Page 44 of Save the Date
“But not for you,” Cara said quickly.
“Of course not,” Patricia said, her voice silky, as she neatly sidestepped Marie and Brooke. “We’re so sorry to catch you like this, on the spur of the moment, but as I was just explaining to Brooke, if we’re going to pull off this wedding, we simply have to start nailing down the details. Now.”
Patricia reached into the large buff-colored calfskin bag that dangled from her shoulder. Cara, who told herself she only readIn Stylemagazine to keep up with wedding trends, recognized the handbag as the $3,500 Fendi bag she’d drooled over in a recent issue.
“Here,” Patricia said, thrusting a document into her hands. “This is the game plan we’ve finally managed to hammer out.”
“Game plan?” Cara said dumbly, glancing down at the multipage dossier.
“For our wedding, of course,” Patricia said.
“Mywedding. Mine and Harris’s,” Brooke said.
“Which her father and I are paying for,” Patricia added.
Marie coughed quietly.
“And her mother, of course,” Patricia said, giving Marie a curt nod.
“Does this mean you want me to do the flowers?” Cara looked directly at Brooke.
“Yes,” Brooke said, nodding vigorously. “And everything else, too. Flowers, food, all that stuff. Can you?”
“Brooke, I’m flattered to be asked, but, I’m not a wedding planner—I can give you the name of several people locally who’d do a wonderful job. I work with most of them.…”
“That’s what I suggested,” Patricia said. “What we need is a professional planner to pull together all our vendors, the photographer, the caterer, the cake baker, the band, the valet-parking people…”
“I want Cara,” Brooke said. She crossed slim, freckled arms over her chest, and in that moment, Cara found new admiration for this bride who’d suddenly acquired a backbone. “She’s done tons of weddings for lots of girls I know, right?”
“Well, flowers for the weddings,” Cara said cautiously.
In fact, she’d been a de facto wedding planner lots of times, mostly for small weddings, as a favor to her budget-minded brides. And she’d complained, privately, to Bert, that she might as well have charged for the service, though she never had.
“See!” Patricia said. “Brooke, we’re not talking about some little cake and punch affair at the American Legion hall. Your father has budgeted two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
Cara was about to agree with Patricia. Why get in over her head?
But then the figure she’d just mentioned floated before Cara’s eyes. A budget of $250,000. Not just a measly $10,000 for flowers. A quarter of a million smackers. Of which she, as the wedding planner, could expect to be paid twenty percent.
Suddenly, dollar signs danced merrily in the humid afternoon air. That much money could wipe out her debt to the Colonel. No more phone calls, emails, or terse text messages. No more ramen-noodle dinners. She could buy a new cooler for the shop, get a reliable car. Her mind swirled with all the possibilities.
Why shouldn’t she plan Brooke’s wedding?
“Look,” Cara said, “we don’t have to stand out here in the heat, debating this. Why don’t you all come inside and sit down? I’ll make us some iced tea—or we can even have a glass of wine, if you like, and we can discuss the pros and cons.”
***
Cara found the pitcher of peach iced tea in the fridge, glancing longingly at the bottle of pinot grigio on the rack in the door. When this ambush was over, she promised herself, that bottle would be empty.
While the ladies sipped their tea, Cara skimmed over the “game plan.” Brooke jiggled her foot impatiently and pulled out her phone, texting a mile a minute.
The first line of the document was a surprise. “Two hundred fifty guests? Really?”
“I know,” Brooke said, not bothering to look up from her phone. “Crazy, right? And you should see the list. People I’ve never met. People I haven’t seen since, like, ever. If it were up to me, we’d have fifty, tops.”
“It’s not up to you, though, is it?” Patricia set her tea glass down on the tabletop with a clatter.
Marie looked up at the ceiling and hummed under her breath. This discussion, Cara sensed, had been going on for hours, if not days.
