A Wedding on Ladybug Farm (11 page)

“Or I’ll have a hot flash while standing in ninety-degree sun and pass out and you’ll have to call the paramedics.” She frowned. “All things considered, it might not be a bad idea to have them standing by anyway, just in case.”  She made a note on her list.

Bridget
began to clear the table, and stacked Lindsay’s plate atop the others. “You know, there is such a thing as over-managing.”

Lindsay frowned without looking up.  “
I’m not over-managing.  I’m just being careful.”

Cici’s eyebrows arched. “Which is why you have bandages on every finger and a big bruise on your forehead.”

Lindsay pulled self-consciously at the swath of hair that was supposed to be covering the bruise.  “Those were accidents.”

“
Because you’re making yourself so crazy about the wedding you’ve completely lost your ability to concentrate on anything else,” said Bridget. “Why don’t you just relax and try to enjoy it before you end up in a body cast?”

“Ha.  Easy for you to say. 
You
try planning the biggest day of your life while swimming through a menopausal brain fog and trying to fit into a dress that’s already two sizes too small, not to mention …”

She cut herself off so abruptly that both her friends stared at her.  Lindsay focused intently on her spreadsheet. 

“What?” prompted Bridget.  “Not to mention what?”

“I just want everything to be perfect.”  Lindsay glanced at them uncertainly.  “I don’t want Dominic’s kids to think he’s making a mistake.  I don’t want
Dominic
to think he’s making a mistake.” 

“Ah,” said Bridget with soft understanding.  “So that’s it.”

“What?” demanded Cici, looking confused.  “What’s it?”

“The children,” explained Bridget patiently.  She put the plates back on the table and sat down.  “It’s always the children.  It’s not the wedding she’s worried about, it’s that Dominic’s family will think she’s not good enough for him.”

“Well, that doesn’t make any sense at all,” Cici said.  “His children are scattered all over the country.  You’ll see them for a few days at the wedding and send cards at Christmas.  What do you care what they think?”

“Well, of
course
she cares what they think,” Bridget said.  “They’re his children.  And she’ll be … well, their stepmother.”

Lindsay smothered a groan.  “Cassie is only ten years younger than I am.”

Bridget hastened to add, “Not literally, of course, because they’re all grown up and living away from home, but still … it’s family.”

Cici looked at Lindsay thoughtfully.  “And a step-grandmother,” she pointed out.

Lindsay looked at her. 

“Doesn’t Dominic’s oldest son have children?” she said. 

Lindsay nodded mutely.

“What do you know about that?”  Cici grinned.  “You’ll be a grandmother before I am.  Whoever would have thought?”

Lindsay sank down in her chair.  “Oh, God.”

Bridget said sternly to Cici, “You are not helping.”

Lindsay blew out a soft breath.  “I know I’ve been a maniac.  And I’m not like this, really I’m not. You
know
that.”  She looked at them with a note of pleading in her eyes and they nodded encouragement.  “It’s just that … you remember in the spring, when we sat on this very porch and I knew I was falling in love with Dominic and it terrified me because I’d already found what I wanted.  Here.  With you guys.  And I didn’t want anything to change.  Well, now it’s changed.  And there’s no going back. And I’m still terrified.”

Bridget smiled.  So did Cici.

“Ah, Lindsay,” Bridget said, “we know that.  I mean, seriously, look at what you’ve done to yourself.  Every accident you’ve had has been because of us. You’ve literally been beating yourself up over us.”

“
After all,” Cici went on, “Bridget gave you the black eye and I’m the reason you stubbed your toe, and if it hadn’t been for Ida Mae dropping the flour you wouldn’t have cut your foot.”

“And I did ask you to peel the pears,” Bridget said a little apologetically.

“And I’m the one who gave you the crowbar,” Cici said, but couldn’t help adding under her breath, “A mistake I’ll never make again.”

“You left the rake in the garden too,” Lindsay pointed out suspiciously.

“But you slammed your own fingers in the car door,” Bridget added.

Lindsay turned an accusing look on her.  “While running errands for you.”

“Which were all related to your wedding,” Bridget said quickly.

“
The point being,” Cici said, “that it’s pretty clear that what your subconscious is trying to tell you is that you’re afraid of losing us.”

