The Marriage Conspiracy Page 2

  Wayne Thornton was DeDe’s groom. “Wayne is great. He’s down in the kitchen right now, hanging out with Bud and Burly.”

  “He’s not mad?”

  “Wayne? Are you kidding?” Wayne Thornton was a veterinarian. He was also about the calmest, most easygoing person Joleen had ever had the pleasure to meet. “I promise you, Wayne is fine. Waiting patiently, swapping jokes with Bud and Burly.”

  “I want to see him.”

  “Well, all right, I’ll just—”

  “Wait. Stop right there.”

  Joleen did as her sister commanded.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” DeDe accused. “You know I can’t see him. It would be bad luck.”

  Joleen lifted a shoulder in the tiniest of shrugs. Of course, she knew that. But if she’d been the one to say it, her sister would have insisted that Joleen run down-stairs that instant and come right back up with Wayne. Like Niki, DeDe had had some troubled times in the past. She’d settled down a lot in the last couple of years, but she hadn’t gotten rid of her stubborn streak, of a certain contrariness to her nature. Joleen never locked horns with her if she could avoid it. Locking horns with DeDe almost never paid off.

  DeDe sighed. “I’m goin’ nuts.” She whirled in a rustle of satin, flounced to their mother’s big four-poster bed, turned and plunked herself down on the edge of it. “Where is Dekker?”

  Joleen approached and sat beside her sister. She took DeDe’s hand. “Honey…”

  DeDe yanked her hand away. “Don’t say it. He promised he would be here and we are gonna wait for him.”

  “Honey, we have waited. For over an hour. You have to think of your guests. They are dyin’ out there.”

  “Well, I can’t help it. It wouldn’t be right to start without Dekker. You know that it wouldn’t.”

  Joleen had no quick comeback for that.

  The problem was, in her heart, Joleen agreed with DeDe. It wouldn’t be right to start without Dekker.

  Dekker Smith might not be blood to them, but he truly was family. His mama, Lorraine, had been their mama’s best friend. Lorraine was gone now, and Dekker hadn’t lived next door since he graduated high school, but he looked out for them all, especially in the past ten years, since Joleen’s father had died.

  Dekker spent his holidays with them. He had been the one who taught both Joleen and DeDe how to drive. He could always be counted upon to show up with his toolbox when something needed fixing—not to mention to stand up for any female named Tilly any time things got rough. Two years ago, when DeDe had her little run-in with the law, Dekker had gone with Joleen to the police station to bail her out and he’d made sure she got the best lawyer around. Same thing with Niki, when she’d been in trouble last year. Dekker was right there, to help out.

  He was family in the deepest way, and of course DeDe wanted him there to see her married.

  But they couldn’t wait all day to start the wedding march. “DeDe, I think we are just going to have to go ahead.”

  “But we can’t go ahead,” DeDe cried.

  “Yes, we can. And you know that Dekker will understand. You know that he—”

  “I won’t understand. Don’t you get it? I want Dekker to give me away.”

  “Well, I know you do, but he is not here.”

  DeDe glared. “Oh, you, Joly. Always so logical. I cannot stand to hear logic at a time like this.”

  “Well, I am so sorry to be reasonable when you would rather not, but—”

  DeDe cut her off by bursting into tears.

  Joleen closed her eyes and silently counted to ten.

  When she opened them again, she saw her mother, Camilla, hovering in the doorway to the hall. “What is it, baby? What has happened here?”

  “Joly says we have to go ahead.” DeDe sobbed. “She says we can’t wait for Dekker.”

  “Oh, now, honey…”

  “I want him here, Mama. I want him to give me away.”

  “Yes, and we all understand that.”

  “It won’t seem right if he isn’t here.”

  “Oh, I know, I know…”

  DeDe let out a frustrated wail. The cry brought Camilla out of the doorway. She rushed across the room, slender arms outstretched. Joleen slid to the side and got out of the way. DeDe stood. Camilla gathered her close.

  “Aw, baby,” Camilla cooed. “Now, you know you are going to ruin your face, carrying on like this. Now, you just settle down….”

