Bride and Doom Page 24

Everyone seemed to speak at once. Buck opined that that was a mighty fine idea and wasn’t his Betty something, while Owen wondered aloud about obtaining a marriage license on a Sunday and Lily said she was pretty sure we had one already and my mother said I should probably get some rest.

  Aaron, meanwhile, just cocked an eyebrow at me and grinned. There’s nothing Aaron likes better than calling somebody’s bluff.

  “Everybody just hold it,” I said, raising my voice above the clamor. “No way am I getting married in a hospital gown.”

  “But, Carrie,” said Mom, “you don’t have a wedding gown.”

  “Sure she does.” Lily winked at me. “She’s got the one she wore at my wedding, and she loves it.”

  I jutted my chin at Aaron. “Lily’s right. And that’s the gown I’m going to wear tomorrow, at our intimate ceremony and reception on the houseboat. If Betty can make it tomorrow.”

  “I surely can, honey.”

  The Killer B’s were jubilant, but as the excited chatter rose around me, my heart began to sink just a little. Was this really what I wanted? No pomp and circumstance, no grand formal occasion? No engraved deckle-edged invitations and color-coordinated napkins and Dungeness crab tartlets?

  On the other hand, no professional pressure, no huge expense, and no waiting for another year…

  I was vacillating—until I noticed Aaron breathing a happy sigh of relief. A small celebration on the houseboat really would be our wedding. And then my mother spoke up and sealed the deal.

  “You know, dear, Dree and Kimmie couldn’t possibly make it back from Belize in time to be your bridesmaids.”

  “What a shame,” I said. “We’ll have to save them some cake.”

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Happy is the bride the sun shines upon, but what about the bride that the wind blows around? My wedding day was a blustery light show, with shafts of sunlight that pierced the scudding pewter clouds to kindle flares of silver on the surface of the lake.

  “Just like you and Aaron,” said Lily, helping me get ready in the bedroom of my houseboat. “Bright and sunny one minute, stormy the next.”

  “While you and Mike are permanently fair and mild?”

  She chuckled. “Most of the time, anyway. If you throw in a couple of minor earthquakes for Marcus and Ethan. That color is perfect on you.”

  Even with the breeze the weather was still unseasonably warm, so I’d decided to go ahead and wear the peach-colored gown I’d worn as Lily’s maid of honor. She would be all in purple, of course, a deep-hued dress with a swirling zigzag hemline. And Aaron, presently off on some secret errand, was already wearing the salt-and-pepper tweed sports jacket that I liked so much.

  I learned later that the errand was to procure a pair of gold wedding bands, which he assured me we could always exchange if I wanted something different. But I was happy with the design—and even happier that he’d remembered my ring size.

  “Thanks,” I said to Lily now. “I love this dress. I’m so glad you…you…”

  I interrupted myself with a vast yawn. It wasn’t just Seattle weather that had shifted; I’d been up till after midnight watching hell freeze over. After fifteen neck-and-neck innings, the longest World Series game ever, a third-string Chicago Cubs shortstop knocked one out of the park to win the final game, for the honor and glory of underdogs everywhere.

  Happily, Aaron and I had been free to watch every historic inning together—and toss around honeymoon ideas during the commercials—because our impromptu wedding arrangements had come together with such absurd ease.

  The plan couldn’t have been simpler. Betty Buckmeister’s ceremony would take place on the floating platform below my deck, with our dozen or so guests watching from the deck itself. Then we’d all troop inside for champagne and hors d’oeuvres courtesy of Joe Solveto, and slices of something that Juice Nugent called Chocolate Extremity.

  Apparently the guests had begun to arrive, because a buzz of conversation came through when the bedroom door opened a crack.

  “May I come in, dear?”

  “Sure, Mom. What do you think?”

  Lily and I pirouetted in tandem, and my mother clasped her hands and beamed.

  “Just lovely, both of you. Lily, could I have a moment?”

  “Of course. I’d better make sure Marcus hasn’t gone swimming.”

  “Oh, I hope not, dear. That water is ice cold!”

  “Kidding,” said Lily, and left us.

  Mom and I sat on the bed, and she took my hand. The ruby ring still didn’t fit my finger, but it was back around my neck on a new chain, with the macaroon crumbs all cleaned off. Mom gazed at it and gave a little sigh.

  “Carrie,” she said, and hesitated. “Carrie, you know I will never forget your father. I hope you don’t think—”

  “I think Dad would have wanted you to be happy,” I said firmly. “In fact I know he would. Is he on your mind today?”

  She nodded.

  “Mine too.” I sighed myself. Another minute and we’d both be in tears. “So, what sort of advice would he have for me, do you suppose?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said, giving it serious thought. “But I have some.”

  I waited, curious. Mom might be less irreverent than I was, but she’d never been given to self-help homilies or greeting-card clichés.

  “Marriage is…complicated,” she said. “It can be much harder than you expect, but also much sweeter, in ways that you keep discovering as the years go by. So give it your all, Carrie. Just throw yourself into it, and you’ll be fine.”

  With that she kissed me quickly on the cheek and went to the door. But there she turned back. “Oh, and keep in mind, men are terrible mind-readers. Always speak up. But that’s never been your problem, has it? Now don’t be late, dear. Aaron is back and people are waiting. Shall I tell Lily you’re ready?”

  I nodded, and in a few moments Lily rejoined me bearing both our bouquets. Hers was a playful concoction of every purple flower Boris could lay hands on at such short notice. Purple parrot tulips, lisianthus, calla lilies, hellebore, even a fringe of deep-purple African violets. Floral purists would have cringed, but Lily adored it.

