Page 57 of Save the Date
It was a forty-five-minute drive from Savannah to Cabin Creek, and for the rest of the journey, Cara puzzled not over flowers or canapés, but the more interesting and confusing topic of Jack Finnerty and his behavior the night before.
She really didn’t know what to make of this man.
He could have left his sister’s old friend in that alley the previous night. Could have walked away with Cara, maybe sweet-talked his way into her apartment, and who knows, eventually her bed. Yes, she’d fantasized about that. He could have allowed the underage drunk to get picked up by the police. It would have saved a lot of time and trouble if he’d just walked away. But he hadn’t.
Leaving his own truck where it was, Jack had cleaned the kid up as best he could, loaded him into his beat-up Camry, and driven him all the way home. And then—he’d texted Cara to make sureshe’dgotten home all right.
What kind of guy did something as kind and caring as that? Her brow furrowed. Was he really that sweet, or was he just trying to impress her?
***
Libba Strayhorn was standing in front of the magnificent plantation house, an incongruous figure in her faded ball cap, brown riding pants, blue work shirt, and scuffed leather riding boots. She had a black and white dog at her heels as she walked back and forth among the boxwood borders, leaning down to pull up weeds.
She waved as Cara drove around to the car park, and walked around to meet her.
“Hey there!” Libba greeted her. “I hear you’re the one who’s going to make this whole wedding happen. Congratulations!”
She leaned in and stage-whispered. “Just between you and me and Rowdy here, I’m glad it’s you. That other fella was just a little too fancy for my tastes.”
“I’m glad you’re glad,” Cara said. “And thanks again for agreeing to let me come out today and walk through the house again. Are you sure you have time to do this with me?”
“Plenty of time,” Libba assured her. “The horses are exercised, and I’ve got the whole day free for this. Mitch is out of town on business, but as he likes to say, his only role in this wedding is to smile and nod and stay sober.”
They walked through the front door, into the high-ceilinged entry foyer, with its hand-painted Chinese-motif wallpaper and black-and-white-checkerboard marble floor. A spectacular antique gold-leafed Chippendale mirror took up most of one wall of the foyer, and Cara eyed it apprehensively.
“You know, Libba, the plan is to have cocktails and passed appetizers in here as the guests arrive. I think we’re expecting about two hundred and fifty people. It could be quite a crush. I know this mirror must be an old family piece, and I’m a little worried somebody could accidentally jostle and damage it. Do you think that’s something you might want to move to storage during the reception?”
“I don’t see why,” Libba said, giving the mirror a fond pat. “This thing’s been in this hall for at least a hundred and fifty years. It withstood Union forces, who camped out here during the war, and even worse, all those generations of rambunctious Strayhorn boys, including Mitch and Harris. Anyway, we couldn’t move it if we wanted to. It’s bolted to that wall.”
“Great,” Cara said. “It’s so stunning, I’d hate to lose it. I was thinking we could leave a big silver bowl on that console table for guests to drop cards and gifts.”
“Okay,” Libba said. “You’re the boss. What else do you want in here?”
“Nothing, really. We’ll bring in rented high-top tables and scatter them against the walls, so people will have a place to rest their drink glasses.”
She and Libba passed from the hallway into the double parlors, and discussed the placement of tables and chairs, and the bride and groom’s table.
They went into the kitchen, which was huge, but surprisingly modest for a house of Cabin Creek’s grandeur. The cabinets were vintage forties, metal, with tiny patches of rust beginning to show through at the edges, the countertops yellow formica, and the floors were worn yellow linoleum tile.
“Mitch is all het up about ripping this old stuff out and putting in a completely new kitchen with all the modern bells and whistles. He’s the cook in the family,” Libba confided. “He’s got his eye on an eight-burner restaurant range and one of those double-door glass-front fridges, marble countertops, the works.”
“Sounds like a dream,” said Cara enviously. “The kitchen in my tiny apartment downtown would fit inside your pantry.”
Libba shrugged. “Personally, I don’t see the point. Holly has her own apartment in Savannah, and Harris and Brooke have their own place there too. It’s just Mitch and me here most nights, and this old stuff has worked fine for the forty years we’ve lived here, but then again, someday, we hope, Harris and Brooke will be living here, with a passel of kids, and they’ll appreciate a kitchen like that.”
“You wouldn’t try to do the kitchen before the wedding, right?” Cara asked.
“Oh no,” Libba assured her. “Maybe in the fall, when things quiet down.”
“Good. You’ve got a lot of counter space, which is great, because our caterer is going to need every inch of it. Layne is going to want to run over here to take a look at the space too, but she’s already said she may want to bring in an extra fridge, and maybe even an extra cooktop, but I think there’d be room for that if we move out the table and chairs in your eating nook. Would that be okay?”
“Sure,” Libba said. “As long as we have a place to get a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal in the morning, Mitch and I are fine.”
As they moved through the house, Cara marveled to herself at the good nature and calm radiated by this mother of the groom. In less than five weeks, her home would be invaded by a huge, lavish wedding complete with 250 guests, but she seemed totally unfazed by any and all requests Cara made.
“Can we take another look at the ballroom?” Cara asked, as they neared the back of the house.
Libba nodded. “Hasn’t been used since Harris’s twenty-first-birthday party. I guess you’ve noticed Mitch and I aren’t really big on entertaining. We enjoy it when we do it, but mostly, we’re out here in the country, keeping to ourselves with the horses and dogs. Or, I am. Mitch is happy as long as he’s got his big-screen TV, twenty-four-hour cable sports, and an easy ride to the airport when he needs to travel, which he does a lot for his business.”
