Elizabeth Lynn Casey - Southern Sewing Circle 10 - Wedding Duress (13 page)

As excited as she was to be marrying Milo, Tori couldn’t help but feel a little nostalgia for her cottage and the various details that had come together to make it a true home. Sure, the plaid armchair she’d bought at a thrift store within days of moving to Sweet Briar would be coming to her new home along with all of her other belongings, but there, at Milo’s, they’d look different.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

She looked up from the box she was in the process of sealing shut and offered her fiancé what she hoped was a genuine smile. “I’m beyond excited at the fact that we’re getting married in seven days and that we’ll finally get to begin our life together.”

“But . . .”

“Am I that transparent?” she asked, dropping the tape roll onto the floor.

“I’d like to think I just know you.” Milo handed her the black marker they’d been sharing to label each box and then added, “As I should, don’t you think?”

She jotted the contents onto two different sides of the box and then capped the marker and set it back on the floor. “I guess I’m remembering the move into this place. How excited and nervous I was all at the same time. I mean, I was determined to start fresh, but that meant everything being new. It was a little scary.”

The overhead light caught the amber flecks in Milo’s eyes and made them dance against their dark brown backdrop. “From what I can see, you jumped in with both feet and made Sweet Briar your home. Everyone in this town loves you, baby.”

“And I love this town and everyone in it.” She leaned her head against the wall and quietly surveyed the stack of boxes to her left and the handful of scattered boxes to her right. “When I made the decision to move here, all I truly focused on was finally getting to be a head librarian. I knew I wanted to make friends and fit in, but the thing that made me actually leave Chicago was the job.”

“Then I guess I owe Winston and the rest of the board members a thank-you note or something . . .”

Pulling her knees upward, she rested her chin atop them and smiled. “They’ll be at the wedding so you can thank them then if you’re so inclined.”

“I am, and I will.”

“When I put that there”—Tori pointed at the corner cabinet between the living and the dining rooms—“I figured I’d put knickknacks and things on those shelves. But instead, I found myself filling them with amazing moments I never would have had if I hadn’t taken this job.”

Milo lifted his own finger to indicate the first of the half-dozen or so yet-to-be-packed picture frames that never ceased to bring a smile to her face as she passed from one room to the other, regardless of mood or hour. “I love that picture of you and Rose on that red-and-white-checked blanket of yours. That was one of the summer evening concerts, wasn’t it?”

She managed to blink away the sudden moisture in her eyes, only to have the same emotion make its presence known via a tightness in her throat. “There was something about Rose that grabbed hold of my heart during my very first sewing circle meeting. It was like she gave me back some of the best parts of my great-grandmother—not in a way that replaced her, but in a way that has helped me to see she’s always close by.”

Rising to his feet, Milo crossed the sea of boxes between them to sit beside her and hold her hand. “I wish I could have met your great-grandmother, Tori. Especially knowing that she’s such a huge factor in the amazing person you are.”

“I do, too, Milo.” She squeezed his hand and then brought it up to her lips for a quick kiss. “She would have loved you. Of that, I have absolutely no doubt.” Then, lowering their hands back to her lap, she took in Rose’s photograph once again. “But if I can’t have my great-grandmother at my wedding, Rose is the next best thing.”

“I’m glad. I know she thinks the world of you, that’s for sure. And your being here has given a noticeable lift to her life, as well.”

“I hope so. I can’t even entertain the notion of her not being here one day.” She swatted the thought away with her free hand and, instead, pointed to the next shelf and
the first of the three frames it held. “You’ve known Margaret Louise longer than I have, but have you ever known her to be unhappy?”

“When her husband passed, I guess, though even then, she opted to focus on her memories rather than the fact that he was gone.”

“Anytime I’m feeling grouchy, I look at that picture and remember the moment she won that contest with her sweet potato pie. She was so tickled with her win, you’d have thought she’d hit the lottery.”

“Because to Margaret Louise, pleasing people with her recipes
is
a lottery win.”

“And did you ever think the day would come that Dixie would actually
like
me?” she joked as her gaze moved on to the next picture, and the recognition ceremony Tori had insisted the board host upon Dixie’s last turn as a volunteer at the library.

“Considering we’re talking about
you
, yeah, I knew it would happen.” He turned, leaned across the small gap between them, and lingered a kiss against her temple. “How could it not?”