  But DeDe was not settling down.

  And Camilla had started crying, too. Tears filled her huge brown eyes and spilled down her cheeks. Sobs constricted her long white throat. Joleen backed away a few more steps, as her middle sister and her mother held on to each other and wailed.

  “Honey, honey,” Camilla cried. “Don’t you worry. It’s okay. We will wait. We will wait until Dekker gets here. We’ll wait forever, if we have to. Till the end of time, I swear it to you….”

  There was a gasp from the doorway. Joleen looked over.

  Niki. She had Sam perched on her hip—and her hazel eyes were already brimming. Sam had a teething biscuit stuck in his mouth. He sucked it steadily, not much disturbed by all the excitement on the other side of the room.

  But then, why should he be disturbed? His grandmother and his aunts never hid their emotions. He was used to lots of crying and carrying on.

  “Mama?” Niki gulped back a sob. “DeDe? What is going on?”

  Her mother and middle sister only cried all the harder. Niki’s face started to crumple.

  Joleen reached Niki’s side in three quick steps. “Before you start,” she warned, “give me my baby.”

  “Here.” Niki held Sam out. He reached for Joleen automatically, gurgling, “Mama!” And then his biscuit-gooey little hands encircled her neck, his soft weight was on her arm and his sweet, slightly dusty smell filled her senses.

  With a hard sob, Niki flew across the room. Camilla and DeDe enfolded her into their embrace. The three hugged and bawled, their arms around each other, a sniffling, tear-streaked huddle of satin and lace.

  Joleen stood a few feet from the door, resolutely calm as always, holding her baby and watching her mother and sisters wail and moan, wondering how in the world she would manage to calm them all now.

  “What is this, a wedding—or a wake?”

  Joleen turned toward the sound of that deep, wry voice. It was Dekker, in the doorway. He had made it, after all.

  Chapter 2

  Relief washed through Joleen—and a sweet rush of affection, as well. She should probably be good and angry with him for being so late, but how could she be angry when she was so glad to see him? And he looked so handsome in the nice lightweight suit they had picked out together just for this occasion.

  He also looked…easy within himself and relaxed. Something good must have happened out there in Los Angeles.

  “You’re late,” she muttered.

  He shrugged. “Air travel is not what it used to be. I sat at O’Hare for ten hours.”

  “Your cell phone—”

  “Needs recharging. Sorry. I tried to call you.”

  “At my house?”

  “Right. From a pay phone, this morning around eight.”

  “I left at seven-thirty.”

  “And I also called here. Twice. Got a busy signal both times.”

  She wasn’t surprised. The house had been full of people all day and the phone had been in constant use.

  “Dek!” Sam shouted. He let go of Joleen’s neck and reached for the man in the doorway.

  “Whoa, big guy.” Dekker stepped up and took him.

  About then, DeDe stopped sobbing long enough to glance across the room. “Dekker! You made it!”

  The three Tilly women broke from their huddle and rushed for the door. Joleen got out of their way again. They surrounded Dekker and Sam, all of them talking at once.

  “Where were you?”

  “We’ve been waiting for hours….”

  “We were
so afraid you wouldn’t make it.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Is everything—”

  He chuckled. “Everything’s fine. There was just a little matter of a long delay between flights. But I am here now.” He had Sam on one arm. He wrapped the other around DeDe, who looked up at him through shining eyes. “And I am ready to give away this gorgeous bride.”

  Twenty minutes later, down in the backyard beneath the pecan trees, the wedding march began. A blessed breeze had actually come up, so it wasn’t quite as stifling as it had been for most of the day. The ceremony went off without a hitch. And when Wayne Thornton kissed his bride, everyone could see that this was a true, love match.

  Joleen had had her reservations, when DeDe and Wayne first announced that they would marry. After all, DeDe was only twenty. It seemed young to Joleen.

  But looking at the two of them as they repeated their vows, Joleen let go of her doubts. Wayne was a good, steady man. And DeDe adored him almost as much as he worshipped her. In the end, Joleen supposed, the two had as good a chance as any couple at lasting a lifetime side by side.