Lindsay lifted an eyebrow.  “Or maybe you’re afraid of losing me.  After all, you’re the ones who are doing all the beating up.”

“Not on purpose,” Cici reminded her firmly.

“
Lindsay,” Bridget said, reaching for her hand, “we’re family. Nothing can change that.  Noah is family.  Lori is family. When they moved in, everything changed, but we were still family, right?  Now Dominic is family, and his children are family, and his children’s children are family.  But here,” she placed her hand firmly over her heart, “nothing has changed.  Because the only rule about families is that there’s always room for more.”

Lindsay blinked, and her nose reddened.  “You’re going to make me cry.”

“Well, good.”  Bridget released her hand and sat back.  “Because I’ve got to tell you, you’ve made me want to cry more than once these past few days.”

The three of them laughed, and C
ici got to her feet.  “I’ve got to get back to work.  Farley’s coming this afternoon to help me take down the rest of the wall.”

“Do you need any help?”
Lindsay offered.

“No,” Cici said quickly, and when Lindsay looked insulted she added, managing a smile,
“My wedding gift, remember?”

“I
said I was sorry about the pipe,” Lindsay told her, looking something less than mollified.

“
I know.  Only … we just got the plumbing fixed and there are sharp instruments involved, so …” Cici put on her most persuasive face. “Menopausal brain fog, remember? So let’s not take any chances.”

Lindsay just frowned and turned back to her
spreadsheet.

~*~

At the Hummingbird House

~*~

“Belly dancers!” declared Harmony. She burst into the office of the Hummingbird House with a flutter of scarves and a sound like tinkling bells, which, upon close examination, was produced by the pyramid of tiny discs she wore dripping from each ear and both wrists.  Silk scarves were draped in layers around her shoulders and tied around her ample middle, and she had even arranged a bright pink scarf in a gypsy cap, tied with more jingling discs over one ear.  Her feet were bare except for silver rings encircling each surprisingly slender toe.  “We’ll have belly dancers and a drum ceremony!  What could be more perfect? And …” She clasped her hands over her chest with a gasp of delight, “A fire-walking ceremony!  Can you just imagine how glorious that will be by the light of the full moon?  I know where we can get a dozen with practically no notice at all!”

Paul looked up from the computer and blinked, as he often did when seeing Harmony, and Derrick, on the opposite side of the antique partners desk, gazed over the top of his reading glasses in bemusement.  “Belly dancers?” he repeated, trying to look open-minded.  “Walking on fire?” 

Purline, in skintight jeans and a cropped tank top with beaded fringe, squeezed past Harmony.  The two women gave each other a single head-to-toe look that left no doubt about what each one  thought of the other’s outfit, then Purline turned to Paul. “The folks in the red room want to know could we fix them a picnic lunch to take out to the falls.”

Paul managed to tear his gaze away from Harmony to Purline, but his dismay only grew as he took in her
attire.  It wasn’t her mostly bare torso that offended him so much as the sheer tastelessness of the fringe, but he resisted the urge to cover her with his jacket. He and Derrick had already discussed the fact that they could hardly criticize Purline’s taste when they tolerated Harmony’s and they furthermore, quite frankly, couldn’t afford to lose either one of them this close to the party.  He replied instead, distractedly, “Ruby room, Purline.  It’s the
ruby
room.  And I’ve told you before, whatever our guests want, it’s theirs without question.  I’m sure you can find some cold chicken and potato salad.”

“They
want
,” replied Purline  pointedly, “a bottle of that fancy wine you charge eight dollars a glass for.”

Derrick lifted an eyebrow.  “Well, of course that would be extra
.”

“And do you want me to send out your nice glasses with it, or plastic cups?”

Paul said, “Real glasses, of course!”

Derrick’s lip curled slightly in distaste.  “Do we even
have
plastic cups?”

Harmony spread her hands wide, her eyes shining with passion. “We’ll dig the pit behind the butterfly garden, and fill it with green laurel.  We’ll light the fire at sunrise and let it burn all day.”

Purline looked at her skeptically. “You planning a barbeque?”

“No,” Paul said quickly.  “No barbeque.  No pit, no belly dancers.”

Purline said, “Well, that’s good, because laurel wood is about worthless for smoking meat. Unless you’re planning on roasting a goat, maybe.”

