Driving in Neutral (16 page)

Another roll of laughter sputtered from her nose, her merriment unrestrained until she mashed both hands over her mouth and nostrils to dampen the noise.

Emerson leaned closer and whispered, “Ask him. Ask him how he gets his hair so shiny. Ask him what product he uses. Go on, ask him. I dare you.” He watched her try to regain her composure and damn it, she did. She squeezed her eyes shut, pressed her hand to her mouth, and inhaled steadily. When her palm dropped and she turned, she had no expression. Yet for all her blank-face skill, she seized his hand—and held on with a death grip.

The round man returned and smiled at them, smoothing a plump palm over his head.

Olivia’s thumb curled around his and squeezed. Emerson shifted his grasp, weaving his fingers between hers, squeezing back.

“It’s always nice t’ hear two love birds laughin’ ‘bout somepin’.” Mr. Wagstaff smiled. “Now honey, I have to ‘pologize. Trudie is a bit behind today. It’s gonna take a little longer than we tol’ you. I hope that’s not a problem.”

“Are you kidding?” Emerson huffed. “Of course it’s a problem. We can’t traipse all the way back out here again. We’re dealing with a wedding timeline. What’s the point of giving a pick-up time if the item isn’t going to be ready? Is this how you conduct business?” Glowering, he moved forward and Olivia pulled back, her stiff elbow blocked his advance.

She stepped in front of him. “Is there some trouble with the job? Something tricky?”

Mr. Wagstaff sighed. “I know we gave you a time, and we are totally t’blame fer the delay. I accept full responsibility. I’m very sorry.”

“Would you have an idea of when it might be finished?”

“Trudie says she should have the engraving done in twenty minnits. Is that okay?” Apprehension was plain on Mr. Wagstaff’s chubby face as his eyes flicked from her to Emerson. “Fer all the trouble we caused, I’ll be happy t’ get you an’ yer wife some ice cream from Kenton’s from next door. They’ve got fifty-seven varieties, just like Heinz, only none of ‘em taste like steak sauce.”

Dark chocolate cranberry almond crunch was the unusual flavor Olivia chose, but Emerson went with green apple. He liked the idea of ambling around the town square, window-shopping and eating ice cream cones, but the afternoon sun was too intense. The ice cream began melting faster than they could lick it. Milky trickles started to run over golden cones as soon as they exited Kenton’s ice cream shop.

They found a park bench beneath the shade of a maple tree and sat.

Olivia handed him a paper napkin. “Have you ever considered you might have anger management issues?” she said.

Emerson licked the joint where the apple ice cream met the cone. “I think I manage my anger very well.”

“I can’t argue with that. You did a great job getting hostile back there in the jewelry store.”

“I wasn’t hostile.”

She clicked her tongue. “You practically used him as a stand-in for Timmons. Do you miss your little whipping boy?”

“You know if you talked less and ate your ice cream faster, you wouldn’t have chocolate all over your knuckles.” He sneered, wrinkling his nose.

Olivia made a face back. “You’re like my brother. It’s taken him over sixty years to learn you don’t have to yell to get what you want.” She watched him bite the tail off his cone and suck ice cream through the end.

He smacked his lips and said, “Look at it this way. This is how I manage my anger. I get mad, speak my mind, and poof, it’s over. I’m relaxed and I’ve got what I want.”

“Of course, because you use dictatorial intimidation tactics.”

“This coming from the woman with the chocolate Hitler moustache. Good Lord, you’ve got ice cream all over your chin too.” He handed back the napkin she’d given him. “It must be good if you make that much of a mess.”

She wiped her mouth with the crumpled paper. “It’s very good. Want to try it?”

“Sure.”

“Great, and when you’re back in Kenton’s can you get me another napkin?”

It took him a second of watching her lick a circle around her ice cream before he got it. “You mean I can’t try yours?”

“No. Go get your own.” She stuck out her tongue and turned the cone against it.

Emerson stared at her.

“What are you going to do, yell at me until I let you try mine? Holler until I submit?”

“Just for that, you have to go back into the jewelry store and face Mr. Twenty-First Century Hair Fantasy alone,” he said.

“Like I was going to let you come back in there with me.” She licked her ice cream again and then shook the cone at him. “There is no way that’s going to happen. You are going to sit here and wait.”

