Chapter 1
“My mother is always looking for bonding experiences for us. The day of my dad’s wedding is not the time.”
Michelle Cavanaugh
“Mom, don’t make me go to this lame wedding,” Michelle grumbled. “Dad’s gonna be distracted. It’s not like I’ll get to spend any time with him. Why do they even have to make a big deal out of it?”
I nudged her through the front door of Maggie’s Salon and Day Spa where we had an early appointment for facials, manis, pedis, hair, and makeup. Her, for the evening nuptials. Me, because I needed downtime. It was 6:45 a.m. on what promised to be a gorgeous day. The sun was rising in the east, a gentle breeze was blowing, and the forsythia and weigela were in full bloom. Normally, I’d be all over a glorious spring day, but I wished it would rain. Buckets. A torrential downpour. Thunder, lightning, and hail.
“It’s your father’s wedding. You’re going. You don’t have to enjoy it, but you have to attend.” I, thank goodness, was exempt from the festivities. My ex, Phillip, and his bride-to-be, Willow, didn’t send me an invitation. Not that I would attend. I’d rather yank my toenails off with rusty pliers. Instead, I planned to pamper myself and stay as far away from Highland Park Country Club as possible.
“Why do they want me in this lame wedding and not Jessie?” Michelle whined. “Willow has all her sorority skanks hanging around like little sock puppets. She won’t miss me.”
I felt horrible for Michelle. Phillip put her in an awkward position by insisting she stand up as his best girl for his wedding to Willow, the woman who blew apart our marriage. “Your sister is attending the guest book. Willow might not care whether you attend, but your father does. He’s counting on you being there for him. And your grandmother would have a fit. Besides, Willow will be your”—I gagged a little—“stepmother. At least try for your dad’s sake. You can get through this for him. He’s always been there for you. It’s one evening. I have confidence you can pull it off. Let him know you’re here for him too.”
The only reason I could think of to attend this wedding was to see Hazel’s reaction. Phillip’s mother, the matriarch of the Cavanaugh family, still lorded her queen bee status over Wickford society. She had to be going mental over Phillip’s upcoming nuptials to a woman half his age.
Michelle crossed her arms over her chest, much like a six-year-old preparing to throw a tantrum. “Whatevs! Just so you know, I’m doing this for Dad, not for Willow. You can make me go, but you can’t make me like it.”
That much was true, and I anticipated this wedding would drive the wedge between Michelle and Willow even deeper. The thought of her having a stepmother made my heart ache—especially one only eight or nine years older who might be more of a bestie than a mother figure. Not my finest maternal moment, but my ugly jealousy rose like cream to the top.
“Michelle, I never want you to think you have to choose between me and your dad. If you think going to this wedding will hurt my feelings, you’re wrong.”
Her face puckered up like she might cry. “I know. I just feel bad for you.”
I patted her shoulder. “Go. Be there for your dad. I’m fine.”
I saw my hairdresser, Sarah, and waved her over, hoping to head off a meltdown. Michelle and I had been on tenuous ground since her father left last year. She blamed me for the divorce, but we’d overcome some of her hostility a few months ago when I’d almost gotten myself killed. I needed to keep the balance we’d achieved.
“Hey, Cece. Michelle,” Sarah greeted us. “Wish Jessie didn’t have to cancel.”
“She was looking forward to the pampering. She pulled a shift at the last minute,” I said.
Sarah frowned. “Will she be able to attend the wedding?”
“Yeah,” Michelle said. “Mom gave her the standard lecture this morning about how we have to be there to support Dad. Blah. Blah. Blah.” She pretended to stick her finger down her throat and made a gagging noise.
“Come on back, and we’ll get you both started.” Sarah and my older daughter, Jessie, had been friends since childhood, so she knew when to sidestep Michelle’s moodiness.
Maggie’s provided a one-stop shop in Wickford for all things beauty-related. With my financial situation in the toilet, as it had been since Phillip left, I had not been frequenting the salon for anything other than an occasional haircut. During my separation and subsequent divorce, I’d opened a cleaning business, which strained my finances even more. I specialized in cleaning in the aftermath of catastrophic events. If my daughter had to endure this wedding, I could spring for a relaxing mother-daughter outing to prepare her and shower her with some love.
Sarah led us to the nail area where two techs awaited our arrival. “Have a seat, ladies. Can I bring you water?”
Michelle and I both nodded.
I turned my phone to silent, slipped my feet into the footbath, and leaned back, eager for a bit of indulgence and relaxation. Home manicures and pedicures were my norms these days, and I did them in a slap-dash manner with no thought to pampering.
The techs placed slices of cucumber on our eyes and told us to sit back and unwind. I had almost dozed off when a woman’s voice disrupted my zen. “O-m-g! Phillip’s wife is here.”
