“I hope you don’t mind Martin suggesting we live here,” Shelby said.
That wasn’t easy for him. He wasn’t used to being beholden to anyone.
I blew out a long breath silently, gradually cooling down. I decided on simple positive sentences. “I am very glad for you to be in the apartment. I know that you plan to help out while the renovation is going on. I’m anxious to get it done as soon as possible. We’ll get married in three weeks, and be back from our honeymoon two weeks after that, so I hope to have most of it done by then.”
“If I start work at Pan-Am Agra before then, Angel will be more than able to supervise whatever work is left to be done,” Shelby said. “And by the way, she likes light orange-I think she calls it peach-and green.”
I could feel the tension ease out of my face.
“Will you go back to-Florida, right?-to get her, or…”
“Yeah. I’ll fly back tomorrow, and we’ll wrap things up there and start driving up here in maybe three or four days.”
“Okay. That’ll work out great.” By the time the Young-bloods were in place, I should be more and more wrapped up in wedding plans, and it really would be a help to have them actually on the spot.
For the first time I saw how Shelby Youngblood had gotten out to the house. He was driving Martin’s car.
“He really does trust you,” I said.
“Yeah.”
We gave each other another long look. “Catch you later,” Shelby said casually, and strode off, starting up Martin’s car and driving off in it.
It felt very strange to see someone else in Martin’s car.
I ran into town to tell the carpet and paint people they had a new job, and one that took priority. By great good fortune, they had a peach-colored carpet in stock. Since the white walls in the apartment were still in very good shape, I asked the painter to do the baseboards and door and window frames in green. I was lucky enough to find white curtains with a little peach-colored figure at WalMart (I was in too much of a hurry to have some made), and as for furniture… gee, this was getting expensive. I looked in the for-sale ads of the
As I sank into the warm water of the bathtub, I realized that I hadn’t eaten lunch and didn’t have time to eat supper. I was astonished. Meals were not something I skipped without noticing. Well, I certainly hadn’t missed the calories, but I wouldn’t be able to keep up this pace unless I took better care of myself. I consciously relaxed everything from my toes on up, practicing slow regular breathing. I was going to enjoy tonight. I’d waited all these years for a bridal shower in my honor; by golly, this was my night.
Luckily, I’d decided in advance what to wear. I pulled the purple with white polka dots from the closet, put in the amethyst earrings Martin had bought me, slid my feet into one of my few pairs of high heels. After surveying my reflection, I added a small gold bracelet. I brushed my hair carefully and then put on a braided headband to keep the mass out of my face (and my drink, and my food).
Food. I hoped Eileen and Sally had a tableful. Maybe those sausage and biscuit balls?
My mouth watered while I swapped purses, and when my mother rang the doorbell, I was feeling ravenous.
My mother, Aida Brattle Teagarden Queensland, looked aristocratic and slim and cool as ever in a gorgeous royal blue suit. She is a woman dauntingly difficult to criticize. Her clothes and behavior are always appropriate for the occasion. She always thinks before she speaks. Her extensive and successful business dealings are always ethically aboveboard, and her employees have excellent health benefits and a profit-sharing program.
But she is definitely not a woman you would run up and hug without a fair warning and a good reason, and she is not sentimental, and she never forgets anyone who does not deal fairly with her.
Mother gave me a careful, cheerful kiss on the cheek. She was finally marrying me off, enjoying all the mother- of-the-bride things that she’d been denied. And she knew I was happy. And she approved of Martin, though I sensed reservations. Martin was closer to her age than to mine, and that worried her a bit. (She had asked me if I’d seen his company’s insurance policy, for example.) And, being my mother and extremely property oriented, she wanted to know how much money Martin had in the bank, what his salary was, how much of that he saved, and what his pension program was. Since it was impossible for her to ask Martin these things point-blank, it had been amusing to hear her try to maneuver the conversation delicately around to what she wanted to know.
“I’m willing to give her a full, typed financial statement,” Martin had told me after we’d eaten supper with Mother and John one night.
“That would be too direct,” I told him. “I don’t know why she’s in such a lather, anyway.” (Though actually, my mother in a lather was pretty unimaginable.) “I have plenty of money of my own, safely invested, well protected.”
“She’s just watching out for you,” Martin said fondly.
I had dark thoughts about why everyone seemed to feel I needed “watching out for,” but considering my mother had a right to if anyone did, I kept quiet.
Now as Mother swept me into her superior car (she’d picked me up because she considered my old Chevette to be too plebeian for The Bride) she checked me over as though I were going on my first date, gave a quick little nod of approval, and asked me if I’d heard from my father lately.
“Not since he called me after he talked to Betty Jo about coming,” I answered. Betty Jo was my father’s second wife, down to earth, plain, and homey as all get out. When he’d fled my mother, Father had certainly run in the opposite direction. He and Betty Jo lived in California now, with their child, my brother Phillip, age nine. I hadn’t seen my father or Phillip or Betty Jo in nearly three years.
“He said they were?”
“If he could take his vacation time then. He was going to ask.”
“And you haven’t heard back,” my mother murmured, almost to herself.
I didn’t say anything.
“I’ll call him tomorrow,” she said decisively. “He has to let us know.”
“I’d like Phillip to be ring-bearer if they’re coming,” I said suddenly.
It was lucky we were in Mother’s big Lincoln, because it was full of thoughts unsaid. Phillip had had a traumatic experience the last time he spent the weekend with me. They’d moved to California in a (to me) mistaken attempt to help Phillip recover, and he’d been seeing a counselor for a year afterward. According to my father’s rare letters, Phillip was fine now.
Then, as we parked at Eileen’s house, I caught a glimpse through the picture window of a table covered in white with white and silver wedding bells hanging from the light fixture, and Eileen carrying in a big tray of something sure to be edible, and Sally Allison, her cohostess, stirring a huge silver bowl of punch. On a table nearby presents wrapped in white and silver and pastels were heaped. Sally and Eileen were dressed to the teeth.
As I slid out of the car it hit me smack in the psyche.
This was for
I was getting
I put one hand out to the roof of the car and the other touched my chest as if I were pledging my allegiance.
I knew a moment of delight, followed by a groundswell of panic.
“Just hit you, huh?” Mother asked.
I nodded, unable to say a word.
We stood in the dark, looking through that window, for a couple of minutes. It was oddly companionable.
“Which way is it going to be?” Mother finally asked.
It was the first time she’d spoken to me as if I were absolutely grown up.
“Let’s go in,” I said, and started up the sidewalk to the front door.
