Wedding Bell Blues (12 page)

“Can I give you a ride anywhere?” He managed to keep his voice neutral. No need to scare her off.

The wife watched him for a moment, then her lips spread in a slow, seductive smile. “No thanks. Not this time.”

She turned and ambled up the street after her jerk of a husband. Otto watched her hips swing until she disappeared around the next block.

Not this time.
His lips moved into a grin. Didn’t that open up all kinds of interesting possibilities?

Chapter Eight

Janie opened the shop at nine without seeing Pete Toleffson. She told herself she wasn’t disappointed. Just because she’d seen him on his fire escape for the last two mornings didn’t mean she’d see him every day. He probably had best man errands to run. Assuming he’d ever bothered to find out what a best man did.

Docia clumped in around ten, her jaw set. “Okay, you’re on Mama duty today. Sherice is going to be at the Woodrose at noon to try on her dress and I can’t trust myself not to say anything nasty to her.”

Janie raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you knew her well enough to be nasty.”

“I talked to her last night.” Docia shrugged. “A little Sherice goes a long way.”

“Lars seems nice,” Janie said tentatively.

“Lars is a sweetie. Yet another reason I’d like to say a few nasty things to Sherice. She doesn’t deserve him. Anyway, Mama asked me specifically to send you over to help. She doesn’t trust me either.” Docia’s mouth spread in a sly grin. “I’m crushed, of course.”

The Woodrose dining room was filled with an even greater clutter of table runners, candles, favor bags, and something that looked like a silver fountain. The Wedding in all its various pieces. Reba looked a little fragmented herself.

Janie didn’t think she’d ever seen Reba scowl before. She definitely wasn’t the scowling type. Even when she was unhappy, she managed to keep a broad smile pasted firmly in place.

However, right now, Reba was staring at Sherice Toleffson with a very definite scowl.

Sherice was wearing a bridesmaid dress identical to the ones for Allie and Bethany. She regarded herself critically in the three-way mirror. Mrs. Toleffson, her mouth a thin line, sat behind her in one of the few empty chairs.

With a quick turn, Sherice studied herself from all sides, then shook her head. “Sorry. It doesn’t work for me.”

“Doesn’t work for you?” Reba drew in a deep breath. “How do you mean?”

Sherice shrugged. “The color’s all wrong. It makes me look washed out. Blondes shouldn’t wear beige, you know.”

“It’s champagne,” Reba said between gritted teeth.

“Whatever. It’s the wrong color for me. Sorry.” Sherice didn’t sound sorry at all.

Mrs. Toleffson nodded slowly. “She’s right, Reba. The color’s all wrong for her hair.”

Janie thought about all the possible responses to that statement, including pointing out that beige might work very well with Sherice’s real hair color, whatever that color was. “That’s too bad.” She stepped beside Reba’s chair. “The color looks wonderful on both the other bridesmaids.”

Sherice glanced back at Janie briefly, and then studied herself in the mirror again. She reached around to the back, unfastening the top hooks. “Sorry,” she repeated, “I just can’t wear this.”

“What a shame,” Reba said through clenched teeth. “I guess we’ll just have one less bridesmaid.”

“But then Lars won’t have anyone to walk with.” Mrs. Toleffson’s chin rose to combat level. “That’s not right. Sherice needs to be there too.”

“The wedding is at the end of the week.” Reba’s voice was very quiet, but Janie felt like ducking suddenly. “There’s no time to have another dress made in a different color. I had a hard enough time getting this one.”

Mrs. Toleffson pushed herself to her feet and began to prowl around the room, pausing to inspect candles and fountains and the yards of tulle table runners. Suddenly, she stopped. “What about this one?”

Reba walked up behind her, peering over her shoulder. She shook her head. “No. That’s Janie’s. It’s the maid of honor dress.”

In Janie’s heart, the last flickering ember of optimism promptly went out, to be replaced by a cold spike of dread.

Sherice walked purposefully across the room to stare over Mrs. Toleffson’s shoulder. “That could work,” she mused.

“No it can’t.” Reba’s voice was tight. “As I said, that’s Janie’s. It’s for the maid of honor.”

Mrs. Toleffson turned to give Janie an assessing look. “They could switch. Sherice could be matron of honor. Then she could wear the dress. Janie could wear the other one.”

Sherice picked up Janie’s glorious lavender gown, holding it tight against her. “Needs to be taken in,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Particularly around the hips.”

