Tribute (55 page)

And when her mother went on a long riff about the hard work, the three encores, the curtain calls, the
Acres
of flowers in her dressing room, Cilla just smiled and listened. Dilly was never at a loss for words for long.

“Of course, I’m completely exhausted. But somehow, the energy’s there when I need it most. And Mario’s taking very good care of me.”

“I’m glad. Mom, Ford and I are getting married.”

“Who?”

“Ford, Mom. You met him when you came here.”

“I can hardly be expected to remember everyone I meet. The tall one? The neighbor?”

“He’s tall, and he lives across the road.”

“When did all this happen?” Dilly demanded, with the first notes of petulance in her voice. “Why are you marrying him? When you come back to L.A.—”

“Mom, just listen. Just listen and don’t say anything until I’m done. I’m not going back to L.A. I’m not coming back to the business.”

“You—”

“Just
listen
. This is my home now, and I’m building a life here. I’m in love with an amazing man who loves me back. I’m happy. I’m as happy at this moment as you are when you step out into the lights. I want you to do one thing for me. Just this one thing, just this one time. I want you to say, whether you mean it or not, just say, ‘I’m happy for you, Cilla.’ ”

“I’m happy for you, Cilla.”

“Thanks.”

“I am happy for you. I just don’t understand why—”

“It’s enough, Mom. Just be happy. You don’t have to understand. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”

It’s enough, Cilla thought again. Maybe one day there would be more, maybe there wouldn’t. So it was enough.

She went back into the house, and to Ford.

 

 

REINFORCEMENT ARRIVED with platters and bowls, with tables and pounds of ice. Penny dispatched Ford to help unload at the farm before she bustled into the kitchen with Patty, where Cilla agonized over the pasta salad.

“Someone needs to taste it. Ford and I are too emotionally involved with the pasta. We have no objectivity.”

“It’s so pretty!” Patty exclaimed. “Isn’t that a pretty salad, Pen?”

But Penny, whose eagle eyes spotted Cilla’s ring in under three seconds, latched on to Cilla’s hand. “When?”

“Last night.”

“What? What am I missing? Oh God, oh God! Is that what I think it is? Is that it? Oh, let me see!” Patty crowded in, peered down at the ring. “It’s just beautiful. It’s just so beautiful. I’m so happy. I’m so happy for both of you.”

No prompting needed from the wings here, Cilla thought as Patty threw her arms around Cilla and dipped them both side to side.

“Didn’t take you long to come to your senses. Let go, Patty, she’s going to be my daughter-in-law.” Nudging Patty aside, Penny moved in for a hug. “He’s a very, very good man.”

“Only the best.”

“I’m pretty sure you almost deserve him.” Penny leaned back, all smiles and damp eyes. “Aren’t they going to make us beautiful grandbabies, Patty?”

“Oh, well . . .”

“We won’t start nagging you about that yet. Much,” Patty put in. “First we get to nag you about the wedding. Did you set the date?”

“No, not really. We just—”

“It’s too late to take advantage of the fall season. The foliage will peak in about six weeks. And there’s so much to do.”

“We thought an outdoor wedding, at the farm. Simple,” Cilla began.

“Perfect.” Patty counted off on her fingers. “May, early May, don’t you think? May’s so pretty, and that gives us a comfortable time for all the details. The dress comes first.
Everything
builds around the dress. We have to go shopping. I can’t wait!” Patty threw her arms around Cilla again.

“Captain Morrow reporting to the staging area,” Cathy said as she came in, loaded with bags. “What’s all this? Has everyone been slicing onions?”

“No.” Patty dashed at tears. “Cilla and Ford. They’re getting married.”

“Oh!” Cathy jumbled bags onto the counter, righted one before its contents spilled. She turned, beaming smiles. “Congratulations! What happy news. When’s the big day?”

“May, we think,” Patty told her. “Don’t we think May? Oh my God, isn’t she going to be the most beautiful bride? An outdoor wedding at the farm. Isn’t that perfect? Imagine the gardens next May.”

“It’s going to be the event of the year. Simple,” Penny added with a light in her eyes that told Cilla they might have different definitions of the word. “We’ll say simply the event of the year.”

