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He sat on the corner of her desk, a little close for her comfort to an expenditure report she’d typed that morning. “You mean just the food, right? Or was telling Leah really that bad?”
“No, she—hang on, why don’t we move this out of the way?” She’d been known to use binder clips that coordinated with the colors of her fonts and graphs; she was not handing Cameron a crinkled report. “She was very happy for us. But the timing stank. Turns out Phillip just informed her he was getting remarried.”
“Ouch.”
Neely crossed the room to refile some of the folders she’d needed earlier. “She was great, though. Very excited about being the maid of honor. I know I said yesterday that we have time to think about the details, but Leah made a good point. We should reserve a place immediately. If not sooner. So we might want to think about what size crowd we’re looking at, whether we want a formal dinner or more casual reception.”
He nodded affably, looking utterly relaxed in the face of her rising panic. This was why he was so good for her. “Why don’t you come over, I’ll grab takeout on the way home, and we can start planning?”
“Or we could go to my place,” she threw out impulsively. Maybe it was territorial of her, but she couldn’t relax as well at Robert’s place. And not just because of the constant drop-ins of neighbors who were fond of her extroverted fiancé, including Sheila, the thirty-eight-year-old downstairs he had once dated. They’d never become very serious, but she continued to depend on Robert’s help with her car and occasional handyman jobs if it was the weekend and the super was out of touch. It was amazing how many maintenance issues Sheila had over the weekend.
Neighbors aside, Neely always had the urge to tidy Robert’s apartment. Her birthday had been a notable exception since he’d gone to great pains to clean up and set a romantic atmosphere in the main rooms. For his cluttered guest room, he’d shut the door and left it at that.
His eyebrows lifted, but after a moment, he said, “Sure. Either way.”
“Sorry. I think…maybe because I’m not feeling well, I’m sort of longing for the comforts of home.”
“Understood.” He slid off the desk and came toward her, as if about to offer a hug, but stopped shy. Although it was common knowledge they were a couple, they’d agreed early on to keep displays of affection away from the workplace. “I’ll meet you there at about seven?”
“Sounds great, thank you.” The man was a gem.
Pausing at the door, he asked, “You don’t feel uncomfortable at my place, do you? I hope you know you can make yourself at home there. I can clear some closet space for you, give you some drawers in the bathroom. Anything that helps.”
“That’s sweet, but not necessary. Your place is already very homey.” It definitely had that lived-in feel.
After he’d gone, she sat behind her desk, pondering the questions Leah had posed. Did Robert think they’d move into his place? Hers was closer to the office, but not as big. Then again, he didn’t exactly make the most of the space he had. She wouldn’t call his apartment grungy, but it was the home of a mellow bachelor who got around to sorting his laundry when he felt like it. He just fished clean socks out of the laundry basket on the sofa as needed.
Neely tackled household chores with a practical the-sooner-the-better approach. They’d had more than one dinner at her place where Robert had invited her to sit on the couch and watch television with him and worry about the dishes later; except she was best able to enjoy what she was doing when she knew there wasn’t housework waiting afterward. He’d probably understand that about her more once they were living together.
Her temperature spiked again, and her heart thundered in her ears. We’re going to be living together. She’d known it rationally, she just hadn’t stopped to think about it yet. To really think about all that it entailed. She’d been on her own for a long time. Even when she did spend a night at Robert’s, she knew she could return to her apartment. After June, there would be no “her place” or “his place.”
Only the home of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Walsh.
They obviously had a lot more to talk about than how many invitations they should buy and the size of the wedding party. Her stomach tightened at the thought of how many important and personal conversations they needed to have. Her lack of romantic experience left her feeling unprepared, and the uncertainty reminded her why she liked numbers so much. Calculating equations was a lot simpler than being in love. Good thing she’d somehow managed to find a man so worth the trouble—now she just had to prove that she was.
Savannah didn’t know why she felt so nervous—she was neither the one getting married, nor the stranger coming to meet the family for the first time. Nonetheless, when she handed her mama the sweet potato casserole she’d brought, her fingers were trembling.
