You Say It First

“She is. Gerald and I had Pallas in common, as well. We needed her and she needed us.” He sighed dramatically. “I’ve only met her brother once and he seemed decent enough, but her mother... Have you met Libby?”

“Not yet.”

“Brace yourself. On the surface she’s oh-so proper, but underneath, she’s a total bitch. At least to her daughter. I mean seriously, what’s up with all the rules? I keep telling Pallas to stand up to her. That once she does, all will be well, but she doesn’t believe me. Not a surprise. It’s easy to tell someone else what to do and more difficult when you’re the one who has to do it.”

“Families are complicated,” Nick said, thinking of his own troubled relationship with his famous father.

“They are. What I can’t figure out is why Libby resents Pallas so much.”

“You think that’s why she’s always on her?”

“It’s the only explanation. That or Libby hates her own daughter and trust me, no one wants to go there. My guess is there’s some deep dark secret in Libby’s past. Maybe her mother resented her and she’s just passing it on. We’ll probably never know. Gerald and I would run interference when we could.”

“I’m sure it helped.”

“I hope so.” He glanced at Nick. “So what’s your story?”

“I’m waiting to hear on a commission in Dubai. If I get it, I’ll work there for two years.”

“I wonder if I’d like Dubai.” He considered the thought for a moment. “If you move there, I’ll come visit and decide for myself.”

Nick had no idea what to say to that. “Ah, sure. Great.”

Alan winked. “If you could see your face. All right, my little woodcarver friend. I’ll leave you to it. And if you see Libby approaching, throw water. I’m fairly confident she’ll melt.”

* * *

WEDNESDAY PALLAS LEFT work early as she did every week. It was her night to get together with her friends. In a town that catered to weddings, no one had weekends off. With the exception of high school football games and Sunday morning church services, almost nothing social happened Thursday through Sunday. Everyone was too busy supporting the weddings that kept the town coffers full.

She drove north to the Rio de los Sueños and across the Transfer Bridge. Not only was the rhythm of the town affected by the dominant industry, but so were most of the local businesses and even street names. She lived in a neighborhood referred to as The Arcs. To the west was Honor Arc, to the east, Love Arc. There were streets named Serenity Boulevard and Hope Chest Drive. And if anyone found that really, really annoying, she could cheerfully inform them it was her grandfather’s fault.

She was still smiling when she turned onto her street. She lived in a small Spanish-style bungalow. When she’d first come back to Happily Inc after her college failure, she’d had to find a permanent place to live. Moving home with Mom had been out of the question. Along with a job offer, Gerald had told her about the bungalow and she’d become both his employee and his tenant. When he’d died last January, in addition to the business, he’d left her the small property.

His generosity still astounded her and she felt guilty for not appreciating him more when he’d been alive. All her life she’d been taught that love and one’s place in the family had to be earned. But not with Gerald. He’d loved her and had expected nothing in return.

Pallas parked in her narrow driveway. She looked at the sky and whispered a brief prayer of thanks for the man who had believed in her, then got out of her car and headed for the front door.

Twenty minutes later she had the French doors open to her walled garden. She’d already cut up the rotisserie chickens she’d bought at the grocery store for her curried chicken salad sweetened with mango chutney. She’d bought mini quiches to bake and a veggie plate with ranch dressing. Her friends expected good company, not home cooking.

When the salad was finished, she put it in the refrigerator, and then began cutting up grapes and kiwi for her chardonnay-based sangria. She set up her large drink dispenser that had a drop-in ice container to keep the liquid cold without diluting it. She put out glasses and plates on the small island in her kitchen, then stuck her phone on the docking station that was attached to the speakers in her living room. Seconds later, music began to play.

She glanced at the clock and saw she still had a few minutes before everyone started to arrive. She changed into white jeans and a lime-green cotton shirt, then slipped on espadrilles. As she returned to the living room, she heard someone walking up her front path.

Her girlfriend squad had six members. Carol, Violet, Natalie, Silver and Wynn. She’d known Silver and Wynn all her life. Wynn was a couple of years older, but Silver and Pallas had been friends all through school.

Carol and Violet were sisters. They’d moved to Happily Inc about three years ago. Natalie was the newest member—she’d been in town a little over a year. Pallas had first met Natalie when she’d been a bride. One horrific wedding disaster later, Natalie was single again and working for Atsuko at the gallery—a few weeks after that, Wynn had brought her to a girlfriend dinner and the rest was history.