Her attention zoned in on the next picture—a selfie of her, Leona, and Paris during their first girls’ night slumber party. Thinking back to the moment they snapped the photo, she couldn’t help but giggle at the wrestling match that had ensued when she’d tried to angle the camera in such a way as to document what the always polished Leona was wearing. Leona, of course, had won, but the simple fact the woman had worn footie pajamas around Tori spoke volumes about the trust they shared.

“I wish everyone else could see the Leona I know,” she whispered.

“Don’t you think Margaret Louise does?”

Tori considered Milo’s question and found that even she was surprised by the answer that left her mouth. “I’m not entirely sure Leona
lets
her sister see her vulnerable sides.”

“But they’re close . . .”

“As close as two people who are as different as night and day can be anyway,” she conceded. “Or at least they were, before this whole Rose fiasco—a fiasco that Rose herself seems more willing to overlook than Margaret Louise or anyone else in the circle.”

“It’s still that bad?” Milo asked.

“As of last night, Margaret Louise still hadn’t reached out to Leona about her fall.” She extricated her hand from his and used it to cradle her forehead. “When anyone in this town so much as stubs a toe, Margaret Louise is on their doorstep with a pie . . . or four. Yet after what Leona did on that show of hers, Margaret Louise hasn’t even picked up the phone to
check
on her sister let alone bake a pie for her.”

After a moment or two of silence, Milo scooted away from the wall and turned his whole body so they could be face to face. “If you’re worried about friction at the wedding, I have no doubt everyone will behave that day if for no other reason than because they love you.”

“And us,” she reminded. “But honestly, until you just said that, the wedding aspect hadn’t even entered my mind. I just hate knowing that this group that has been so wonderful to me these past two-plus years is beginning to fray at the seams—no pun intended.”

“They’ll get it together,” Milo reassured her. “There’s way too much history there to throw it away over some really bad judgment on Leona’s part.”

“It might help if she
admitted
she used bad judgment.”

“She hasn’t?”

Tori made a face. “We’re talking about Leona, remember?” Pushing off the ground, Tori rose to her feet and wandered over to the window that overlooked her small backyard. “Which means I’m the only one keeping an eye on Rachel.”

“Who is Rachel?”

“She’s the one Leona hired to stay at the house with her instead of going to rehab,” Tori explained as she took in the cozy outdoor gathering place Rose had helped her visualize and execute right down to the morning glory–wrapped arbor that served as its entry point. “This girl is no more than twenty-three and has absolutely zero interest in doing anything resembling work.”

Milo snickered. “And Leona is okay with that?”

“When I left last night, Leona had been so busy flirting with the EMT, I’m not sure she actually exchanged more than a sentence or two with this girl. But honestly, even if she’s realized it by now, I think she’ll let it slide simply because her main objective is to be home with Paris.”

Even without the sound of his footsteps, Tori could sense Milo’s nearness before his arms came around her shoulders and drew her close. It was a gesture she adored and one she looked forward to adoring for the rest of her life. “Leona isn’t going to let anyone mistreat her, Tori. You know that as well as I do.”

She unlinked his hands from in front of her chest just enough to turn around and face him, her own hands linking together behind his neck. “You’re right. Leona isn’t one to stay silent on any subject for long. If she needs me, she’ll call.”

He kissed her forehead, her nose, and finally her lips, only to pull away and smile down at her with both dimples on full display. “I finished my vows last night and I’m pretty proud of them if I must say so myself.”

The warmth of his smile sent a shiver of excitement through her body. “I can’t wait to stand there, in front of all our friends and family, and say everything I want to say to you and hear everything you want to say to me.”

He loosened his hold on her just enough to be able to see into her eyes. “So? Any word yet on when your parents are coming in? Will they be here for the rehearsal dinner?”

“Their flight comes in from South Africa on Saturday morning, about two hours before the wedding. And they’ll fly back out around ten that evening.”

“That’s only thirteen hours,” he protested.

“It’s thirteen more hours than I’ve gotten in years, Milo.” She leaned forward, kissed the tip of his chin, and then stepped out of his arms and headed into the kitchen for a glass of water.

He followed her and then nodded as she held up a glass in lieu of words. “Wow, Tori, I’m sorry. I know how disappointed you must be.”

Holding his glass against the water dispenser in the refrigerator door, she rushed to squelch the anguish she heard in his voice. “Milo, you need to understand that this is the way it is with my parents. I suppose some kids could have seen it as a reason to have resentment or to act out, but it’s all I ever knew. To me, my parents were always superheroes, saving kids in poor countries with hugs and kisses. Maybe I would have felt cheated if they hadn’t entrusted me to my great-grandmother’s care . . .
but they did. And I had a wonderful childhood complete with great-grandparents who adored me, and parents who loved me every bit as much. They sent me postcards and letters all the time, and when they were able to fly home and see me, we made every second count.”

