Single Dad on Top (Complete Series Boxed Set), page 36
“Thank you,” I say, buckling Grace into her seat. There isn’t room for the car seat and both Arianna and me in the back, so I slide in next to the baby and let Arianna take the front.
We’re quiet as we head through town to the trailer park. Arianna fusses with her blouse, an earthy green explosion of ruffles that looks a good deal fancier than what she’s worn so far. Perhaps she is done with the ruse as well, or else her mother’s comments cut her.
“You look lovely,” I say, leaning forward. “Though I like you best in skirts.”
She blushes at that. “Thank you. I’m glad you don’t feel you need the baseball cap anymore.”
“Pointless,” I say, and sit back. Birmingham rolls by, streets I once knew, some changed, some things the same. Like my family.
“Is this it, sir?” the driver asks uncertainly as we approach the entrance to the trailer park.
“Yes, third one down on the left,” I say.
“Shall I wait here?” he asks.
I hesitate. In New York a driver always stays with the car, because generally there is nowhere to park anyway.
“What do you usually do?” I ask.
“Oh, I bring things to read,” he says.
“You should come in,” Arianna says. “We have all this food anyway.”
I think the man will turn her down, as that would be a very odd thing to suggest in the circles we run in. But he nods. “I was sure hoping one of those sausages would have my name on it.”
“And now it does,” she says. “What’s your name?”
“Martin,” he says. “Martin Jones.”
“Well, Martin, help us take things inside and we’ll find a place for you.” Arianna opens her own door.
I pull Grace from her carrier. Martin opens my door on his way to the back of the SUV. I hand Grace to Arianna and go back to help him unload.
There are a lot of boxes and bags and containers.
“You expecting a lot of people?” he asks.
“Not too many,” I say. “But very hungry people.”
Martin laughs. “Can amount to the same thing.”
We manage to arrange it all and follow Arianna up the steps. Martin hangs back a bit as she knocks on the door.
“Nice idea to invite him,” I say to her.
“I figure we may need all the buffer we can get,” she says.
We’re still standing there, waiting on the door, when a gleaming black Lincoln Town Car also pulls up.
“I guess we can figure out who that is,” I say.
“They invited my parents too?” Arianna’s face is full of shock.
I turn to Martin. “This is about to get interesting,” I say.
The driver of the Town Car jumps out and dashes around to open the back door. Bridget steps out, as elegant as ever in a taupe pencil skirt and silk blouse.
“Is that a cashmere wrap?” Arianna asks, her eyes narrowing. “Of course it is.”
As Cambridge emerges from the car, the door to the trailer opens behind us.
“Good to see everybody’s made it,” Mom says. She steps back to let us in. “You brought a friend?”
“This is Martin,” Arianna says, and gives no further explanation.
I have to hide my smile.
We pause to wait for the Harts to come up the steps. Bridget looks at the park with great interest. Cambridge places his hand on her back to move her toward the door.
Mom holds the screen open. I turn to the living room. Dad is sprawled on the sofa, a boot up on the coffee table. Mom must have made him dress up a little, as he has a button-down shirt on with his jeans. Her shirt seems new, a long-sleeved red number with little yellow flowers on it. It looks totally wrong on her.
Donovan sits in one of the kitchen chairs, leaning forward with his elbows braced on his knees. He’s the most casual of all of us, just a T-shirt and sweatpants. He’s not trying to make an impression, clearly.
Arianna sits on the love seat, jiggling Grace. I take my boxes and bags to the kitchen, and Martin follows. The Harts come in.
“Who are all these people?” Martin asks me quietly. “Everybody acts like it’s a funeral.”
“Future in-laws,” I say.
“No kidding,” he says. “I’ll unpack so you can catch up.”
I nod. Pink boxes from the bakeries are already stacked on the counter. Mom has sprung for the fancy paper plates today, the heavy-duty ones with blue flowers printed on them. As a kid we always got the thin ones with the curved edges. You could cut right through them with a butter knife.
