Page 103 of Save the Date
“Harris is a good guy,” Cara said.
Brooke twisted her engagement ring. “The absolute best. He loves me. I don’t know why, or how I got this lucky, but Harris loves me. Pete was cool with whatever I wanted to do. He probably only asked me to move out there with him because he thought heshouldask.”
“And you didn’t keep in touch after that? At all?”
Brooke colored again.
“Facebook?” Cara guessed.
“He doesn’t know it’s me,” Brooke said. “I made up a name, said I was a friend of a friend of a friend of his who likes whitewater rafting.”
“Did you know he’d moved back to Georgia?” Cara asked.
“No! Pete’s hardly ever on Facebook. Occasionally he posts a picture of his puppy, or a sunset or something. Nothing personal.”
Cara arched one eyebrow. She’d done enough Facebook stalking of her own to know how this worked.
“You’re telling me you don’t check his status?”
“Not in a relationship,” Brooke said, her voice barely a whisper. “Anyway, what else do we need to discuss? About the wedding? Patricia texts me every day, asking for a status report. She’s making me nuts.”
“Right. Okay. Did you get a chance to look at the photoraphers’ websites that I sent you? Any preferences?”
“Yeah, but I thought Patricia already hired some photographer.”
“Meredith. She only does portraits. This photographer is for the actual wedding.”
“Geez. Does everything have to be so complicated? Anyway, yeah, I liked them both. Mom really liked the woman—what’s her name?”
“Rita McCall. I think Rita really has a nice way with candids and black-and-white. And she’s so good at capturing the mood of the event.”
“Fine. Then let’s go with Rita McCall,” Brooke said. “What else? I’ve only got a few more minutes.”
“Hmm. We really need to discuss table markers and favors. I’ve some ideas. Since the Strayhorns are in shipping, I thought we could do these miniature shipping containers, stencil your name and Harris’s on one side…”
“Great.”
“I’ve got a great artisanal chocolatier in town, he’ll come up with a signature chocolate filling for us—do you like milk chocolate or dark chocolate?”
“Dark, I guess. I don’t actually eat a lot of sweets.”
Not surprising, Cara thought, looking at the bride’s picked-over salad.
“I thought we could do maybe six or eight pieces of chocolate in each container.”
“Okay.”
“Now,” Cara said, taking a deep breath. “The seating chart. It’s going to get complicated, it always is when there’s been a divorce in the family. You’ve got the list of people who’ve already responded, so if you would, maybe give me your thoughts on who should be seated where.”
“My thoughts?” Brooke shook her head impatiently. “I look at the list, and I don’t know most of these people. Maybe Harris does, but I don’t. Here’s all I want, Cara. Just don’t put Patricia anywhere near me. Or my mom. Or actually, if you could just not put her in the same room with us, that would be good.”
“Be real, please Brooke,” Cara said sharply. She scrolled back over to the seating chart she’d made up—circles and rectangles drawn to scale and arrayed around the ballroom at Cabin Creek. “Just take a look, please, this is important, if not to you, to your parents and the Strayhorns.…”
Brooke frowned, but bent her head and studied the chart. A shadow fell over the iPad and they both looked up. Pete Haynes cleared his throat, as though he were about to make a speech.
“Listen, Brooke. I’ve got to get on the road if I’m going to make the afternoon ferry from St. Marys over to Cumberland.” He handed her a scrap of paper. “That’s my email. Cell-phone service on the island is pretty crappy. And I don’t get up to Savannah that much because of the project I’m working on. With the wild horses. But if you’re coming down there anytime, I was thinking it’d be great to get together.…”
Brooke looked at the slip of paper, then placed it on the tabletop. She looked over at Cara. “Pete, this is Cara Kryzik.”
