Margo had asked for a meeting on Friday morning, and with only a bit of trepidation, Bridget agreed. The wedding was quickly approaching, and she felt lucky to have reserved one large tent and enough to house the fifty-guest figure Margo had mentioned on such short notice. Hopefully it would force Margo to stick to that number.
Abby was already sitting with Margo at their favorite corner table at Angie’s Café, sipping coffee and pointing excitedly to something on her notepad. Margo looked up as Bridget approached with a look of amusement. “Abby’s already planned the menu.”
Bridget felt something in her stomach knot. She knew that Abby was excited about this. Now. But there was no predicting how she’d feel in a week or two. Bridget would feel a lot better about Margo’s wedding if they were hiring outside caterers.
“Are you sure you want to take this on, Abby?” she said, as she sat down. “It’s your sister’s wedding. Don’t you want to be a guest, not work the event?”
“You’ll be working the event,” Abby countered.
“Yes, but most of the work I’ll be doing is in preparation for the wedding. By the time it starts, the job will really shift to the catering.” And if Abby was handling that, no doubt, Bridget would have to pitch in, too.
“Not necessarily,” Abby said. “I’ve come up with an idea for heavy hors d’oeuvres by station. Everything could be set up in advance, and since the weather is still mild, we won’t have to worry about anything spoiling.”
Bridget glanced at Margo, who seemed surprisingly on board with this suggestion, and looked at the notes Abby had on the table. She had to agree that this was a good idea—in theory.
She looked up at Margo. “It’s your decision. Your big day.”
“Abby did a great job with the Carrington wedding,” Margo said. She grinned. “If you want to take this on, Abby, I won’t stop you. God knows it will save a lot of money!”
True, all true. Still, Margo didn’t see the sides of Abby that Bridget did. She had been living her own life in South Carolina, unaware of the endless stream of bad choices their youngest sister had made over the years, hopping from one job to the next, living day by day, without a plan.
Bridget literally tensed at the thought of it.
“Angie is going to make the cake,” Margo announced, to Bridget’s relief. “And for the dress…” Here she turned to them both, her eyes wide and a little hesitant. “I was wondering how you both felt about me maybe wearing Mom’s dress.”
Mom’s dress. Bridget had almost forgotten it, and the endless afternoons that she and her sisters would spend in the attic as children, dressing up and standing before the full-length mirror, each taking a turn to play bride while the others were given roles like maid of honor or, often times for Abby, flower girl.
Their mother’s dress was a classic. White satin with capped sleeves and a sweetheart neckline with a bodice that pinched at the waist and then flared out into a ball gown. A row of buttons down the back didn’t disguise a zipper; no, those buttons were the real deal, and the girls would take hours pinching them through the holes, delighting in the finished product.
“I don’t want to step on any toes,” Margo continued. “We all loved that dress and we all have a right to it, and well, we’re all single.”
Gee, thanks, Bridget thought.
“And well, I didn’t know if either of you had your heart set on it, for when you have your day.”
Bridget pinched her lips, holding back the tug in her heart from registering on her face. She didn’t dare think of another wedding day—or a real wedding, at that. She’d had her time. She’d had a family. She had a child. She was a mother now. That was her role. Not bride. Not even wife. It was just…reality.
“You should wear the dress,” Bridget said firmly. “In fact, it’s still in storage, and I even had it cleaned before we redid the attic.”
Margo’s face lit up. “Can I come by and try it on soon?”
“Of course,” Bridget grinned. She swept her eyes over her sister’s lean figure. “But it should fit. You’re even the same height as Mom.” Both were five foot five, whereas Bridget was an inch taller, and Abby was an inch shorter.
“The middle child in every way,” Margo grinned.
“I wish Mom and Dad could be here for this,” Bridget said, wishing when she saw the hurt in both of her sisters’ eyes that she had kept that sentiment to herself.
“They’re here in spirit,” Margo said, blinking quickly. “It’s our family home. And with how we’re all pulling together, it’s a family wedding.”
Abby tapped her notepad triumphantly, and Bridget hid her concern the best she could. It was a family wedding. But as usual, it would be on Bridget to see to it that it was a success.
***
Jack didn’t look up from his screen until close to dinnertime that night, alerted by the rumbling in his stomach and the sounds of other guests opening and closing their doors.
He looked at his word count. A lot to go but…not bad. If he kept up like this, he might just pull it off. If he kept it up…Familiar panic rolled through him, and he closed his laptop and stood, not wanting to think about it anymore.
He grabbed his room key and wallet and closed the door behind him. From the base of the stairs he could hear male and female voices, discussing dinner options, before closing the front door of the house behind them.
He went downstairs, knowing it would be too much to expect a second invitation to dinner, and wishing it wasn’t. But instead of finding Bridget in the lobby or dining room, he saw her daughter instead, in the back conservatory, poised over a notebook, pencil in hand.
“You seem to be working hard,” he observed, daring to steal a look at the notebook she had spread open before her.
“I have a homework assignment. On the weekend!” She said this as if it were the single most absurd thing she had ever heard in her life.
“Well, what’s the assignment?” He tried not to smile at the stern look on her face.
“I have to write a story.”
A story? He perked up at this. “Oh? What’s yours about?”
“It’s about my Mimi’s cat. Mimi is my mommy’s grandma,” she explained. “And her cat got lost.”