When I step back toward the living room, Bridget and Cambridge are standing awkwardly by the TV.
“Well, come on in,” Mom says. “Cambridge, park yourself next to your new best bud. Bridget, I imagine you want next to Arianna to get a gander at that baby.”
Arianna gives her mother a small smile as Bridget navigates the coffee table to sit next to her. Grace spots the shiny bold necklace on Bridget’s chest and lunges for it.
“Might want to take off those earrings if you hold her,” Arianna says. “She’ll jerk those right out.”
Bridget nods, tugging the big gold pieces from her ears and depositing them into her purse. Now that she’s close, she can’t take her eyes off Grace.
I know I should move forward to shake Cambridge’s hand, at least. But that will put me next to my father. And I’m not interested in doing that. I sit in a chair next to Donovan and lean in.
“So what’s our mother got planned here?” I ask.
He shrugs. “She just dragged me out of bed five minutes ago. I had no idea she was bringing everybody.” He smooths his wild hair self-consciously.
“Late night?” I ask.
He grins. “Remember that girl in black who took us to the Sky Box?”
I nod.
“I think I’m in love.”
I elbow him. “Aren’t you going back to Texas tomorrow?”
He frowns. “Yeah.”
“We have some food in the kitchen,” Mom announces. “I made sure Hasmund — Dell — brought things that you all would like.” She gestures at the Harts. “I figure he’d know those things better than me.”
Dad stands up. “I’m not shy,” he says. “Come on, Cam.”
“I’m fine for the moment,” Bridget says. “Let me see this child.” She reaches for Grace and Arianna tentatively shifts her over to her mother’s lap.
“Come fetch some food,” Dad says to us boys, coming up behind Martin. “I’m Byron,” he says, shaking the man’s hand. “Have I seen you around?”
“I work for Carter’s Limousine Service,” Martin says. “Been driving folks around since I retired from offshore work.”
Dad snaps his fingers. “You must be a friend of Aaron Redding. He used to drive for Carter.”
“I remember Aaron.”
The three of them load up plates and take them to the table. It’s still set up for six. Donovan and I toss some meat and rolls on our plates and join them.
The women stay in the living room, fussing over the baby.
There’s something very familiar about the setup. Men eating and women tending to the kids. It’s how I grew up.
Arianna looks over at us and nods at me. I can see she’s relieved things are easy right now.
It’s Martin who keeps the conversation going. “I hear there’s going to be a wedding,” he says.
“My boy here is marrying that gal over there,” Dad says, pointing her out. “That’s their kid.”
“Cute little bugger,” Martin says. “You all met before?”
“Last night,” Cambridge answers. “We were up at the greyhound races.”
“I haven’t watched the dogs race in years,” Martin says. “You win any?”
“Betting is for fools with too much money,” Dad says. “Though I guess my boy here can spare it.” He squints at me. “I hear you have your own plane.”
I tear the end off a croissant. “I do.”
Dad shoves Donovan on the shoulder. “When you going to get a plane, Donny boy?”
Donovan shakes his head. “Let me have my first day on the job, then we’ll talk.”
Everything is oddly easy. Donovan talks about the company he’s going to work for. Cambridge gives him advice about benefits.
This isn’t going badly at all.
But then Mom stands up. “I think we ought to start planning a wedding right here in Birmingham.”
Arianna’s mouth falls open.
And Bridget says, “Over my dead body.”
Chapter 26
Arianna
“I’m not familiar with Birmingham,” I say, feeling frantic. I glance over at Dell. He’s giving me a pained look.
“I cannot imagine there is anyplace suitable,” Mom says.
I elbow her. What has happened to her manners?
She bounces Grace and ignores me.
“Now, there’s that uppity attitude again,” Wynona says. “Same one that was all over the racetrack last night. You don’t think there’s pretty weddings here in Alabama?”