In one motion, Emerson grabbed her wrist and yanked her close, sliding her across the bench until she was just a few inches from his chest. “I may employ a bit of intimidation…” He drew her closer and watched her lips part, her eyes widen. The heel of her hand pressed into his breastbone to push him away. The conductive energy of her touch shocked through him, but before she shoved him away, his head dipped. His mouth closed over her ice cream. Cone and all stuck out of his mouth for a moment like a strange, misplaced Pinocchio nose and he swallowed the semi-frozen blob, pulled the empty, sugary cone from his mouth, and finished his words with his sinus cavity smarting from the rush of cold, “but at least I’m not a control freak like you.”

Olivia’s insides had dissolved into a warm little pond.

Ella’s parents and Craig’s father were lodging in a B&B in Lake Forest. They arrived for pre-rehearsal drinks just before four, with Father Gideon in tow. They met everyone on the terrace where the air was cool, the area shaded from the still-intense late afternoon sun. The fragrance of roses drifted from the garden on a soft lake breeze as the day’s shadows stretched over family and friends like a soft veil.

It was a lovely evening, but Olivia knew that things were merely a façade of picture perfect. Ella seemed relaxed and her smile appeared to be authentic. However, as drinks progressed, that smile turned into a grim-looking slash. At first, she’d been tranquil, if not a little animated as she sat with Craig and Pete, speaking in an excited, low voice. The trio glanced in Olivia’s direction for a moment. A shade of anxiety crept upon Craig’s face and then Ella was on her feet, glaring. The Queen was displeased.

The women present stood in a tight little clique. The groomsmen congregated together, their backs a wall of exclusion.

“I don’t like this!” Ella put a balled-up fist on her hip. “This is no way to have a pre-rehearsal cocktail party!”

All conversation ceased. Heads turned to look at the bride-to-be pitching a fit.

“Oh, boy, someone needs a nap,” Martin muttered.

“There’s nothin’ about this on the list,” Tex drawled, pulling the folded weekend directives from his pocket. “What are we doin’ wrong, darlin’?”

“Ah want you people to mingle. Mingle, you hear me? Ah don’t want this separation of the sexes! Mingle! Get to know each other.” She made circles with her hands. “Boys and girls, mingle!”

And no one, besides Tex, paid any attention. They chuckled and simply turned back to their conversations.

“Did you hear me?” Middle-aged Ella stamped her foot like a four-year-old.

Olivia set the pitcher of Mimosa back on the wet bar, handed a refill to Mrs. Thomas and ambled over to the huffing bride. “Okay, Ella,” she said gently, her arms going around Ella’s shoulders, “come inside with me for a minute, I need your help.”

“But they’re not
minglin’
! Ah want them to mix and mingle!”

Her voice quiet, reassuring, Olivia said, “Come on inside. You need a break. Let’s go sit in the living room for a little while.”

Inside, Ella sank down into an opulently padded taupe chair, shaking.

Olivia gave her a glass of water and sat beside her on the rolled armrest, her right hand making gentle circles between her friend’s shoulder blades. “All right. What is it?” she asked.

“Ah don’t know what Ah’m doing.” Ella’s eyes were huge drops of amber swirled with olive and yellow. She stuffed the empty water glass between her hip and seat cushion and cupped her hands around her mouth. “What am Ah doing?”

“Ella,” she said, “you’re getting married.”

“Oh…my…God.”

“Pretty scary, huh?”

“What does he see in me?” She sounded like Blanche DuBois again. “Look at me. Ah’ve lived by m’self since Ah was nineteen. Ah have certain ways Ah like to do things. Ah haven’t had to considah someone else when Ah spend money or make a decision. Craig hates m’bedroom furniture. He likes onions and Ah hate kissing him when he does. Ah’m not
supposed
to hate kissing him. Ah’m going to ruin his life and mahn. How do Ah do this? How am Ah supposed to know if Ah’m doing the right thing? I don’t want to end up like you.”

Olivia flinched, the debris of her past splattering like a bug into the windshield. “I know you don’t really mean that, but that’s enough now. Okay?”

Ella slumped back in the chair, closed her eyes and moaned. “Ah’m sorry. Ah didn’t think. That was horrible. Ah sound like Justine.”

“No sweetie, you’re apprehensive and wearing big blocks of ice for shoes right now, whereas Justine is always going to be a bitch. But you’re right,” Olivia chuckled with a self-effacing tone, “who wants to end up like me?”

“Ah don’t know what to do. Mah mind is so full of questions. What do I do Olivia?”

