A Wedding in Truhart (6 page)

“And if you look farther, you can see Centennial Park, built for the 1996 Olympics.” He leaned closer and I prayed he couldn't hear the racing of my pulse. It rivaled the speed of any Olympic runner. I turned toward the room, clutching my camera between us like a shield.

“So are all your buildings modern like this?”

Even though I was tall, the top of my head still only came to his chin and he had to tilt his head to look down at me. He was so close I could practically count his eyelashes.

“You don't like it at all, do you?”

Unfortunately, we were back to my views on his apartment. “I didn't say that . . . This place is actually quite striking.”

His mouth tipped up in the corner and I clutched my camera tighter, trying to think of the words to use.

“It's really different from what you grew up with, though. You were raised in a house that was so full of—color.” I wanted to say
life
but the mortuary image needed to be put to rest . . . so to speak.

He stepped away and his face shuttered. “That is the point of modern architecture. It is all about focusing on a single object, like the view out this window. No distractions by the debris that occupies most spaces.”

“Well, antiques and family pictures are hardly trash.”

“I didn't call them trash. But they clutter up a lot of things. People don't realize how little they need until they eliminate it. It's liberating.”

“I guess I never thought of it that way.” My racing heart stopped cold somewhere in the middle of this conversation. “So, did you design this building?”

“My firm did. I usually work with corporate spaces and there are offices on the other floors of this building. Our residential and corporate groups do a lot together in the city.”

“Where is your office?” I asked.

“Not far from here. But I don't spend much time there. I'm usually on project sites and meeting with clients. I hate sitting behind a desk.”

So, he designed corporate spaces but didn't like sitting in the office much? Interesting. If his office was anything like his apartment, I wouldn't want to spend time there either. I wondered if he saw the irony.

I smiled sweetly. “It looks like you love your work.”

His nostrils flared and he returned my smile, only it didn't reach his eyes. “Speaking of work, how have things been going for you in that department?”

I blinked. Beneath his smooth veneer I must have gotten to him. My lack of enthusiasm had hit a sore spot. Unfortunately for him, I was pretty thick-skinned about being jobless.

“You know art—it's the first thing to get cut in the budget crunch in schools these days,” I said with a laugh, referring to the layoffs in the high school arts programs.

“Actually, I was surprised you went into teaching. Wasn't photography your dream?” he said, touching the top of my camera.

Touché. I subtly pulled back from his reach. He noticed, and dropped his hand.

“It's okay. I am happy to be back home in Truhart . . . helping my family.” I put the emphasis on the words
home
and
family
.

He barely nodded and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Your mom mentioned you probably weren't coming home anytime soon,” I blurted.

“I don't think so. It's just too tough to get away.”

“She misses you.” It was such a pathetic way to guilt him into coming home.

“We talk several times a week, Bump. And she says she is busier than ever with the dogs and the church.”

“I know that's what she says.” If he had no idea that his mom missed him, I wasn't going to explain.

“She visited Atlanta last spring. And I told her to bring Melissa and Jenny in December. They love the city at Christmas. The weather is great, there is so much to do here, and it isn't so—” He opened his mouth to say something else, then seemed to think better of it.

Wasn't so
what
?

We were interrupted by a shout in the room behind us.

“Hey, you're missing it, the Braves have loaded the bases,” called Henry.

Kevin and Richard waved me over to a spot they had created between them. I smiled and walked away from Nick. For the next hour, my ego enjoyed having Richard's and Kevin's attention. Nick sat mutely across from us. He kept his eyes on the screen the entire time, looking like a gloomy fan as his team suffered four strikeouts in a row and the injury of a key player.

The game ended and Richard stood up. “Who's up for a night out? Let's go drown our sorrows in good food and better drink.”

 

Two hours later I found myself in the middle of a chic midtown martini bar. Blue lights lit the room's borders and cool jazz energized the under-forty crowd. From the moment we pulled into valet parking, I'd felt out of my league. Once inside the Double Olive, we found ourselves in the crush of an upscale crowd dressed to the nines in designer clothes and lots of bling. I was conscious of my simple clothes and the scuff marks on my discount shoes.