Hoping her mother and husband hadn’t noticed, she turned to Jason. “Want me to hang up your coat, honey?” Even though it had been warm a few days earlier, the March wind had blown in a storm front that was causing lower temperatures and sinus headaches all over the metroplex.
“Thanks.” Her husband held out his jacket and turned to face Douglas, who stood to the side in the parlor with Vi and their father. “So, when do we get to meet the new guy?”
“Neely called to say they got hung up in traffic but should be here in about ten minutes. Can I fix you a drink?” He indicated the side bar, where the Professor was refilling his own glass.
Jason shook his head. “No, thank you. I’m not technically scheduled to work tonight, but I’m on call as backup.”
A tug of premature disappointment pulled at Savannah. Jason had missed the last two monthly dinners and been called away from her father’s birthday celebration because of work. She hoped that wouldn’t be the case tonight—she felt bad enough that Trent couldn’t come because of a senior prom fund-raiser. Then again, interruptions were bound to occur when you were married to the man hundreds of women wanted to deliver their babies.
As she put his coat in the entryway closet, Savannah remembered how proud she’d been when she’d told acquaintances she was marrying a doctor! Not that he’d been a doctor at the time, but he’d already been accepted into med school and his path was clear. They’d married after graduating college, and she’d taught at a private day care, helping to shoulder the bills while he studied and interned.
When she’d discovered she was pregnant with Adam, she’d been first ecstatic, then worried about her husband’s reaction. They’d planned to wait another year or two before having a baby, but Jason had been thrilled. She’d teased him at prenatal checkups when he’d shown as much interest in the medical equipment as her progress, and she’d wept watching him cradle their son for the first time. If Jason hadn’t cried, his eyes had certainly been damp with emotion.
Recalling that moment in the hospital as if it were yesterday, she suddenly felt more generously disposed to the expecting women who so frequently needed Jason’s time. After all, when he couldn’t make family plans, it was because he was away, bringing the miracle of new life into the world, not because he was waving one-dollar bills in the air at some smoke-filled strip club on the seedier side of Atlanta. She’d known the specifics of being a doctor’s wife—odd hours, being a good hostess when he invited members of the medical community for dinner, attending different social functions. Jason had praised her on many occasions for making him look good, saying he’d be lost without her.
Her mood bolstered, Savannah went to help her mother in the kitchen. It was a sure bet Vi wouldn’t think to offer her assistance.
Beth had just started to carve the ham when the doorbell pealed through the old house.
“Looks as if our guests of honor are here.” Savannah had a sudden moment of reverse déjà vu that caused her smile to falter—would Adam be bringing home a woman to meet his parents in the next few years?
“Late,” Beth grunted, looking at the digital over the oven.
Savannah could tell this was another strike against the mysterious suitor who hadn’t bothered to meet Neely’s parents, much less ask their permission, before proposing. “I’m sure the delay was unavoidable, Mama, and not a reflection on Mr. Walsh.”
Her mother slanted her a knowing glance. “You’re not about to remind me to be hospitable in my own house, are you?”
“When you’re the one who taught me everything I know about Southern generosity? Of course not,” Savannah said sweetly. “You’d be the perfect gracious hostess to anyone who came to your door, even if they weren’t entirely punctual.”
Beth grinned. “With some coaching from you, Vidalia could be a lot more subtle about her back talk.”
Savannah thought of her sister, of her bright bleached hair and constant opinions. “I don’t think Vi has any interest in subtle.”
“Well, let’s go join them before she says something to scare off this Robert Walsh and Cornelia ends up as alone and crazy as my great-aunt Willa.”
Either Robert and Neely hadn’t bothered with jackets, or someone had already put them away. The two of them sat on the striped antique settee Gerald had reupholstered when Savannah was in high school—Neely in a scoop-necked sweater and black skirt, Robert in a button-down shirt and navy tie. He was handsome, Savannah thought judiciously, taking in the wave of silver in his rich brown hair and the sparkle of his gray eyes. The sparkle increased when he looked at Neely, which he did often. She didn’t seem to mind, snuggling close to him with her hand resting atop his knee. A simple touch, but meaningful for Neely.