“But it’s the laurel smoke that calls down the favor of the spirits,” Harmony explained patiently
. “That’s the whole point.”

Paul turned back to Purline.  “Be sure to fold up a stadium blanket in the picnic basket.  You can use that to cushion the glasses.”

“I was going to use the one you keep on the back of the rocking chair.”

“That’s cashmere!” Paul and Derrick objected at once.

“And belly dancers,” Harmony went on, smiling benignly, “have been a symbol of fertility and feminine power since ancient times.  Of course you want to celebrate your friends’ marital union with the gift of belly dancers!”

Purline rolled her eyes and muttered, “I
told
you that woman was going to turn your party into a circus.”

And before either Paul or Derrick could admonish her, Purline threw up her hands and turned to the door.  “Got it.  No cashmere, no plastic, charge
’em for the wine.”

“But for heaven’s sake, don’t put a bill in the picnic basket!” Derrick called after her, and she waved him away over her shoulder.

Paul turned to Harmony with a breath.  “Harmony, we appreciate your help, but all we really need is a caterer who doesn’t mind driving out here and who can do the event on short notice.  We’ve already taken care of the entertainment.”

“Not a problem,” Harmony assured them with a flick of her wrist.  “I just booked Ahmed Bianca out of Richmond.  He specializes in Moroccan.”

“Moroccan.”  Paul and Derrick looked at each other thoughtfully. 

“That’s an interesting idea,” Paul allowed.

“I had a lamb tajine in London that I still dream about,” Derrick recalled.

“And what about the spareribs mechoui that we had in that little place in Georgetown?”

“To die for,” admitted Derrick.

“No one else would think of doing a Moroccan garden party.” Paul’s excitement was growing. “But it’s perfect for this time of year. We’ll get wrought iron braziers and light them all around the patio and the garden paths, and cover the tables with paisley
…”

“Blue clay pots with herbs for centerpieces,” put in Derrick.

“Surrounding a single sunflower,” added Paul with an approving nod.

“And Moroccan tiles as chargers.”

“Perfect!”

“And,” declared Harmony, beaming, “the belly dancers will go on just as the sun reaches the crest of the mountain
—”

“No belly dancers!” declared Paul and Derrick as one, and Harmony turned a very stern look on them.  They held steady.

“Fellows,” she said after a moment, “I really can’t help but feel you’re not properly exploiting my talents.  I have so much to offer, and your vision is so limited.”

Derrick looked as though he wanted to take offense, but Paul spoke up quickly
. “Limited vision,” he agreed.  “Completely limited.”

She regarded him for a moment as though debating whe
ther or not to pursue the issue, then seemed to concede.  “I’ll speak with Ahmed about the menu,” she said. 

“Mention the ta
jine,” suggested Derrick.

“We could serve
it in white ceramic bowls with a wedge of pita,” suggested Paul. 

“With a single edible flower on top,” added Derrick.

“Divine,” declared Paul.

Harmony folded her hands at her waist and smiled at them beatifically. “Now,” she inquired, “where shall we dig the fire pit?”

~*~

Kevin and Lori took their gelato across the street and sat at the base of a fountain to people-watch.  If there was one thing Siena had plenty of, it was fountains.  This particular one featured three giant horses with their hooves raised in battle while sheets of water cascaded over their greenish-bronze forms.  Lori used to be impressed by things like that. Now she barely noticed. 

“So,” Kevin said, digging the wooden spoon into his cup, “Sergio seemed nice.”

Lori groaned out loud.  “You met him.”

“Also his lovely wife.” 

She muttered, “Crap.”

“And his mother, and his father …”

“All right, already.  Jeez.” Lori scowled as she applied herself to the gelato.

Kevin gazed mildly ahead, his expression all but obscured by the sunglasses.  “So I’m guessing this Sergio dude is the one you’re supposed to be madly in love with, and his dad is who you’re supposed to be working for.”

“I never said madly in love,” Lori protested quickly.  “I never said that.”  And then she sighed, licking the back of her spoon. “It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“Couldn’t possibly be.”

She gave him a dark look. “How’d you find me, anyway?”

“It didn’t require a private detective, if that’s what you mean. You told your folks you were working at the Villa Laurentis.  The Marcellos were nice enough to tell me where you were really working.  You’re just lucky it was me, and not your dad, who decided to fly over and surprise you.  Seriously, how long were you planning to keep this up?”

