Authors: Linda Grimes
Ultimately, I’d decided not to tell him about the stock. I’d assured him Lily-Ann’s bail would be posted, implying that I’d heard the Conrads talking about it. So, yeah, I’d officially lied to my client, breaching our trust. But I’d been crossing my fingers at the time, so maybe God would understand.
The whole situation was twisting in my brain like a nest of adders. (And thank you for inspiring
that
lovely analogy, Mr. Jackson “Quakes-at-Snakes” Gunn.) But I couldn’t do anything about it now, so I pushed it to the back of my mind and let my subconscious chew on it, because I was sick of it.
Mark had been gone the whole week on some pressing assignment involving matters of national security (really, did he have any other kind?), and Billy was with him, subbing for Laura. Which was nice of him, and I understood completely, but I did miss him. Some parts of him even more than others.
The real problem was that Mom had put her own work on hold until after the wedding. She and Auntie Mo had a boutique modeling agency that specialized in models who looked almost exactly like the industry giants from bygone eras. More accurately, they
were
the agency—they adapted their auras to be whomever the client wanted. I sometimes helped them out in an emergency, either theirs or mine—they paid well, and when you’re perpetually low on cash, every little bit helps.
So, not only was Billy not around to distract me from the horror that was wedding prep, but Mom was in the perfect position to run my ass raggedy doing this, that, and the other thing “for Laura.” She knew I couldn’t, in my time-honored MOH position, refuse to do anything she asked as long as she tacked that onto the end of the request. I did get a little suspicious when she told me to give my own condo a good cleaning “for Laura,” but at least it kept me busy. By the end of the week, I was kicking myself for not having the foresight to schedule another job for myself. Too bad I hadn’t known the Hollywood job would be cut short.
Thank God Laura had insisted she didn’t want a big bachelorette party—she’d said the wedding following the shower so closely was more than enough excitement for her. But since Brian and James were taking Thomas out after the rehearsal dinner for one last evening as a single guy (with the understanding that Mom would kill them all if Thomas was hungover at the wedding), I felt like I should do something with Laura. We’d finally decided to just hang out together, nothing fancy. Laura had been planning to stay overnight at a hotel, so Thomas wouldn’t see her on the big day before she walked down the aisle. I suggested she might as well stay at my place instead. Since it was clean and all.
Sinead and Siobhan had moved their things over to the hotel where all our parents were staying, so Laura and I had the place to ourselves. The rehearsal had been chaotic, but it was a happy chaos, full of joking and laughter, and followed by good Italian food, which Laura only nibbled, saying to Thomas, “Hey, I can’t adapt away a belly pooch tomorrow.”
Billy and Mark had missed it, not being able to take that much time away from the assignment, but no one doubted their skill at improvising. They could be told what to do and where to stand the next day, right before the ceremony.
Back at my place, Laura and I changed into pajamas, made mimosas, and settled in front of
The Princess Bride
(hey, I can get with a theme if I have to), reciting the lines along with the characters as we giggled our way through a bottle of Mo
ë
t drowned in orange juice.
After the first glass, we’d decided the vitamin C in the OJ should counteract any possible negative effects from overindulgence in champagne.
“And if it doesn’t, then fuck it,” Laura said, her Southern accent somehow making it sound genteel.
I clinked my glass with hers. “
And
the horse it rode in on! Hey, did Thomas ever tell you I have a pony? Eeyore. He’s the best pony ever.”
Laura scrunched up her eyebrows (they were dark auburn, like her hair, and beautifully shaped). “He mentioned something about an Eeyore, but I was under the impression it was a donkey.”
I sighed, and sucked down more vitamin C. “He probably told you Eeyore was an ‘ass.’ He
happens
to be the world’s cutest Shetland pony. Also kind of an ass … hole”—she almost spewed her mimosa at that—“but he’s still the love of my life.”
“I thought Billy held that position. Unless you’ve decided … never mind. Here’s to Eeyore!”
“No, wait—what were you going to say?”
“I shouldn’t … look, you and Billy are great together.”
“But?” I said. Because there was no denying the invisible “but” at the end of her statement.
