Chapter

Lehigh loosened his bolo tie and tugged at the collar of his starched, pressed dress shirt. The white cotton stuck to his neck, clammy in spite of the late winter chill, and he repressed a resurgent gag reflex for the tenth time that evening. But the uncomfortable clothes couldn’t take all the blame for that. At least half the credit belonged to the stuffy dining room, paneled floor to ceiling in tobacco darkened walnut imported from the East Coast. For all of his local-yokel politics, Senator McBride’s patrician past seemed to matter more than supporting the Oregon economy when it came to surrounding himself with luxurious creature comforts.

Stacy sidled up next to Lehigh and rested her hand against the small of his back. “You look wonderful,” she said in a soft voice. “You should wear fitted shirts more often.”

“Not if you want me to survive until our wedding day,” he said. “But you look amazing. That dress—”

“Has cut off all circulation below my rib cage,” she said. “But I’m glad you like it. It’s Daddy’s favorite too.” She pecked him on the cheek. “I appreciate you coming tonight. I know being around politicians isn’t your idea of fun.”

“Speaking of your old man—”

“Shh!” She shook her head, a quick vibration back and forth, as if to hide the action. “He hates being called ‘old.’”

“Okay, then. The esteemed senator. Where the heck is he?”

“Mom said he’s in his—oh, here they come now.” She sipped from a glass of pinot grigio in her left hand. Lehigh drained the last of the melted ice from his own glass, now devoid of her father’s prized eighteen-year-old Scotch. Best not let the senator see what his wife had so freely offered a half hour before. Bad enough that old George found Lehigh beneath contempt without him also knowing how much he’d had of his favorite liquor.

Catherine McBride, Stacy’s mother, led the senator into the room. Despite her small stature—probably a full foot shorter than Lehigh’s six foot, one-inch frame, if she kicked off her three-inch heels—her regal bearing and teased hairdo elevated her presence in the room. She wore a flowing, ankle-length dress that seemed to thin her matronly, if not stout, figure. She strode into the room with confidence and greeted them for the second time that night with hugs and smiles.

The senator, by contrast, seemed old and stooped, a half foot shorter than he’d appeared a few months before when the race to become Oregon’s next governor seemed his to lose. His full shock of white hair lay flat against his scalp, and age spots dotted his bronze, wrinkled face. He mumbled a quick hello to Lehigh, kissed his daughter on the cheek, and shuffled over to the liquor cabinet to refill his glass.

“Dinner will be served in a few moments.” Catherine took Lehigh by the arm. “And not a moment too soon, by the look of you. Stacy, don’t you feed my future son-in-law?”

“I wouldn’t want to spoil his appetite for your legendary dinners,” Stacy said with a grin.

“That’ll never happen,” Lehigh said. “Who’s the chef this week?”

“A new fellow from the culinary school in Portland. His name is Antonio. He’s amazing—he has no sous-chef. He does everything himself.” Catherine escorted him to his seat. She sat to Lehigh’s right, and Stacy sat across from him. The senator took his customary position at the head of the long table.

Lehigh’s stomach growled. Early dinners meant skipping lunch, and at that moment, he could have eaten one of the senator’s retired show horses, medium rare.

Almost on cue, a short, chubby man with tufts of curly hair protruding from either side of a white ruffled chef’s hat, dressed in kitchen whites and sporting a food-stained apron, whisked into the room. With nervous dispatch, he set a heaping salad plate in front of each guest, ground two twists of fresh pepper on top of the greens, and disappeared back into the kitchen, neither he nor the four diners having uttered a word.

Lehigh grabbed a fork and had nearly reached his quarry—baby green spinach leaves topped with thin slices of red onion, chunks of bright red strawberries, crumbled feta cheese, and crushed walnuts, all tossed in a vinaigrette redolent of chocolate and orange—when a sharp pain pierced his ankle. Catherine glared at him, her hands crossed in prayer. His stomach growled again, but he set down his fork, bowed his head, and folded his hands.