Our group had grown larger since we'd left Nick's apartment. Two other couples, friends of Charlotte's and Henry's, had joined us. And wonder of wonders, my favorite D-cups made an appearance. Brittany wore a sheer white top over a low-cut matching camisole, a black miniskirt, and high-heel boots that made her legs go on forever, or at least up to her armpits. She sat to Nick's right and leaned into him sickeningly as she curled her perfectly manicured hand around her martini glass. I secretly hoped she would spill the chocolate martini she wielded so gracefully down the front of her Ds.

As I clutched my glass, Kevin described a sand trap he had played on the seventeenth hole overlooking the bluffs of the Australian coast. Both he and Richard had moved closer as more people joined our table, and Kevin's hand rested on the back of my chair while he talked.

“I know we are probably boring you with all this golf talk, Annie, but the game is addictive. Have you ever played?”

I pressed my lips together, trying not to grin. “Just a bit.”

Richard leaned in and gestured toward Kevin. “Anytime you do play, Annie, don't let this guy give you pointers. You'll never get out of the rough.”

Kevin laughed. “Spoken like someone who spends a lot of time in the rough. You should know all about sand traps, Rich.”

“Say, Annie,” said Richard, “we're playing in a really laid-back tournament at the club tomorrow and there's room in our group. How about you let us give you some pointers. You never know, you might get hooked once you know a little bit more about how to play.”

Across the table Nick froze, his glass of scotch raised halfway to his lips. He looked over the rim at me and our eyes met. Nick knew all about my golf game.

I had grown up with a golf course in my backyard.

“I don't know, I guess it could be fun,” I said, lifting my shoulders.

Charlotte laughed nervously from farther down the table. Although she had never been very interested in golf, she was a decent player and had witnessed my hustling firsthand when she worked the golf shack snack bar.

“Charlotte could loan you the new clubs she bought last summer, Annie,” Henry said. “But are you sure you want to play? You don't have to make these buffoons happy.” Judging by the twinkle in Henry's eye, I guessed he had already heard about my golf game.

Nick sent me a warning look. But I wasn't paying attention, or at least I pretended I wasn't.

“Well, it sounds like it would be fun to give it a try. You men just tell me what time to be ready and I'll be there.” I frowned down at my shoes. “Is it okay if I wear these?”

“God no!” said Richard. “You have to wear golf shoes. Charlotte, you played with Henry a few times. Do you have shoes Annie could wear?”

“My feet are a little smaller, but she could probably squeeze into them if she wears thin socks,” she said with a hint of wariness in her voice. I flashed her a grin, hoping I could loosen her up a little.

I raised my hands and looked around the table. “Special shoes? I thought I could just wear an old pair of sneakers. I had no idea I needed special shoes.” Henry slapped the table and laughed. I caught him winking at me. It was nice to know I had found a kindred soul.

Nick rolled his eyes and sent me a withering look. Okay, perhaps I was lathering it on a little thick. But I was having fun for the first time since arriving in Atlanta, and the part about the sneakers was actually true. I wasn't a stickler for golf formalities.

“Do you want another drink, Annie?” Kevin asked.

I looked down and realized that my glass was empty. I nodded my head. I hadn't eaten since lunch and a warm, mellow feeling relaxed me. I was only too happy to keep the feeling going.

Nick leaned forward and said in a low voice, “Be careful, Bump. A martini is a lot stronger than a bottle of beer.”

“Thanks for warning me, Nick. After watching Aunt Addie and Mom last night, I would never have figured that out,” I said, aiming a dagger of sarcasm his way.

Brittany readjusted her blouse, which further exposed her breasts, and raised her voice. “I can't imagine you get too many martinis up in Michigan, Annie.”

“What?! You haven't lived until you've tried the Truhart Twister.” I made that up, of course.

Nick closed his eyes and shook his head as if he had just undergone surgery without anesthesia. I couldn't help it. I really liked Henry and the boys, but Brittany was a snob through and through.

“You'll have to make it for us sometime,” said Kevin. “So, another one?”

“Yup,” I said, smothering a hiccup as Nick focused on his glass.

“So, tell us what it was like growing up in Truhart,” Henry said.

“Yeah,” added Richard. “I'll bet you have some great stories about Nick.”

“And Charlotte,” added Henry from farther down the table.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Now I was in my element. Telling childhood stories about my two favorite people in the world was almost as good as finding the perfect photo opportunity at sunset.

