Marrying The Wedding Crasher. Melinda Curtis
to see him. “I used to admire how you handled a motorcycle.”
Vince didn’t know what to say. The compliment was unexpected.
“Not me,” the old man said, not at all embarrassed to admit it. “Don’t you remember how they’d speed through town, Mildred? Motors so loud it hurt your ears.”
Mildred tsked. “I suppose you don’t remember how I used to speed through town and up Parish Hill, either.” Mildred released Vince with a sigh. “The worst thing about getting old has been losing my eyesight and giving up driving. I miss burning rubber coming out of second gear.”
“Mildred Parsons?” The name suddenly clicked. She’d been a race car driver in her youth, one of the few adults to earn the respect of the Messina boys.
“Yes.” When Mildred smiled, the resemblance to the mythical Mrs. Claus increased. “And this is my beau, Hero Takata.”
Vince aimed a good-natured finger back at the man. “Old Man Takata?” The man who used to own the cemetery? The man who’d buried Dad?
“Some still call me by that name.” Hero smiled, bringing wrinkles to an otherwise ageless-looking face. “I’m older today than I was when I yelled at kids like you for running across my grass.”
Old Man Takata had lived on a corner down the street from the town square, a house located between the school and the ice cream parlor. Of course, kids wanted to cut the corner.
“Is this your wife?” Mildred blinked at Harley, but in a way that created doubt as to whether or not she actually saw her. “Do you have children? A little cousin for Sam to play with?”
“No,” Vince blurted. “No on all counts.”
Harley slanted a gaze at him that disapproved, folded her menu, and said, “I’m his date for the wedding.”
The boundaries that came along with her tone riled something inside Vince, and made him want to refute her statement. Which only went to prove that Harmony Valley was getting under his skin exactly like Gabe had gotten under Harley’s.
“Spoken like a woman who doesn’t need a man.” Mildred did a sort of snuffle-chuckle. “Bravo. What’s your name, my dear?”
Harley introduced herself.
The waitress brought Hero’s change and Mildred’s walker, which she unfolded and set between their two tables.
“Vince,” Hero said, dropping his change into his wallet. “Don’t take this personally, but I’ll report you if I see you speeding.”
Joe had mentioned how hard it was to be accepted by the town, but Vince hadn’t believed people would be so blatant about it. He felt the beginnings of a headache.
“Hero will only see you if you speed down Main.” Mildred stood, staring in the general direction of Vince’s face. “I’ll see Harley at the bridal shower, and we’ll see you two at the Couples Dinner.” And then her gaze swiveled toward Harley. “We’ll beat you, of course.”
Harley smiled in polite confusion. The subtleties of her expression probably went unnoticed by Mildred.
The server was waiting for her order, smiling patiently at her elderly guests as if Hero had given her a good tip.
Hero got to his feet with the aid of a cane. “They’ll have the mole chicken tacos, Leti.”
The couple moved slowly toward the door.
Leti disappeared into the kitchen.
“I think we’re having the mole chicken tacos,” Vince said, realizing their menus were gone. “Welcome to Harmony Valley.”
“I think we should talk about the Couples Dinner.” A grin twitched one corner of Harley’s cheek. “It’s a competition?”
“We can assume it won’t be a dancing one,” Vince said, nodding toward the elderly couple moving slowly down the sidewalk.
“Or a mudder.” Harley seemed to notice there was chips and salsa on the table, and dove in. “What is a Couples Dinner?”
“This is the first I’ve heard of it.” Vince managed to insert a chip into the salsa bowl she was hoarding. “The good news is Gabe won’t be there, seeing as how he doesn’t have a date for the wedding.”
“I heard the Messina boys were back in town.” An elderly man with shoulders bowed forward leaned on their table with gnarled, age-spotted hands. He wore a wrinkled burgundy-checked flannel shirt, sleeves buttoned at his wrists, and smelled like he could use a shower or his clothes a washing. “Are you right in the head?”
Vince choked on his bite of chip. The rest of it crumpled to the table.
“If not, we don’t want you here.” The old man pushed off and wobbled backward. “Had enough of that with your father. He jumped me in a bar fight once. No warning. Just pow.”
Because of the shock, Vince couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. He could only watch the old man shuffle away.
“Are you okay?” Harley switched chairs so that she sat next to him. She slid her hand to the nape of his neck. “Breathe in, breath out, remember? What was that about?”
Vince drank half the water in his glass before he attempted to speak. “My dad...” His voice sounded like sandpaper on metal. “My dad...”
He didn’t want to tell her.
“Drink some more.” Her hand shifted lower, rubbing across his shoulder blades. “But don’t rush it.” A minute passed, maybe longer.
He wanted to lean into her touch. He wanted to get up and run away without explaining.
One thought coalesced: it was a mistake to have brought her here.
With every greeting, with every event, his past was catching up to him. And Harley, as witness, was curious and wanting answers.
On some level, he supposed he owed her some.
“My dad had schizophrenia.” His words came out drenched in emotion and vulnerability, when he wanted to be detached and strong. He couldn’t meet her gaze, but he couldn’t stop speaking, either. “And depression. He was diagnosed late in life. That man...” Whoever he was. “He could have been referencing a time before Dad was diagnosed.” Or not. There was no magic solution for mental health challenges.
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want your pity.” There was the strong, detached tone he’d been looking for. Inappropriate now.
“I wasn’t offering pity.” Harley’s hand dropped away. She moved back into her chair. “I’m sorry your dad had mental health issues. And I’m sorry that man was rude to you.”
Harley was compassionate. Genuine. And the first to give the benefit of the doubt.
“That was...rude of me,” Vince said, struggling to find words when he was unaccustomed to explaining himself. “I didn’t have my guard up and he got to me. I took it out on you. I’m the one who should apologize.” And he did.
She stared at him a little too long, not smiling. Earlier in the summer, he would have held her gaze with a hint of a smile and then coaxed a smile out of her. He would have reached for her hand and drawn her close. He’d always felt better when she was near.
“I understand,” Harley said.
Vince wasn’t sure she did.
* * *
THE LAMBRIDGE BED AND BREAKFAST was a large, beautiful, Queen Anne Victorian home painted green with cream colored shutters.
Harley took in the large front porch, dominant Dutch gables, and asymmetrical façade. The kind of straight-lined architecture built to endure generations of family disagreements, brutal storms and intense heat.
Vince