Page 17 of The Wedding Run
“I’m afraid I may have ruined it.”
Mom examines the hem. “Nothing that can’t be fixed.”
“Mom’s a seamstress,” I explain.
“Mr. and Mrs. Maine, thank you for inviting me to stay. I don’t want to be a burden or put you in an awkward situation with Derek.”
“We’re glad to have you,” they say, almost in unison, smiling at each other. I suppose after thirty years of marriage, they've begun to sound alike.
“Call me Wade.”
“And I’m Stacy.” Mom goes on to say, “Truth be told, we love Derek, but he can be a toot. Can’t he, Luke?”
I nod at the truth of it.
“And don’t you worry,” Mom confides, “I’ve said that to his face. So, he knows.”
A smile tugs at the corner of Libby’s mouth. “I’m thinking he’s saying the same about me.”
“Is that from Once Upon a Pie?” Wade asks, eyeing the package in my hand.
“Help yourself.” I hand it over. “I had Crystal add a slice of rhubarb pie for you.”
Wade takes the package. “That’s my boy.”
“Come on, let’s get you inside.” Mom holds the massive skirt as Libby climbs the brick steps. “I have some of my daughter’s clothes that should fit you fine.”
My cell phone rings, and I hang back to answer, assured that Mom will take Libby under her wing.
But Libby’s gaze tracks me. “Is that Derek?”
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll take care of it.”
I head into the yard to take the call. I don’t like being caught in the middle, feeling pulled in multiple directions, and fighting my instincts. It will be better for all concerned when Libby returns to Atlanta. And I can return to my quiet life.
CHAPTER 8
Libby
Dressed in Luke’s sister’s faded jeans and a T-shirt that advertises a feed store, I make my way to the kitchen, glancing at an assortment of family photos lining the walls. Alongside the portraits are framed paintings reminiscent of Van Gogh, featuring thick, heavy strokes of bright colors. The artist signed ‘S. Maine’ in the lower right corner of each painting.
In the cheerful yellow kitchen, I find Stacy and Wade.
“Oh good,” Stacy says, seeing me. “Come sit down. I was about to serve pie. The slices are too big for one serving.”
“I could eat the whole thing,” Wade volunteers.
"Could and should are two different things," Stacy says, tsking at her husband in a playful manner. “Would you like a big piece, Libby, or what I call watching-my-weight sliver?”
“Actually, I’m still full from lunch, but please go ahead.”
“I understand.” Stacy offers a sympathetic smile. “Sometimes when there’s much on the mind, the stomach would rather stay empty. There’s plenty if you get a hankering in the middle of the night. Don’t be shy. Make yourself at home.”
She slices and serves Wade, who doesn’t hesitate to dig in.
I settle into a wooden chair at the table. “I wonder what my sisters did with the wedding cake,” I muse aloud. The beginningof a headache pinches my temples. “It was so beautiful. I hate to think of it going to waste.”
“I’m sure your sisters are taking care of everything. Is there anything I can do to help you?" Stacy asks. "Would you like me to draw you a bath?”