I began with my story about Charlotte as Mary in our church nativity play. That was the year Charlotte had been on a Disney kick and had to be coerced out of her Little Mermaid dress to wear a robe for the part of Mary.

After I had warmed up on Charlotte, everyone begged for stories about Nick. I took great pleasure in telling them about his rather colorful adventures with my brother, the summer they discovered WWF wrestling on TV. Of course they had only been twelve, but their pitiful attempts to mimic the great Hulk Hogan had kept our mothers in a state of continuous anxiety.

Even Brittany laughed at the image of Nick shirtless in a cape. After I finished and the conversation moved on, Nick tapped the table, staring absently at his fingers. I had a feeling he was remembering more than just my stories. I hoped he was remembering good things about growing up in Truhart. Something more than whatever was keeping him away.

Then he raised his eyes and met mine. I tilted my head and grinned, but his expression remained stony.

A moment later Brittany put her hand on Nick's arm and he turned away. “You are still playing with Daddy and the Vanderbeeks in the tournament tomorrow, right, Nick?”

“Of course,” he said. Then he flashed her a heart-stopping smile.

Brittany had just performed her own hustle. I had been waiting all evening for that smile—but Nick had given it to her instead.

I
t had been a while since I'd played a round of golf and I was eager to see if I still had my game. I whistled my favorite
Caddyshack
tune as I opened the refrigerator door in Charlotte's kitchenette and grabbed milk for my cereal. Charlotte lay on the couch, in the pink Pokémon pajamas I bought her for Christmas last year, and sipped coffee while she watched her
Morning Show
on TV, doing its customary jump from perky topic to headline news.

“So, Annie . . . you aren't really going to do anything crazy today, are you?” she asked casually when a commercial came on.

I stopped whistling and put my cereal bowl in the sink. “Crazy? Who, me?” I said, winking at her.

“No. Really. You are just going to have a little fun, right? You aren't going to cheat Richard and Kevin out of any money or anything like that, are you?”

“Nah,” I said. “Don't worry. They'll still be able to buy you and Henry a great wedding gift when this is over.”

Her mouth compressed and she smoothed her messy hair back. Once again I sensed something bothering her and I promised myself that we would have another talk soon. She seemed perfectly happy when she was around Henry, but when she was with me she acted edgy. Aunt Addie would say she was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs.

The phone rang, and the doorman announced Kevin's arrival.

“Oh jeez, I'm late,” I said, grabbing Charlotte's clubs. She had left them for me by the door.

“As soon as they are up and ready to go, I am going to take Mom and Aunt Addie to Bellasposa to see the dress. But I can pick you up if you need me to, Annie,” Charlotte said, trailing after me. “We should be getting ready for the shower no later than five o'clock. Bring your phone in case you need me to get you early. Okay?”

I nodded as I stuffed my phone into a zippered compartment in the golf bag and arranged the strap over my shoulder. I was more excited to play golf than to attend the bridal shower, but I would never let her know that.

 

When I hopped in Kevin's car I was surprised by the sight of Richard sitting in the backseat with his hand wrapped in a bag of ice.

“What happened?”

“
Someone
closed my hand in the door of the car,” he said.

“Only an idiot would put his hand on the door frame when I was about to close it,” Kevin retorted.

“I was trying to open the back door so I could move the clubs you stupidly put in the front seat. And you're the idiot for not looking to see who might be standing there when you pushed the damn door closed.”

Fortunately, from the way he moved his fingers it looked like Richard's hand wasn't broken. But it was turning an alarming shade of purple.

“Are you sure you're going to be okay?” I asked.

He nodded. “At the very least I'll drive the cart. Besides, I wouldn't want to leave you alone with this amateur. You would never learn a thing from this duffer.”

For some reason I felt right at home with Kevin and Richard's bickering. They reminded me of my brother Ian. By the time we arrived at the Thorn Hill Golf Club in the heart of Atlanta, the conversation had deteriorated to a discussion of who had broken the most bones over the years. I shook my head at the way men loved to brag about injury and pain and flexed my fingers inconspicuously, anticipating the feel of my first drive off the tee.

After we had unloaded our clubs and put on our shoes, we lined up at the registration table. Thankfully, it was windy and eighty degrees, cool for Atlanta in August. The weather report predicted rain from the first tropical storm of the season, but it hadn't reached us yet.

