boys decided not to come into our business.”
I reached out and held on to his arm. “I was thinking the very same thing.”
“Great minds run in the same direction,” he said with satisfaction.
It’s a pity those two great minds could drive all the way home without a single premonition.
When we got home, he paused at the door to the den. “You wanna watch a little TV?”
“Might as well. But let’s get out of these wet clothes first.” We put on our pajamas, he settled in his recliner, and I snuggled under an afghan to watch a couple of mindless shows.
I hauled myself erect around eleven, but Joe Riddley said, “Wait for the weather.”
“Go look at the sky. Your guess is as good as Marilee’s.”
I have long maintained that when the weather people say “twenty percent chance of rain,” it means they’ve called ten friends and two voted for rain. Seems to me that most meteorologists are accurate about as often as astrologers.
However, because staying was easier and cosier than going, I settled back to see what Marilee read in the cloud-covered stars for tomorrow.
Joe Riddley peered at the screen. “Does she look a little frazzled to you?”
“A bit. Her skirt’s crooked and her hair could use some brushing. Of course, it generally looks like she just came out of a wind tunnel, but tonight it seems more haphazard than usual.”
“She must have driven back to Augusta too late to allow herself time to get fixed up.” He rested his head and prepared to listen to his favorite oracle. He particularly liked the end of her program, when she’d recently started giving friendly little messages.
That night Marilee seemed not only frazzled, but rattled. She may have had one too many margaritas, because she burbled a couple of words and once put up the wrong slide for what she was talking about. Finally, though, she wound up with a summary and concluded, with a charming smile, “Well, I know we’re having a bit of stormy weather right now, but it’s not going to last much longer. Everything’s going to be fine. You have a great day tomorrow, now, you hear me?”
Joe Riddley went upstairs as satisfied as if she’d been talking directly to him.
I slipped into bed to the sound of steady rain on our tin porch roof.
6
Bless Marilee’s heart, the sun did come up beaming Saturday for Maynard and Selena’s wedding, and at ten-thirty, St. Philip Episcopal was respectably full. Selena’s parents had left their old home and retired to Florida, so she’d decided to get married in the church she and Maynard planned to attend the rest of their lives. Folks who’d helped raise Maynard were delighted, of course, and so was the chamber of commerce. The big motel up on I-20 and every bed and breakfast in town were packed with out-of-town guests.
Hubert, Maynard’s daddy, had bathed for the occasion, which was an occasion in itself. He was a short, plump little man with a pink face, and he and Joe Riddley had been neighbors literally since they were born. They disagreed about everything from preachers to politics, but we were fond of Hubert and he seemed touched we’d sit with him on the groom’s family pew.
Selena was radiant, her hair hidden by a soft tulle net. Her dress, sure enough, looked like something my four-greats grandmother might have worn, but styles are so varied these days that I’ll bet most people had no idea she was supposed to look historical. Maynard looked pretty historical himself, in a black suit with tails that Jefferson Davis would have been proud to wear.
As he stepped forward to meet Selena at the blue plush steps, Joe Riddley muttered in my ear, “If he smiles any wider, his jaw’s gonna drop off.”
The cutest person in the whole wedding party was Ridd’s little Cricket, four, who carried the rings with aplomb. The prettiest bridesmaid, of course, was Crick’s big sister, Bethany, whose dress showed curves that made her granddaddy frown and brought a lump to my
I reached out and held on to his arm. “I was thinking the very same thing.”
“Great minds run in the same direction,” he said with satisfaction.
It’s a pity those two great minds could drive all the way home without a single premonition.
When we got home, he paused at the door to the den. “You wanna watch a little TV?”
“Might as well. But let’s get out of these wet clothes first.” We put on our pajamas, he settled in his recliner, and I snuggled under an afghan to watch a couple of mindless shows.
I hauled myself erect around eleven, but Joe Riddley said, “Wait for the weather.”
“Go look at the sky. Your guess is as good as Marilee’s.”
I have long maintained that when the weather people say “twenty percent chance of rain,” it means they’ve called ten friends and two voted for rain. Seems to me that most meteorologists are accurate about as often as astrologers.
However, because staying was easier and cosier than going, I settled back to see what Marilee read in the cloud-covered stars for tomorrow.
Joe Riddley peered at the screen. “Does she look a little frazzled to you?”
“A bit. Her skirt’s crooked and her hair could use some brushing. Of course, it generally looks like she just came out of a wind tunnel, but tonight it seems more haphazard than usual.”
“She must have driven back to Augusta too late to allow herself time to get fixed up.” He rested his head and prepared to listen to his favorite oracle. He particularly liked the end of her program, when she’d recently started giving friendly little messages.
That night Marilee seemed not only frazzled, but rattled. She may have had one too many margaritas, because she burbled a couple of words and once put up the wrong slide for what she was talking about. Finally, though, she wound up with a summary and concluded, with a charming smile, “Well, I know we’re having a bit of stormy weather right now, but it’s not going to last much longer. Everything’s going to be fine. You have a great day tomorrow, now, you hear me?”
Joe Riddley went upstairs as satisfied as if she’d been talking directly to him.
I slipped into bed to the sound of steady rain on our tin porch roof.
6
Bless Marilee’s heart, the sun did come up beaming Saturday for Maynard and Selena’s wedding, and at ten-thirty, St. Philip Episcopal was respectably full. Selena’s parents had left their old home and retired to Florida, so she’d decided to get married in the church she and Maynard planned to attend the rest of their lives. Folks who’d helped raise Maynard were delighted, of course, and so was the chamber of commerce. The big motel up on I-20 and every bed and breakfast in town were packed with out-of-town guests.
Hubert, Maynard’s daddy, had bathed for the occasion, which was an occasion in itself. He was a short, plump little man with a pink face, and he and Joe Riddley had been neighbors literally since they were born. They disagreed about everything from preachers to politics, but we were fond of Hubert and he seemed touched we’d sit with him on the groom’s family pew.
Selena was radiant, her hair hidden by a soft tulle net. Her dress, sure enough, looked like something my four-greats grandmother might have worn, but styles are so varied these days that I’ll bet most people had no idea she was supposed to look historical. Maynard looked pretty historical himself, in a black suit with tails that Jefferson Davis would have been proud to wear.
As he stepped forward to meet Selena at the blue plush steps, Joe Riddley muttered in my ear, “If he smiles any wider, his jaw’s gonna drop off.”
The cutest person in the whole wedding party was Ridd’s little Cricket, four, who carried the rings with aplomb. The prettiest bridesmaid, of course, was Crick’s big sister, Bethany, whose dress showed curves that made her granddaddy frown and brought a lump to my
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