Pallas opened the front door and smiled when she saw Carol about to knock.

“Hi, you,” she said, and hugged her friend.

“Hello, yourself.” Carol held out a container full of cookies. “I semibaked. They’re refrigerator sugar cookies, so technically an oven was involved. And I iced them.”

“You’re practically a Food Network star.”

“Tell me about it,” Carol said as she entered the small house. “I keep saying no to my own show, but they won’t stop bugging me. It’s getting embarrassing.”

Carol was tall, about five foot ten, with short red hair. She was strong and sensible. Her idea of glamor was jeans and a blouse rather than her usual uniform of khaki cargo pants and a T-shirt. She didn’t wear much makeup or bother with jewelry. Pallas frequently wondered how much of that was Carol’s personality and how much of it was necessitated by her career.

Carol worked for the animal preserve outside of town. She was in charge of the various animals—taking care of them, making sure they had what they needed. When she’d been two, her parents had moved to South Africa to live on a preserve. After their parents’ divorce, she and Violet had split their time between the preserve and New York City.

Pallas led the way into the kitchen. She put the cookies on the counter and got the oven started, then poured sangria for them both. They walked out onto the back patio.

Pallas frequently thought the garden was the best part of the bungalow. It was walled, with a trellis, and covered with climbing and creeping plants. She didn’t have to do much other than make sure the drip watering system was working and trim off a stray shoot or two. In return she had purple and pink flowers nearly all year long. There was a small gas fireplace when the evenings got chilly and enough privacy that she could dance around naked if she wanted, without anyone ever seeing.

Not that she did. She’d never been the dance-around-naked type.

“How are things?” Carol asked when they were seated on the covered patio.

“Good. Busy. Wedding season is ramping up. You know how we all get. What’s going on with you? Did your giraffe arrive?”

Because last week Carol had been excited about the arrival of a new-to-the-animal-park giraffe.

“Millie’s here and she’s settling in.” Carol didn’t sound all that happy.

“What?” Pallas asked.

“I can’t figure out if she’s having trouble adjusting or if she’s not feeling well. She seems off.”

“No giraffe laughter?”

Carol smiled. “There is that. She’s eating, but not as much as she should. I know it’s hard for the animals to adjust to a new location. They don’t understand what’s happening and why everything familiar to them is gone. I wish I could talk to her.”

Before Pallas could comment, she heard a voice from inside the house. She stood and turned to see Violet and Natalie walking in together.

Violet looked a lot like her sister—tall and redheaded—but the similarities ended there. While Carol dressed for comfort, Violet was all about style. She was an expert with a sewing machine and could transform the plain into the extraordinary. She believed in accessories, being girlie and making a statement. Her hair was long and curly, her makeup impressive.

Natalie was a petite brunette with big brown eyes. She also had her own style, but while Violet was cutting-edge chic, Natalie was more bohemian with an Earth Mother chaser. Her glasses were bright red, her maxi dress a patchwork of color. She wore a necklace made of metal shapes that were probably rescued from the local recycling center and each of her brightly painted toes sported a different geometric design.

Pallas got everyone drinks. Natalie had brought brownies, which meant they would have plenty of sugar to finish their meal. Always a good thing. She’d barely finished filling glasses when the final two arrived.

Wynn was a curvy woman with long black hair. Her mixed-race heritage had gifted her with killer cheekbones and a dark olive complexion. She was a couple of years older than the rest of them, with a ten-year-old son. Silver was tall and true to her name, a platinum blonde. Her wild streak was reflected in both her tattoos and her career choice. Silver owned a fifth wheel trailer she’d converted into a traveling bar called AlcoHaul. The party on wheels was popular with brides, not only because Silver was good at her job but because she got into whatever theme the bride had requested—dressing in costume, tailoring the drinks menu and frequently dazzling with the perfect signature cocktail.

Mini cheesecakes were added to the dessert collection. Everyone got a glass of sangria before heading out to the patio. When they were seated, Violet turned to Pallas.

“I have a lot of ideas for the black-and-white wedding. Easy ways we can transform the courtyard without spending a lot. I’ve been working on modifications for the servers’ outfits, too.”

Pallas groaned. “Why did I agree to her idea? It’s already going to be a nightmare.”