“Was lost? Or is lost?” God, listen to him. He sounded like such an adult. When did that happen? Last time he checked, adults didn’t order takeout seven nights a week and frequently not bother to make their beds. Adults didn’t stare at a blank computer screen instead of doing their job for months on end either. At least his own father hadn’t. His father was an accountant. A numbers man. And Jack had been…a disappointment. Well, at least until he started earning real money for his work.
“He is lost!” Emma blinked rapidly and her chin began to wobble and something in Jack just turned to mush.
He dropped into a nearby chair. “Well. Let’s take a look at this story. I happen to be very good at writing stories,” he reassured her when she looked up at him skeptically.
“Really? Okay!”
He took the notebook she handed to him and began reading. “My Mimi’s cat is very fat. And very spoiled too. This is probably why Mimi named him Pudgie.”
Oh dear. He cleared his throat and turned his back slightly from the little girl, so she wouldn’t see he was actually choking down laughter.
When he’d composed himself, he continued. “Pudgie likes to climb the drapes and wander the halls. Pudgie does not like my Aunt Margo. One time he scratched her and he hisses at her too.”
He looked up and raised an eyebrow. “Is this true?”
Emma nodded solemnly. “Margo doesn’t like that cat.”
He turned the page. “Now Pudgie is gone and Mimi can’t stop crying and everyone is sad. I am sad too.”
Well, crap. Now Emma was crying.
Jack stood, bewildered, not sure what to do. He didn’t grow up with his half-sister and he never spent time with younger children, especially as an adult. Did she need a hug? A pat on the head?
He looked around desperately for Bridget, not sure what she’d make of this. He’d made her child cry. Damn it.
“That’s a great story!” he said. “But I bet we could make it even more exciting. You want to know how?”
Emma nodded, but continued crying into her hands.
Jack licked his lips. “Well, this is supposed to be a story, meaning you could make up parts. I think you could talk about Pudgie’s adventure. I bet he’s having one, after all.”
Emma sniffed and looked up at him, her blue eyes watery and her cheeks pink. “Really?”
“Of course!” Jack said. “He’s taking a big adventure right now. Exploring…maybe he chased a mouse!”
Emma giggled. “Maybe he climbed a tree!” She grabbed her notepad and turned to a fresh page, where she started scribbling something. “I’m going to call my story Pudgie’s Big Adventure!” She held up the paper to show him, and Jack didn’t know if he should point out that “adventure” was misspelled or leave it be. He decided to say nothing.
“I’m going to have him follow a mouse up a tree! Then, in the tree, he could meet another cat! And fall in love!”
Jack stifled a groan. Did it always come back to this? Boy meets girl?
He looked up at that moment to see Bridget standing in the doorway, her eyes soft with appreciation.
Yes, he thought to himself, he supposed it always did come back to this.
***
Bridget wasn’t sure what she was more surprised by, that Jack seemed to be so engaged with her child, or just how much she had wished for a scene like this. A father figure for Emma, right here, in her home.
There was no denying the fact that Emma had a father. Ryan was usually good for his every other weekend visits, but more often than not, something came up for work and he had to cancel or reschedule. But it was the day to day moments, the routine of things as simple as bedtime stories and takeout meals that Ryan was missing.
“Emma was telling me that your grandmother’s cat has gone missing.”
Bridget blew out a breath, nodding. “Pudgie.” That name was so ridiculous. “Yes, he is the apple of Mimi’s eye. I’m afraid she’s very upset.”
“How long has he been gone?”
“Since Tuesday,” Bridget said, thinking that this really wasn’t looking so good anymore. “Everyone at Serenity Hills is looking for it.”
“Serenity Hills?”
“Oh, the nursing home where she lives,” Bridget explained. She shrugged. “All we can do is hope. I don’t see how he could have gotten out. And he’s so…”
“Spoiled!” Emma finished, laughing wildly.
Bridget couldn’t help but laugh, too. “Mimi adores that cat and she’d given him a very good life. He has every motivation to come back to her.” Which was what made it so strange that he was staying away for so long…
“I’m going to take her to The Lantern tonight to cheer her up,” Bridget continued. “Speaking of that, Emma, you had better go change into your ballet outfit so we’re not late for class. And bring a change of clothes. Daddy will be picking you up straight from the studio to take you to the movies.” The plan had been in place all week, but Bridget couldn’t help but hold her breath, waiting for a text or call to inform her that Ryan was busy at the restaurant and couldn’t make it.
“The Lantern?” Jack asked, when Emma scampered out of the room.
“My Uncle Chip’s restaurant. My sisters and I take our grandmother there once in a while. Chip was my mother’s brother, but he’s still like family to Mimi.”
Jack’s smile seemed sad. “Another family dinner, then.”
Bridget wasn’t sure if this was a hint at an invitation, but Jack didn’t seem like the indirect sort. “We try. It’s not always easy with our busy lives. If you like clam chowder, no one serves it better than Uncle Chip,” she said, hating the edge of hope that lilted her voice.
“I might give it a try then,” he said, backing out of the room as another guest emerged.
Bridget bit back a wave of impatience. Room Six was already becoming a bit high maintenance. Honestly, who ran through two bars of soap in one day?
“Well, I might see you later then,” Jack said.
She nodded, and smiled long after he had gone, hoping that she would, until the stern gaze of the sixty-something Room Six guest forced her attention elsewhere, where she did her best to keep her smile polite and hospitable, even though her mind was racing with anything but professional thoughts.