Roni looked disdainfully at her daughter. “And how do you know that? Did you ever ask one?” Roni glanced coquettishly at the rest of us while she giggled appreciatively at her own cleverness.
“No,” Megan said, unfazed by—or simply used to—her mother’s condescension. “Their eyes don’t have rods or cones. Rods and cones enable sight in color.” She looked back at her salmon and took a bite.
Roni stared at her daughter for a moment, an ugly red blush staining her perfect olive skin. After a beat, she shrugged a tanned shoulder. Taking a sip of her wine, she said, “Well, whatever. Avery is
I did not voice my dissent, so I gave no offense. Privately, of course, I did not think for one moment that Roni was concerned in the least about Avery giving something back to himself. Roni was concerned only about Avery giving something to Roni. The Garden had a thriving and loyal customer base. When Avery took it over it was a small local business. But under Avery’s savvy business direction, it had been transformed into a huge and booming one. It had to be worth millions. Avery stood to become a very wealthy man if he sold. It was clear that selling the business was what Roni wanted. And Roni had an annoying way of usually getting what she wanted. I wondered what would happen if I actually voiced this opinion. For starters, Roni would probably stop seeking me out during family events. I didn’t kid myself that she liked me; it was just that other than Avery, I was the only one who wasn’t openly hostile to her.
Luckily, I was spared a response by the announcement that it was time for the speeches and toasts. Peter gave my hand an encouraging squeeze as I nervously got to my feet. With a shaky voice, I began the speech that I had been practicing obsessively over the last week. “Good evening, everyone. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Elizabeth Parker and I am Bridget’s maid of honor.” So far, so good, I thought, pleased that I had neither fainted, stuttered, nor burst into tears—all, unfortunately, actual events from past forays into the arena of public speaking. I took a deep breath and continued with my short speech. I explained that Bridget and I had been best friends since the fourth grade and that even though many things had changed since then—we no longer loved pink-bubble-gum ice cream or Corey Haim—our friendship had stayed the same. I touted her loyalty, her humor, and her sincerity. I also touted her horrific driving skills, specifically her cheerful disregard for speed limits. After all, it was only after she slammed her car into Colin’s that they had met and begun to date. I closed by predicting that they would have a long and happy life together, especially if Colin handled the driving.
Finished, I collapsed heavily in my seat, my heart thudding in my chest. The table was strangely silent and I wondered if I had inadvertently said something stupid. I leaned over to Peter and whispered, “What’s wrong with everyone? Did I say something wrong? Are they mad about the driving thing?”
He shot me a reassuring smile. “No! You did great!” Glancing at the rest of the table, he added in a low voice, “I think they’re still upset about Avery talking about selling the business.”
A bespectacled waiter in a starched white coat hovered next to me. “Dessert, miss?” he inquired, offering me a plate bearing something decadently chocolate.
“Yes, please.” He deftly placed the plate in front of me. “It looks delicious,” I said. “What is it?”
“Death by Chocolate,” he responded before moving away. Death again, I thought, sinking my fork into the gooey concoction. By my count this made the third time in fewer than twelve hours that death had been referenced. I glanced at Elsie, wondering if she had heard. The fierce expression on her face as she glared at Roni made me bite my tongue. Elsie had an impressive temper. I didn’t want to give her any ideas.
Chapter 5
She’s the sort of woman... one would almost feel disposed to bury for nothing: and do it neatly, too!
Two hours later, I was seated on Elsie’s back terrace with Bridget, Colin, Peter, and Harry, watching the fireflies dart and weave across the wide lawn and breathing in the lingering fragrance of nearby rosebushes. As flashes of silvery water from the James River peeked through the trees, lazy images of the Old South (or at least David O. Selznick’s sanitized version of it) featuring chivalrous young men and demure ladies floated before me.
“Christ,” said Bridget. “I need a drink. Anyone else?”
Harry rolled his eyes at Bridget before turning to Colin. “She’s like a delicate flower, my cousin is.”
“Oh, shut up,” Bridget said, kicking him. “I expect you want one, too.”
“Ow!” said Harry, shifting his long legs out of Bridget’s reach. “Take those ridiculous shoes off before you hurt someone. And yes, now that you mention it, I do need a drink. You’ve no idea the intense craving for alcohol my lovely stepmother can inspire.”
Colin stood up. “I’ll play bartender if you can refrain from swearing for ten minutes,” he said to Bridget. “Remember, my mother is a retired schoolteacher from Illinois.”
“Your mother is not here,” Bridget retorted.
“Think of it as practice for tomorrow,” said Colin.
“Your mother loves me!”
Colin paused behind her chair. “That she does,” he said, placing a kiss on top of her head, then ambling toward the drink cart.
Bridget smiled up at him before turning back to Harry. “What did Roni do this time?”
Harry closed his eyes and rested his head against the cushioned patio chair. “She’s trying her damnedest to convince Dad to sell the Garden. Apparently, he’s received an offer.”
Bridget’s eyes opened wide. “Sell the Garden? Can he do that?”
“In a word, yes,” Harry said, taking a beer from Colin. He took a long swig. “And it looks like he just might, too.”
“Jesus!” whispered Bridget.
“Bridget!” admonished Colin, as he handed her a glass of white wine. “You’re not even trying!”
Bridget took the glass from Colin without looking at him. Her eyes still trained on Harry, she took a quick sip. “Sorry, but this is huge! Does Elsie know?”
“Oh, yes. For a moment, I thought she was going to lunge across the table at Roni. Of course, if she had, I sure as hell wouldn’t have stopped her.”
“What happened next?”
“Nothing. Dad shut down the conversation and we were reduced to shooting evil looks at Roni’s beautiful empty head.”
“I still don’t understand what he sees in her,” Bridget continued, playing with the delicate stem of the wineglass.
“Well, he’d been alone for so long,” said Harry slowly. “I think he saw what he wanted to see.” Harry was silent. Harry’s mother, Ann, had died when he was just a boy. That would have been painful for anyone, but for Harry it was made all the worse because of his own illness. At age six, Harry had been diagnosed with leukemia. His mother, a devout Catholic, had prayed and prayed that he would get better. And he did. Two years later, when Ann was diagnosed with breast cancer, Harry had prayed just as his mother had. But in spite of his fervent prayers, she died. Harry was left feeling that he hadn’t prayed hard enough to save her.
Harry took another long pull from his beer and stood up. “Right. Well, I’m off to bed.” He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “See you tomorrow, sweetie. Peter,” he said, extending his hand, “I guess I’ll see you later, since we’re bunking together. It was nice to meet you.”
“You, too,” Peter replied.
“Good night, Colin. Good luck tomorrow,” Harry said, shaking his hand as well. Turning to Bridget, he pulled her into a tight hug. “All the best tomorrow, Bridgie. And you swear all you want,” he said, releasing her and turning for the house. “After all, I’ve got a hundred bucks riding on it.”