“But nothing, sugar. If Mark’s nose is a little bent out of shape by your relationship with Billy, well, it’s his own fault, isn’t it?”
“Mark is bent out of shape?” Damn. I did not like the way that made my chest clutch.
“Never mind. I’m sure it’s only a little macho pique.” She stopped for a second and studied me. “Oh, hell, Ciel. I probably shouldn’t say this, but we
are
going to be sisters. Sisters have to look out for each other, right?”
“
Yes.
We
do.
Say it, Laura.”
Still she hesitated.
“Lau-
ra
…”
“All right. Sugar, are you sure Billy is the one? That you’re not … well, settling for him because you think Mark might never come around?”
“Of course not! I
love
Billy. I think. No, I mean, I
know
I love him—I always have. He’s my honorary cousin, for God’s sake. But…”
She looked at me intently, the “But what?” there in her eyes.
“But … this romance part is new.
Could
I just be infatuated? Is it possible to love someone platonically and be infatuated with them at the same time?”
“Isn’t that what romantic love is? Loving someone like a best friend and wanting to jump their bones every time you see them?”
“Is that how you love my brother?” I asked.
Ew. My brother.
“Sure it is. Only the friendship part came
after
the initial burst of lust.”
“Crap. I got the order wrong!” I stood up. Not because I had anyplace to go, but because I couldn’t
sit.
How
did
I feel about Billy? We’d only been together romantically for a short time. It sure
felt
real, but would it last? Or would the fire fade, leaving me—and maybe him, too—stuck, pretending to feel something that wasn’t there because we couldn’t bear to hurt each other’s feelings?
I wandered to the kitchen on autopilot, and found myself in front of the freezer.
Laura came up behind me. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything—it was stupid of me to bring it up.”
“No, it’s okay. Really. But … out of curiosity … why
did
you ask that?”
Uncertainty clouded her face. “Mark’s become a good friend of mine. We talk sometimes. There are these long, boring stretches on assignments, and … well, I’m not so sure Mark
wouldn’t
come around. Eventually. Because he does love you.”
My heart clutched again. I couldn’t tell if it was because what I heard made me happy, or supremely uncomfortable. Kind of made me long for the days in the not so distant past when my love life was purely imaginary.
Laura reached around me into the freezer for a pint of ice cream. I automatically got two spoons from the drawer and followed her to the table.
The Princess Bride
droned in the background.
After we each had a couple of fortifying bites of B & J’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie, Laura continued.
“The thing is, sugar, I don’t think Mark’s exactly come to terms with his feelings yet. And who knows if he ever will? It’s hard for him to let go of this image of himself as some sort of … not superhero, exactly, but close. He has a stupidly strong sense of duty. The job is so important to him, and the idiot seems to think it’s not compatible with a personal life.”
I smiled ruefully. I could hardly complain about the hero complex—it was one of the things that had always attracted me to him. “Maybe he’s right,” I said. “Maybe it doesn’t pay to get close to a guy like him.”
She shook her head lightly, agreeing, if reluctantly. “Can’t deny that. Hell, maybe I’m being too romantic, here on the eve of my wedding. I want everyone I care about to have the same kind of love I do. And I can’t help feeling it would be a shame if you and Mark
were
meant for each other, and then it was too late because…” She shrugged.
“Because I was with Billy,” I said. “But aren’t you the one who told me what I had going with Billy was special and that I shouldn’t—and I’m quoting you here—‘fuck it up’?”
“I did. God, I feel like such a rat. I
adore
Billy. He’s a fantastic guy, and it’s obvious he’s crazy about you. If that’s mutual, then I’m thrilled for you both. But if you … well, I think every man deserves a woman who feels about him the way I feel about Tom.”
I couldn’t think of a good response, so I dug into the ice cream. From across the room, the vocally challenged clergyman from the movie proclaimed, “And wuv, twue wuv, will fowwow you fowevah…”
I had never been able to watch that scene without cracking up. Until now.
