Authors: Chautona Havig
“Ivory or taupe napkins?”
“Ivory and let’s do some kind of candles with the tulips, okay?”
As Cara spoke, Jordyn assembled the table until it resembled Cara’s preferences. Rather than the pink and ivory tulips, brown and yellow roses filled the bowls, but still gave her an idea of how everything looked. Cara walked around it, admiring it all, and then shook her head. “The setting is wrong. Let’s go with those square plates with the scalloped edge. Cut crystal to reflect the candlelight. The silverware is fine.”
Trenna’s voice interrupted her thoughts as she tried to imagine the room filled with the look she’d created that time. “I’ve seen almost that same color scheme—it’s gorgeous.”
“Are you sure?”
“Definitely. They had rose instead of pale pink, but the same idea. I loved it.” She pulled out her phone and took a picture. “Jordyn, let’s get this down and the options reserved.”
~*~*~*~
Jonathan waited for her as she strolled from the Mayflower building. Leaning against the trunk of his car, he looked like some sort of rescuer—almost like a knight from the past. The temptation to run and fling her arms around him nearly drove her insane, but Cara took a deep breath and strolled leisurely to his side. “Hey, there.”
“Hey.”
“Are the kids here?”
“Well, that’s a way to bust a guy’s bubble.”
Her smile seemed to say, “Oh, really?” Aloud she said, “Life in a bubble is overrated. I prefer reality—particularly the reality that is coming.”
“I’ve got an appointment with Lorraine,” Jonathan said as he opened the passenger door. “Can you come? She has another house for you too.”
“Can I change first?”
“No time.” His eyes apologized.
“Then let’s go. I guess I’ll have to follow in my car then.”
“We’ll come back for it. I need you.”
Unable to resist, Cara slid into the seat of the car, her fingers sliding over the dashboard. She waited for Jonathan to get in and put it in gear before she asked, “Is this yours?”
“Uncle Weston’s. He bought a custom Jag last month—his new baby, and I thought Mom might need the van. So, I decided to drive the latest red-headed step-child.”
Her eyes slid over the candy apple red hood. “Funny.”
All the way to Fairbury, Cara talked about the troubles with supplies, her mother’s new progress on the dress and about her latest revelations. “I decided that there has to be a way to meld your style and mine, so I’ve been researching decorating styles, blogs, pictures, the works.
I think with the right house, I can do it—make a house that feels like me that you are comfortable in and vice versa.”
His eyebrow quirked upward for just a moment before the other followed.
“Eyes on the road. I’m serious. White is clean. I don’t like ruffles anyway.” Jonathan shot her a disbelieving look. “Okay, not everywhere at least—so that’s good. I need to focus on picking the best accent for each room. I can do this. I like my eclectic clutter. It makes me feel at home. But, I can do that in my craft area and even in guest rooms.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Darn right I am. For the first time in my life, I think I can afford to do whatever I want.”
“Well, there
are limits—”
“But your limit ideas and mine are very different. Think about it. What did I find house wise? They were all half the price or less than what you are looking for!” She grinned as his expression conceded the point. “And I realized that you have an obscene amount of amazing jewelry. What does it take for me to get to wear any of it?”
“I have pictures for insurance purposes. I’ll email you the file so you’ll have an idea of what is in there. Just let me know what you want. Once we’re under the same roof, the combination is yours.”
“That easy? Doesn’t insurance...”
“I’ve already adjusted the policy to reflect wear.”
Her head spun. “Turn left,” she mumbled as she imagined where she’d wear any of it. “Is it stuff that you can wear for normal occasions or are we talking about stuff that is just too elaborate for my life.”
“You’ll wear it. I’m careful with what I buy.”
“There on the right.”
She waited until he came around and opened the door. “So, will you teach me how to see good stuff? I love a bargain, I love to shop. It’d be the coolest thing ever to find something awesome at a pawn shop or estate sale.”
