Save The Date Part 7

"Whatever," Jack said. "I better get back to Shaz. She's been penned up in a crate at the vet's office all night, and right now she's probably not too happy with me either."

"Thank you for bringing Poppy back," Cara said coolly. "She's home now, and that's all that matters."

"Have you had her microchipped?" Jack asked.

"No. I keep meaning to, but running my own business..."

"You should do it right away, especially since she seems to be such an escape artist," he suggested.

"I know how to take care of my own dog," Cara said, bristling. "Maybe you should do a better job of taking care of your own, especially since she got all the way to Abercorn and Victory."

"Riiight." Jack's lips were clamped tightly in anger. "Anyway, see ya."

She took great satisfaction in slamming the door in his face. "Not if I see you first, jerk," she muttered. Poppy whined, and Cara knelt down on the floor and hugged her tightly. "Don't ever do that again, you hear me?"

Still kneeling, she gazed out the sidelights as Jack walked rapidly down Jones Street.

"Horrible man," she told Poppy. "I feel sorry for his real dog. No wonder she ran away from home."

She sniffed the top of Poppy's head and scratched under her chin. In addition to her puppy smell and the special rose-scented dog shampoo Cara bathed her with, there was a whiff of something else. Cara sniffed again, and recognized the scent.

"Sawdust?" she said, wrinkling her nose and holding Poppy at arm's length. "Really?"

9.

There were days when Cara hated Savannah. No matter its lofty ambitions of being the Paris of the South, Savannah was still a very small town. Everybody who counted in the town's complicated social structure knew everybody else-and their business.

She chafed at Savannah's insularity, its petty small-town politics, and its collective suspicion of anything or anybody new or "from away." She'd tried hard to lose what she thought was only a faint Midwestern accent, but whenever she spoke to a local they invariably demanded to know where she was from.

On the other hand, sometimes that economy of scale worked in her favor. It had taken months for word of mouth to spread about Cara's flowers, and even then, it had only happened courtesy of a timid little bride named Kristin Marie Manley.

Somehow, Kristin had stumbled across Cara's cluttered little flower shop, back when she was still transitioning from Flowers by Norma. She hadn't even put up her pink and white awning, or changed the sign, so as far as the world knew, good old Norma Poole was still turning out big, bunchy arrangements of gladiolus and leatherleaf ferns.

Kristin was newly engaged to the son of a prominent Savannah banker. She'd been raised by her widower father, and the two of them were clueless about what was involved in putting on a big society wedding. So Cara had taken her in hand, spent hours and hours with her, and with a laughably spare budget had still managed to pull off one of the prettiest, most meaningful weddings she had ever planned.

As luck would have it, Kristin's new mother-in-law, Vicki Cooper, loved the flowers she'd done for her son's wedding, and absolutely adored Cara. Vicki was on the board of half a dozen Savannah charities and foundations, and within a year of Kristin's wedding to Cason Cooper, thanks to Vicki, Bloom was finally, slowly, starting to blossom.

Vicki, bless her generous, loudmouthed soul, was the gift that kept on giving.

Torie Fanning had been a Vicki connection-and on this steamy Monday morning in May, Cara had an appointment with yet another of Vicki's acquaintances.

Cara had heard from Vicki just the previous week. As usual, Vicki was on her way to yet another of her endless meetings.

"Listen, Cara, sugar, you're going to be hearing from a dear friend of mine, and I just want to give you a heads-up. Marie Trapnell's daughter Brooke just got engaged to the oldest Strayhorn boy, Harris. You know the Strayhorns, right?"

"Mmm, the name is familiar. Do they have something to do with s.h.i.+pping?"

"You could say that. Honey, Mitch.e.l.l Strayhorn is Strayhorn s.h.i.+pping. And of course, the Trapnells have been around Savannah since forever. I adore Marie Trapnell, and I know you'll be extra nice to her, 'cause she's goin' through kind of a hard time right now. Okay? Gotta scoot. Stay sweet, you hear?"

Cara fixed a pitcher of geranium-scented iced tea, filled two tumblers with ice, and arranged a few sugar cookies on a silver tray on her worktable. She placed her photo alb.u.m on the table, then went over to the cooler and grabbed a handful of flowers-some daisies, a sprig of blue verbena, and some red bee balm. These she clipped and stuffed in the sterling bud vase that had been her grandmother's.

The bells on the shop door tinkled, and a pale, nervous-looking woman stood looking uncertainly around the room.

"Mrs. Trapnell?" Cara hurried toward her, but Poppy bounded into the room, nearly knocking the poor woman on her b.u.t.t.

"Poppy, down!" Cara cried. "Bad girl!"

"Oh, she's all right," the woman said, her voice soft. She stroked Poppy's ears and looked up at Cara. "What a beautiful dog. What breed is she?"