He took the glass from her outstretched hand and held it without taking a drink. “I know, but I guess I was hoping they’d carve out a little more time leading up to the wedding so I could get to know them . . . especially with your great-grandmother being gone and all.”

After a quick sip of her own drink, she put her glass down on the counter and set Milo’s down next to it as well. Taking his hands in hers, she smiled up at him. “One of the things my parents taught me was that family is more than just bloodlines. It’s that, too, of course, but it’s also the people you meet in life who change your world for the better and accept you for who you are. For them, that caveat has always included the children they’ve met on their mission trips around the world. For me, once my great-grandmother died, that caveat became Rose, Leona, Margaret Louise, Debbie, Melissa, Beatrice, Georgina, and Dixie. They’re my family, Milo. They’re
our
family along with my parents and your mom. Having them all there in witness to our marriage will be wonderful. That said, the most important person at that wedding for me is
you
.”

Once again, he pulled her into his arms and held her tight, the warmth of his breath against the top of her head lifting her spirits and chasing away all residual worry that had clung to her heart since leaving Leona’s house the previous evening. “I love you, Tori.”

“That’s good, because I love you, too.” She broke free
to reclaim her glass and to take a second, longer sip. “Which is why I must insist you take your tape roll and your marker and hit the road, mister.”

His left eyebrow arched in amusement. “That doesn’t sound like a whole lot of love to me.”

“The guys from your men’s group are taking you out for your bachelor dinner at five, aren’t they?” At his nod, she continued. “It’s almost four now. So go home, get yourself cleaned up, and go have a good time. We can do more of this packing stuff tomorrow.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure. I might take a bath and read . . . or I might give Leona a call and see if Paris needs a carrot or something.”

Tori waited until Rachel disappeared inside the guest room across the hall before she plopped into the reading chair beside Leona’s bed and finally asked the million-dollar question.

“So? How’s it going with Rachel?”

Leona carefully folded the edge of her satin sheet down across her lap and nestled her head against the pillow Tori had positioned against the headboard. “With proper direction—given slowly and repeated often—she’s doing . . . okay.”

Tori pinned her tired friend with a pointed stare. “She’s dreadful, isn’t she?”

“You have no idea, Victoria.” Leona reached up, pulled a row of false lashes from her upper right lid, and then moved on to the left. “A
GQ
model could walk right past her and she wouldn’t have a clue.”

“She’s rather fond of her electronics, isn’t she?” Tori posed without really needing an answer. “You could always call the agency back and demand they send someone else—like maybe someone who actually gets the whole concept of work.”

Leona placed her lashes into a tiny container beside her bed and then reached for the cold cream jar to its left. “I’m not going to need any help by the end of the week, so why bother? She eventually does what I need her to do.”

“I’m not so sure about the end of the week, Leona. You looked mighty uncomfortable when Rachel brought me in here.”

“Nothing my little pain pill can’t take care of.” Leona stuck three fingers of her left hand into the jar. “Though I’m already trying to wean myself off them.”

“If you need them, you should take them.” She leaned closer to Leona, took the jar from her hands, and recapped it while the woman applied the cream to her cheeks, her chin, and her forehead with the help of a handheld mirror. “Rachel told me your in-home nurse stopped by today and that you were in a lot of pain.”

Leona pulled a folded white cloth from her nightstand drawer and used it to wipe off all the cream she’d just put on. “Perhaps when you stop by tomorrow, you could bring a muzzle that would fit my young caregiver.”

Tori studied her friend for a long moment, noting the woman’s tired eyes, pale skin, occasional wince of pain, and the considerable effort put forth to hide those things. “Why are you so determined to make people think you’re okay all the time?” she finally asked.

“Because I am.” Leona’s answer, while firm, lacked
its usual convincing tone. “Why on earth would you think otherwise?”

Tori swapped the cold cream jar for one of the cookies she’d brought along and took a few nibbles. “Hmmm . . . I don’t know, Leona, could it be the simple fact that you fractured your hip and you’re obviously in a lot of pain?”

“You’re assuming that, dear.”

“No, I know that.” She pointed her half-eaten cookie at Leona and put words to her observations. “You’re pale, your eyes are hooded, you try to distract me away from your winces, and you’re not snapping at me. All clear indicators that you are not okay despite your best efforts to prove otherwise.”