“They might make us combine teams since Richard here can't play, Annie. But don't let that make you nervous. Like I said, this is a pretty laid-back tournament. Not that we don't occasionally have an older member who thinks he's at the Masters. But for the most part, this is just a friendly Saturday game.”

I ran my hand through my hair and tried not to look like a fraud. I felt a twinge of guilt, but it wouldn't hurt a thing if I went along with Kevin for a short time. They would be laughing along with me by the end of the round.

“Don't worry, Annie. I got your back on this,” Richard added. “I may not be able to play, but I'll help you as we go.” He popped another ibuprofen in his mouth and I double-checked his hand. It hadn't swelled much more, but it looked painful.

The lady at the registration table shook her blond ponytail and leaned over to whisper to an older woman next to her. The older woman placed her elbows on the table and said to Kevin, “I hope you don't mind, young man, but we might need to put you into a foursome. We have another team with two players who canceled this morning . . . if that is okay with you?”

Richard leaned on his bag. “We don't mind much, but we have a beginner with us and she might feel awkward.” He nodded my way.

“I don't mind if no one else does,” I said.

“Well, let me call the other team over and you can talk before you decide,” the woman said.

I looked around for a group of two. Amid the sea of navy and white polo tops I didn't see anyone who looked like they were missing players. Until I spotted two familiar faces.

Nick and Brittany leaned against a golf cart talking to a white-haired man. That must be “Daddy.” The gentleman bore the angles of privilege: a long patrician nose, square jaw, a good head of white hair, and height. Every pore screamed money, and I could see a faint resemblance to his daughter.

Then I noticed our registration lady approaching them and nodding her head in our direction. Nick's brown eyes turned black as he looked our way. I could see a muscle twitch in his neck, even from where I stood. The older man smiled and started walking our way, followed by a reluctant-looking Brittany and a moody-looking Nick.

“Well, well, boys. It looks like you are as stranded as we are.”

“Hello, Mr. Hartwick, sir.” Kevin and Richard's immediate deferral to the older gentleman and the way they stood up straighter as they shook his hand caught my attention. This man was important.

Mr. Hartwick looked down at Richard's injured left hand. “Hope you didn't do any permanent harm, boy,” he said.

“The only permanent harm done is to a good friendship, sir.”

Kevin rolled his eyes but said nothing.

Richard stepped aside slightly. “Mr. Hartwick, in case you didn't meet her at the dinner party, may I introduce Annie Adler. She is Charlotte Adler's sister, soon to be Henry's sister-in-law. We thought we would introduce her to the game of golf. Annie, this is Travis Hartwick, Brittany's father and owner of the GATE Network where Charlotte works.”

I raised my eyebrows and tried to pick my jaw up from where I dropped it on the ground. Really? Brittany's father was the owner of the GATE Network?

“My wife has told me all about you, but she didn't mention how pretty you are,” he said, smoothly gripping my hand and holding it in his.

“Your wife?” I looked over at Brittany, sinking further into confusion. But before I repressed a shudder, he replied.

“Scarlett, of course.”

My smile froze on my face. I looked from Brittany to Nick and then back again at Travis Hartwick. I must have been the densest person in the world not to make the connection between Scarlett and Brittany. In my defense, their hair and uh . . . bra sizes were nothing alike. And Scarlett must have been using her maiden name in her profession rather than her married name. But if I looked past the makeup, I could see a faint resemblance in the shade of their eyes and the tilt of their brows.

“The Hartwick and Lowell families have been close friends for thirty years now. Henry's father and I went to Ole Miss together and started out in business years ago before going our separate ways. Henry is like a son to me. In fact, there was a time when I thought he would be my son—that is, until your Yankee sibling came along.”

I was beginning to understand why Charlotte was nervous about this wedding. Still, Brittany seemed far more interested in Nick than Henry.

As if reading my mind, she said, “Oh, Daddy. Henry is like a brother to me. I always tell you that. Dating him would have been like dating a member of my own family.” She smiled and for the first time I saw warmth inside her ice princess exterior as she looked up at her father. The moment was shattered as he reached over and touched Nick's shoulder.

“Well, I guess we will have to settle for some other fine young gentleman who'll make my little girl happy, right, Nick? Glad I could introduce her to someone as smart as this guy. You know Nick Conrad, right? He is a rising star in one of the country's top architectural firms . . . that I just happen to own as well.” He was so smug it grated my nerves.