Robert Walsh wasn’t quite debonair, but something more comfortable and sincere. Though he was tall, with a firm, square jaw, there was a kind of indefinable softness about him, too. Perhaps Savannah recognized it because it reminded her vaguely of her father, an invisible vibe of kindness that promised he’d never mistreat children or small animals.
When Neely glanced up at her, Savannah’s first instinct was to turn away and not be caught staring. Silly, really, since it was understandable for the family to be curious about Robert. She stepped forward, offering her hand.
“Savannah Mason Carter,” she introduced herself. “Have you already met my husband, Dr. Jason Carter?”
“We were just starting the name exchange,” Douglas said. “We’d only gotten as far as Dad and Vidalia Jean.”
“Who goes by Vi, right?” Robert smiled, looking as if he might say more, perhaps about how Neely didn’t like her full name, either, but stopped, catching sight of Beth behind Savannah. Apparently he had the good sense not to joke about names when the people who’d picked them out were standing in the room. “Mrs. Mason. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
As he held out the bottle of wine he’d brought along as a hostess gift, Savannah grinned inwardly. She liked the “finally” as a discreet reminder that, if it had been up to him, he’d have met them sooner. Robert Walsh might just hold his own with Beth, and once she approved of him, he was family.
After the pleasantries were exchanged, Beth planted her hands on her ample hips. “Well, not to discount the value of small talk, but I worked too hard on that food to let it go cold. Why don’t we move into the dining room?”
They all headed that way, and Savannah noticed the hand Robert placed on the small of her sister’s back. An odd ripple of yearning went through her at the unconscious intimacy conveyed in the touch. She cast a glance toward her husband, abashedly aware of the longing that probably showed in her face.
But he was deep in discussion with Douglas about a new property tax and didn’t notice.
CHAPTER 4
Well, he can’t say I didn’t warn him, Neely thought.
Robert had assured her before they arrived that he was marrying her, so nothing her family said or did would affect his decision. She was holding him to that. Not that her family was being unwelcoming. Far from it—they’d expressed great gratitude that someone had finally proposed to her, and they were trying to make Robert’s life easier by mapping out his wedding for him.
“You could always get married here,” Gerald volunteered. “This old house might need a bit of spit-shine to polish her up, but she’s a historic beauty.”
“That she is,” Beth agreed, “but too small to properly host their wedding. I imagine you’ll have one hundred and fifty guests at least.”
“What?” Neely’s head reeled. When she and Robert had started discussing wedding specifics Monday night, they’d predicted around seventy-five people, one hundred as the absolute maximum. “I think you’re shooting a little high, Mom.”
“Nonsense. Savannah and I started a list after you left the other day. That was our conservative estimate, since you insisted on something ‘simple.’”
Neely shot her older sister an accusing glance, but it crashed and broke on the shore of Savannah’s good intentions.
“No need to thank me!” Savannah said cheerfully. “I want to help in any way possible. Jason and I were so young when we got married that we couldn’t really plan a grand affair, and I hardly think at my age I’m going to have a daughter. So planning your wedding will be fun!”
A thrill a minute. Neely wasn’t sure how she felt about the unspoken comparison to the daughter Savannah would never have. I’m only younger by eleven months! Yet she supposed she’d be getting Savannah’s “big sister” treatment for the rest of her life. After all, look at the bossy way Beth still treated her sisters, Carol and Josephine, continuing to this day to issue for-your-own-good orders.
Then again, that was pretty much the way Neely’s mom treated everyone.
“I think a church wedding would be lovely,” Beth said now, her latest command masquerading as an opinion. “Robert, you’re not Catholic, by any chance? Cornelia is a staunch Methodist, so I’m afraid a wedding Mass is out of the question.”
“We were going to be staunch Southern Baptists,” Vi said to no one in particular, “until we found out they frown on drinking. Although maybe a Baptist wedding gets you out of the obligatory dancing at the reception?”
Her mother shot her the glare of doom, then turned back just in time to hear Robert explain that his parents were Episcopalian.
