Authors: Eileen Goudge
“I didn’t tell you the latest.” Sam tactfully changed the subject. “It turns out Hector’s family is coming to the wedding after all. Aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, cousins—not one of whom speaks a word of English. Laura has no idea where she’s going to put them all.”
“I could take one or two,” Gerry offered.
“Thanks, I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.” Sam’s gaze strayed to Melodie; then she quickly looked away—as if remembering when she’d been fodder for wagging tongues.
“By the way, did I mention Aubrey was coming?” Gerry had told Laura, but hadn’t gotten around to letting Sam know. Probably because she’d feared the response she was getting now.
Sam wore a knowing smile as she tipped her mug back. “Well, it’s about time.”
“Don’t get any ideas,” Gerry warned. Just because he was going to be her date at the wedding, it didn’t mean they were closing in on the altar themselves. “Things are perfect as they are.”
Sam arched a brow. “For now, maybe.”
Gerry didn’t like where this was heading. “Even if I wanted more—which I assure you I
don’t
—Aubrey Roellinger is the last man on earth I’d marry.”
Sam sat back with a puzzled look. “I don’t get it. You seem so perfect for each other.”
Gerry gave her a sage wink, realizing that perhaps she
was
a little drunk. “I make it a habit never to share my bed with more than one person at a time.”
“I take it you’re referring to his wife.” Sam could be naive at times, but she wasn’t blind.
“To say he’s not over her is putting it mildly. He can’t even talk about her.”
She thought about the way his eyes would go dark at times, as profoundly and completely as lights being switched off in a shuttered room. The few times he’d spoken of Isabelle, Gerry had gotten the impression he was only pretending, for the sake of those who wouldn’t have left him alone otherwise, to be getting on with his life. Unlike Sam, who deep down must have been relieved when Martin died, Aubrey guarded his grief like buried treasure.
“It takes time.” The sorrowful note in Sam’s voice reminded her that, despite everything, she
had
loved Martin.
“Believe me, a lifetime wouldn’t be enough.” She felt envious. Not of Isabelle herself, but of his devotion. To have been loved so deeply …
Sam’s hands were folded primly on the table in front of her. Her expression made it plain she wasn’t buying it. “It wouldn’t kill you, you know.”
“What?”
“If you
were
in love.”
“Love? What’s that?” Gerry gave a cynical laugh.
“Funny. You did such a good job of selling
me
on the idea.” Sam was reminding her of how relentlessly she’d campaigned on Ian’s behalf. “Now that the shoe’s on the other foot …”
“It’s different with me. I’m only sleeping with the guy.” Gerry spoke lightly, but she knew it wasn’t that simple—she
could
fall in love with Aubrey given half a push. “Besides, if what happened to you is anything to go by, I should be running for the hills. Face it, Sam, as much as you’re going to love this baby, your days of peace and quiet are over. Me? I plan on fading gracefully into middle age.”
“What are you talking about? We’re middle-aged now.”
Gerry tossed her head. “Speak for yourself.”
The two women shared a laugh.
Across the room, Melodie and her current beau were sitting quietly at their table sipping drinks and smoking cigarettes. Jimmy and Luis had quit arguing and gone back to playing pool, and the man at the bar was on his second beer. The jukebox clicked and another song was loaded: an oldie but goodie, Herb Alpert’s “A Taste of Honey.”
Gerry signaled for the check.
The morning of the wedding was cool and overcast. Gerry had had her doubts about an outdoor ceremony this time of year, but by the time she and the other guests had been ferried by four-wheel drive up the dusty track behind Laura’s ranch to the hilltop where the ceremony was to take place, the skies had magically cleared.
She looked about, marveling at the unobstructed view. Nothing but grass and trees rising and falling in gentle waves, and the green heart of the valley stretched out below. Several miles away, atop the neighboring hill, stood the convent, which from this distance resembled nothing so much as a medieval walled fortress. She watched an acorn-size cloud of dust inching its way up the narrow ribbon of road—Sister Josepha, no doubt, back from her weekly expedition into town for groceries.
The mountains beyond seemed almost close enough to touch: Sleeping Indian Chief and Toyon Ridge, sugared with snow, and to the south and west Two Sisters’ Peaks and the anvil-shaped Moon’s Nest. The shadows of the few remaining clouds glided like silent gray barges over the sun-drenched foothills below.
