A Wedding on Primrose Street (Life In Icicle Falls Book 7) (2 page)

Anne could already envision Cam escorting their daughter down the aisle at Queen Anne Presbyterian, surrounded by flowers, Laney wearing a beautiful wedding gown, her long, chestnut hair falling to her shoulders in gentle waves. Anne’s vision conveniently ignored the tattooed artwork running up Laney’s neck and covering her right arm.

“There is such a thing as overkill,” she’d said when her daughter went for her second tattoo, but Laney had just laughed and kissed her and skipped off to the tattoo parlor to commemorate her twenty-first birthday with more body art. Why, oh, why did her daughter have to take everything to extremes?

Because she was Laney. She’d always pushed the boundaries, staying out past curfews, cutting classes her freshman year in high school (thank God they’d broken her of
that
habit), dyeing her hair every color of the rainbow, adorning her ears with piercings. She’d gotten her nose pierced, too, but Anne had persuaded her to get a little diamond rather than the big stake she’d talked about, so at least that looked classy.

She’s another generation,
Anne constantly reminded herself,
and they have their own style
. Except style was such a subjective thing, and it wasn’t only Laney’s generation getting tattoos. Women Anne’s age did it, too. One of her friends had a discreet rose on her ankle. It just seemed that the younger women, especially her daughter, never knew when to stop. It was enough to make a mother crazy. But then, she told herself, it was the duty of every generation to drive their parents nuts. Heaven knew, she’d done it to her own mother. Still...

“What are you thinking about?” Cam asked as he cut off a piece of steak.

She smiled at him. “Our baby’s getting married.” And that eclipsed fashion frustration. Fashion issues could be dealt with later.

“Yeah, I can’t believe it. Seems like only yesterday that she had colic and I was walking the floor with her.” He shook his head. “They’re so young.”

“So were we,” Anne pointed out.

He nodded. “Our parents probably had this same conversation.”

Anne was thankful she’d been spared hearing her parents’ conversation. The one she’d had with her mother had been unpleasant enough.

“Drake’s a good kid, though,” Cam said. “They’ll be happy.”

“If they’re half as happy as we are, they’ll have a great marriage,” Anne said and took a bite of her baked potato, which she’d slathered in butter and sour cream. Sour cream, butter, chocolate cake. She’d have to eat nothing but salad for the next week.

They were watching a romantic comedy and eating their cake when Laney called. “Mom, can Drake and I come over? We’ve got something to show you.”

“Sure,” Anne said, playing dumb. “Come on by.”

“Okay. See you in a few.”

Twenty minutes later, her daughter was walking through the door, dressed for Valentine’s Day in black leggings and a short denim skirt she’d probably scored at her favorite consignment store. Her curls peeped out from under a black tam and she wore red platform shoes and a matching red top under her black leather jacket. She’d accented the outfit with a long, red scarf.

She was followed by her boyfriend, a tall, skinny, tattooed drink of water wearing jeans and a black T-shirt under a black leather bomber jacket. Unlike Laney, he didn’t have an ear full of hoops and cute earrings. Instead, he wore gauges that had stretched holes in his earlobes. Anne had to admit that if she’d gone boyfriend shopping for her daughter she would’ve passed him over in favor of a preppy-looking boy in law school. But what would Laney have had in common with that kind of boy? She and Drake loved each other and that was what counted. Just as Cam said, he was a good kid. Tonight he wore a smile that reached from ear to ear.

And Laney sported a ring with a diamond best viewed under a magnifying glass. “See what I got for Valentine’s Day?” she crowed.

Anne took her daughter’s hand and gave her ring the attention it demanded as Cam clapped Drake on the back and welcomed him to the family. “It’s gorgeous,” she said. Then she hugged both her daughter and her future son-in-law. “We’re so happy for you two. Come on in and let’s have some chocolate cake to celebrate.”

“You’ll never guess where we went to dinner,” Laney said, following Anne into the kitchen. “The Space Needle.”

“Pretty impressive. Did Drake rob a bank?”

“He’s been saving for this since Christmas.”

At least someone in their marriage would be good with money. “Well, how was it?”

“Oh, wow,” Laney said. “The view from up there, you can see everything. Puget Sound, the city, the mountains. And the food was sooo yummy.”

“Maybe you don’t have room for cake,” Anne teased.

“I always have room for cake. You know that.”

Anne cut pieces and put them on plates, and Laney took them to where Drake and Cam sat in the living room. Meanwhile, Anne grabbed two more glasses and another bottle of champagne.