Their denomination wasn’t a big issue for Neely. She prayed and managed to get to church at least once a season, but felt hypocritical describing herself as a “staunch” anything. She also thought that if any kind of ceremony was out of the question, she should be the one making that call, not her mother. But Robert, bless him, took all of Beth’s suggestions and Vi’s colorful commentary in stride.
The brief panic Neely had experienced in her office earlier this week had receded. Two people making one life together would be complex, but Robert was definitely the man for her. She hadn’t been given a choice when it came to her family, but Robert was actually opting to align himself with the Masons instead of fleeing in the other direction. That took courage and character.
“So, you have any siblings?” Douglas asked. “Brothers or, God help you, sisters?”
Robert grinned. “Neither. Just me and my parents. My dad has a brother back in Vermont—are you okay, Mrs. Mason?”
“Fine, fine.”
Neely could see how the harrumph her mother made whenever a place north of the Mason-Dixon was mentioned could sound as though the woman was choking.
“I have a handful of relatives left there,” Robert said. “We’re not a big family.”
“And the two of you don’t plan to make it any bigger by having more little Walshes?” Beth asked.
“Uh—” Robert shot Neely his first truly alarmed look of the evening.
She knew how he felt. Her accountant’s brain was already spinning. Even if they hurried and had a baby in the next two years—which they would probably have to do, if she actually wanted to get pregnant before menopause—she would still be in her sixties before the kid could get a driver’s license.
“Cornelia Mason Walsh,” Douglas said absently, changing the subject. Maybe he’d learned some tact from his courtroom experiences, after all. “That’ll take some getting used to. Are you hyphenating, ditching the maiden name altogether or staying as is?”
“What do you mean, as is?” Gerald asked, his expression genuinely befuddled. “She won’t be as is, she’ll be a married lady.”
“Not all women change their last names,” Vi said. “It’s the new millennium, Dad. Why should a woman give up her identity just because of an archaic ceremony? I was reading an article about how some modern couples legalize a completely new married name by combining syllables of their separate last names. You guys could be Mr. and Mrs. Walson.”
Savannah blinked. “That’s insane.”
A scathing denouncement coming from Savannah, Neely thought. Watching her two sisters debate could be interesting, but Beth was already steering the topic to ceremony specifics.
“If Robert comes from a small family and isn’t planning on many groomsmen, maybe we should scale back the number of bridesmaids attending Cornelia.”
“Scale back?” Neely echoed. “From what? I never decided on a number.”
“Three’s good,” her mother pronounced. “Obviously, you’ll want your two sisters and that friend of yours—Lee?”
“Leah. I asked her to be my maid of honor this morning.”
From there, suggestions seemed to fly at her randomly—Vi’s dictates on what she would or most certainly would not be willing to wear at the wedding, Savannah’s advice on a caterer she’d just read about in a local magazine and even Jason, mentioning a remote getaway one of his fellow practitioners had vacationed at, in case they were looking for honeymoon ideas.
Neely was overwhelmed by the “help.” She’d had a long time to grow accustomed to keeping her own counsel. While she normally sought Robert’s and Leah’s opinion on important matters, that was far different than half a dozen people all having ideas on what she should do. Granted, Beth always had an opinion, but until recently, Neely had been able to minimize exposure to her mom to once a month. Now, she felt as if she could barely keep up with the conversation aimed at her.
Robert’s hand found hers under the table, and she sighed, releasing some of the tension in her body. As overwhelming as the evening might be, she didn’t have to deal with it alone. Funny how comforting that thought was for someone so self-sufficient.
We’re living in a world gone mad. That was Vi’s conclusion as everyone adjourned to the parlor after dessert. Beth was still issuing matrimonial orders like a wedding planner on steroids, between asking Savannah to help with the coffee and informing Gerald he’d best take one of the smaller pie pieces. Douglas was still telling anecdotes from some of the ceremonies he’d participated in as best man. All as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
Was it possible no one else noticed how weird tonight had been?