  She was pouring more ginger ale into the punch bowl, feeling kind of misty-eyed and contented for the first time that day, when Dekker appeared at her side.

  “What the hell are the Atwoods doing here?” He spoke low, for her ears alone.

  She gave him her most determined smile and whispered back, “I invited them.”

  “Damn it, Jo. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “Me, too—and would you go in and get me some more of this ginger ale?”

  Midnight-blue eyes regarded her steadily. “I wish you had listened to me.”

  “I did listen—then I did what I thought was right.” She waved the empty bottle at him. “Ginger ale? Please?”

  Shaking his head, he turned for the back door.

  The afternoon wore on.

  Camilla, on something of an emotional roller coaster this special day when her middle baby was getting married, had a little too much sparkling wine and flirted blatantly with anyone willing to flirt back.

  “You probably ought to say something to her, hon,” advised Aunt LeeAnne as Joleen was putting the finishing touches on the buffet.

  Joleen shook her head and took the lid off a chafing dish. “My mother is a flirt. Always has been, always will be. I have enough to worry about without trying to fight a person’s nature.”

  “When your father was still with us—”

  “I know. All her flirting was for him then. She never looked at another man. But he’s been gone for so long now. And she is still very much alive. She will never stop lookin’ for the kind of love she had once.”

  “So sad…” Aunt LeeAnne looked mournful.

  Camilla’s musical laughter rang out as she pulled one of the groom’s uncles from a chair and made him dance with her.

  “I don’t know,” said Joleen. “Seems to me that she’s having a pretty good time.”

  Aunt LeeAnne picked up a toothpick and speared a meatball from the chafing dish. “Mmm. Delicious. What is that spice?”

  “Cumin?”

  “Could be—or maybe curry?”

  “No. I don’t think there’s any curry in those meatballs.”

  Aunt LeeAnne helped herself to a second meatball, then shrugged. “Well, I suppose you’re right about Camilla….”

  Uncle Hubert Tilly staggered by, yet another beer clutched in his fist.

  Aunt LeeAnne clucked her tongue. “Now, there is someone to worry about. He has been drinkin’ all afternoon, and in this heat…” Aunt LeeAnne frowned. “He looks peaked, don’t you think?”

  “True,” said Joleen. “He does not look well.”

  “Someone really should talk to him….” Aunt LeeAnne gazed at Joleen hopefully. Joleen refused to take the hint, so her aunt added with clear reluctance, “Someone of his own generation, I suppose.”

  “Be my guest.”

  So Aunt LeeAnne DuFrayne trotted off to try to convince Uncle Hubert Tilly that he’d had enough beer.

  Uncle Hubert didn’t take the news well. “What?” he shouted, leaning against the trunk of the sweet gum in the southwest corner of the yard. “I’ve had enough? What’re you talkin’ about, LeeAnne? There ain’ no such thing as enough.”

  Aunt LeeAnne tried to whisper something into his ear. He shrugged her off and stumbled away. Aunt LeeAnne pinched up her mouth for a minute, then shook her head and returned to the buffet table.

  “Well, I guess you are right, Joly. There is no savin’ that man from himself.”

  “You tried your best.” Joleen handed her aunt a plate. “Taste those buffalo wings. And the pasta primavera is pretty good, too.”

  Aunt LeeAnne took the plate and began to load it with food.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Joleen could see Robert Atwood, standing at the edge of the patio, Antonia, as always, close at his side. Robert wore a look of aloof disdain on his distinguished face as he watched Uncle Hubert’s unsteady progress toward the coolers lined up by the garden shed.

  “Joly, is that pickled okra I see?”

  Joleen turned her widest smile on another of her father’s brothers. “You bet it is, Uncle Stan. Help yourself.”

  “I surely will.”

  With the buffet all ready to go, Joleen went to check on the punch table again. The bowl needed filling. She took care of that. Then she went back inside to look for those little frilly toothpicks that everyone kept using up the minute she set them out.

  She got stalled in the kitchen for several minutes. Burly had a traveling-salesman joke she just had to hear. Once he’d told it and she had finished laughing, she found the toothpicks and headed for the back door once more.