Once the glasses were filled, Cam raised his in salute to the happy couple squeezed together in an oversize armchair. “To Laney and Drake. May you both be as happy as we are.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Laney said, and she and Drake kissed each other.

“Have you set a date?” Cam asked.

“We’re thinking June,” Laney said.

The same month Anne and Cam had gotten married. “An excellent month,” he said, winking at Anne.

But it didn’t give them much time to pull together a wedding.

“We thought it would be really cool to go to Vegas,” Drake added.

The two exchanged besotted smiles.

Anne hardly saw them. Instead, she was seeing her daughter in some tiny chapel, all dressed up like a showgirl with a big, feathery headdress. And there was Drake, wearing a sparkly, white Elvis jumpsuit. To Laney’s “I do,” he responded, “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

Vegas. Aaack!

Chapter Two

Roberta, Wedding Maven of Icicle Falls

R
oberta Gilbert smiled as she surveyed the wedding guests dressed in their finery. This wedding had a Valentine theme, and Roberta had placed little heart-shaped boxes filled with chocolates on the linen-clad tables, along with the pink carnations and red roses the bride had requested.

It was the second time around for both bride and groom, who’d each been badly hurt by their exes. But that was behind them now, and the couple was clearly delighted with their new beginning as they swayed together in the center of the reception room.

It had once been two separate rooms, but Roberta had combined them years ago, making more space for guests. Every time she entered it she could feel the positive energy stored up from so many happy events. Tonight the chandeliers glowed in the antique gilded mirrors, reflecting the image of two beaming people, surrounded by forty well-wishers.

Roberta’s eyes misted, partly from sentiment and partly because, darn it all, her bunions were killing her. Much as she loved these touching moments, she’d be very happy when midnight came and the party ended. Her daughter kept telling her she was getting too old for this, but what did Daphne know? Seventy-one wasn’t that old. Anyway, Roberta couldn’t imagine living anywhere other than her pretty, pink Victorian with the white trim here on Primrose Street. She did love weddings, and after thirty years of hosting as well as planning them, it was a hard addiction to break. So here she would stay until she keeled over and they carried her out, bunions first.

All right, maybe she could be tempted to pack in her business if some handsome older man who enjoyed Caribbean cruises and watching old doo-wop groups on PBS arrived on the scene.

The odds of that happening were about as good as the odds of Roberta winning the lottery...which she never played. Besides, she had several wedding years left in her.

“How are you doing?” asked a voice at her elbow, and she turned to see her assistant, Lila Kurtz, looking festive in a red dress and white apron decorated with red hearts.

In charge of the caterers, Lila always saw to it that everything ran smoothly. And tonight’s food was especially elegant. It had been prepared by Bailey Sterling, who owned Tea Time Tea Shop and Tearoom on Lavender Lane, and the guests had raved about the three-cheese stuffed chicken, the pasta and tossed salads and the lavender cake. Roberta would definitely use Bailey again.

“Just fine,” Roberta lied. Even though she had Lila and her crew, Roberta worked on the table settings, plated some of the food and did whatever else needed to be done. And no matter how much help she had, there was always plenty to do when a woman offered a full-service venue. Her bunions would attest to that.

“You could duck out now,” Lila suggested.

She could. Once she was in her bedroom, she’d be oblivious to any noise coming from below or from the second-floor changing room at the front of the house reserved for the bride and her bridesmaids. Lila would see the revelers on their way and then lock up. But for heaven’s sake, it was barely past nine o’clock. Only little old ladies went to bed at nine o’clock.

Still, she had her Vanessa Valentine romance novel waiting for her. “You know, maybe I will.” She used to love watching the bride toss her bouquet but tonight her nice, soft mattress and a looming love scene were winning out over sentiment. “If you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Lila said. Lila was a single mom with two grown children and she liked to stay up late.

“Well, then, I’ll go upstairs. I have a few things to do,” Roberta added in case Lila thought she was pooping out.

Lila nodded approvingly. “Take it easy tomorrow. Leave the mess for the cleaning crew on Monday.”

“I will,” Roberta promised. She had no desire to work any harder than she had to.

“And don’t forget you’ve got Muriel Sterling coming over to do that interview for the paper on Monday afternoon,” Lila reminded her.

Ah, yes. The interview. Roberta hoped Muriel didn’t ask any nosy questions that would be awkward to answer, but if she did, Roberta knew how to dodge them. She’d been doing it for years.