Nick's attention was elsewhere and his face was partially hidden from me as he turned to Richard and examined his hand while Travis was talking.

“Actually, I met Nick a long time ago. I think I was about two,” I said, smiling brightly.

The older man raised his eyebrow and looked questioningly at Nick.

“Annie and I were neighbors growing up. Her brother was my best friend,” Nick said with a simple nod my way. His eyes brushed over me and I could tell he was irritated at the way the day was unfolding.

“Well, then it sounds like we have ourselves a golf game. You two know each other . . . from Ohio, was it?”

“Michigan,” Nick and I said in unison.

But Travis kept talking. “If you two know each other from your little Northern town, and I know everyone else, we should get along brilliantly, my dear. As for your golf game, little lady, I am sure I can give you some great pointers on the sport. Down here in the South we pride ourselves on our mastery of the links. Not everyone appreciates the game.” He nodded toward Brittany. “All it takes is one great shot and you're hooked. And I have the fortunate habit of making great shots so often I am downright addicted!” He laughed at his own joke and we all chuckled.

Why did every man I met this weekend have such a driving need to teach the “little ladies” in their lives all about the game of golf? I rubbed my hand along the side of my bag and relished the moment when I could let myself enjoy the game.

Once the ladies at the registration table were assured that there would be no problem with our new foursome, Brittany kissed her daddy good-bye and we walked to the first hole and waited for our start time.

While the others were busy with their equipment, Richard took me aside and whispered, “Whatever you do, don't bet with Travis.”

“Why not?” I whispered back.

“He's a rotten cheat. He'll do anything to win. It's probably why the Vanderbeeks canceled on him.”

I raised my eyebrows. Well, well, Brittany's daddy was a cheat and a snob. This was going to be very interesting. A piece of the old hustler in me was rising to the surface and I could feel my pulse throb in excitement.

The others gathered near the first tee and Kevin approached, taking his job as my mentor very seriously. “So, we all tee off by these markers, but because you are a girl your tee is farther up, a little closer to the hole way over there. Can you remember that?”

“Oh yeah. That's really nice of the people who make the rules,” I said innocently.

“Well, golf is a gentleman's sport, Annie,” he assured me. Kevin and Richard reminded me of all the basic rules of golf and I nodded my head as they explained all about bogies, birdies, and pars.

“Just take it one shot at a time, Annie. No pressure. Okay?” Richard said.

While Richard and Kevin wandered over to talk with Travis and Brittany about the scoring and rules of this particular scramble, Nick came over and stood beside me.

“Pretending you can't play golf with just Kevin or Richard is one thing. But now that you're in the middle of a real tournament, playing with a whole group of people, things are much more complicated. Do you ever consider that maybe you should think before you act, Bump?”

I did feel a little regretful, to be sure. But it wasn't going to get messy. “It's not going to be a big deal, Nick. I'll start slow and get a little better as we play. Once the guys realize I can actually play, we are all going to relax and enjoy ourselves.”

He studied my face. “I hope you're right. But I know you and you're not going to be able to resist winning this game. Everyone around here knows Travis Hartwick likes to win. You have no idea what you are getting yourself into. Every time you assume something is simple it ends up being complicated. You step into trouble the way some people step into shoes, Bump.”

I put my hands on my hips and looked up at him. “I had no idea we would be playing with anyone else, so don't blame this on me. And what do you mean, I'm always in trouble? Everything that isn't business is trouble in your book. Do you even know the meaning of fun? I'm surprised you don't have a tie on.”

Nick started to say something, but Kevin interrupted. “Hey, Nick and Annie, it's tee time.”

I stormed away from Nick and joined the others. Richard drove his golf cart with his good hand and we decided to take turns walking. He pulled up alongside the tee while Kevin and Travis Hartwick selected their drivers.

“Let us men start, little lady. We'll show you the right way to swing the club. Then we'll let you try,” said Travis. He held up the tee and placed it in the grass before balancing his ball on it. “Now this here is the Vardon Grip, it's the right way to hold your club. You want to stand like so,” he said as he showed me the basic golf stance. Unfortunately, he was leaning all wrong from the hips up. “Make sure to balance your feet and keep your head from bobbing as you swing.”