  Outside again, she discovered that her mother was dancing with yet another of the guests from Wayne’s family. And Aunt LeeAnne whispered in her ear that Uncle Hubert had gone behind the garden shed to be sick.

  Joleen suppressed a sigh. “I’ll go see to him.”

  “I think that would be best. I’d do it, of course, but you saw what happened the last time I tried to give the poor man a hand.”

  When Joleen got to the other side of the shed, she spotted two little DuFraynes and a small niece of Wayne’s peeking around the far end. Uncle Hubert sagged pitifully against the shed wall, his head stuck in among the dark pink blooms of a tall crape myrtle bush.

  She dealt with the children first. “You kids go on now.”

  The three stared for a moment, then began giggling.

  “I mean it. Do not make me get your mamas.”

  The giggling stopped. Three sets of wide eyes regarded her. Joleen put on a no-nonsense glare and made a sharp shooing gesture with the back of her hand.

  The three vanished around the end of the shed, giggles erupting again as soon as they were out of sight. The giggles faded away.

  Uncle Hubert groaned. And then his thick shoulders shook. Joleen swallowed and pressed her lips together as she heard splattering sounds behind the bush.

  She waited until that attack of sickness had passed. Then she dared to move a few steps closer. “Uncle Hubert…”

  Her uncle groaned. “Joly?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Go ’way.” He spoke into the crape myrtle bush.

  Joleen edged a little closer. “Uncle Hubert, I want you to come in the house with me now.”

  “I’m fine.” He groaned again. “Go ’way.”

  “No. No, you listen. It’s too hot out here. You can lie down inside.”

  “No.” He made a strangled sound. His shoulders shook again, but this time nothing seemed to be coming up.

  Joleen waited, to make sure he was finished. Then, with slow care, she moved right up next to him. “Come on, now…” She laid a hand on his arm. “You just come on.”

  “No!’ He jerked away, half stumbling, almost falling, bouncing with a muffled gonging sound against the metal wall of the garden shed. “Leave,” he gro
wled. “Go…”

  Joleen stepped back again, unwilling to give up but unsure how to convince him that he should come with her.

  A hand clasped her shoulder.

  Dekker. She knew it before she even turned to see him standing right behind her. She felt easier instantly. Between them they would manage. They always did.

  “Need help?”

  She nodded.

  He raised a dark brow. “You want him in the house?”

  She nodded again.

  He stepped around her. “Hubert…”

  “Ugh. Wha? Oh. Dek.”

  “Right. Come on, man. Let’s go…”

  “Ugh…”

  “Yeah. You need to stretch out.”

  “Uh-uh…”

  Dekker took Uncle Hubert’s arm and wrapped it across his broad shoulder. Uncle Hubert moaned. He kept saying no and shaking his head. But he didn’t pull away. Slowly Dekker turned him around and got him moving.

  Joleen went on ahead, warning the other guests out of the way, opening the back door, leading the way through the kitchen and into the hall. Uncle Hubert would probably be most comfortable upstairs in one of the bedrooms, but she didn’t know how far he’d be willing to let Dekker drag him. So she settled for the living room.

  “Here,” she said, “on the couch.” She tossed away her mother’s favorite decorative pillows as she spoke, then spread an old afghan across the cushions. It would provide some protection if Uncle Hubert’s poor stomach decided to rebel again.

  Dekker eased the other man down. Uncle Hubert fell onto his back with a long, low groan.

  “Let’s get his shoes off,” said Dekker, already kneeling at Uncle Hubert’s feet. Before he had the second shoe off, Uncle Hubert was snoring. Dekker set the shoes, side by side, beneath the coffee table. “They’ll be right here whenever he needs them.”

  Joleen stood over her uncle, shaking her head. “It seems like we ought to do something, doesn’t it? We shouldn’t let him go on hurting himself this way.”

  Uncle Hubert had lost his wife, Thelma, six months ago. The heavy beer drinking had started not long after that.

  “Give him time,” Dekker said. “He’ll work it out.”