The Secret Wedding Dress (11 page)

He nodded mutely, still unsure what he’d agreed to. But he felt the urgency of her admonition—and knew that, despite her tone, she wasn’t joking.

Compared to the conversation they’d just had, dinner chatter was casual and relaxed. Sylvie knew everything there was to know about Briarwood. She told funny story after funny story throughout the meal, and Joel’s mind was reeling by the time the dishes were cleared and arranged in the dishwasher.

“Rianne, honey, did you ask your dad if you could stay a while and cut out a Barbie dress?”

“Yep. He said okay. He’s gonna go home and open some more boxes.”

“Great. Men and sewing never mix. Well, never say never. Rarely mix.” Sylvie waved Joel away as one might a pesky gnat. It shouldn’t have made him feel inconsequential, but it did. He stewed over that until some two hours later, when he heard Rianne charge up the steps and Sylvie’s low, pleasant voice calling “Good night.”

Had he not been knee-deep in the bath towels he was trying
to fit into a too-small hall cabinet, Joel would’ve raced into the darkness to tell Sylvie Shea he’d figured out how she’d managed to avoid walking down one of those church aisles. She had a negative attitude when it came to men. And she was as blunt as a worn nail. For some reason, it irked the hell out of him.

The clock
Joel had unboxed and set on the rough-hewn mantel in his living room chimed ten o’clock. Rianne had long since gone to bed. Joel thought he was making good progress unpacking. Except that he kept tripping over a stack of boxes he’d broken down for the garbage. Rather than wait to take them outside in the morning, he decided to go now and load both of the cans he’d rolled out to the end of his lane for the next day’s pick-up. It made sense, since Briarwood had once-a-week collection.

Lights from an approaching car blinded him for a moment as he closed the lid. His was the last house on a dead-end street, so he assumed someone had taken a wrong turn. To his surprise, the car, a late-model compact, entered his lane. The driver probably hadn’t seen him. The red car stopped next to his van, and two women got out. When the passenger crossed in front of the headlights, Joel saw she was very pregnant.

“Ladies,” he called. “Do you need assistance?”

They turned in surprise, retreating marginally as he hurried to where they stood. The taller, thinner of the two had opened the car’s trunk by then.

Joel was pretty sure they weren’t the type to siphon gas. He supposed they had the wrong lane, and the wrong house.

“You must be Joel Mercer.” The pregnant woman’s grin could be described as foxy, but then she grew serious. “We
apologize for taking so long to come by, and for calling so late in the day,” she added. “Days have a habit of getting away from us, I’m afraid. We hope you’ll think it’s a case of better late than never.”

At this distance, thanks to the light spilling from his uncurtained front windows, Joel could see the women’s features. There was something familiar about the speaker’s silent companion. Yet Joel was positive he’d never met either one before. At a loss to respond, he pocketed his glasses and waited politely.

The driver thrust a box she’d taken from the trunk into Joel’s hands. At last he understood their mission. The box, warm on the bottom, held two hot casseroles. “This is so kind of you,” he murmured.

“Sylvie said the day you moved in you were inundated with food. But we’ve been to plenty of church potlucks with some of the people who brought that food. We figure you already dumped three-fourths of what you got. Since you have a young daughter, we know kids can be picky eaters. You can freeze these dishes if you want. One’s spaghetti. The other’s macaroni and cheese with ham.”

His smile came more easily. “Rianne, my daughter, will thank you from the bottom of her heart. She didn’t much like the dish labeled succotash.”

The women nudged one another. “Carol Tucker’s specialty. Raccoons like it,” the woman with the darker hair said with a semi-straight face. “By the way, I’m Dory Hopewell.” She pointed to her companion. “My sister, Carline Manchester. My husband is Grant Hopewell. Hers is Jeff Manchester. I think you met them when they repaired our sister’s fence. Well, your fence, too.” The speaker jerked a thumb toward the fence separating his house from Sylvie’s.

That was when the names set warning bells jangling in Joel’s head. These were the marriage-broker sisters Sylvie had cautioned him about mere hours ago.

“Someday
we’d love to hear your version of the flattened fence. Sylvie told us Oscar knocked it down. But she told Grant she’d climbed up for your cat and the limb broke. Did the limb hit you in the head, by chance? That’s a nasty knot you’ve got there,” the pregnant sister noted.

Their formidable scrutiny suddenly made Joel claustrophobic, even though they were standing under a velvet sky littered with stars. “I didn’t realize Sylvie had climbed out on that broken limb,” Joel said, edging toward his porch steps. “My injury, uh, came from a…a fishing accident today. I hate to seem impolite, but Rianne’s asleep upstairs. I haven’t installed smoke alarms yet, and anyway, I don’t like leaving her alone. Thanks again for the food.”