The DJ was now spinning an upbeat song and the room pulsed with dancers. Roberta made her way around the edge of the crowd, ready to put her feet up and read her book. With her comfy flannel jammies on, she’d be free to let the story carry her away.

Suddenly it looked as if there wasn’t going to be any carrying away—not considering who’d just arrived at the party. Roberta blinked, wondering if her eyes were playing tricks on her. But no, Daphne was still there, hovering in the doorway, her lovely face contorted with a scowl. What on earth was her daughter doing here?

She hurried over to where Daphne stood, wearing dark jeans and a leather jacket thrown over a plain, black sweater, a carry-on suitcase parked next to her. Her big blue eyes were bloodshot and her nose was red, probably from too many close encounters with a tissue.

“Daphne, darling, what are you doing here?”
On a weekend, looking like the bad wedding fairy. And with a suitcase?
Oh, wedding bell blues. Roberta could already guess what was wrong.

Daphne took in the crowd of happy revelers. “All that money wasted on champagne and cake. It never works out.”

Sure enough. “Come upstairs,” Roberta said, steering her daughter toward the staircase. “We’ll get you settled and you can tell me what’s going on.”

Daphne didn’t wait until she was settled. She started in right away, towing her suitcase up the stairs. “I knew something was wrong.”
Thump.
“I’ve suspected for months.”
Thump.
“I kept asking him and he denied it.”
Thump, thump.

Roberta sighed. Men were beasts. “So Mitchell’s been cheating on you.”

“You were right—he’s slime,” Daphne said, her voice trembling. “How could he do this to me?” she wailed. “Is it that hard to be faithful to someone?”

In Mitchell’s case, obviously, yes. Poor Daphne. She was so pretty, so trusting. She was like a man magnet. Sadly, she didn’t seem able to attract anything better than the man equivalent of paper clips.

“I’m so sorry,” Roberta said.

They’d reached the top floor now, and Roberta led her daughter to the back of the house, to the room opposite hers, the same room that had been Daphne’s growing up. Here they were, together again, mother and daughter. And daughter was going through yet another romantic crisis.

Daphne was an underachiever when it came to relationships. Her first husband had been a lazy bum who spent as much time collecting unemployment as he did working. He drank too much and helped Daphne around the house too little. The only good thing to come out of that marriage had been Roberta’s granddaughter, Marnie. (Unlike her mother, Marnie knew how to pick a man who had his act together and was now busy setting the world on fire, working in New York as an editor.) Husband number two had bailed on Daphne when Marnie hit her teen years. As for number three, Roberta had never liked him. She’d seen the way Mitchell ogled other women when Daphne wasn’t looking. You couldn’t trust oglers. She’d told Daphne as much but would she listen? Of course not.

Where was the ogler now? Back home, in Daphne’s bed with another woman? “Did you kick him out?” Roberta demanded. Sometimes her daughter was too soft.

Daphne draped her coat over the bedpost and got busy unpacking her suitcase.

“Daphne,” Roberta said sharply.

“I told him he had until next week to get his stuff out.” Her face turned red and she pulled off her sweater. She opened the window and stuck her head outside.

A very convenient time for a hot flash, Roberta thought cynically. “So you left him in your house? Why?” She grabbed the coat and hung it in the closet.

Daphne pulled her head back in and scowled. “I didn’t want to look at him. Honestly, Mother. Did you expect me to stay there after what I found out?”

“Yes,” Roberta cried, exasperated. “That house belongs to you. He should be the one to leave, not you. When you go home, you call a locksmith first thing. Even if you have to take Monday off.”

Daphne bit her lip, a sure sign that she was hiding something.

Oh, heavens, what now? “Daphne?”

Daphne pushed aside a lock of long, blond hair. “I’m not going home, not for a while.”

“But you have to. Your job.”

Not that it was a high-powered job. Daphne had used her college degree from the University of Washington to land a position as a receptionist for a seafood distribution company in Seattle, where she’d remained ever since as an underpaid fixture. In spite of her talents and her mother’s high hopes, she had never felt the need to reach for the stars.

She could’ve been a fashion model or started her own interior decorating business or...something. Roberta had given her any number of suggestions over the years, but Daphne had preferred to stay on the bottom rung of the ladder of success. If Roberta hadn’t been there for the birth she’d have sworn her daughter was some other woman’s.

“I quit,” Daphne said, breaking into Roberta’s thoughts like a wrecking ball.