* * *
Mom’s hired decorators, under her and Auntie Mo’s madly annoying supervision, had turned The Barns from a rustically warm and inviting theater into a rustically warm and inviting wedding chapel, festooned with sheaves of wheat and yards of colorful grosgrain ribbon. They’d lined both sides of the aisle with tall, thin terracotta pots of fall flowers—chrysanthemums, pansies, and asters being the only ones I could put names to, if pressed. It was simple. It was colorful. It was gorgeous.
As I walked down the aisle I tried to focus on my handsome brother and how happy he looked, instead of staring at Mark in a tuxedo, but it wasn’t easy. What was it about a spy in a tux?
Molly, in a wispy tea-length dress the exact blue of the asters, had led the way down the aisle, rocking her debut wedding with the classic Doyle swagger. She’d given me a thumbs-up and a broad smile right before she took off (she obviously liked weddings more than I did). Sinead (same style dress, only matching the bronze mums) and Siobhan (the red mums) had followed her, one at a time. Beautiful, the both of them. I brought up the rear, unfortunately having been chosen to coordinate with the bright yellow pansies. I felt like a walking banana as I made my way down the aisle.
To the right of the temporary altar were Thomas, Mark, Brian, James … and still no Billy, not even sliding in at the last possible second, like I’d halfway expected.
Damn. Where the hell was he? He’d finally been roped in by Mom to balance out the wedding party, so he was supposed to be there. There’d been a minor kerfuffle downstairs in the dressing room when Mom and Auntie Mo couldn’t track him down, but everyone was so used to Billy breezing in at the last minute that no one had gotten too upset about it.
But if Billy wasn’t here, then …
I looked sharply at Mark. If it
was,
in fact, Mark.
Passing the front row, where my parents sat with Auntie Mo and Uncle Liam, I shot Mom a panicked look. She shrugged and shook her head, looking exasperated but not surprised. As long as Thomas was married by the end of the ceremony, she’d be fine.
Auntie Mo flashed me a peek at her smart phone, where I could see a picture of Billy’s smiling face. He must have contacted them with an excuse.
I couldn’t say I wasn’t halfway expecting this. The question was, if the job Mark and Billy had been working were at a critical point, would Mark have left it to be in a wedding?
Or would he be more inclined to have another good friend fill in for him as best man? Someone (Billy) who wouldn’t himself be missed, because he was known for being less than reliably present at family functions? Someone (Billy) who, while he would catch some shit from the parental units for missing the wedding, was more than used to letting parental shit roll off, and quite frankly, due to his well-known charm, wouldn’t be in the doghouse for very long anyway?
Or
would Mark instead trust Billy to handle the critical job so he could be there for arguably the most important day in his best friend’s life? Would Mark ever put
anything
over his job? Laura was right—he did have a stupidly strong sense of duty.
The answer probably depended entirely on how critical the job was.
I found my spot without tripping, and turned around in time to see everyone in attendance stand to watch the bride. When Laura stepped into view, all thoughts of Mark and Billy (and who was who) fled. Her utter and absolute radiance as she caught sight of Thomas didn’t leave room for any other thought. She made the vintage gown she was wearing even more beautiful.
I’d helped Laura change into her wedding finery—another of my MOH duties—so the dress itself wasn’t a big surprise to me. It had lacy cap sleeves and a V-neck, and was belted at the waist by braided satin ribbons the same colors as the flowers in the simple bound bouquet she was carrying. Layer upon layer of gossamer silk swayed close to her curves as she walked.
A circlet made of the same type of flowers as her bouquet sat atop a cap of soft, auburn curls. The elegant simplicity of the whole ensemble was perfect for both her and the setting. In the soft lighting, she looked as if she could have walked out of a tinted daguerreotype.
She was walked down the aisle by Harvey Smith, her boss and mentor at the CIA. I’d met Harvey over Laura’s hospital bed a few months earlier, and had liked the heavyset, avuncular man at once, despite Thomas’s antipathy toward him at the time. (Thomas got over it.) Harvey looked every bit as happy as Laura, proud of his position as substitute father of the bride.
I glanced at Thomas. If he had any remaining objections to Harvey, you’d never know it. Heck, I doubted he even saw Harvey. He was obviously blown away by the sight of his bride. My heart filled for him. He was a great brother, and deserved all the happiness I was sure Laura would bring him.