“You’re most welcome,” Dory murmured. The sister bobbed her head, too. “Of course you have to worry about your daughter. When you moved in, there was some speculation as to whether your wife had stayed in Atlanta to sell your home. Then you registered Rianne at school, and Ellie Pearson passed the word that you’re a single dad. We’ve got a friend who’s the school psychologist, in case Rianne’s having difficulty dealing with the breakup.”

“Hardly,” Joel said stiffly. “Lynn and I separated when Rianne was a baby.”

A knowing smile passed between the two of them that left Joel kicking himself. Why had he revealed so much? He should’ve heeded Sylvie’s advice to run the minute he heard their names. They were a disarming duo. And potentially dangerous.

“By the way—” Dory slammed the lid of her trunk and removed her keys “—I hope Sylvie invited you and Rianne to Kay Waller’s wedding tomorrow night. Six o’clock at the white church on the corner of Thistle and Shamrock. The reception-dance is a block up the street at the Elks’ Club. Everyone in town will be there.”

“Why would Sylvie invite us to someone else’s wedding? And
why would I go when I don’t know the couple?” He tried to remain polite, but he was beginning to feel panicky as he sensed a hustle coming.

Carline supplied the very answer Joel didn’t want to hear. “Next to our once-a-year all-denominational church baseball game and picnic, weddings are the best place to meet everyone in Briarwood.” She waddled by him, opened her car door and sank heavily into the seat. “I know you probably don’t want to barge in. Sylvie said you wouldn’t. But it’s a perfect opportunity for Rianne to meet other kids. Oh, and even though the wedding itself is formal, guests can wear any old thing. You get a free meal for simply showing up.” Carline threw out the extra incentive as she shut her car door.

On the driver’s side, Dory wasn’t in as big a rush to go. “You know Sylvie, so if you’d be more comfortable riding to the wedding with her, I’m sure there’ll be plenty of room in Buddy’s car. Buddy Deaver is what you’d call a pity date for Sylvie. He’s home on vacation, and his mom literally begged Carline to dig up somebody to go with him to Kay’s wedding. Our sister’s a big softy. But there’s absolutely nothing between her and Buddy. Hope we see you tomorrow, Joel. My daughter, Kendra, is really looking forward to meeting Rianne.” Her door also slammed, and the engine sprang to life. Two seconds later, the red car backed from his lane—then “poof” it was gone. Joel welcomed the darkness closing around him. Especially as the women’s impact left him feeling like he’d been hit by lightning. The hell of it was, they’d dangled the one carrot most likely to get him to attend a perfect stranger’s wedding.
Well, two carrots.
The first being the fact that Rianne meet other kids. The other, an opportunity for him to identify the members potential of Briarwood’s singles set.

Single women loved weddings, as far as he could tell. Bachelors climbed on board for the simple reason that if they didn’t, their current girlfriends would never speak to them
again. Then all subsequent Saturday nights would be spent drinking beer and watching sports channels.

Joel’s phone was ringing as he walked into the house. He snatched it up, even though it meant juggling the heavy box holding the casseroles. At almost eleven at night, he couldn’t imagine who’d be calling, other than possibly Lynn. She’d be leaving the TV studio about now. “‘Lo,” he mumbled.

“It’s Sylvie. I saw Dory’s car pull into your drive. What did she want? I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“Actually, it was both of your sisters.”

“Oh, no! Double trouble,” Sylvie moaned. “Whatever they wanted, Joel, I hope you said no. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.”

“I have no doubt you do. First time I’ve ever been team-roped into going to a wedding.”

“Kay’s wedding? You barely met her, and you’ve never met Dave, the guy she’s marrying.”

“I know. Which makes the whole invitation ludicrous.”

“Good. I’m glad you resisted.”

“Uh, can I phone you back? Your sisters brought casseroles. I need to go stick them in the freezer.”

“That’s okay. I’m headed for bed. I’m helping decorate the church in the morning. Those of us in the wedding party are taking Kay to lunch at eleven, then we’re all going to her salon to be beautified for the ceremony. Ugh!” She heaved a giant sigh. “That’s de rigueur for all weddings in Briarwood. Oh, another thing…if they put the food in dishes that need to be returned, my advice is to transfer it into your own bowls now. Rinse their dishes. Let me return them. Otherwise, you’ll give them another chance to have a crack at setting you up with someone. Namely me. G’bye, Joel.”

“Wait,” he sputtered, and found his protest floating in empty air. Sylvie had indeed hung up. But that was okay. If he told her he was toying with the idea of attending that wedding, she’d do her best to talk him out of it. She wasn’t aware
that he was capable of holding his own against far more seasoned matchmakers than her sisters. He’d been in the so-called
market
for five years, in a Southern city where the accent was on marriage. Atlanta boasted a hundred times more determined mothers than Briarwood. Joel had successfully evaded the net thus far. It’d take more than two sneaky women to shove him into matrimony again.