They strolled around the outside of the house, waiting for Lorraine to arrive. She drove up fifteen minutes late, her bumper crumpled like paper. “Sorry I’m late. A kid zipped out in front of me on his scooter. I hit a stop sign, trying to avoid hitting him.”
“Are you okay?”
“Is he okay?”
Jonathan and Cara spoke in unison, but Lorraine assured them there had been no injuries. “The boy lost his scooter, though. Joe—local cop—was furious. Let’s check out the inside, okay? What do you think of the yard?”
“It’s large
—much larger than I imagined, but I don’t really want to put a play set in the front yard. It’s a bit much.”
“There’s a fenced off side yard over there. I have the key—”
“Let’s see inside first.”
This side of Jonathan amazed her—the confidence.
Decisiveness. He knew what he wanted, asked intelligent questions, and at last shook his head. “I don’t like it. It’s at the top of its price and isn’t exactly what we need.
~*~*~*~
Bubbles soaked away the stress and frustration of house hunting, one long, soaked minute at a time. Candles lit the room, “Spanish Lady” played on her iPod, and she relaxed just a little more. When her cellphone buzzed to alert her to a call, she glared at it. Was it important? Probably not. It could wait. Two minutes later, it buzzed again. Frustrated, she grabbed a wash cloth and used it to pick up the phone. Carly. Why would Carly call back so quickly? With a sigh, she punched the button.
“Hey there!”
“We have a problem.”
“What problem?”
“My dress doesn’t fit—as in it was made for someone completely opposite from me. The seamstress and I are staring at it and me like we’ve seen two heads. I had a fitting a week ago. It was perfect. I mean, this dress was
perfect
. We’re talking about nothing-has-ever-looked-better-on-me-than-that-dress perfect. I couldn’t try to put this on if I tried. It is about the size of a ten year old.”
“How—
did someone wash it and it shrank?”
“I seriously doubt that. The gal, Marissa, says that someone recreated it from scratch. Stole mine and remade it. She showed me where she’d had to trim it down a bit more than
usual and now it has a full seam allowance. Does that make sense to you? Full seam allowance?”
“Yeah.” Cara knew no trimmed seam allowance would ever show up as full again. “That’s just creepy.”
“Someone has it out for me,” Carly wailed, “and I have no idea who or why.”
“Or they have it out for me. I wonder...” The thoughts in her mind infuriated her. “Anyway, what does Marissa suggest we do?”
“She’s cutting a new one—taking it home and locking all of them in a safe at night so that nothing can happen, but...”
“I’ll take care of it,” Cara assured her. “Let me call you back. I’ve got questions for our groom.”
“You sound ticked.”
“I’m a bit perturbed.” The lie ate at her conscience. “Okay, I’m seriously furious. It sounds to me like our Mr. Lyman has history that we needed and weren’t given.”
She stared at the phone before dropping it on the ledge and sank deeper into the bubbles. Time for prayer and lots of it.
~*~*~*~
He’d hardly entered the door when she pointed to her bar stool. “Okay, who is the ex-girlfriend and why haven’t you told me about her.”
“What?”
“Ex-girlfriend. I want to know who she is and where I can find her.”
“I don’t have any ex-girlfriends unless you count a couple in middle school and one early in college.” His eyes asked the important question
.
What is the problem?
“Carly called me today. She went for her final fitting to make sure everything was perfect on her dress and it is now the perfect size for a tween. It’s ridiculously small. That, added to the supply problems, the mixed up date on The Oakes, and the messed up name on the invitations adds up to sabotage.”
“It does, but it’s not an old girlfriend of mine. What about you? Is there some guy?” He frowned. “Jacob?”
“I don’t think so...doesn’t make sense, not even for him.” Cara frowned. “Okay, I’ll look at clients. Something is up, and I don’t need my bridesmaids stressed out just a couple weeks before the wedding. This can’t happen.”
