Talk of the Town (23 page)

“We need five minutes, Mr. Groom. Can ya wait that long?” Myrtle got between them and pulled Kelly into a side room—the reverend’s office. Kelly slipped off her mud boots with Myrtle’s help, and slid on her Cinderella court shoes, all satiny white and beaded with crystals and pearls.

“Oh, Myrtle, they’re beautiful. And just perfect for the occasion.” Kelly gave a little laugh, then started to cry.

“I know, I know, shoes have that same effect on me. Now bend down here and let me pin up yer head. There’s no champagne for you this time, so you’ll have to pull yourself together. Here’s a Kleenex.”

Myrtle set her veil and headpiece in place, and Kelly finished with a dash of red lipstick: Marry Me Red. Myrtle had sent away for it special. Kelly put it on using the reverend’s little wall mirror. She looked grand, probably the best of her three weddings. Myrtle had sprinkled Kelly’s still-blonde hair with some wild crystalline hair glitter. She was glowing in every way possible.

“I never had a daughter, but if I did, I’d want her just like you, sweetie.” Myrtle pulled out a tissue for herself and dabbed at her eyes. “I’ve got a present for ya. You can think about it if you want.” She pulled a folded-up paper out of her backpack. Kelly read it: Petition for Adoption.

“You want to adopt me?” Kelly felt a huge lump come up in her throat. “Can we really do that?”

“So says the State of Washington, and a very cute lawyer that helped me draw the papers up. More like we’d adopt each other, really. I’d be
your ma, you’d be my kid, and someday you’d inherit the Hen House, even. Then I’d be official grandma to your little one.”

“Oh, Myrtle, I’d be honored. I love you so much, now you’re gonna make me cry for sure.” Both women broke down, and Myrtle’s pocketful of Kleenexes soaked up the stray tears while they gave each other hugs.

“Now quit yer blubberin’, and let’s get this weddin’ over with. You’ll be namin’ that baby before you get a ring on yer finger, for pity’s sake.”

Myrtle and Kelly walked around to the back of the sanctuary. Kelly picked up her beautiful bouquet.

Sam’s dad stood waiting, incredibly handsome in a black tux with a red rose in his lapel. “I thought I’d give you a hand down the aisle this time, if you like. I’m going to keep an eye on you until this is all over.” He offered her his arm.

She took it and kissed his cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark. It looked almost as good on him as on Sam.

They listened as Lydia Peterson struck up a lovely classical piece on the piano. Her sister Mavis joined on harp, and Emily Grayson played her violin. Sam had picked out the piece they played. He said it was perfect—and short.

Sam’s sister Anne and Ginny Palmer looked so
amazing in their red velvet. It was a spectacle the likes of which Paradise would not see again, because she wasn’t going to throw them a wedding
every
month!

When she reached the front, Hank let her go, Sam took her arm, and the ceremony began. And everyone in town forever held their peace.

“I did
not
ask the caterer to make the angel ice sculpture anatomically correct, that was Cora’s idea,” Evelyn Grayson said, as her husband waltzed her around the dance floor.

“Of course not, dear,” he answered.

The Paradise High School orchestra kept everyone swaying and twirling with its lively rhythms. Myrtle settled smartly into Santa’s arms and let him lead. “Jake Jacobsen, you ol’ devil, if you kiss me like that again, I’ll just have ta—”

“Make me breakfast?” Jake said as he nibbled her ear.

“Grrrr.” Myrtle made a sound like a cat growling. “Do you like grits?”

The room was lit with a thousand tiny twinkling holiday lights powered by a generator hidden outside somewhere.

This was the same room where Sam had first danced with Kelly. Where she had fallen under the spell of Paradise.

A magnificent Christmas tree stood in the far corner of the room, covered with huge ribbons, red and white roses, lilies, crystal icicles, and angels. Candles graced all the tables, illuminating a feast fit for royalty. The townspeople of Paradise filled their white china plates with delec-tables and enjoyed themselves up to their small-town elbows.

The French champagne flowed like water, literally, as it cascaded over a huge silver fountain contraption and sparkled into hundreds of fluted crystal glasses. The teenagers stole sips until Reverend Evans placed himself beside the table. Kelly noticed that the reverend was swaying a bit. Fortunately, hardly anyone was driving home, including the reverend.

Sam and Kelly surveyed the wondrous interactions of their wedding feast, as they sat at their royal table, surrounded with family. The towering, artistic creation that was their cake had been cut. Sam still had frosting on his nose from Kelly’s traditional cake-feeding moment.

Toasts had been toasted, with tears and thank-
yous all around. Kelly sipped her special sparkling cider and watched the dancers. They’d actually done it. They’d gotten married.

“Kelly Grayson, I think it’s time to slip away to our honeymoon cottage and leave everyone to the rest of the family,” Sam said to her at last.

“And how are we planning to escape this time?”

“Seems Santa’s sleigh is ours for a few hours. Jake and Myrtle hired the Millers’ oldest boy to drive us. He’s the silent type.”

The snow had become tiny flakes that lit on their red velvet lap robe and tickled their noses. A huge December moon could be seen through the haze of snow clouds, just enough to light their way out of town.

As they made the turn out of the church lot, Kelly saw the lights spring back on. All the shop windows glittered from a distance. The only sound was the faint trail of music still coming from the church, and soon even that gave way to the silence that comes on snowy evenings in the country. Just the sound of the horses’ bells and the snow drifting down.

After a long while, Kelly snuggled closer to Sam and asked, “Where are we off to, my husband?” She leaned back and listened to the muf
fled horse hooves as the Miller’s oldest boy kept the sleigh gliding smoothly down a lane of pristine snow.