Joel could’ve hit redial and called Sylvie back. But if he told her he was considering the wedding, she’d probably feel obligated to have her date give him and Rianne a lift. Joel preferred to operate on the fringes. Set his own terms for navigating this affair.
Oh boy, was that a bad choice of words.

Replacing the phone, he continued on into the kitchen. There he took Sylvie’s advice about emptying her sister’s dishes. That was a no-brainer. He scrubbed the crockery clean and thought about adding the country cousin to his comic strip. He could see her, all right, dragged to town by a family determined to marry her off. Poppy and Rose would sympathize mightily.

He galloped upstairs to his office. There he spent the better part of three hours drawing a dark-haired, dark-eyed, wholesome-looking character with a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. The freckles were a nice touch. The perfect contrast to his current characters’ sophistication. He wrote a character description, outlined some plot ideas and included sample dialogue.

Rocking back in his chair, Joel recalled being enchanted by Sylvie’s golden freckles today.

Giving his new character a last check, he scanned the drawings and e-mailed his proposal to Lester Egan at the paper. Joel knew his editor would get back to him tomorrow morning—well before the wedding.

Shutting off his computer, Joel realized he’d decided to attend the wedding, where he’d almost certainly gather information for his project. But—did he need a gift? What did a guy give a couple he’d never met?

Another
issue suddenly struck him. He was in the process of taking off his jeans, when it occurred to him that Rianne would need a new dress. Especially since she’d made so many pointed comments about the pretty dresses Sylvie created. Earlier tonight he’d noticed what a hodgepodge of clothes Rianne had.

Climbing into bed, he turned off his light. He should probably have heeded Lynn’s barb about the way their daughter was dressed that day at the studio. He still resented Lynn’s public delivery of that remark. So, he was guilty of letting Rianne choose her own clothes at the store. If Lynn hadn’t run off to the hinterlands to make her mark on the news world, she would’ve understood how thrilling it was the first day Rianne came out of her room already dressed to go to the sitter. She’d been three, and he’d worked downtown at the paper. It seemed he’d spent hours every morning packing toys and outfits to cover all weather. Plus changes of clothing, in case of spills or potty training debacles. It’d all fallen on his shoulders.

Yes, he’d encouraged Rianne’s independence. But wouldn’t that serve her well in her future?

Joel wished Lynn had noticed that he’d been a stickler for manners. Rianne was polite, and never rowdy in public. He also wished his ex had seen how desperately Rianne wanted to please her mom, that mythical figure who’d been little more than a photograph. Or an occasional card, letter or gift arriving from a foreign country. Maybe a phone call now and then, since Lynn was once again based in Atlanta.

He crossed his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling. Dammit, he did want his daughter to fit in here in Briarwood.

The next morning over breakfast, Joel brought up the wedding idea to Rianne. “Last night after you fell asleep, Sylvie’s sisters came by and brought us casseroles.”

“Are her sisters pretty, like Sylvie?”

“What? Pretty? I didn’t notice. It was dark out. They never came inside. Why do you ask if they’re pretty?”

The
girl poured syrup on a waffle Joel had just pulled from the toaster. “Sylvie does neat stuff with her hair. She looks different all the time, but she’s always pretty, doncha think, Daddy?”

“I guess. Getting back to my point,” he said, controlling the amount of syrup Rianne was dumping on the waffle, “her sisters said everyone in town will be at Sylvie’s friend’s wedding tonight. The upshot of all this—how would you like to go? They said lots of kids will be there, including one of their daughters. Won’t it be nice to make friends your age?” Joel didn’t expect to see hesitation lurking in Rianne’s blue eyes. “Is that a problem, honey? If you’d rather not, we can skip it.”

“I wanna go. But how am I s’posed to meet kids?”

“Well, I guess we’ll introduce ourselves.”

Her smile spread syrup from ear to ear. “I thought you meant you were gonna drop me off.”

“What? Didn’t I walk you to your classrooms in preschool and kindergarten?”

“Uh-huh. I didn’t know how weddings work. I’ve never been. You and Mommy had a wedding, ‘cause you showed me pictures. Why wasn’t I there? I mean, I know kids are gonna be in Kay’s. Sylvie sewed their dresses.”

Joel rose and plucked another hot waffle out of the toaster. “You were born way after your mom and I got married, snooks. Sometimes, like after a death or divorce, children from the first marriage can play a role in the second wedding.” He sighed. “Marriage can be complicated, honey.”