“Bless us, oh Lord, for these, thy gifts…” Catherine recited the prayer as if making it up for the first time, every word an intense plea for God’s attention. Which made the damned thing take twice as long as it should. But he couldn’t complain—it took four times as long when his Pappy meandered through it on Sunday mornings. “Amen,” they said in unison at the end, and perhaps Lehigh said it a bit too forcefully, because Catherine kicked him again.

“I have an announcement to make.” The senator stood, a laborious effort. Lehigh chewed the delicious greens and shoved more in. The guy wanted to talk, fine. Some people came to eat.

“Is it about the case?” Stacy asked.

“Only indirectly.” The old man’s face darkened, and he swallowed with some effort. Lehigh had already polished off half of his salad and would have offered half his kingdom for a crust of bread. Hell, a crouton.

The senator cleared his throat. “More to the point, it concerns your wedding plans.”

Lehigh, about to shove a forkful of salad into his mouth, caught the warning in Stacy’s eyes, and with great reluctance put down his fork.

“Because of my recent legal difficulties,” McBride said, “largely due to your activities, I might add...” He gestured with his wine glass toward Lehigh.

Stacy pushed her chair back from the table, her face and neck muscles tight, her color drawn. “So that’s your take on this?” She stood and pointed a finger at her father. “Well, it’s not Lehigh’s fault that you and Paul van Paten took cash bribes from corporate donors, broke into my veterinary clinic, poisoned animals, burned down Lehigh’s house—”

The senator’s face turned crimson. “How dare you accuse me of such outrageous—”

“Enough!” Catherine slapped the table with both hands, rattling glasses, plates, and silverware. She stood, her hazel eyes blazing. “There shall be no further discussion of this at my dinner table.”

“But Mother—”

“Dammit, Catherine, it’s my house, and—”

“Not one word!” Catherine pointed her fork at Stacy, then at her husband. “If we cannot discuss the matter civilly, we simply shall not discuss it. Nor anything else remotely related to it.”

George glared at Lehigh and slammed his fist on the table. A chunk of walnut flew across the table onto Lehigh’s half-empty plate. Lehigh suppressed the urge to scoop it into his mouth.

George waited for Stacy to sit, then continued. “Be that as it may, the legal fees incurred in my successful settlement of those scurrilous charges have drained my cash reserves. As a result, our ability to contribute to defraying the costs of your wedding has been seriously diminished.”

Stacy covered her mouth with one hand, shock and worry clouding her eyes.

Lehigh chewed his salad, swallowed, and shrugged. “Understandable, sir. I know firsthand how quickly those legal expenses add up.”

“Rubbish,” Catherine said, setting down her fork. “We have plenty of resources to draw on.”

“I apologize to my wife for not briefing her on our financial condition prior to tonight’s dinner.” The senator glowered at his wife, and she responded with her own angry stare. He turned to Stacy. “I’m sorry, Pumpkin. I had hoped to be able to give you the big wedding you deserve. But,” and he glanced at Lehigh, distaste evident, “my circumstances no longer permit it.”

“It’s…it’s okay, Daddy.” Stacy’s eyes grew moist. “We’ve been thinking a smaller wedding might be a better idea anyway. Haven’t we, Lehigh?”

Lehigh hurried to chew and swallow the last bite of his salad. For once, the smile he put on at the McBrides’ home reflected genuine pleasure over something other than the food. “We don’t need a big party,” he said, “and we’re plenty able to put on a modest celebration on our own for family and close friends. I’d kind of prefer it, actually.”

“I don’t think George is saying that we can’t help at all,” Catherine said with a hesitant smile. “Surely we could provide flowers and perhaps Stacy’s dress, maybe some—”

“I’m afraid even that is out of the question.” George frowned at his wife. “While criminal charges have been dropped, details of my settlement are still in negotiation. I may be facing stiff fines, which, while preferable to incarceration or the loss of my Senate seat, may leave us close to penniless, from a cash perspective.”