Janie had a sudden memory, so strong it made her catch her breath—twirling in front of the mirror in her lavender dress. Mysterious. Ethereal. Beautiful.

Shit.

“That dress was designed specifically for Janie!” Reba’s voice was low and sharp. “It fits her perfectly.”

Sherice nodded. “Yes, as I said, it’ll have to be taken in for me. But the color’s better.”

“Now look here…” Reba’s voice rose dangerously.

Janie closed her eyes. Docia’s perfect wedding to her prince. Happily every after.
Somebody has to make it happen.

“It’s all right.” She thought her own voice sounded rusty, as if she hadn’t used it in a long while. “She can wear it. It’s okay. I’ll be a bridesmaid.”

Reba’s forehead furrowed. “Janie, no. Don’t do this. You don’t have to.”

Janie found herself nodding. Her head felt as if it were suspended from strings. “Yes, I do. It’s okay. Really.”

“Fine, then!” Mrs. Toleffson smiled triumphantly. “Everything will work out. Sherice will be the matron of honor. Lars can be best man. Let’s go find that seamstress.” She walked purposefully toward the dining room.

Sherice draped the lavender dress over her arm and strolled after her mother-in-law.

Janie stood staring at the other bridesmaid’s dresses, trying to control her breathing so that her eyes wouldn’t overflow. A hollow pain blossomed somewhere in the general vicinity of her heart.

Reba stepped up behind her, wrapping her arms around her and pulling her close, so that Janie’s head rested on Reba’s ample bosom. She patted Janie gently on the back.

“Janie Dupree,” she murmured, “you are too nice to live. But sooner or later, that woman is going to get her comeuppance.”

Janie took a deep breath.
Just a dress. It’s just a dress.
“Which woman?”

“Take your pick.” Reba smiled wryly. “And now, missy, which one of us gets to tell Docia she’s got a new matron of honor?”

“No,” Docia snapped. “Absolutely not. You can forget this, Janie. I’ll call this whole dog and pony show off before I let that woman be my matron of honor. That’s final!”

Janie sighed. She felt like a small ice-pick was boring into the base of her skull. “It’s not my idea, Docia, it’s Mrs. Toleffson’s.”

Docia’s mouth turned down as she pressed her lips together. “She’s not running this wedding.”

“No, but she’s going to be your mother-in-law.”

Brenner’s restaurant glowed with golden light from the candles on the tables. The chairs were full of couples who were drinking wine and smiling. Happy people everywhere Janie looked.

She really wanted to lean back and close her eyes, so that she could pretend she was happy too. Instead, she had to explain the facts of life to Docia.

Lee Contreras leaned over the table smiling. “Docia, my treasure, how goes the wedding?”

“Like the Battle of Antietam,” Docia said through gritted teeth, “only with fewer laughs.”

Lee winced and placed a bowl of olive oil and a bread basket within reach. “Here, eat this. I’ll send Ken over with some alcohol.”

Janie put her hand on Docia’s arm. “Listen, Docia, we’ve been friends for a long time and we’ll go on being friends, knock wood.” She rapped her knuckles on the tabletop. “But Mrs. Toleffson is Cal’s mother and she’ll be your mother-in-law. In the great scheme of things, she’s more important in your life than I am.”

Docia stared up at Ken Crowder as he poured wine at the next table, her lips still tight. “This sucks, Janie.”

She sighed. “What do you want me to say, Docia? Sure it does. But I can’t see any other way around this one. Unless you want to start some battle that will put you on one side and your mother-in-law and Sherice on the other. Then Cal and Pete and Lars would all have to decide how to line up and it could get very messy.”

“What’s messy?” Cal slid into a chair beside Docia, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

Pete dropped into a chair across from Janie. His orange T-shirt said “You can’t handle the truth!” At least it looked clean.

Docia gave them a short and very profane summary of the day’s activities.

Cal stared at Janie. “Holy crap!”

Pete sighed, tearing a slice of bread into pieces on his plate. “You mean just when I found out what a best man is supposed to do, I’m not best man anymore? Shoot!” He winked at Janie, his lips quirking into a grin.

She managed to push her lips into a flat smile.

“Cal, you’ve got to talk to your mother.” Docia grabbed a piece of bread and jabbed it viciously into the bowl of olive oil. “I’m sorry, but I don’t even know Sherice. How can she be my matron of honor? It’s nutsy.”