“It’s a surprise.” Sam held her close and kissed her forehead.

“Have we borrowed a cabin to honeymoon in?”

“You might say that.”

They went down a newly paved drive covered with snow that someone had strung with lights along the trees in a glittering line that led them forward. Even the drive looked terribly elegant. Kelly had completely lost her sense of direction and had no idea where they were. Probably the family’s extra house.

“Mrs. Grayson, we seem to be home.”

Kelly sat bolt upright in the sleigh as they turned down a short lane of newly planted cherry trees, bare in the winter moonlight, strung with white lights.

“Bloody hell! It can’t be. It’s the Shipley house. What have you done?”

“Now, honey, don’t go getting all upset. It’s not all the way done. I left the colors and a million details to you. We do have a bed to sleep in, and a roof to keep out the snow.”

Her head spun. She was going to faint for sure this time. He helped her out of the sleigh and
handed the Miller boy a tip, sending him on his way. The jingling of the horses faded into the dark night.

They walked up the porch she and Sam had worked so hard repairing together and approached the double entry doors, which he opened wide for her. She started in, catching a glimpse of a newly shined marble floor and the grand staircase polished and refinished to a mellow glow.

“Hold it, Mrs. G., there’s the matter of a tradition.” He picked her up, and a small groan escaped his lips.

“Oh,
now
you’re gonna start complaining, now that we’re really married!” They laughed together, and it echoed into the house. He set her down as gently as possible, inside the entry. Kelly made tiny exclamation noises and ran from space to space. The rooms were spare, but the original antiques were still in place, completely cleaned and gorgeous in their ornate wood and red velvetness.

Beautiful carpets graced every room she stepped into. The wood floors had been refinished to a dark cherry color.

In the front parlor hung the vivid painting she and Sam had picked out at the Seattle Art Museum sale.

The house was warm and inviting and beyond her wildest dreams.

She ran to the kitchen, and saw the French country cabinets she had ripped out of a magazine and showed him one time. The painting of the speckled chicken they’d bought together hung on one wall.

Off the kitchen was a large family room, and in the center stood an eight-foot evergreen, completely decked in the same roses and crystal as at their wedding. Obviously Evelyn Grayson had arranged that lovely touch.

In one corner with a big red ribbon on it stood an artist’s easel surrounded by brushes and palettes and all kinds of colorful tubes of paint. Her Christmas present, no doubt.

Sam finally caught up with her and put his arms around her.

“Sam, Sam, what are we going to do with you? You’re reckless and wild. Look at all this. Did you buy this place?”

“I did buy it. I saw how you loved it. I couldn’t help myself. I did promise I’d build a community center downtown in exchange for buying the house from the county, and also I promised we’d have a Halloween open house every year.”

“And how did you accomplish all this in such a short time?”

“I had two months really—I started in right after Halloween. When the Graysons throw their money around it gets things done quickly. And since I’d never done that before, I figured I’d give it a try.”

“Is there anything you didn’t think of?”

“I think we’re going to have a serious relationship with a plumber for the next few years.”

“Oh, Sam, I just don’t know what to say. It’s wonderful. How can I ever give you the kind of happiness you’ve given me?”

“I believe a trip to the master suite would do, for starters.” He took her hand, led her up the staircase, down a hall, and through another set of double doors. It opened on a beautiful bedroom. The huge cherry wood four-poster bed had been draped in gold and beige silks and velvets. He flipped a switch, and a dancing fire sprang up in the fireplace. “We did some modernizing.”

“Gas fireplaces? Completely redone kitchen with top-of-the-line appliances? I’d say so.”

“Creative subcontractors around here.”

She took in every corner. She found all her clothes hanging in a huge walk-in closet, and saw that her beloved Charles Jourdan shoes had somehow appeared from L.A., now displayed in their own special rack.

“Sam, my shoes! How’d you get them?”

“Your friend from the legal office managed to
rescue all your things from…somewhere we never have to think of again. After all, a girl’s got to have the right shoes for the occasion.”

“Oh, thank you, you are the best husband ever.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Sam had peeled off his wool overcoat, most of his tux, and stood there in his black socks, a completely obscene pair of men’s thong underwear, and his bow tie. She smiled and came toward him.

He started in on her, losing track of his own strip-tease, she noticed. After a velvet cape and another soft knit wrap, two layers, he was down to her twenty back-buttons. He took his time, gliding his hands around her back and over her full breasts. She could feel herself slip into a dream state as his hands caressed her every hill and valley.

They moved to their bed, and Sam pulled back the down comforter for her. She slipped into the heavenly sheets that must have been a thousand-thread count to feel this good. The room was warm as a summer night by then, and she lay completely uncovered, her arms outstretched to him.

Sam pushed a button on the bedside table, and magically, a haunting Irish melody flowed from some hidden corner of the room. She raised an eyebrow.

“Modernizing?”

“For my green-eyed lassie.”

“Come here, you blue-eyed laddie.”

He came to her.

Months later, he was still coming to her. She was round as a pumpkin nestled up behind him, an early-spring-morning chill bringing her close to him.

Sam lay awake, cherishing the feeling of her next to him. He could feel her waking up, too. He thought about the cherry trees blooming in the driveway. He thought about his new vegetable garden and how he’d better get his peas in pretty soon. He thought about what to name his son.

The baby kicked him in the ribs with a tiny, still-in-there foot.

“I think that was the butterfly stroke, Mrs. Grayson.”

“Well, he
was
conceived in a pool, Mr. Grayson,” she answered sleepily.

He turned over, put his hand on her belly, and felt three more fluttery kicks. “He’s going to be trouble.”

“Nothing we can’t handle, husband.” She pulled him into a delicious, never-ending kiss.