"She's a goldendoodle. A very disobedient, undisciplined cross between what's called a cream English golden retriever and a standard poodle," Cara said. "But please don't judge the breed by Poppy. I'm afraid I haven't been very effective at training her."

"She's just high-spirited, is all." The woman extended her hand. "I'm Marie Trapnell. Vicki Cooper's friend? And you're Cara-how do I p.r.o.nounce your last name?"

"'Krizzik'-the 'y' is soft," Cara said. "It's always good to meet one of Vicki's friends, Mrs. Trapnell. She seems to know everybody in Savannah, doesn't she?"

"Please, call me Marie. Yes, Vicki does know an astonis.h.i.+ng number of people. I don't know how she juggles all her charitable and social commitments. I get exhausted just looking at one week of her calendar."

Cara guided Marie Trapnell to the worktable, seated her, and poured two gla.s.ses of iced tea.

"So," she said, once Marie seemed comfortable. "Vicki tells me your daughter just got engaged. What an exciting time for you."

Marie's face flushed softly with happiness. Now that she was sitting across the table from her, Cara realized the mother of the bride was probably much younger than she'd initially estimated. She was fair-complected, with intelligent brown eyes, a short, straight nose, and poker-straight shoulder-length graying brown hair pushed back from her high forehead with a tortoisesh.e.l.l hair band. Her clothes were obviously expensive-a little nothing sleeveless cotton s.h.i.+ft in a sedate pastel print, low-heeled pumps, and a Ferragamo handbag. She wore pearl stud earrings, but no other jewelry.

"Brooke wanted to come with me to meet you, but she had a client meeting she couldn't get out of. She's a second-year a.s.sociate at Farrell Wynant Hanrahan," Marie said.

"Have they set the wedding date?" Cara asked, opening her day planner.

"Oh yes," Marie said. "And that's what's giving me heart palpitations. They're getting married in less than eight weeks."

"Oh my," Cara said. "That doesn't give us much time, does it?"

"It gives me no time," Marie agreed. "I've tried and tried to get Brooke and Harris to move the date at least to October, but Harris is adamant. July sixth it is, and he refuses to discuss any other date."

"Well..." Cara turned to the July page of her calendar. She had weddings every Sat.u.r.day of the month, and several big debutante parties later that month. But a big black X had been drawn through the notes she'd scribbled there.

"Ahh, yes," Cara said, tapping the X with a fingertip. "I did have a wedding scheduled on the sixth, but I'm afraid it's been called off."

"Oh." Marie looked startled. "Oh, how sad."

Marie would never know just how sad Cara was about that canceled wedding. Hannah Draper's daddy had major bucks, and only one daughter. But just two weeks earlier, Hannah had come home from her senior year at Wellesley and announced a change of plans. Hannah, it seemed, had discovered her true s.e.xual leanings, and was deliriously in love with her field-hockey coach.

Thank G.o.d, Cara was thinking, she'd been firm about that nonrefundable fifty percent deposit on the flowers. And thank G.o.d, again, that this new bride wanted the only open Sat.u.r.day she had for July.

"Was your daughter able to book a church on such short notice?" Cara knew that all the big downtown churches, Christ Church, Independent Presbyterian, St. John's Episcopal, Wesley Monumental, First Baptist, and the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist, were all always booked up for summer weddings as far as two years in advance. She knew of at least one bride, Leigh-Anne Grady, whose mother had booked her wedding at Christ Church two months before dear Leigh-Anne had actually gotten engaged.

Marie fiddled with one of her pearl earrings. "The church isn't the problem. We're actually going to have the ceremony and the reception at Cabin Creek-the Strayhorns' plantation in South Carolina."

"Ahh," Cara said, trying to contain her excitement. She'd seen photos of Cabin Creek in numerous magazines. It was a working rice plantation on twelve hundred acres, just across the river from Savannah. From the photographs it looked like the main house would make Tara look like a bait shack.

In her mind, Cara was already designing the flower arrangements for Cabin Creek's high-ceilinged entrance hall. She'd have to meet the bride very soon, to discover her flower and color preferences. Was she a brunette like her mother?

"Um, Cara?"

"Oh, sorry. Marie, I've got so many questions. When do you think Brooke will be available to meet with me? And what about Harris? And his mother? Since it's their home, will they want to be consulted?"

"Harris?" Marie looked blank. "Do you usually talk to the grooms? I guess it didn't occur to me...."

"It just depends on the couple. Some grooms like to be consulted on every detail of the event, while with others-and I will say this is the majority-all they care about is what kind of beer is served at the reception."

"Well, uh, Harris probably falls into the latter group," Marie said. "Anyway, he travels a good bit for business, and according to Brooke, all he cares about is that everything is tasteful. Libba Strayhorn, that's Harris's mother, has already said she's happy for me to plan everything." She gave Cara a dubious shrug. "Libba is very horsey. According to Harris, she'd live in the stables at Cabin Creek if she could."