“You two are scaring the girl.” With a laugh, Cathy put an arm around Cilla’s shoulder. “She’ll be running for the hills any minute.”

“No. I’m staying right here. It’s nice,” Cilla decided. “We’ll make it the event of the year. In a simple way.”

“There you go.” Cathy gave Cilla’s shoulder a squeeze. “Now, ladies, if we don’t get this particular show on the road, we’re going to have a lot of hungry people, and the disaster of this year on our hands.”

 

 

IT WAS so much easier than she’d imagined, and amazingly satisfying. Under the afternoon sun dozens and dozens of people spread around the grounds. They crowded at borrowed picnic tables, perched on the steps, sat at folding card tables on the veranda. They ate and drank, admired the house, the gardens. No one seemed concerned about the lack of furniture and formality.

She watched Dobby sitting in a lawn chair he’d brought himself, eating her pasta salad, and felt a ridiculous surge of pride. Her home, she thought, might not be finished, but it was more than ready to welcome people.

She joined Gavin while he flipped burgers on the grill. “How’d you earn the KP?”

“I gave Ford a break.” He smiled down at Cilla. “Practicing being a father-in-law. It’s a good party, Cilla. It’s good to have one here again.”

“I’m thinking of it as the first annual Labor Day at the farm. Next year, even better.”

“I like hearing you say that. Next year.”

“I’m exactly where I want to be. There’s still a lot to do. Still a lot I need to know.” She drew a breath. “I talked to Mom this morning.”

“How is she?”

“Mature, polished and triumphant, according to the reviews. It’s going to be difficult for her to come here, to the farm, for the wedding. She will, but it’ll be difficult for her. Will it for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Having her here, going through that ritual, the wedding, with her here?”

“Absolutely not.” The surprise in his voice brought her comfort. “It wasn’t all bad times between us, Cilla. It had to end for me to be exactly where I want to be, and, I suspect, for your mother to be mature, polished and triumphant.”

“Then that’s something to cross off my should-I-worry-about-this list. I want to get married here. It’s our place now, Ford’s and mine. And I like knowing my parents had their first kiss over there. And that my grandmother walked the gardens. That your grandfather plowed those fields. It all trickles down. I’ve wanted that all my life. Look at the house,” she murmured.

“It’s never looked more right, more real than it does now.”

“That’s what I want, too. The right, and the real. Did you come here after Johnnie died?”

“A few times. She seemed to like seeing me. The last was a couple of months before she died. I was doing some summer stock in Richmond. My father was ill, so I came to see him. When I learned she was here, I came by. She seemed better, or she was trying very hard to be. We talked about him, of course. I don’t think he was ever out of her mind. She hadn’t brought anyone with her, not like before when the house always seemed full of people. It was just the two of us for about an hour, in the living room.”

“On the pink couch with the white satin pillows,” Cilla added.

“Yes.” He laughed a little. “How did you know about that?”

“I heard about it. Very Doris Day.”

“I suppose it was. I must have commented on it, because I remember her saying she wanted bright in the house again. It was time for the new and the bright, so she’d had it shipped all the way from L.A.”

He poked at the grilling chicken, flipped a burger. “She went back the next day, and I went back to Richmond for the rest of the summer. So that would’ve been the last time I saw her. It’s a good image, really. Janet sitting on that pink, Hollywood couch with her dog snoring under the coffee table.”

“I wonder if I have a picture of her on it. Ford’s grandfather gave me so many pictures. I need to go through them again. If I can find one, I’ll give you a copy. Here, let me have that platter.” She took the dish Gavin had loaded with burgers, hot dogs, grilled chicken. “I’ll deliver this to Station Meat, then go find Ford.”

She wended her way through the backyard crowd, around the veranda dwellers and into the kitchen. She saw that Patty or Penny had been through by the stack of empty and freshly washed plates and bowls. Since that brought on some mild guilt, she prepared to wash the pair of serving plates she’d brought in with her instead of just putting them in the sink.

It felt good, watching through the kitchen window while she washed up, having this quick moment alone. She saw her father still at the grill, with Ford’s father now, and Brian. Buddy and his wife at a picnic table with Tom and Cathy, and Patty stopping by to chat. There was Matt tossing a ball to his little boy while Josie looked on, the baby tucked in her arm.