Someone giggled and said, “She’s his ex-wife.”
I sprang up, and the cucumbers slid down my cheeks, bounced off my chest, and landed on the nail tech’s head.
My ex’s bride-to-be and her cadre of bridesmaids stood before me—each decked out in designer yoga wear in varying pastel shades. Willow wore a wide, white sparkly bride sash across the boobs my ex purchased for her with the funds we’d planned to use for a trip to Tuscany. The other three women wore sashes proclaiming their placement as bridesmaids or maid of honor.
Phillip left me one year ago this month, and this was the first time I had come face-to-face with Willow since he moved out. I had seen her at his office plenty of times before I found out he was boinking her. Then she’d been his airheaded assistant. His words, not mine. I hadn’t known her well enough to make that judgment. She’d always made herself scarce when I visited the office. It had taken me long enough to figure out why. I’d never had reason to speak to her back then, and we didn’t run in the same social circles. Except now she’d be Mrs. Phillip Cavanaugh and be socializing with all my former friends—the ones who’d dumped me right after Phillip did.
Michelle removed her cucumbers at the sound of Willow’s voice.
Willow wiggled her fingers at my daughter. “Hi, Shelly.”
“It’s Michelle,” my daughter said between clenched teeth. “My name is not Shelly.”
Part of me wanted to flee, but the other part wanted to jump up and scratch out Willow’s eyes. Wouldn’t that look pretty for her wedding. Determined not to make a scene and ruin my daughter’s spa day, I reached down, retrieved the cucumbers from my nail tech’s head, and placed them back on my eyes. Under my breath, I said the ancient Sanskrit word my yoga teacher had taught me to use as a mantra during times of stress. “Om. Om. Om.”
Nothingness. Nothingness. Nothingness.
How appropriate. If seeing Willow on her wedding day didn’t count as stress, nothing did.
The problem with small towns like Wickford was the lack of services. Maggie owned the only day spa in the county. I knew, when I booked the appointment, we might run into the bridal party, but Sarah assured me their appointments were at noon. She’d promised to have us finished long before their arrival. Not the case. I never dreamed Willow would drag herself from Phillip’s bed before seven in the morning.
Michelle touched my arm. “Mom, they’re gone.”
I removed one cucumber. “As in left the building?”
Michelle sighed. “No, Maggie herded them to the back.”
“That’s better than nothing.” I peeked at my phone and saw I’d missed a call and a text from Alder—Detective Case Alder. Unusual in that, he rarely texted. He hadn’t left a voice mail, so I checked the text.
Alder: Need to talk to you. XO
After Phillip walked out, I’d put up a barrier, determined not to allow myself to depend on anyone for anything. When I met Alder, shortly after Phillip left, there had been an instant connection that I’d fought as long as possible. Alder had broken down those walls. I finally trusted myself to maintain my independence yet be in a relationship with someone who viewed me as an equal—something missing in my marriage.
To say I loved Alder was premature, but I had feelings for him. He had divorced many years ago and had qualms about getting married again, and I had reservations about being in a non-committed relationship. But after my divorce, I threw caution to the wind and chose to have fun. After a little convincing, anyway. Whether or not it ended in marriage no longer mattered. I enjoyed his company, and he enjoyed mine.
I wondered what he wanted. He rarely sent a text message, so I was curious. My fingers were poised to send a reply when I heard a smooching noise and glanced at my daughter who was making kissy faces at me.
“I thought this was our time together,” Michelle whined. “Can’t you ignore Detective Studmuffin for a couple of hours? First Dad, now you. I guess the next thing is you’ll get married.”
I rolled my eyes and slid my phone into my purse. She was right. Alder could wait. “Happy now?”
She gave me a thumbs-up.
A harried-looking man with a duffel bag and two cameras slung around his neck struggled through the front door. “Where’s the wedding party?” he asked in a loud voice.
Maggie headed him off at the reception desk and led him back to the massage area.
I stared in disbelief. A photographer to shoot a massage session?
Sarah arrived with what looked like alcohol and hopefully non-alcohol for Michelle. “Mimosa?” she asked, handing one to me. “And virgin mimosa. Don’t tell anyone. Maggie swiped them off the tray Willow’s caterer is serving. She feels bad but hopes this will help—considering the circumstance.”
Michelle waved away the drink. “No thanks. Water is fine for me.”
“Willow’s having her spa day catered?” I asked, staring toward the back. “With a caterer, a photographer, and virgin mimosas?” Non-alcoholic drinks for someone in the wedding party only meant one thing. My best friend, Angie, loved wine, and only one thing prevented her from having a nice chardonnay—pregnancy.