She turned to Aubrey, who stood at her side, his hand resting lightly against the small of her back. “I can’t think of a nicer spot to get married.”
“My sentiments exactly.” In jeans and a navy sport jacket—Laura had specifically requested casual attire— he was the picture of casual elegance. Even his hair fell with just the right touch of louche over the jacket’s hand-stitched collar. He pointed to the mountain at the northernmost end of the valley. “What’s that one over there?”
“Sespe—Chumash for kneecaps.” she told him. “See how it looks like someone squatting?”
“Not very romantic.”
“Oh, I don’t know. He could be getting down on his knee to propose.” She could joke like this with Aubrey, knowing he wouldn’t get the wrong idea.
“In that case, we’ll never know what her answer was.” In the sunlight his eyes, creased with amusement, were the clear golden brown of the creek meandering in and out of the willows below.
It occurred to Gerry that they were suspended in the same way. Two people who’d found temporary shelter in each other’s arms and would never progress past that point. The thought made her sad. Maybe it was the occasion—or the image of those eternally frozen lovers. Either way, she found herself wishing for something more; maybe not what Laura and Hector had, but enough to bring comfort on nights when the joy of a bed all to herself paled in comparison to someone snuggled beside her.
“Don’t look now,” she leaned close to whisper, “but we’re being watched.”
Alice Carpenter was coolly observing them from the shade of a nearby live oak where she stood with her husband Wes—Ian’s father. A few feet from Alice and Wes, Anna Vincenzi sneaked surreptitious looks at them as well.
Aubrey didn’t appear the least bit ruffled. “You’d better get used to it. I have a feeling this is only the beginning.”
“It’s not like they’ve never seen me with a man,” she said.
He arched a brow. “Should I be jealous?”
“Wildly.” She never knew when Aubrey was kidding. He certainly wasn’t the jealous type.
“At least your private life isn’t grist for the tabloids.”
“I wonder what they’d say about
us
?” She smiled.
“Oh, they’d probably have us secretly married by now.” His brown eyes sparkled with humor. “Or at the very least engaged.”
Gerry allowed herself to imagine it: Aubrey and her. Then the image faded, and with it any silly romantic notions today’s occasion might have dredged up. She felt vaguely irritated. She hadn’t minded his teasing in the past, but suddenly wished he wouldn’t say such things.
She looked over at her children. Andie, in a blue knit dress with rows of sparkly studs in each ear, curving in moonlike crescents, appeared to be giving some kind of pep talk to Finch, who looked darkly exotic in a long-sleeved cotton dress that in the breeze billowed about her ankles. Justin stood kicking at a dirt clod a few yards away, looking uncomfortable in his new jacket and chinos and more than a little bent out of shape that there was no one his age.
What did they make of Aubrey? She’d had him over for dinner last week, and they’d both been so well behaved—almost to a fault—but she couldn’t tell if they’d liked him or not.
She wondered for the dozenth time if bringing him had been such a good idea. Wasn’t it making a statement of some kind? And come to think of it, what
about
the tabloids? Sooner or later they were sure to get wind of her.
Alice and Wes wandered over. In her pleated cream trousers and chocolate blazer, a scarf artfully knotted about her neck, Sam’s younger daughter might have stepped from a Ralph Lauren ad. She glanced from Gerry to Aubrey with a knowing look. No doubt she’d drawn her share of such looks with Wes, who was a good deal older.
Alice kissed her on the cheek before extending a hand to Aubrey. “Hi. I’m Alice Carpenter.”
“I recognize you from the photo.” Aubrey was quick to explain. “I came across one from your wedding that your mother had forgotten to take with her.”
Alice smiled up at Wes. “We were married last summer.”
“Now
that
was one hell of an occasion.” Wes chuckled, and Gerry knew he was referring to Finch, who’d crashed the reception and nearly ruined it.
“And here we all are again.” Alice sighed. “Frankly, I never thought I’d see the day.” She turned to Gerry. “Remember when we were kids, how my sister used to follow Hector around like a puppy? He always pretended not to notice, but he’d have to have been blind not to. Wonder what took him so long to pop the question.”
Gerry remembered years ago when Hector, a skinny eighteen-year-old speaking no English and without even a green card, had shown up on Sam’s doorstep. Sam had taken him on as a hired hand, and he’d been with the family ever since.