“I can talk to Mom—so can Pete. But chances are we won’t be able to get the dress back.” Cal rubbed the back of his neck, frowning. “We need to figure out what’s going on here. I don’t remember Mom ever being all that big on Sherice before. In fact, I’ve heard her say some fairly caustic things about her over the past couple of years.” He turned to Pete. “Have I missed something?”

Pete shook his head. “Nope. Sherice has definitely not improved with time. And Mom has never been one of her fans. But I’ve got a theory about this, though.”

“And that would be…” Cal raised his eyebrows.

Ken reached over his shoulder to plunk down a bottle of Super Texan. “Lee said y’all needed a rapid infusion of booze.” He placed four glasses in the center of the table. “Let me know when it runs out. We’ll start a tab.”

When they’d each been supplied with a full glass of wine, Pete began again. “Okay, as you may have noticed yesterday, Lars and Sherice are having some big problems, as in heading for a crack-up. I think Mom’s decided that putting them together in this wedding will help out. And before you ask—” he shook his head, looking at Docia, “—no, I have no idea
how
it’s supposed to help out. Maybe remind them of the wonders of marriage or something. Make them think it’s worth another try. Anyway, if Sherice has to have that dress to be in The Wedding, Mom’s going to get her that dress. And remember, it’s Sherice who’s decided she needs the dress, not Mom.”

Docia exhaled an irritated breath. “I don’t think Sherice is all that hot to even be part of the wedding, to tell the truth. She certainly doesn’t act like it.”

Pete shrugged. “Nope. I’d guess weddings aren’t Sherice’s thing.”

Janie took a sip of wine, trying not to gulp it down. It had a certain numbing effect. “So the bridesmaid obsession is all your mom’s idea? Sherice had nothing to do with it? I guess that goes along with the way she acted at the barbecue.”

“Oh Lord, it sounds like Mom.” Cal pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “Once she gets her teeth into something like this, it’s really hard to get her to change her mind.”

“That assumes you could get her to admit that the changes in the wedding were her idea to begin with.” Pete gave them a dry smile, sipping his wine. “By now, Mom has undoubtedly convinced herself that Sherice is really invested in being part of this wedding and removing her would not only be an insult to the Toleffson family honor but a heartbreaking assault on Sherice’s psyche.”

“An assault on Sherice has a lot of appeal right now, heartbreaking or otherwise.” Cal grimaced.

Lee appeared beside their table again. “You people need some food.” He motioned to a waitress with a tray. “I grabbed one of every tapa we’ve got in the kitchen right now. Eat them. Then you can plot.”

The next ten minutes were taken up with passing small bowls of baked goat cheese and hummus and something made out of eggplant that tasted really good spread on crostini. Amazingly, Janie felt her headache begin to recede slightly. Maybe she’d been more hungry than heartbroken.

Docia bit the end off a barbecued shrimp, dipping it into the lime butter sauce. “Okay, I’m less inclined to decapitate people now, but what are we going to do about this, Cal? I’m still not willing to have Sherice take over for Janie. I don’t even
know
Sherice.”

Pete shrugged. “Believe me, if you knew her, you still wouldn’t want her to be your maid of honor.”

“Matron,” Janie corrected. “She’s married. She can’t be a maid.”

Cal and Pete glanced at each other, smirking.

“I can’t do it,” Pete grumbled. “It’s too easy.”

“What?”

“The punch line.” Cal reached for a marinated mushroom. “It could go in so many ways. We could make fun of Sherice’s housekeeping skills, which are nonexistent, or we could talk about her sex life prior to her meeting Lars, which was the extreme opposite of nonexistent.”

Pete grimaced. “Making fun of Sherice doesn’t take any skill. I refuse to stoop.”

“So why did Lars marry her?” Janie was briefly amazed at herself for asking. She must have had more wine than she realized.

“She was a trophy wife. Of course, trying to imagine a contest where Sherice could actually be the prize boggles the mind.” Pete waggled his eyebrows at her.

Cal snickered and Pete shook his head. “See what I mean? Much too easy.”

“Enough. Back to the problem at hand.” Docia sighed. “How do we get out of this?”

Cal grimaced, settling back in his chair. “All right, how’s this for a compromise? I don’t think we can pry that dress out of Sherice’s hot little hands, and Janie’s already made the sacrifice.” He lifted his wine glass in her direction. “For which I thank you. Anyway, that’s a wash. But I’d say we’re on solid ground in refusing to allow Sherice to become maid—matron—of honor since you just met her two days ago.”