“Baloney,” Catherine said. “We have investments—”

“Non-liquid—”

“Trust funds—”

“Untouchable!”

“Dammit, George, I’ll sell the damned horses if I have to!” Catherine said, her voice reaching top volume. “I’m buying my daughter’s wedding dress, and that’s final!”

McBride froze for a moment, then gave her a slight bow. “Very well. But that, I fear, may be all we can offer. Unless…”

“Unless what?” Stacy’s voice betrayed a sharp edge of nervousness. Lehigh’s ears perked up. Perhaps she knew something that he didn’t?

George stared into his wine glass. “If the wedding could be, ah, postponed—”

“I knew it!” Stacy stood and threw her napkin onto her salad plate, knocking oily greens all over the pristine tablecloth. “This is all about trying to stop the wedding!”

“Pumpkin, how could you say such—”

“Don’t you ‘pumpkin’ me. You’ve been against this marriage from the start!”

“On the contrary. I was very excited to hear of your engagement last summer. Wasn’t I, Catherine?”

Stacy’s jaw dropped open. “I wasn’t engaged to Lehigh last summer!”

“Of course you were engaged then,” George said with a wave of his hand. “I distinctly recall discussing the timing of it with you, so as not to interfere with the campaign.”

“No, George,” Catherine said in a low voice. “That was Paul, dear.”

Lehigh scooped salad dressing from his plate with the edge of his fork. If he could crawl under the plate and hide, he would have.

Stacy gripped the edge of the table with both hands. “Ah, ha. I see what’s going on here. Tell me, Daddy. If Paul van Paten were sitting here instead of Lehigh—”

“Stacy,” Lehigh said, “please don’t—”

“You’d find the money, now, wouldn’t you?” Stacy leaned toward her father, her lower lip quivering.

George held up his hands. “Now, Stacy. If you were still engaged to Paul, we wouldn’t be in this situ—”

“I was never engaged to Paul!” Stacy’s voice echoed off the walls.

The door to the kitchen, which had edged open a moment before, fell shut again. Lehigh groaned. He could put up with family quarrels, but not on an empty stomach.

“Paul disagrees,” George said in a quiet voice. “And I know him well. He would not lie.”

“Of course he’s lying! For heaven’s sake!” Stacy raised her eyes and hands to the heavens, pleading. “Oh, Daddy. Don’t you think I’d know if I had ever been engaged to a man?”

“I’m just saying, my dear,” George said, his voice still maddeningly calm, “that had the events of the last several months not transpired, we would not be having this conversation.” He wiped his lips with a napkin, sat down, and took a tiny sip of wine.

Stacy glared at him. “I see. So. This is how it’s going to be, then. Well, I don’t need your money, and I don’t need your blessing. I’m marrying the man I love, and that’s Lehigh—with or without your support. Come on, Lehigh. We’re leaving.”

Lehigh’s heart sank. He could smell bread, imagined a plateful of aged cheeses and salted meats, envisioned fresh pasta with spicy red sauce and melted cheese, and more―all behind that kitchen door. That now closed kitchen door. The limitless supplies of delicious food, with plenty of leftovers to take home, enough to live on for a week. He checked his fiancée’s face, and found no sign of compromise there. He sighed. He had one last hope, and played it, making eye contact and a sad face in the direction of his future mother-in-law.

Catherine stood and reached across the table toward Stacy. “Dear, please don’t—”

“I’m sorry, Mother. I can’t dine with a man who so disrespects me and my life choices that he can’t put aside his petty grievances for one minute—”

“Petty? Why, you little—”

“George! Shut up for one second!” Catherine glared at him.

Stacy grabbed Lehigh’s arm. “Let’s go, honey. We’re done here.”

Lehigh cast one last glance at the kitchen door, now propped open by Antonio, holding a tray loaded with steaming lasagna, the aromas of garlic and spicy tomato sauce wafting into the dining room. His stomach rumbled, and his eyes, fixed on the tray, watered in anticipation.

But one final glance at Stacy, and he knew he would taste no lasagna that night.