Olivia clasped Ella’s wrist. “Ella, look at me.”

Ella opened her eyes.

“Can you picture your life without Craig?”

“No.”

“Do you love him?”

“My God, yes.”

“There’s your answer.”

Fifteen minutes later, Ella in a slightly more agreeable state, Olivia asked everyone to into the living room. They listened while she explained the mechanics of how the wedding ceremony would unfold.

Suzanne snapped her gum repetitively. Justine twined a length of curl around her thumb and sighed. Mimi jingled. Ella sat on a sofa and pulled on her fingers over and over, as if she were milking them. Her gaze darted between her bridesmaids and her father. Or rather, what was in her father’s mouth.

Mr. Thomas had waving hair like Billy Dee Williams in
The Empire Strikes Back
, and a damp Corona cigar between his teeth.

Ella glowered at him.

“Sugar, I put it out,” he said, shifting the cigar to his hand. “See? No smoke.”

Ella’s lip curled.

Mr. Thomas stuffed the cigar into his shirt pocket. “Happy now, Button?” The moist end of the tobacco left a blemish on the pale blue fabric above his left nipple. “All this time I thought Pete took after his mother and you took after me, but I swear you are your mother’s daughter.”

Ella burst into tears.

“Dear sweet Lord in heaven.” Mr. Thomas chuckled and put a hand over his mouth.

Olivia moved in between father and daughter, handed Ella a tissue and turned back to the bridal party. “The photographer will have each of you stop in the open doorway to take pictures just before you go out. When he’s through, don’t worry about doing some kind of step-pause, step-pause up the length of the garden path. Ella’s the one who has to do the march of the bride, so do what feels natural, just don’t run. Craig, you and Maxwell…where
is
Maxwell?”

“He had to—” Pete began to gesture with his thumb and index finger rising to his ear but thought better and dropped his hand. “Em went to the little boys’ room.”

Olivia nodded. “Tell him he’s supposed to be up there waiting with you and Father Gideon. So go on into the garden and wait for us. Jason, you are the first up after Mr. Fulton takes Mrs. Thomas to her seat. Watch for it and then go up the path. Boys go on the right.”

Ella sniffled and coughed demurely as her mother left with Craig’s dad. Olivia glanced at her best friend as her mouth flattened, her widened eyes cutting in the direction of the bridesmaids for emphasis.

“Mimi,” Olivia said, “I’ll have to ask you to not wear your silver charm bracelet. It’s very pretty and looks absolutely lovely on you, but it jingles and might interfere with the cellist.”

“Okay,” Mimi sighed, shrugging in resignation and she brought her hands together in front as if she were carrying a bouquet to travel the length of the garden path to the gazebo.

“Suzanne, you’re next. Count to fifteen after Mimi leaves and go on out. I know fresh breath is really important, Sooze, but please, wait until
after
the ceremony to chew a piece of gum.”

Justine rose, her tone baby-dollish and hard edged, “What’s next, you’re going to tell me to not wear perfume?”

“No. You can wear perfume. Just don’t giggle.”

The dark-haired beauty leaned forward and looked up with a cat-like squint. “And what is it
you
have to avoid, Olivia?”

Olivia smiled and squinted back. “Anything that draws attention away from Ella. Now count to fifteen and out you go.”

“Don’t you know not to argue with the Police Watch Commander, Justy?” Martin scolded, shaking his half-empty beer bottle.

“You’re supposed to be out there already, Martin.”

“Right away,
ma’am
.” Martin went through the door after Justine, muttering something under his breath that sounded a lot like
bossy little bitch
.

Olivia turned back to Mr. Thomas and continued with the ceremony’s production. “Mr. Thomas, after I go, you and Ella count to fifteen and wait for the music. Ella knows it and she’ll prompt you. When you get up to the front, just before you hand her over to Craig, please lift her veil and draw it back
gently
over the top of her head. Then move sideways, so you don’t step on the back of her dress. Okay? Count to fifteen Ella, and then you and your dad come out.”

Emerson crept into the living room. He’d heard the tail end of Olivia’s directions to the bridesmaids and caught Martin’s little dig. He edged up behind her. “Sorry, I was, uh…what’d I miss? Where am I supposed to be? Are we walking up together? We don’t do that together do we?”

“No. You wait with Craig. You should be there already.” She gestured over her shoulder without looking at him and moved out onto the terrace. “Go on, get up there.”