Chapter One
In all four chambers of her practical heart, Camille
Delonga believed that one of the surest ways of blowing a
considerable pile of money was to hitch a girl's dream
onto the six-foot train of a woman's wedding dress. The
proof of her sentiment, in all its floral-scented glory,
lay before her as she and her mother waited to be ushered
to their seats in church. There the children of her friend
for life, Bridget Mayfield, had been baptized.
Camille had dutifully been there for both babies. The
first one had yowled like a tomcat on the make, and
Camille recalled wondering how Bridget could live with
that noise. The second, who would soon be walking down the
aisle in a different sort of white dress from the one
she'd worn over twenty years ago, had taken to her
christening spotlight like a Christmas cherub. By then
babies were looking downright darling to Camille, as were
her own beach-ball belly and the bad boy who'd promised to
be her mate for life. Soon the belly had deflated. Later
the promise. But the beginnings had been glorious, filled,
in the way of beginnings, with soft colors, summer
flowers, and much music. Way too much music.
In the last year Camille had heard more about the details
and the worries and the changes in the plans for Lauren's
wedding than she cared to remember. But today, like the
day of Lauren's first name-giving, all was right with the
world. Bridget and Camille had seen each other through
some thickheaded and thin-skinned times, and they were
still friends. Bridget was the one who enjoyed playing in
money. Camille preferred to put it to work, but she
enjoyed seeing how Bridget's spending played out. Bridget
called Camille a vicarious shopper, but neither saw
anything wrong with that. They balanced, often beautifully.
Mother of the bride had been Bridget's best role ever.
Every phone call began with a wedding update. She offered
a wedding monologue every time they had lunch with Ellie
Terrell, the third leg of their girlfriend tripod. Bridget
would be soaring over some great wedding find one week and
suffering over some perceived loss the next. "In for a
penny, in for a pound" had become Bridget's mantra. In for
a pile of bills, Camille thought, and she'd said as much,
because they were friends.
Not that her opinion on this particular matter counted
with Bridget, but thank God it counted with Jordan. "You
don't need to be the princess bride," Camille had told her
daughter a time or ten. "When your turn comes, have a
small, tasteful ceremony, a party for close family and
friends, and put the money you save toward a house."
Jordan always agreed, if tacitly. After all, no objection
was as good as an agreement. Jordan could be quite
sensible when she put her mind to it, which she often did
these days. True, she hadn't stuck it out in college, but
she had a good head on her shoulders. She could be
anything she wanted to be, just as soon as she decided
what that was. Camille had no reservations about putting
all her pennies and pounds into her daughter's education,
even when Jordan had dropped out. Education was never a
waste.
"Mrs. Burke, Mrs. Delonga, you both look beautiful." Usher
James Mayfield greeted them with a killer smile. "I've
saved you two ladies the best seats in the house."
Camille tried to remember how long it had been since the
bride's older brother had left home. He had known her as
Mrs. Burke when he was growing up, but she'd reclaimed her
maiden name after her divorce. James must have been in
college by then. Bridget's kids had always been such good
manner-minders, which somehow irritated Camille enough to
want to correct James's error on the spot. But she beat
down the urge. Both of Bridget's children had finished
college. Ever-polite college graduates. Your basic other
people's kids.
"You look like a million bucks in that tux, young man,"
said Rosemary Delonga as she took James's arm. "I suppose
you've noticed how nicely my granddaughter has filled out."
Over the top of Rosemary's new platinum blond wig, James
sent Camille a sweet, sheepish look. "Yes, ma'am, I surely
have."
Camille smiled as they walked down the aisle to the
strains of a string quartet. "How long will you be home?"
"Indefinitely," James whispered. "I'm moving back to the
Cities. How's this?"
Seats on the aisle. Perfect. Camille went in first so that
her mother would have the best view. "How're you doing,
Mama? Feeling okay?"
"This is one of my favorite concertos. The musicians are
good."
"They ought to be. They belong to the St. Paul Chamber
Orchestra."
"Bridget has good taste." Rosemary settled back in the oak
pew and opened the vellum program. "I just love weddings."
Since when? Camille wondered. She could count the weddings
she'd attended with her mother on half a hand. The last
that came to mind was her brother Matt's wedding. She'd
been newly married herself then, but Creed had been on the
road with his band and she'd attended without him. Camille
had spent most of the reception with Mama and her friends,
pretending she didn't notice that they were pretending not
to wonder whether she had any regrets yet.
But before Matt's wedding, the Delongas had rarely
proclaimed themselves the marrying kind. Mama had taken
Camille to an older cousin's wedding when she was about
ten or twelve. She remembered being the only kid among the
few family members in attendance ...
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