would have chased us with a wooden spoon if we had ever shown a drop of rudeness. But even with that background, tonight I was having trouble.

I tried to talk to Jessica, but she had zero interest in talking to me. Within a half hour after we arrived she was on the couch playing a game on her phone. I almost wished I could join her. Mom and Aunt Addie stayed close to Charlotte, and I tried not to look at the way she bit her lip whenever Aunt Addie said anything around her friends.

At one point I stood by the piano player, just needing a break before my smile cracked. I patted the piano in time to a Michael Bublé song. In between sets the piano player let me look through his list for a song I might like. He suggested a Barry Manilow tune and I shook my head. “That's my little sister's least favorite artist.”

“Really?” he asked. I nodded. “That's kind of un-American,” he commented.

Nobody could disagree.

“We have an old upright piano at our inn back home. Sing-along nights happened all the time growing up. But God forbid if a Barry Manilow tune was requested by one of our guests. Charlotte would run to her room with her hands over her ears by the end of the first verse.”

The piano player laughed and started playing a Nat King Cole song. Charlotte caught my eye from the other side of the room. I figured it was time to mix with the crowd again. I broke away from the piano and walked around the room, pausing every once in a while to join conversations, but feeling mostly invisible.

I stopped by the ladies' lounge in the hallway outside the Peach Blossom Room. When I pushed open the door I almost laughed. It figured. Even the bathroom was nicer than my bedroom back home. Pink wallpaper, gold-plated fixtures, and a plush velvet chaise made me want to recline in the room for the rest of the evening. Maybe no one would miss me.

Several minutes later, as I turned the knob to exit the spacious room-sized stall, I heard a voice in the main lounge. “It is going to be a beautiful wedding, June. I know you had your reservations about it, but Charlotte seems like a lovely girl.”

Now I really felt guilty.

“Yes. She does seem that way,” June replied mildly.

“You sound worried.”

“Well, you know what they say. Family is everything. We don't really know her family. and between you and me, things may be a little . . . well, shall we say uncomfortable?”

“Oh, now that you mention it, that aunt is a character, isn't she?”

“Well . . . we can't always choose who our children marry, can we? Fortunately, Scarlett has been a godsend. She assures me that she will tutor Charlotte on everything she will need to know as she joins the family.”

I raised a shaking hand to my throat and tried to swallow my anger. I was going to tell June just what I thought of her. But I caught myself. That would have proven her point.

Taking a deep breath, I straightened my shoulders and opened the stall door. I stepped into the main lounge and turned to June. It was a pleasure to watch her smooth, wrinkle-free face turn mottled and blotchy from embarrassment. The other woman sputtered something unintelligible.

“Excuse me, ladies,” I said with a smile. I moved in front of June and washed my hands, forcing myself to remain calm. When I finished I reached across her for a towel and then I paused. I looked her directly in the eye.

“This has been a beautiful shower, June. My mother and the rest of my family are so appreciative of all your graciousness in accepting Charlotte into your family. I just wanted you to know that. My mother taught me quite a bit about good manners.”

With that I walked away.

It was almost the end of the evening. I just needed to get through the rest of the night and then I could leave this nauseatingly elegant place. I clenched and unclenched my fists as I walked the rest of the corridor. A pressure was growing in my chest, and the throbbing behind my eyes wouldn't go away.

When I joined the shower again I looked around, disoriented and wondering if I was in the wrong place. More than a dozen men lingered by the couches.

“Either those are strippers or I am in the wrong room,” I mumbled to the waitress as she walked up to me with a tray of champagne glasses.

She raised her eyebrows and shook her head. “Oh God, I hope not.”

As I looked more carefully it dawned on me that she was right. I caught sight of Travis Hartwick. Ugh. Just the thought made me take a hearty swig from the glass she handed me.

Charlotte walked over, seeing my look of confusion. “Henry and the guys ate downstairs in the men's grill. They're going to join us for the gift opening. June thought it would be a nice touch since Henry and I registered together.”

My heart dropped and I felt a new panic. Great. I knew what that meant. And true to my fears, I spied Nick at the back of the room. He caught me looking at him and looked away, taking a deep gulp of his drink. Did I make him uncomfortable? It dawned on me that Nick must feel that same way Charlotte did. I suppose now I knew why he never came home to Michigan.

“Annie, are you all right?” asked Charlotte.

“No,” I said after a moment. “My stomach is just a little upset, honey. But I'll be fine.”

From behind me, June entered the room.

Avoiding my eyes, she clapped her hands. “Are you ready for gift opening, Charlotte?” Maybe she couldn't wait for this evening to end either.

We formed a half circle. I was offered a seat next to Charlotte and Henry. The waitress handed me a pen and paper.

“You need a paper plate so you can put the bows on it, like we do back home,” Aunt Addie shouted from her chair. “Every bow she breaks means a baby.”

“She has to pull the ribbon off without untying the bow,” Mom explained to a confused woman on her right. “It's a tradition. We put all the bows onto a paper plate, and Charlotte can use it to hold as a bouquet for her wedding rehearsal,”

I bit my tongue as a waitress brought my mother a paper plate. We had just given June more reasons to ridicule us.

Nick stood behind the seated circle of onlookers. I turned away and straightened my scarf. I wasn't going to think about Nick anymore. I reminded myself of my mental divorce from him. The documents were signed and sealed in my mind.

Charlotte and Henry took turns opening gifts of fine china, crystal vases, a nineteenth century silver-rimmed decanter, and a full set of hand-painted sushi plates and chopsticks. I struggled to keep up with recording each gift while not letting my jaw drag on the ground. If these were shower gifts, what would the wedding gifts be like?

Everyone oohed and aahed over the gifts, and Henry joked about all the dinner parties he would have to give to put these fine items to use. Aunt Addie reminded him that with all the broken bows, a dinner party was out of the question. Too many children to watch.

I had just finished recording a set of Wedgwood serving pieces, when I sensed a nervous rustle from the crowd. Charlotte held up a box decorated in familiar silver confetti wrapping paper. I wanted to rip it out of her hands before anyone saw what was inside. She read the Hallmark card my mother and I picked out last week and peeled off the wrapping paper. Part of me refused to feel intimidated. Lifting the lid of the box, she pulled out four sets of white cotton towels. I couldn't bear to see the disappointment in her face, so I kept my head down as she pulled out the towels and thanked us with a hug. The crowd clapped politely. But I sensed their flat response to the gift. With alarm, I could feel my eyes growing moist and I struggled to hold back stupid tears. Fortunately, Mom smiled, oblivious to the direction my thoughts were taking.