Penny was right, Cilla realized with a quick laugh. She and Ford would make gorgeous babies. Something to think about.

When the phone she had charging on the counter rang, she picked it up with the smile still curving her lips. “This is Cilla. Why aren’t you here?”

“Ms. McGowan?”

“Yes. Sorry.”

“It’s Detective Wilson. I have some information.”

 

 

WHEN FORD CAME IN through the front he saw her standing at the sink, looking out. “Look at us, being hosts. You washing up, me taking out the trash. I loaded a couple of bags in your truck. One of us needs to hit the dump tomorrow.”

He slipped his arms around her, started to draw her back against him, and felt it immediately. “What is it?” He turned her, scanned her face. “What happened?”

“Hennessy’s dead. He killed himself. He made a noose out of his own shirt, and—”

He drew her against him now, hard. She trembled first, then held on. “Oh God, Ford. Oh God.”

“Some people can’t be saved, Cilla. Can’t be helped.”

“He never got over it, got past it. What happened to his son. All these years, he had a purpose, and he had his bitterness. But when his son died, all he had was the bitterness.”

“And it killed him.” He pulled her back, looking into her eyes to be sure she understood just that. “It’s the hate that ended him, Cilla.”

“I’m not blaming myself. I have to keep saying it, keep thinking it, so I won’t. And I’m not. But there’s no denying I was part of it. He made me part of it. I guess that’s another kind of revenge. His poor wife, Ford. She’s lost everything. And horribly, there’s a part of me that’s relieved.”

“He hurt you, and he tried to do worse. Do you want some time? I can go out, try to wrap things up.”

“No. No. He did enough.” She looked back out the window, at the people on her lawn. “He’s not going to ruin this.”

 

 

“FORD, JUST THE MAN I wanted to see.” Gavin handed over the spatula and tongs, then picked up the platter. “Your turn.” With his free hand, he hefted a beer. “And mine.”

“You sure this younger generation knows how to handle the grill?” Tom asked.

“We can put you guys down,” Brian responded. “Anytime, anywhere.”

“I feel a grill-off coming on. But before we get to that, I need to exploit my future son-in-law. I’d like you to come in and talk to my creative writing students.”

“Oh. Well. Um.”

“Actually, we’d like to do a three-part, possibly five-part, program on storytelling through words and art. Our art teacher is very excited by the idea.”

“Oh,” Ford repeated, and had Brian laughing.

“He’s getting a flashback of high school, where he was president of the Nerd Club.”

“Three years of being pantsed and recovering from wed gies.”

“Matt, Shanna and I saved you when we could.”

“Not often enough.”

“I give you my word, your ass will not be exposed or abused on my watch.”

Ford gave Gavin a sour look. “Can I have an armed escort?”

“We’ll need to work out the details, the dates, and anything you might want or need. I can talk to you about my end of it. You should contact Sharon, the art teacher. She loves your work, by the way. Let me give you her contact information. Ah . . .” He looked at his full hands. “Got anything to write on, with?”

“No. Gee, I guess we’ll have to forget the whole thing.”

“I happen to have something.” Grinning, Tom pulled a small leather-bound notebook and short pen out of his pocket. “Sharon, you said?”

Gavin relayed the information, cocked an eye at Ford when he passed him the sheet. “You do want to marry my daughter, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Trapped, Ford stuffed the paper in his pocket.

“I’m going to deliver this, then I’ll come back and give you the basic overview of what I have in mind.”

“I should’ve known there’d be strings,” Ford muttered when Gavin strolled away.

“Get used to it.” Tom clamped a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “And now that you’re engaged, and there’s Matt with his lovely family, how long before the last of the Musketeers settles down?”

“Your turn,” Ford said gleefully.

Brian shook his head. “You bastard. Under the circumstances, I don’t know why I’m telling you we’re continuing this holiday with poker—guys only—at my place tonight. We’re tapping you for leftover beer and food, Rembrandt.”

“I suck at poker.”

“Which is why, even under the circumstances.”