Mom looks around, as if realizing she’s offended everyone. “Arianna is my only child, and I want the best for her.”
Dell stands up at that and comes close, sitting on the arm of the love seat next to me. “Mom, I believe it’s the bride’s decision on planning the wedding. You and I are in charge of the rehearsal dinner.”
Wynona’s mouth is a tight line. “If they are in charge, they’ll have it someplace like Paris, France, or, I don’t know, some fancy-pants museum. I can’t go to that. Your father won’t go. Think of YOUR family.”
She has a point. Marge and Travis would be excluded if it’s far. And Dell’s grandma Jessie can’t travel easily.
I have to speak up at this. “I hate that the wedding is already causing us to fight. We’ll figure something out.”
“The wedding is not the problem,” Wynona says. “It’s that you two didn’t trust any of us with anything about your lives. This baby is eight months old and we didn’t even know she existed until this weekend.”
Now the whole room is with her. Mom, Dad, Byron. Even Martin looks a little stricken.
“It’s complicated,” Dell ventures, but his mother cuts him off.
“Nonsense. It’s a baby, not a rocket ship.” Wynona stands against the wall between the living room and the dining table, arms crossed over her chest. “How many people know you are Dell Brant?”
Dell frowns. “Thousands. Ten thousand. I don’t know. I sometimes make the news.”
“And how many know you are Hasmund McDonald?”
“Just family. People at the racetrack. A few at college.”
Wynona jabs her finger at him. “The people you were embarrassed to know.”
I can’t stand this any longer. “You know, Dell and I are trying to make this right,” I say. “That’s why we’re here. But if you can’t sit and listen to US, then we have to go.”
I stand up and lean down to take the baby from my mother. “We can elope. Forget all this drama. It’s our day, and we won’t have any of you all ruining it.”
Mom doesn’t want to let go of Grace. “Sit down, Arianna. Explain it to us, if you can.”
I don’t sit. I stand in front of all of them, Mom and Grace on the love seat next to Dell, the other men at the table.
“Grace’s biological mother turned her over to Dell just a few months ago. It took us time to figure out what we were going to do. Until we were sure Grace could be ours, we kept it to ourselves.”
“Who is this woman?” Wynona asks. “Who would abandon their own baby?”
“She’s not able to care for her,” I say. “She left her for the baby’s sake.”
Mom speaks up. “I am quite sure Dell and Arianna are perfectly capable of taking care of the legal issues. We just aren’t sure about all the secrecy.”
“We have to ask you to help us on that,” Dell says. “For Grace. It’s her life. We want it to be as normal for her as possible.”
That gets them. Everyone looks at Grace, calmly sitting on my mother’s lap, a gummy teething ring jabbed in her mouth. She seems to realize she’s the center of attention, because she holds the ring in the air, both arms out, and jabbers as if she’s making a great speech.
“It’s the kids that matter,” Wynona says, and everyone seems to be back on the same page. “Your secret is safe with us. All of us in this room, right?”
Everyone murmurs.
Martin says, “I didn’t hear a thing.”
We’ve forgotten a perfect stranger is in the room. “Thank you, Martin,” I say.
He gets up. “I’ll get the ladies some food,” he says, heading for the kitchen. “Sounds like you all have some planning to do.”
Wynona sits on the sofa and pats the cushion. “Come here, child,” she says. “What sort of wedding do you want?”
I’m not really sure. But I look around at all of them, my elegant parents and Dell’s very different family, even Martin, who represents the regular Alabaman.
And I think I might be getting an idea.
Epilogue
The Wedding: Arianna
Six months later
No one expected the wind.
Marge stands behind Wynona, rapidly braiding her hair and setting it with a metric ton of hair spray. “Hand me a pin, sis,” she says.
Wynona passes her one, holding it over her shoulder.
The stylist attending to my hairdo adds another row of pearl seed clips to one side. “I’m doubling up,” she says. “Your hair isn’t going to move even if a hurricane hits.”