“I do not wince!” A spasm of pain tightened Leona’s lips and closed her eyes for a split second.

“I repeat my original question. Why are you so determined to make people think you’re okay all the time? I mean, it’s okay to be human, Leona.”

Leona dropped her cloth onto the corner of the nightstand and stared up at the ceiling. “Do you really think I need to be hit over the head with the knowledge I’m despised?”

“
Despised?
” she echoed. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Slowly, Leona’s chin lowered until her bloodshot eyes were trained on Tori’s face. “I’d have to be an idiot not to know that if it were Rose or Dixie or Margaret Louise in this bed, under the exact same circumstances, there would be seven occupied chairs in this room right now. Actually, let me change that. There would be
eight
occupied chairs because I would be sitting in one, too.”

This time, when an influx of pain closed Leona’s eyes,
Tori wasn’t sure whether it was from the woman’s hip or her heart. Either way, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for her friend, and searched for something to say that would be of comfort. “Leona, I’m the only one who knows you fell.”

The second the words were out of her mouth, she said a silent prayer for forgiveness. She knew her statement wasn’t entirely truthful, but to admit that Margaret Louise knew risked Leona’s wrath and heartache—neither of which she wanted to deal with at that moment. Besides, she still had hope Leona’s twin would come around sooner rather than later.

“Have you checked in with Margaret Louise this week, Victoria?”

“Yes.”

“Have you checked in with Beatrice this week?”

“Yes.”

“How about Debbie?”

“Yes.”

“And Melissa?”

“Yes.”

“Dixie? Georgina?”

“Yes to both.”

“How about Rose?”

“Of course.”

“Of course,” Leona repeated in a whisper. “I rest my case.”

“Wait a minute.” She polished off the rest of her cookie and stood. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Your point, dear?”

“I know about your fall because I checked in on you, Leona. Just like I’ve done with everyone else at some point or another this week.”

“Do you think Melissa and Dixie have checked in on Rose? Do you think Georgina has made a call to Beatrice to see how she’s getting along?”

Tori saw where the conversation was going and was at a loss for what to say. Instead, she wandered around Leona’s bed to the doll-sized canopied version beneath the draped window. There, she found Paris, half sleeping, half listening.

“Face it, Victoria,” Leona continued, “you and Paris are not only my true friends but also my
only
friends.”

Squatting down beside the animal, Tori reached out, ran a hand down her soft back, and took a moment to compose her response. “Everyone else in the circle is your friend, too, Leona. You just . . . um . . . need to act like one more than you do.”

“You mean like giving one of Paris’s offspring to Rose?”

She stopped petting.

“You mean like spending my most recent trip to New York City helping you clear Dixie’s name rather than shopping and meeting up with old friends?”

Tori stood and turned back to Leona.

“Or do you mean all of those sewing circle meetings I’ve hosted here in my home?”

She lowered herself to the edge of Leona’s bed, shaking her head as she did. “Leona, there’s no denying the fact you’ve done some good things—
friend
things. But you have to be able to see some of the not-so-nice things you’ve done, too. And what you did to Rose on Sunday night was mean. Everyone is just rallying around her in a show of solidarity.”

“Ahh yes, of course. Saint Rose. The one everyone must protect.”

“Can you stop for just a moment and put yourself in Rose’s shoes?”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead in flats, dear,” Leona droned. “I simply couldn’t do it.”

Tori laughed in spite of the seriousness of the subject at hand. “You never quit, do you?” Then, she regrouped and pressed on. “Rose doesn’t have many more years, Leona. Every day she seems a bit frailer, a bit slower than she did the day before.”

Leona fidgeted with the trim of her sheets but said nothing, the downward cast of her eyes, followed by a distinct swallow or two, the only confirmation Tori’s words were hitting their mark.

“Now imagine standing next to women younger than you—women wearing heels and sparkly dresses and moving around without a care in the world. Don’t you think you’d have a pang or two of sadness or envy? Maybe even a little uncertainty about whether you fit in?”

“Eighty-two, or whatever the old goat is, is merely a number, dear.”

“Maybe you should tell her aging body that the next time her arthritis has her hooked up to an IV pole and too weak to walk.”

“I don’t do guilt, Victoria.”

“Maybe you should.”

The chime of the doorbell echoed around the room, effectively bringing their conversation to an end and Leona’s hands to her hair. “If it’s Sam, you must tell him I’m asleep!”

“But that would make me a liar, Leona,” she teased as she stood and crossed to the bedroom door. “You couldn’t really ask me to do that, could you?”