“It could have had something to do with Peter,” Gerry said dryly, reminding them that this wasn’t Laura’s first trip to the altar.
“Peter? He was just the warm-up act.” Alice dismissed him with an airy wave, saying to Wes, “You see, darling? If you don’t watch out, you could end up in the same boat.”
Wes gave a hearty laugh. “I have two mottoes: Never own a car you can’t handle, and never marry a woman you can.” Big and handsome in a swashbuckling sort of way, with a head of iron hair and beard to match, he’d always struck Gerry as a man who’d encountered little in life he couldn’t handle. He kissed Gerry on the cheek before extending a hand to Aubrey. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” The look Wes gave him was that of a kindred spirit. The founder and CEO of a multibillion-dollar cable network, he, too, had drawn his share of unwanted attention from the press. “Sam tells us she couldn’t ask for a better tenant.”
“Probably because I’m hardly ever there,” Aubrey told him.
“Is Lupe driving you crazy yet?” Of the two girls, Alice looked the most like her mother—she had Sam’s delicate bone structure and heart-shaped face, but her hair was blond and her blue eyes carbon copies of Martin’s.
Aubrey laughed. “She can be a bit domineering at times.”
“Mom’s tried for years to get her to retire. I guess she thought renting the house out would do the trick. I guess it hasn’t.”
“I don’t mind—in fact, I’m not sure how much would get done without her.”
Alice looked as if she were wondering where Gerry fit in. “Well, I’m glad we finally had a chance to meet. In fact, we’d love to have you two up for dinner sometime.”
There was a moment of awkward silence. It wasn’t anything against Alice and Wes, just that contrary to Aubrey’s public person—or maybe in reaction to it—he almost never socialized outside of family and old friends. Luckily, he was saved from having to reply by the roar of Laura’s Explorer making its way up the dusty track, brightly colored streamers rippling gaily from its bumper. As it topped the rise, Gerry watched Finch break away from Andie to attend to her duties as maid of honor.
Hector, in jeans and a pressed white shirt—a silver bola tie his only concession to the occasion—climbed from the front seat and walked around to Laura’s side. As she stepped down, dressed in a plain organdy gown that might indeed have passed for a slip, but which suited her perfectly, Gerry couldn’t help thinking of a cactus flower blooming after a long dry spell in the desert. Laura had lost the ten or so extra pounds she’d put on after the divorce and, though Alice had always been the prettier of the two, at this moment she was by far the most beautiful woman on the hill. Her brown eyes sparkled and her olive skin glowed. A crown of baby roses sat atop her shining brown head.
Hector, bandy-legged from a lifetime on horseback, with a broad chest hammered to iron hardness from hoisting bales and heavy machinery, hooked an arm through Laura’s, his dark eyes fixed on her as if they were the only two people for miles around.
Gerry glanced about at the other guests—roughly fifty in all, with Hector’s contingent far outweighing Laura’s. A whole passel of his relatives were talking animatedly among themselves while Sam made the rounds, putting her spotty high school Spanish to use. Luckily, Gerry hadn’t had to find room for them in her house. Alice and Wes, as their wedding gift, had put them all up at the Horse Creek Inn.
Gerry’s gaze fell on Ian, chatting with Anna Vincenzi by the makeshift altar—fittingly enough, a saddle tree decked in flowers. Anna looked less drab than usual in a flowered dress and lipstick, her plump cheeks pink from the unaccustomed attention—usually she was overshadowed by Monica.
A few feet away, elderly Maude Wickersham, one of Laura’s strays who’d stuck around long enough to become a fixture, peeked out from under a cartwheel hat almost big enough to topple her tiny frame. She wore a shantung suit from another era, one of her thrift shop purchases, no doubt. Gerry watched her totter over to greet Mavis, who looked equally festive in a circle-cut denim skirt and fancy cowgirl shirt like the ones Dale Evans used to wear.
The crowd parted as Laura and Hector began making their way to the altar, stopping to greet people along the way. Laura was holding her hem up to keep it from trailing on the ground, revealing a pair of brand-new cream suede cowboy boots that made Gerry smile, they were so … well, Laura. Hector had on cowboy boots of his own, black with fancy stitching, and a belt with a conch buckle that would have felled a bull.
Gerry blinked back sudden tears. Dammit, she’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry. What was it with her? For someone so dead set against another wedding of her own, how could she be such a sucker for other people’s?