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“June? That’s just three months away,” Beth pointed out in a you’re-out-of-your-everlovin’-mind tone. People often talked about genteel Southern Belles, but forgot to mention another traditional figure, the Southern Matriarch, the iron-willed, sharp-eyed woman who usually raised those belles and ran the household. “And what is this folderol about a simple affair? Surely you aren’t planning to shame your family.”
Neely wondered idly if there were wedding planners who specialized in that—holiday weddings, theme weddings, nuptial events that will make your mama put a paper bag over her head. “I’m planning on getting married, Mother. Shame wasn’t part of the equation.”
“There’s that sass again. You have relatives, Cornelia, people who love you and would be slighted if they didn’t get a chance to participate in your big day. We should call Savannah back in here and start making lists immediately. Maybe we should even call Carol and Jo to help! Seems like a month of Sundays since we all got together.”
At the mention of her two aunts, a sense of foreboding rolled through Neely like dark storm clouds through a summer sky. “Mom, Robert and I haven’t discussed what kind of wedding—”
“Don’t you’d think you’d better hurry if you’re going to be married in June? Besides, men don’t want to be bothered with things like seating charts and floral arrangements! They’re grateful for a woman who can handle all of the organizing and just show them where to stand on the big day. Isn’t that right, Gerald?”
“Yes, dear.”
Neely, however, didn’t feel as agreeable. She was familiar enough with Beth’s take-charge personality to worry. She didn’t want to lose control of her wedding. After all, she’d waited forty-five years to have one, so shouldn’t it be the day of her dreams?
Our dreams, she reminded herself guiltily. Robert’s and mine. She was so used to living her life alone and making plans accordingly.
But all that was about to change.
CHAPTER 2
“You okay, kid?”
Vi sent a glare of female empowerment toward her brother, but the full effect was probably lost behind her tinted sunglasses. “I hate when you call me that.”
Douglas gave her a deliberately irritating smirk from the driver’s seat. “Why do you think I still do it?”
She laughed despite herself. He had that effect on her—on all women, really. Whether it was making a sister laugh or getting a female client to confide in him, dark-haired, dimpled Douglas was good at charming the ladies. He’d told her it was a shallow talent but not without its uses, especially when it came to jury selection. Or when it had come to sweet-talking their older sisters into covering for him, but that was before her time.
Flipping on his left blinker, he waltzed the luxury sedan across two lanes on 85, toward the exit that led to the run-down duplex Vi shared with a Hispanic single mother and her children. Vi, who used the MARTA bus and subway system as her primary means of getting around, didn’t have a car of her own. But that lack was not going to excuse her from monthly Sunday dinners, particularly now that Douglas lived so close.
Geography-wise, anyway.
The condo he’d taken a few blocks from his firm’s downtown building seemed worlds away from Vi’s weathered brick house with its rusty porch rail and torn window screens; her low-budget rental agreement had stipulated “as is” conditions, making most repairs her responsibility but giving her leniency in terms of redecorating. She kept meaning to spruce up the place, but with classes and three part-time jobs, she had even less time than money. Plus, she wasn’t sure how much she wanted to invest when she and another waitress were talking about maybe looking for an apartment together to help lower bills.
“Thanks for the ride home, old man.” A fitting response to the kid remark. “If I’d had to wait for Savannah, who knows when I would have escaped? They looked like they were settling in for the long haul.” June was still a few months off, but their mother had acted as if all the wedding details had to be nailed down today.
“You’re not upset they didn’t ask you to stay, are you?”
Vi blinked. “For planning all that girlie stuff? Please. I know even less about weddings than you do.”
She knew enough about Neely, however, to recognize the trapped expression in her blue eyes as Savannah and Beth tag-teamed her. Savannah could teach Martha Stewart a thing or two about putting together a beautiful event, and Beth, who’d helped raise two younger sisters and then four children of her own, could have organized the entire Confederate Army if she’d been born a century sooner. And if they’d given women meaningful leadership roles. So Vi had no doubts that Neely’s wedding would be a lovely, well-run occasion. She just wondered if, between her sister and her mother, any of Neely’s personality would show through.
Assuming Neely had one.
Her efficient, detached older sister had a brain like a calculator. Of course, most of Vi’s family would say she had enough personality for all of them, and they wouldn’t mean it as a compliment. The thought bothered her more than it normally would.
With a start, she realized that Neely’s announcement today had broken the only real bond she’d shared with her sister. Savannah was perfect and Douglas, if flawed by his divorce, was successful and charming enough to secure his parents’ adoration. But Neely’s “spinsterhood” had always earned their mother’s and aunts’ disapproval, much like Vi’s…everything.
“Well, here we are.” Douglas pulled onto the cracked driveway that led up to the left half of the double-home. On the parallel right-hand strip of pavement, a shirtless teenager had his head stuck under the hood of an old blue Cadillac. Douglas flicked his gaze in that direction. “You may not have a car for me to work on, but I’ve been meaning to ask, do you, um, need a little help with repairs on this place?”
Since she doubted her brother had lifted a hammer his entire adult life, she snorted at the offer. “Mom said something to you about my disgraceful living conditions.”
“While also managing to cast aspersions on my manhood and ability with power tools.”
The idea of Douglas near a power tool made Vi’s fingers itch to dial 911. Zoe, his ex, used to joke that he drank straight Scotch over ice because he couldn’t even build a decent drink. Vi had liked the woman and occasionally still ran into her on campus, where the willowy brunette taught a civics class. At thirty-seven the former Mrs. Mason was attractive enough that Vi wouldn’t be surprised if freshman boys had hot-for-teacher fantasies over her.
For that matter, Vi had reason to believe her brother still fantasized about Zoe on a regular basis. Their divorce was no healthier than their marriage had been, but given Vi’s own dysfunctional love life, she wasn’t one to judge. Her relationships seemed to come in two modes—low-key fun with guys she knew she’d never stay with long, and passionate flings characterized by intense sex but too much fighting. Frankly, until today’s revelation, she’d always wondered if Neely had the right idea by staying single.
Oblivious to Vi’s mental meandering, Douglas was still defending his masculinity. “All right, so I’m not…some guy famous for renovating stuff. My employers must not think I’m useless because they pay me pretty damn well. Even if I don’t rescreen your windows myself, I can certainly write you a check to get it done.”
Yes he could, without even blinking. It was so Douglas to offer the easy solution.
She sighed, wishing his attempted generosity didn’t leave her feeling snide. “Nah, I’d probably just blow the money on booze and extreme makeovers.” Besides, if she really needed something fixed, she could always ask Brendan, her most recent low-key boyfriend, a nice guy with whom she had little in common.
As