“I could, and I did!”

She chuckled her way down the bedroom hallway, past Rachel’s closed door, through the living room, and into the front hallway to find two figures standing on the other side of the door’s frosted sidelights. A check of her watch, coupled with the overall size and shape of the visitors, all but erased the possibility that Milo was back from his bachelor dinner.

“Are you going to keep standing there, peeking at us through these windows, or are you going to open this door and give me a proper welcome, Miss Victoria?”

Any confusion that accompanied the oddly familiar voice was wiped away by a second voice. “Now Charles, I reckon you just ruined your s’prise talkin’ through the door like that . . .”

Grabbing hold of the knob, Tori twisted her wrist to the right and flung open the door, the squeal she let off quickly finding a perfect match from the spikey-haired twenty-something now hopping up and down and waving his hands wildly atop the welcome mat. “I’m here! I’m here!”

She wrapped her arms around the New York City bookstore employee and joined in the hopping. “I thought you weren’t coming in until Friday!”

“And miss the chance to attend an official sewing circle meeting? Not. A. Chance.” He stepped back, grabbed the first of two large suitcases from the front stoop, and swung it through the open door. With that one safely inside, he did the same with the second and then ran back to Margaret Louise’s station wagon for a third.

“Dare I hope you’re moving to Sweet Briar?” Tori joked as he huffed and puffed his way back up the steps with the final suitcase.

Charles set the bag next to the others and then loosened the knot on his accessory scarf. “I’m not sure Sweet Briar could handle me, Victoria.” He pointed at his hair. “Which is why I dispensed with the red and went with a more natural hazelnut.”

“Red? When we saw you in the city, it was purple.”

“Oh honey, I’ve cycled through the rainbow three times since then.” He caught sight of himself in the antique mirror on the side wall and brushed a finger across his left eyebrow. “The second time I went with a leprechaun green instead of the neon shade and it was much more flattering.”

Tori glanced at Margaret Louise, still standing on the front stoop, and motioned her inside.

The woman didn’t budge.

“You can’t come this close and not come in and see her,” Tori pleaded. “Please. She needs to know you still love her.”

Charles swiped his hand across his brow and snapped his fingers in a triangle formation between himself and his airport escort. “What did we talk about on the way here, Margaret Louise?”

“Loving my sister,” Margaret Louise replied woodenly.

“First love and then . . .”

Instantly, the roundish woman on the other side of the open door brightened tenfold. “I get to investigate!”

Charles leaned forward until his breath was warm on Tori’s ear. “Brilliant use of leverage, by the way.”

“Why thank—” A vibration in her back pocket cut her
answer short and she pulled out her phone, the familiar name on the Caller ID screen bringing a rapid hand clap from Charles and an eye roll from Margaret Louise.

Tori pressed the read button.

Remember, I am asleep.

“She thinks you’re Sam,” she said by way of explanation.

Margaret Louise’s eyes gave an encore as Charles’s ears visibly perked in tandem with his question. “Who is Sam?”

“The extremely cute EMT who responded to Leona’s 911 call when she fell.”

Charles looked left, then right, and then brought his lips to Tori’s ear once again. “She’s taken her makeup off for the night, hasn’t she?”

“And her eyelashes,” she quipped before widening her words to include Margaret Louise. “I’m grateful the EMTs got here so quickly. Sam and his partner took good care of Leona. Now I only wish they could do something to make the pain go away.”

Nodding, Charles brought his hand to the base of his neck. “My across-the-hall neighbor, Gertrude? She broke her hip last year and she hasn’t been back to her apartment since. Her son has, which is a whole ’nother story, but she hasn’t. Nicole, she’s my three-doors-down-on-the-right neighbor, says she’s heard Gerty has given up on living.”

Margaret Louise stepped through the front door, closed it behind her, and then pushed her way between Charles and Tori, a resolute look plastered across her round face. “C’mon, it’s best I get this over with now.”

Tori and Charles exchanged a silent high five and then followed the polyester-wearing grandmother of eight down the front hallway, through the living room, and down the second hallway, Charles stopping every few feet to comment on a painting or a particular color scheme.

When they reached Leona’s partially closed bedroom door, Margaret Louise stopped. “You go first,” she whispered to Charles. “You’ve traveled much too far not to enjoy her squealin’ when she sees you—squealin’ that will surely turn to guiltin’ and posturin’ the second she sees me.”

“You got it, girlfriend.” Charles stepped around Margaret Louise and guided the door open with his hand.