“You what?”

“I quit.”

Roberta fell onto the bed. “Oh, Daphne.”

“I can’t stay in Seattle anymore,” Daphne said, her lips trembling. “I just... I need a change.”

“No,” Roberta said firmly. “You need a job.” Daphne couldn’t jump off the high dive and assume there’d be water in the pool.

She couldn’t, but she had.

“I’ll find a job, but first I have to take some time off, get myself sorted out. Anyway, I have some money saved up.”

“So do I, if you need it. But, oh, Daphne, what were you thinking?” Clearly she wasn’t. Had Mitchell tipped her over the edge?

“I was thinking I need to make a new start,” Daphne said in a small voice.

“You’re fifty-three!” Who did she suppose was going to hire a fifty-three-year-old woman? It wasn’t right, but age discrimination was a very real thing.

“Haven’t you ever wanted to walk away from your life, start all over again?” Daphne pleaded.

Yes, and she had. So how could she discourage Daphne from doing the same? Now tears were leaking out of her daughter’s eyes. “I thought I could stay with you for a while. Just till I get on my feet,” she added, probably because she’d seen the consternation on her mother’s face.

It wasn’t that Roberta didn’t love her daughter. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see her. But living together? They were so different. They’d drive each other insane. Daphne herself had said so on more than one occasion.

Roberta always kept her house neat as the proverbial pin. Daphne’s often looked as if it had been caught up in a tornado and then set down far from any store with cleaning supplies. On a good day you could find decorating magazines strewn on the couch and shoes scattered everywhere, coats hanging from the handle of the closet door rather than inside it. She had a flair for decorating, but what was the use of painting and purchasing expensive sofa pillows if you never dusted and your toilet was dirty? Roberta had never understood how her daughter could be so efficient at work and such a slob at home. Of course, to be fair, not one of the bums she’d married had ever helped her. Not that she’d ever asked them. She’d been far too easy on the men in her life.

And too easy on herself. Why she’d never wanted to improve in the areas where she was lacking baffled Roberta. But she didn’t. She hated it when Roberta commented on her bad housekeeping habits or tried to offer advice. In fact, it seemed as if every time Roberta tried to help Daphne improve her life they wound up squabbling.

Still, she’d never turn Daphne away. She put an arm around her daughter’s shoulders and gave her an encouraging squeeze. “Of course you can stay.” She needed a plan, though. She needed to be proactive. “But, darling, you can’t hide up here indefinitely and mope.”

“I’m not going to mope. I told you, I’ll find a job.”

“In Icicle Falls?”

“There are businesses in Icicle Falls,” Daphne said stiffly.

“Yes, of course, but you’re not going to find anything with the salary or benefits you had at your job in the city.” Not that her job in the city had paid
that
well.

“I don’t need much to live on,” Daphne said, raising her chin.

Roberta wasn’t so sure. Her daughter had always had a husband to supplement her salary (although some were more reliable than others). She had no idea how difficult it could be to live on one small income.

“I’ll have money when I sell the house.”

“You’re used to city life. You’ll be bored,” Roberta predicted.

“I can find plenty to do here in Icicle Falls. I could help you.”

“With weddings?” Not only would they be living together, they’d be working together? Now Roberta’s bunions weren’t all that hurt. She felt as though her forehead was about to crack open. She rubbed her temples in an effort to stop the crack from spreading.

“Why not?” Daphne demanded, correctly interpreting her mother’s body language. “In case you’ve forgotten, I helped with Marnie’s wedding.”

Roberta remembered. Daphne had forgotten to order the invitations and they’d gone out three weeks late. Giving her daughter a chance to regroup was one thing, but weddings...

“We’ll see,” she said, making Daphne frown. “For now, let’s get some rest. Everything will look better in the morning.” That was total baloney and they both knew it, but at least with a good night’s sleep they’d be more able to cope.

Meanwhile, Roberta was going to bed with her romance novel. When she kissed her daughter good-night and wished her pleasant dreams, Daphne teared up and nodded bravely.

Roberta skedaddled across the hall to her own bedroom, where she fell on the bed. She should have been more supportive, listened more and said less. Daphne was in no mood for advice right now.

Her poor daughter wouldn’t get a wink of sleep tonight. Roberta suspected she wouldn’t, either. Not that she ever slept all that well anyway. Getting up two or three times during the night to go to the bathroom always interfered. Oh, how Mother Nature turned on her sisters after a certain age.