Why else would Willow be serving virgin mimosas? My stomach clenched at the thought that Willow might be pregnant with Phillip’s child. I snuck a peek at Michelle and hoped she hadn’t come to the same conclusion. It was bad enough her dad was marrying a woman the same age as her sister. If Phillip, at fifty, couldn’t keep his girlfriend from getting pregnant, there was no hope for the man.
I grabbed the mimosa and took a big mouthful.
Sarah nodded. “Photographing massages is a first for us. I would have warned you about them coming in, but I didn’t know. Willow called last night and twisted Maggie’s arm to let them come in earlier with the caterer. I didn’t put your appointment on the books, so Maggie didn’t know you’d be here. She feels horrible and said to tell you she’ll comp your appointments.”
I waved my hand. “Don’t worry about it.” So much for a stress-free morning. “Let’s get this finished.”
“Maggie said to remind you about cleaning Sunday and Monday,” Sarah said.
Word of mouth about my cleaning business had spread, and for the first time, Maggie hired me to deep clean the day spa. Her normal crew booked a previous commitment. Since she always closed two days a week, it gave me and my assistant, Nancy, the perfect amount of time to get this place spotless. “We’ll be here nice and early tomorrow morning.”
Sarah smiled. “I’ll tell her. She left the key at the front desk for you. She also left a gift certificate for another visit, so remember to pick them up before you leave today.”
* * *
We had settled in for our facials—anti-aging for me and aromatherapy for Michelle—when the door burst open.
I opened my eyes and saw Willow standing in the doorway.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” my esthetician said to the intruder. “I’m with a client.”
Willow wrung her hands. “I’m sorry, but I need to talk to Cece.”
I shot to a sitting position. “Are you freaking kidding me? It’s bad enough you’re marrying my ex-husband; now you have the nerve to interrupt my bit of solitude with my daughter.” I wadded up the towel I’d been using as a pillow and threw it at her. “Get out.”
Willow recoiled when the towel hit her but stood her ground. “You can be mad. I totally get it, but I need your help. Kayla, my maid of honor, is sick, and I need to know if you have anything to settle her stomach.”
“A dozen people in this spa, and you ask me. You’ve got some nerve. Get a life. And not mine.” I scooted off the table and wrapped my robe tighter around me. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the woman wearing the maid of honor sash stagger across the room and lunge for the closest trash can.
Settle her stomach, my eye. If I had to guess, mimosas at 7 a.m. or the bachelorette party played a part in the maid of honor’s illness. Hazel’s eyes would bug out of her head when Willow and her band of drunken bridesmaids stumbled into the country club. Yes, I would pay money to witness it. And Hazel, my former mother-in-law, accused me of being an embarrassment to the Cavanaugh family. She ain’t seen nothing yet.
The other bridesmaids closed ranks on the sick one, shielding her from the prying eyes of the other customers.
My nurturing instinct rose to the surface. Then I saw that the crowd had turned their attention to the showdown between the former Mrs. Phillip Cavanaugh and the soon-to-be Mrs. Phillip Cavanaugh. I squashed my instinct. Rumor and gossip reigned supreme in Wickford, Missouri, and this confrontation was the equivalent of the showdown at the O.K. Corral.
“Why are you all gawking?” I screamed at the onlookers. “Find something better to occupy your time.”
Willow flinched but stepped closer. “It hit her so fast. I remembered Phillip saying you used to be a nurse and thought—”
“You thought wrong. Get out before I do something that you can’t cover with makeup.” I gave her a gentle nudge and slammed the door. As the door swung closed, I saw the mob snapping photo after photo with their cell phones.
Tomorrow morning our daily gossip column would contain at least one photo of me with my head wrapped in a towel, my mouth gaping, and my cheeks flaming red from the hot flash searing through my body. My luck, the photo would be full color. Who knew what the caption would read?
I closed my eyes to collect my thoughts. Embarrassment and humiliation descended around me like a cloak. How did I justify my outburst to Michelle? Several thoughts, defenses, and explanations toyed with my tongue, but none excused my behavior.
Take a breath. Remember why you’re here. This day wasn’t about Willow. It wasn’t about Phillip. It was about me and Michelle strengthening our relationship. It was about me helping my daughter through a tough time. I could do this for her. I could set aside my disdain for Willow and all she stood for and concentrate on my girl.
Screw the gossip column and the rumormongers who wanted something to distract them from their boring lives.
A noise behind me interrupted my deliberations.
When I turned around ready to defend my actions, I saw Michelle sitting on the edge of the bed swinging her legs and clapping. “Way to go, Mom. I thought you were going to punch her. Too bad Jessie didn’t see this. Now can I skip the wedding?”