“Don’t mention any natural disasters,” Mom says. “Not when we’re out at sea.” She has two stylists working on her, one on hair, one on makeup. We have a ridiculous amount of help. Even Grace has her own assistant.
I scrunch my face at the baby, now fourteen months and toddling pretty well. She makes the same face back at me. She’s precious in a ruffly white dress. It has a long white cape that hits the back of her knees, tied to her shoulders with little pink bows. She’s like a mini super hero.
She holds a basket, although she can’t really walk and carry it at the same time without help. She’s not that steady.
“I love the cape,” Wynona says. “It’s a hoot.”
“What are you talking about?” Mom asks. She doesn’t think anything wedding related should be a “hoot.”
Dell’s mom and I pass a conspiratorial glance. I guess nobody told Mom about Grace’s cape.
I’m certainly not going to enlighten her.
“Your hair looks great,” I say. “Elegant and windproof.”
“We could move the wedding indoors, you know,” she says.
“Now, Bridget,” Wynona scolds her. “Arianna wanted a wedding on the sea. It’s not the same in a ballroom.”
“We’re all going to blow away,” Mom says.
“Nonsense,” Wynona fires back.
They’ve been at each other like this since we picked Wynona and Byron up in Birmingham, but there’s no real malice in their bickering. Just two very different women working out their vastly opposite worldviews.
A lot like Dell and his father. They’ve never made up, not really. But Dell did take Byron on his plane. With my dad there to referee, they managed to find some common ground. They can be civil, if nothing else.
So it’s not perfect, but it’s pretty good. Good enough.
Marge backs away from Wynona. “You’re as pretty as a picture,” she says.
Wynona touches her hair. “It feels like a football on my head.”
“It’s lovely,” I say. And it is. Marge has worked the braids together into a French twist. Neither of them were willing to let one of our stylists touch them.
“All done here.” My hairdresser pats my shoulder. I stand up. The white silk robe floats around me. My makeup is done. It’s probably about time to put on my dress.
The photographer hurries in. “Got the groom and the groomsmen,” he says. “Time for some preparation photos of the bridal party.”
“Great,” Wynona says flatly. “I don’t have my face on.”
Mom stares the photographer down. “You will not take a single image of me until I say so.” One of her girls holds a white towel in front of her face.
“Well, we agree on that,” Wynona says. She and Marge look at each other and crack up.
“How about the bride?” he asks. “Can we get some of you?”
“Of course,” I say. I pick up Grace and hold her up to my cheek.
“Beautiful,” he says, snapping shot after shot.
Grace lets go of the basket and it hits the ground, petals scattering. She lets out an unhappy cry.
“It’s okay, sugar lump,” I say, setting her down. “You can put all the pretty petals back in the basket.” Her baby cape almost flips over, revealing the words, but I quickly drop it back into place.
“Why don’t you take Grace over to Dell?” I say to the girl who is watching her for the duration of the trip.
“Good idea,” Marge says.
“In my day, babies were women’s work,” Mom says.
I have to laugh. “Mom, you had a nanny, a tutor, and a housekeeper watching over me.”
“All women!” she says from behind the towel.
The photographer snaps shots of my dress, hanging by a window. We’re on the upper level of the cruise ship in a triple suite, so there are balconies in every room.
When Dell and I settled on a cruise, we knew setting sail out of Mobile, Alabama, would satisfy both camps. Fancy and elite enough for the Harts. Close enough for the Birmingham contingent to drive up and get on the boat.
About four hundred of the ship’s six hundred passengers are attending the wedding. My mother and father won the battle of large and inclusive over small and intimate. We had tried to book a private ship, but the size of our guest list made that impossible unless we waited two years for the wedding.
That wasn’t going to happen.
“Let me get snaps of the ring,” the photographer says. His assistant brings him my flower bouquet, and he takes several shots of my hand with the arrangement, the diamond Dell bought in Paris almost a year ago bright and sparkling.
