“A man on my route tossed it into his recycling basket and the picture caught my eye. That card went to everyone in town, James. You’ve probably got one in your mailbox right this very minute.”
“And that means Lindy and Gillian and Lucy do too.”
Bennett nodded unhappily. “I’m afraid so.”
James wound his plaid scarf around his neck three times and then squared his shoulders. “I’m just not ready for this book to come out, Bennett. I have so many other things on my plate right now.”
“Well, you’d better move that date with Lucy to the top of your list. In fact, I think you should run right over to the Sheriff’s Department, pick her up, and take her out for some fancy, candlelit dinner. Maybe you can get that postcard outta her mailbox on the sly.”
Taking his keys from his right coat pocket, James looked at Bennett in confusion. “How much harm could a postcard do? It’s not like it says anything about us. I’m more concerned about what’s in the actual book.”
“It’s your call,” Bennett said, opening the door. A blast of December air caused them both to hesitate before stepping outside. “But I’m tellin’ you, man. Lucy is going to be mighty sore that Murphy called her a secretary.”
James groaned. “You’re right, she’s going to hate that. And somehow, I feel like she’s going to blame me for everything.”
“Well, you did get in bed with the enemy.” Bennett nudged James with his elbow. “No pun intended.”
“Thanks a lot, Bennett.” James gave his friend a harmless shove. “You go on ahead. I forgot something inside.”
“A book?” Bennett asked as he opened the door to his mail truck, revealing plastic bins filled with tidy rows of letters and catalogues.
“No,” James answered. “I’m going back in for the rest of that cake.” As he turned toward the library’s familiar warmth, James eyed the Santa cutout Francis had taped to the front door. He studied the cheery man’s soft paunch and round cheeks. Seeing that his own reflection in the glass door bore a resemblance to St. Nick’s physique, James frowned and grumbled, “Bah, humbug.”
TWO
James entered through the back door of his childhood home and, as he closed the door behind him, felt a whoosh of air next to his left ear as a magazine smacked against the wall.
“Watch it, Pop!” James instinctively ducked in case his father was prepared to lodge another missile his way.
“Sorry ’bout that. Didn’t realize it was near time for you to be comin’ through that door,” Jackson muttered darkly from his seat at the kitchen table. “But if I gotta look at one more flower arrangement or answer one more question about menus, tablecloths, dance music, or church programs, then Milla’s just gonna have to get married all by herself!”
After picking up the magazine from the floor, James set it on the table, smoothed the wrinkled cover, and sat down across from his father. “You don’t mean that, Pop. You love Milla.” He offered Jackson a sympathetic smile. “But I can see why you’d rather not spend your time reading this stuff.”
Jackson grunted and gestured at piles of colorful clippings illustrating wedding cakes, floral centerpieces, tuxedos, stationery, and limousines. “When your mama and I got married, we met some folks down at the church, said a word or two, and then had a little lunch back here at the house. Sandwiches and tea and beer. I wore my best suit and your mama wore a dress she borrowed from her best friend. Whole thing cost us about three hundred dollars.” He pushed the clippings away. “I still remember every second of that day. It didn’t cost much but it was real nice. It was simple and to the point and, well, pretty damned perfect.”
James nodded. “I can imagine how overwhelming all of these choices must be. Have you talked to Milla about why she wants so many… trimmings?”
“Guess her first wedding was one of those courthouse deals. Her man was being sent overseas for some kind of military training and it’s all they had time for. So now she wants the church, the party, a fancy white dress. All of it.”
“Are you worried about the cost?” James asked gently.
“Pffft, no!” Jackson waved off the suggestion. “I’d buy that woman whatever she wanted, but I think it’s right foolish to spend such a pile one day outta our lives. At our age and all-to be gettin’ trussed up like a pair of Thanksgivin’ turkeys. Never mind dancin’ or ridin’ in cars that can seat twenty and have television sets inside. It feels downright ridiculous.”
Part of James agreed with his father, but he knew better than to take sides between a couple planning their wedding.
At that moment, the bride-to-be walked through the door, her arms laden with grocery bags. James rushed forward to relieve Milla of two of the four paper sacks she carried.
“Hello, boys!” she trilled merrily. Her cheeks were flushed with the cold and her eyes glittered with their customary animation. “I am so delighted. I found the most beautiful lamb chops when I was Christmas shopping in Harrisonburg today. You two are going to eat like kings this evening!” She plopped the bags on the granite countertop, placed some milk and eggs in the fridge, and then swung around. Observing the downcast eyes of her fiancé and the manner in which James averted his glance, she asked, “Why the long faces?”
Jackson turned to his son with a rare look of appeal. James mouthed a silent “no way,” but Milla was too sharp not to notice. Pointing at the magazine photos, she took a step toward Jackson. “All right, now. ’Fess up. You’re squirmin’ like a mouse in a python’s grip with all these wedding decisions, aren’t you?”
“Well…,” Jackson began and then trailed off.
“Pop’s not stressed about the actual ceremony, Milla,” James said, still hesitant to intervene. “I think all the choices and, I don’t know, modern wedding extras are making him feel a tad overwhelmed.”
“Thank you, James,” Milla replied kindly, and then she picked up Jackson’s hand. “Darling, we don’t need to have anything fancy. I just want our wedding to be beautiful. I’d like some greenery in the church and a nice dinner with champagne for our friends afterwards. And I’d like to have you hold me in your arms for one slow dance. That’s all.”
The couple exchanged affectionate smiles. “When you put it like that, it seems an easier beast to tame. But Milla, I gotta take a break from lookin’ at these crazy bride magazines.” Jackson stood and placed the entire pile into one of the emptied food bags. “It feels downright girlie for a grown man to be readin’ about fluff and frills. Besides, I can’t even remember the last time I read the paper from end to end or watched a solid hour of game shows on TV.”
“Oh, my.” Milla’s shoulders shook with laughter. “I vow to never keep you from The Price is Right again, my love.” She began to put away the rest of the groceries. “And we don’t need to worry about the cake anymore anyway. My little sister is coming into town this weekend and she’s going to bake it for us. She also offered to bake the dinner rolls for our main meal and create a gorgeous dessert bar for our friends. Isn’t that good news?”
“Your sister? The famous one?” Jackson was clearly surprised. “I thought you two got along ’bout as well as wolves and sheep.”
“We’re not that bad!” Milla chuckled as she pulled a large mixing bowl from inside one of the lower cabinets. “I just don’t get her and she doesn’t get me, but we don’t hate each other. We’re different creatures, that’s all. Now, Wheezie, my older sister, can’t even breathe the same air as Patty. I don’t think those two have spoken a civil word in twenty years, but that’s not a tale to be told when I need to busy myself makin’ my men some succulent chops.” She added a few pinches of herbs to the heaping tablespoons of Dijon mustard settled at the bottom of the mixing bowl.