"I have to admit, it's sort of overwhelming," Marie went on. "I've never had to plan a wedding before. I eloped, you see. Anyway, I'd really hoped Brooke could join us this morning. To tell you the truth, I didn't even know where to begin. I was just talking to Vicki about that last week-we're both on the literacy-council board, and she insisted that you would be the perfect person to help us."

"Vicki has been very kind to me," Cara said. "I've done weddings for several of her friends in town."

"That's what she said. In fact, I was at Torie Fanning's wedding Sat.u.r.day night. I thought everything was absolutely beautiful."

"I'm glad," Cara said. "Maybe we could start there. Was there anything in particular at Torie's wedding that you liked-or even disliked?"

"Well ... I loved all those hydrangeas. So old-fas.h.i.+oned. But Brooke is a very modern girl. I'm not sure she'd share my opinion."

Cara flipped open the cover of her photo alb.u.m. "These are photos of some of my weddings over the past few years. Most of these are in my portfolio on my website, so hopefully, you and Brooke could look through it and see if there are any flowers or styles or colors that speak to you."

Marie nodded. "That sounds like a good idea. All I have to do is manage to get Brooke to slow down for an hour or so to think about the wedding."

"What about her gown?" Cara asked. "It would be helpful if I had a photo of it-and also of her bridesmaids' gowns."

"Her gown." Marie said it like a sigh. "She hasn't bought one yet."

"Really?" Cara raised one eyebrow. "Is she aware that it can take as long as three months to order a gown, get it delivered and fitted?"

"How well I know," Marie said. "This daughter of mine-she can be unbelievably stubborn. She's looked in magazines, shopped in Atlanta, tried on dozens and dozens of gowns, but so far she says the dress-the magic dress, she calls it-hasn't grabbed her. I want to grab her-around the throat," she said apologetically.

"Can she wear a dress off the rack?" Cara asked, which was a tactful way of asking if the MIA bride was a standard size.

"She's a size six, so I don't think it will be too hard to fit her," Marie said. "But I'd feel so much better if she could just choose something ... anything."

Cara scribbled a note to herself on her notepad, then looked back at Marie. "Bridesmaids? How many?"

"One. Just one maid of honor. Harris's sister Holly."

"Does Holly have a dress? Do we know what color?"

Marie rolled her eyes. "Brown. For a July wedding. It seems all wrong to me. Does a brown dress sound as awful to you as it does to me?"

"Wellll..." Cara flipped a couple of pages of the photo alb.u.m. "It depends on how brown the brown dress is. For instance, the right shade can be flattering-and brown is a wonderful foil for pale pink flowers." She tapped a fingertip on a photo of a wedding she'd done the previous October. "See?"

Marie opened the gold clasp of her pocketbook, pulled out a pair of horn-rimmed reading gla.s.ses, and peered down at the photo. "Oh. Hmm. But this was a fall wedding, wasn't it? And the girl-the bridesmaid-she was a blond. Holly is a strawberry blond."

"You've got a point there," Cara said. "But can you talk Brooke and Holly out of a brown dress for a July wedding?"

"Probably not."

"Then we'll figure out a way to make it work."

Marie smiled and closed the book. "Vicki was right. I do like you." She bit her lip and looked out the window of the shop.

"But?" Cara asked, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"It's not up to me. Not completely."

"Of course, I understand totally," Cara said. "When do you think Brooke can make time to meet with me?"

"Not Brooke," Marie said quietly. "Her father."

10.

Marie Trapnell was flipping the pages of the wedding photo alb.u.m, avoiding Cara's eyes.

"Gordon-my ex-husband-has been very clear that he wants to be completely involved in the planning of Brooke's wedding."

"That's very ... sweet," Cara said, trying to tread carefully. "I guess he and Brooke must be very close?"

"At one time Brooke was an absolute daddy's girl. Since the divorce, well, Brooke is conflicted. She feels loyalty to me, I think, and she's still angry at her father. And her new stepmother."

Marie's eyes flickered with something resembling emotion. "We are all still angry at Gordon. Nevertheless, Gordon is adamant that if he is to pay for this wedding he has to have complete veto power."

"I see." Cara had done lots of weddings for brides and grooms with divorced parents. It was never particularly easy, but the upcoming Trapnell-Strayhorn nuptials were already sounding like a major pain in the posterior.

"Would your ex-husband like to meet with me? Or would he prefer to wait until we come up with some kind of a proposal and a budget?"

Marie was fidgeting with her other earring now. "I should warn you, Gordon is interviewing other florists. He seems to think that's how you plan a wedding. Brooke has tried to reason with him, but, well, Gordon does things his own way."

"I appreciate your letting me know that." Cara closed the photo alb.u.m. "To be honest, Marie, I have a pretty busy summer coming up. I appreciate your honesty, and your interest in working with me, but if your ex wants to hire somebody else, well, maybe I'm not the right person for you."