Oh, it had started normally enough—her parents in their usual positions, Jason and Douglas shooting the bull while Savannah dutifully did whatever it was Savannah did in the kitchen. The cooking gene must have skipped Vi, because about the most ambitious dish she prepared was cereal, and even then she had to worry about pouring too much milk and ending up with soggy flakes. Then Neely had shown up with the man who was saving her from Aunt Jo’s predictions of “crazy neighborhood cat lady,” and introductions were made. Vi wasn’t really into older men, but for a guy pushing fifty, Robert wasn’t bad. She could definitely see where someone Neely’s age would be attracted to him. The evening had followed on cue with Douglas making his small, obnoxious jokes, such as ribbing Vi about her name. A definite source of contention.
It wasn’t just the unusual Southern moniker. In a way, Vidalia was pretty, even lyrical. But Savannah, the firstborn, had been named after Georgia’s very first city and Douglas after the city named for the man who challenged Lincoln for the presidency. The city Cornelia honored was famous for its big red apple statue, which wasn’t all that impressive or historically significant, but it was still better than onions, the famed Vidalia produce. She was named for a food that was smelly and known to make people cry.
And they wondered why she seemed bitter compared to Savannah.
Frankly, Vi thought choosing your offspring’s names based on a Georgia map was a little bizarre, but it could have been worse. We could have been Americus, Oglethorpe, Chatsworth and Flowery Branch—try living down those names on the fifth grade playground. Names, however, had nothing to do with why the evening had been strange.
Savannah, Beth’s little debutante, was polished and perfect in almost any social situation, yet she’d been quiet for the first half of the meal. Withdrawn, even. Maybe no one else had noticed because even without Savannah’s input, conversation had been lively. But Vi had already been wondering about her sister’s silence when she caught Savannah’s glances toward her husband. Undisciplined, furtive glances, the kind you shoot at someone even though you’ve told yourself you won’t. Like an ex you’ve vowed not to notice or maybe a man you love from afar. Or was it more like the glares you throw a boyfriend you were fighting with right before the party, even as you don’t want anyone else to know there’s something wrong?
Only Savannah didn’t look angry, just sad. When she’d briefly mentioned her wedding to Jason, the normal cheer was back in her voice, but Vi, alerted to it now, could spot the despair lurking in her sister’s bright gaze. What the hell could possibly be wrong enough in Savannah’s life to cause despair? Her entire life had always been as chipper and well-scripted as one of those syrupy feel-good movies televised around Christmas.
The subtle but abrupt change jolted Vi into mild alarm. Savannah’s being cheerful and flawless was as natural and unquestioned as sunrise.
Vi had cast a look at Neely, trying to catch her eye and see if her sister had noticed anything wrong. But Neely was busy staring in adoration at her husband-to-be. If Vi wasn’t mistaken, they might also have been playing a little innocent footsie under the table.
Then Neely had made a joke later about being glad Vi was in the wedding party because it gave her the chance to make her sister wear something frilly in public. Vi knew better than to buy into the threat—frills were not Neely’s style—and it had dawned on her that Neely was joking.
Footsie and attempted humor? It was enough to make Vi believe in pod people. Neely had always been the most standoffish of the Mason siblings, at least as far back as Vi could remember. Perhaps love was transforming the bride-to-be, but that left the unsolved mystery of what was bothering Savannah. The obvious answer would seem to be something between her and Jason, except his demeanor was totally relaxed. Besides, accepting that their marriage could be in trouble took more imagination than Vi possessed. And she’d always been quite the creative girl.
As she mulled over the situation that apparently only she had noticed, the irony struck her. Though she prided herself on being able to say just about anything, anywhere, without feeling the least self-conscious, she didn’t have the guts to ask her older sister, “Are you okay?”
While the rest of her family said good-night to Robert, Douglas followed Neely to the coat closet. Since she was perfectly capable of retrieving two jackets by herself, she figured this was where he bestowed his brotherly approval.
“He seems like a good guy,” Douglas said, confirming her deduction.
“He is.” Tonight was proof of that.
“I’m glad you found each other.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks, looking downward. “May you be very happy for many, many years.”
Oh, Douglas. She could tell from the note of regret in his voice that he was thinking about his own failed marriage, about Zoe.