“I agree.” His hand reached for her face and slowly pulled back, seeking his pocket for sanctuary. “I’m also concerned about my fiancée. She doesn’t need this kind of stress while her life is getting turned upside down in every other way.”
Her shoulders sagged. “I just want everyone to enjoy this. What’s the point if it’s stress and frustration? Weddings shouldn’t be so much work that the people in them dread it.”
“And that goes doubly for the bride. I’ve noticed something, Cara,” Jonathan said gently. “You’re so focused upon people being happy that you’re not allowing yourself to enjoy this. I want you to look back and know that you enjoyed it because you enjoyed it—not because you have pictures that say you did.”
Tears
pooled in her eyes. “There’s a lot of pressure, Jonafan. A lot of pressure. Your family has expectations. My family has expectations. Your friends, my friends—they all have expectations. If I make it everything it
can
be, my friends and family will think I’m being pretentious—setting myself apart from them with the wedding. If I make it the more casual affair—well, in comparison—that the people I know are used to, it’ll seem shabby to your family. I have to find that perfect balance between beauty and elegance and simplicity so I don’t look like I’m trying too hard—to anyone.”
Their eyes met and the conversation continued, unspoken. The air sizzled between them until Jonathan went to pour himself a glass of water.
Once downed, he turned to her. “Is there any chance that all this stuff has nothing to do with us and has something to do with The Agency? Maybe Trenna has a disgruntled bride somewhere.”
Cara turned, pulled out her phone, and punched Trenna’s number. “That is just logical enough to be terrifying.”
~*~*~*~
Three days in a row, Cara and Jonathan made the forty-minute drive to Fairbury. Though small, it did present a picture of what life would be like if they lived there. The drive took longer than she would have thought she’d like but not as bad as she’d expected. So, when the fourth day came, it felt like a routine—a nice one. They—well, Cara most often—discussed their days, plans for the weekend, and the latest in the wedding plans. The slow disappearance of city and the wide open countryside helped them unwind after the stresses of the day.
“I think I’ll like the commute.” She smiled at his nod. He’d returned—her Jonathan had returned. No longer compelled to discuss when he craved to listen, the day’s conversation remained mostly one-sided. “Mom says the skirt is almost finished. Apparently she got to fix something in the draping that she hadn’t been pleased with.”
“Can’t you take things out
if they go wrong? Why didn’t she just fix it before?”
“You can, but it’s not good for this type of fabric to have too much stitching and ripping, so for nit-pickiness, it’s not worth it. Oh, and your mom called.”
“Oh?”
“Apparently we forgot to register
—again—and people are calling, demanding to know what to buy for us and where.”
“Oh—I was supposed to do that with you in Atlanta! I’m sor—”
“Don’t worry about it. I promised I’d do it tomorrow at lunch. If you want to come, feel free, but I know most guys aren’t into the whole register thing.”
Cara’s eyes widened as they pulled into the driveway.
“What?”
She smiled. “Well, it’s exactly everything I’ve ever dreamed of.” As they stepped from the vehicle, she glanced around her. “I bet the inside is awful.”
“What about it do you like?”
She pointed out the architecture, the trees, the wide side yard of the corner lot. “Can’t you see a play set down there close to the water? They even have a fence already.”
Lorraine hurried out of the house. “Come on in. I think this might just be perfect. It has a blend of charm and elegance, melded well with clean simplicity.”
“Should that make sense to me?” Jonathan whispered to Cara.
“She means that it has all the things I like, enough impressiveness to be a ‘Lyman’ home, and yet fit with the contemporary stuff.”
“What is a Lyman home?”
She paused and waved Lorraine inside. “We’ll be right there.” The moment the woman stepped inside the house, Cara turned and gave Jonathan a “Give me a break” look. “The Lymans are one of the ‘first families’ of Rockland. You know this. If we move into a Laas house, you’ll look shabby compared to what you’re used to. It’s the difference between a seventies travel trailer in a rundown trailer park and your house in Atlanta.”