  My bouquet was just what the Mad Russian had promised in our conversation at the jail: a waterfall design of peaches-and-cream roses with trailing strands of sweet-scented stephanotis among the glossy leaves of grapevine. Lily handed it to me.

  “Ready, girl?”

  “Ready.”

  We crossed the hallway, Lily leading, and rendezvoused in the kitchen with the gentleman who would escort me down the “aisle.” Two delightful sights greeted us there: the unheard-of phenomenon of Eddie Breen in a tie, and on one of Joe’s hors d’oeurves platters, a gorgeous array of crab tartlets!

  “What are you giggling at, sister?” asked Eddie. He was trying for his usual irascible tone, but his eyes were suspiciously moist. “Don’t go getting hysterical on me.”

  “Promise,” I said.

  “You two look bitchin’!” came a whisper from behind us. Juice, sporting a spangled silver tube top and her best lizard boots, was giving a final stir to the coffee-spiked crème anglaise sauce that would go on the wedding cake.

  “So does that,” I said, nodding at her creation. The single dense layer of chocolate bore an intricate and customized design: my initials twined with Aaron’s, stenciled onto it in powdered sugar. “Amazing.”

  “Yeah, isn’t it?” said Juice. “I’ll be right out there. Break a leg.”

  Eddie harrumphed and offered me his arm. I took it with one hand, settled my bouquet in the other, and gave Lily the go-ahead. Eddie and I followed her through the living room and out along the deck, passing Mom and her Owen, Joe and his ever-so-handsome lover Alan, the proudly beaming Boris, and Buck Buckmeister, pleased as punch to have Lily’s two little boys in his temporary care.

  There were also a handful of other friends, including Aaron’s editor Paul Wheeler, whose wedding I’d directed a year ago, and Nickie
Parry, now Ishigura, a favorite bride of mine at whose home I’d first met Aaron. I smiled into every face with fondness and gratitude. Then Eddie helped me descend the ramp of worn gray planks to the little floating platform, which rocked a bit as we stepped aboard.

  Betty was waiting for us, rosy-cheeked in her natty black pantsuit, and Mike Graham was there as well. But once I saw Aaron’s face, my powers of observation went missing, and I slipped into a soft-edged dream. Betty’s remarks went by within the dream, and I seemed to watch from a distance as Mike produced the rings and we placed them on each other’s hands.

  I didn’t really focus until Aaron recited the paraphrased excerpts he’d woven together from his favorite book, Thoreau’s Walden.

  “‘Let us arise before the dawn and seek adventures.’” Aaron’s voice was strong and eager. “‘Let the noon find us by other lakes, and the night overtake us everywhere at home. And let us walk always hand in hand, as near the water’s edge as we can go.’”

  I hadn’t planned to recite anything, which was lucky because after that I just dissolved in happy tears, while we said our vows and then Aaron kissed me for a very long time. Everyone applauded, and the excitement was just too much for Marcus and Ethan. Instead of waiting on the deck as they’d been told, they broke free from Buck and raced down the ramp onto the platform, blessing our union at the tops of their lungs.

  “Aunt Car, Aunt Car, Aunt Car, Aunt Car!” Marcus shrilled, while Ethan danced an ecstatic jig, his toes just inches from the lake.

  “Hey there, fellers!” Buck bellowed, pounding down the ramp himself. “C’mon back to Uncle Buck!”

  Right on Buck’s booted heels came Boris Nevsky, always keen to kiss a bride, any bride. They were both big men, and their combined weight hit the floating platform just as I stepped out of Aaron’s arms. Inevitably, the platform plunged inches deep into the water on their side, while rearing up like a panicked horse on mine.

  “Whoa!” I shouted. “Whoa—oops!”

  My shoes scrabbled as I tried to stay upright, and I windmilled my arms for balance. Bad move. That lofted my lovely bouquet into the air, high over my head and behind me, to land with a splash beside a Canada goose—no doubt she’d be the next waterfowl to get married.

  You know the line about getting by with a little help from your friends? As my arms swept back, down, and forward, Aaron grabbed one hand and Lily the other, and together they hauled me to safety.

  “Hang on, Stretch,” said Aaron, laughing, as his hair flopped down across his eyes. “Not that near the water’s edge. Who am I going to take to the Olympic if you float away?”

  “The—the what?”

  “The Olympic Hotel. Maybe you’ve heard of it? I know we’re going to honeymoon in Portugal later on, but I booked us a suite for tonight. If that’s all right with you?”

  “Oh, Aaron.”

  I kissed him again, for another long time, and then we went off to share champagne and chocolate with our friends. Honestly, I can’t wait to see what happens next.

  About the Author

  DEBORAH DONNELLY is a sea captain’s daughter who grew up in Panama, Cape Cod, and points in between. She’s been an executive speechwriter, a university librarian, a science fiction writer, and a nanny. A long-time resident of Seattle and a bloomingly healthy breast cancer survivor, Donnelly now lives physically in Portland, Oregon, and virtually at www.deborahdonnelly.org.

  Also by Deborah Donnelly

  Veiled Threats

  Died to Match

  May the Best Man Die

  Death Takes a Honeymoon

  You May Now Kill the Bride

  BRIDE AND DOOM

  A Dell Book / January 2007

  Published by Bantam Dell

  A Division of Random House, Inc.

  New York, New York

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © 2007 by Deborah Wessell

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  Dell is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

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  www.bantamdell.com

  eISBN: 978-0-440-33653-2

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