Lori stretched her legs out in front of her and crumpled up her empty paper cup, her expression glum.  “I don’t know.  As long as I could, I guess.”

“I don’t see the point.”

“Well, you wouldn’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Seriously?  Kevin the Wonder Boy, who never made a mistake in his life.  What do you know about anything except the view from your ivory tower?”

He seemed to tense a little beside her, and Lori thought she might have hurt his feelings.  She was so wrapped up in her own misery that she didn’t much care.

She said after a time, “Are you going to tell my mother?”

He finished his gelato.  “That depends.”

“On what?”

“What the story is.”

He held out his hand for her empty cup, and crossed the street to dispose of it.  He returned after a moment with two bottles of water, and handed one to her.  He opened his bottle and took a sip, but didn’t say anything else.  He just waited while the fountain splashed behind them and the tourists paused to aim their cell-phone cameras, and a group of men in white shirts strolled by, talking loudly in Italian.

Lori said, “I got to know Sergio—kind of—in college, when I was researching internships.  He helped me line up a summer job at the winery, but he never told me it was his family’s business.  Of course I figured it out later, but by then it didn’t matter because I broke my leg and couldn’t go, and then I met Mark …”  She glanced at him.  “You know about Mark?  I was engaged to him.  And when that blew up … I mean, when I screwed that up …”  She shrugged.  “It seemed like a good idea to try to pick up where I’d left off.  I always had this fantasy that something great was waiting for me in Italy, like my destiny, you know?  And okay, so for a while maybe I thought it was Sergio.  But, you know, while I was engaged to Mark of course I knew Sergio was seeing someone else. Why shouldn’t he? I just didn’t know he had married her.  Not until I was here, anyway.”

She lifted the water bottle and took a long drink, eyes straight ahead.  “Still, his dad wanted to honor his commitment and offered me an apprenticeship and a place to stay, which was nice.  But after a few days I could tell that wasn’t going over so well with certain other members of the household.”

Kevin murmured, “I can imagine.”

She looked at him sharply.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re kidding, right?  No woman wants her husband’s old flame moving into the house, especially when she looks like you.”

Lori wrestled for a moment between insult and flattery, then let it go with an unhappy shrug.  “Anyway, it wasn’t his wife.  It was his mother.”  She took another drink of water.  “Italian women are strange.”

Kevin laughed softly, but stopped when he saw the look on her face.  “So you moved into town and told them to forward your mail so your folks wouldn’t know what had happened,” he guessed.

“More or less.”

“I still don’t know why you didn’t just go home.”

“Like I said, you wouldn’t.”  And when he drew a breath for a sharp retort
, she held up a staying hand.  “People like you don’t have any idea what it’s like to be me.  I changed my major three times in college.  I had an affair with a married professor.  I flunked two courses.  I left UCLA because I couldn’t keep up and I barely made it into UVA.  I got engaged to the most wonderful guy in the world and walked out on him three months before the wedding. All I’ve ever done my whole pathetic life is screw up and waste chances and I just couldn’t face that look in my mother’s eyes one more time.  You’re good at everything, Kevin, you always were.  You were team captain, you were class president, you made law review, you didn’t just pass the bar, you practically sailed over it, and the next thing we know you’re pulling down a half mil a year and dating the boss’s daughter.  You’re in the top freakin’ one percent, what can you know about what it’s like for the rest of us who are barely squeaking by?”

“Not the top one percent,” Kevin said.  He took a drink of his water and replaced the cap.  He glanced at her, trying to coax a smile.  “Maybe the top ten.”

But Lori just stared miserably at her feet.  “Don’t you get it, Kev?  I’ve never been good at anything.  Not one single thing.  I had one chance to do one thing right, and—surprise!  I blew it again.  I can’t go home.  Not ever.”

Kevin said, “Well then, you’d better start learning Italian, baby, because the only job lower than the one you just walked out on starts on a street corner about three blocks from my hotel.”

She lunged angrily to her feet but he caught her arm.  “Forgive me, princess, but I have a hard time feeling sorry for anybody who could solve all her problems with one phone call to her rich daddy back in the States. You’re not the only person in the world with troubles, you know, and most of them are a lot worse than yours.”