Chapter 3

On Monday morning a little after eight o’clock, Darcy strolled into Katie’s Koffee. The whir of the espresso machine and the clatter of plates competed with the shout of customers’ names announcing completed orders. The sugary sweetness of freshly baked pastries enticed Darcy, but the temptation lost against her desire to maintain her weight.

The barista called her name.

Darcy picked up her cappuccino and scanned the room, looking for her best friend.

With her head bent over her phone as she texted, Betty sat at a table beside the window overlooking the main street.

Darcy sighed. In the three years she had known Betty, Darcy had never seen her without her phone. Sometimes, Darcy wondered if Betty slept at all. The woman and her phone seemed inseparable. “Hey.” Darcy sat next to Betty.

“Hey.” Without glancing up, Betty continued texting.

Darcy sipped the foam off the top of her cappuccino and stared out the window at the passing traffic. In a couple of hours, she would be sitting at a conference table with Monica for moral support as she finalized the last steps of her divorce. Darcy wondered how sitting with her daughter at such a table in the near future would feel. Oh, why did she have to be so cynical? What if Joyce beat the odds and celebrated her silver wedding anniversary?

Placing aside her phone, Betty glanced up. Her wide brown eyes appeared larger through her glasses. She brushed away the black bangs from her forehead and squinted. “Are you all right?”

Darcy flashed a tight smile. “Just peachy.”

“Uh-oh.” Betty pulled a frown. “What happened?”

Darcy bowed her head. “My daughter wants to get married. And she asked me to be her wedding planner.”

Smiling, Betty squeezed Darcy’s hand. “That’s great news!”

Tension knotted in her stomach. She shook aside Betty’s hand and spread her arms wide as if to encompass the entire room. “She’s ruining her life.”

Betty deepened her frown. “Not every marriage ends in divorce. Yeah, sure, fifty percent do, but look at Chucky and me. We’ve been together since the millennium, and we’re still going strong.”

She didn’t want to remind her friend over sixty percent of second marriages ended in divorce and just because her marriage hadn’t ended yet didn’t mean it wouldn’t. She took another sip of her bitter cappuccino and sighed. “I just wish she’d tamper her enthusiasm about the whole venture.”

Gasping, Betty widened her gaze. “Why should she? Don’t you remember the excitement of planning your own wedding?”

“Not as well as I remember planning my divorce.”

“Not everyone ends up miserable.” Betty patted the back of her hand. “Time to let go of the past and embrace the future.” She raised her mocha. “Here’s a toast to your daughter’s happily-ever-after.”

Darcy sat immobile. She thought of the drudgery of living daily with a man who she thought she loved but who didn’t love her enough to refuse the advances of another woman. Would her daughter suffer the same fate? Or was her marriage to Nathan an anomaly?

Betty nudged her foot underneath the table. “Don’t be a party pooper!”

“I’m not.” Darcy twisted a napkin in her lap. “I just don’t believe in the fairy tale any longer.”

“One more reason to plan your daughter’s wedding.” Betty pointed at Darcy’s chest. “Time to get back the spark.”

Acres of numbness stretched inside her. “I don’t think I ever felt the magic.”

Betty’s phone rang. She glanced at the screen and furrowed her brow. “I’m sorry, but I have to take this call. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back.” She stood and exited the coffee shop.

Cradling her cup of coffee, Darcy observed the other patrons at the counter pouring cream and dumping packets of sugar into their cups. Maybe she harbored resentment because her entire business revolved around the unprofitable, revenge-driven divorce industry instead of the overpriced, hope-driven wedding industry. Betty might be right. A shift in focus could bring a fresh perspective and revive her bank account.

A persistent ringing jolted Darcy out of her thoughts. She glanced at the unknown number on her phone. “Hello?”

“Darcy,” a man said. “Great time at the Gala. Too bad we didn’t win the diamond ring.”

“Victor?” Darcy almost choked on her breath. Her heartbeat stuttered in her chest. Could he be calling to ask her on a date? “How did you get my number?”

“Not many divorce planners are listed in the directory,” he said. “I called because I have a referral.”

“Oh, right.” She slumped forward. Why had she envisioned him asking for a date? She fumbled in her purse for a pen and grabbed a napkin. “I’m listening.”

“Here’s the situation. He’s a stay-at-home dad. She’s an executive wife. Lots of money. No time. Need to divorce fast. Keep things quiet. But I can’t handle my client who’s emotional and full of high drama. I need your help with the non-legal stuff. Are you interested?”

She jotted down a few notes. “How much is the wife willing to spend?”

“I don’t know.” He laughed. “I represent the husband. But I figure since she’s letting him stay in their house in Petaluma while she works and lives in San Jose, she’d be willing to pay any amount of money to get rid of him.”

Thinking, she tapped the blunt end of her pen against the table. Could she work with a self-indulgent, spoiled stay-at-home dad? “I’m not cheap. I donate my services to Legal Aid, but I still need to pay my rent.”

“He put up a twenty-thousand-dollar retainer for my services.”

Tingling raced through her body. With a few clients like him, she could stop living off savings and start saving for a house, she thought.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Victor said. “He’s high maintenance.”

The higher the maintenance, the higher the price, she thought. “I’ll call him immediately.”

“Good. I knew I could count on you.” Victor recited Gary’s number and ended the call.

With her hands on her hips, Betty stood beside the table. “Who called?”

“Victor.” Darcy tucked the napkin with Gary’s phone number into her purse. “We attended the Gala together.” Heat flamed her cheeks when she met Betty’s gaze. “Well, not together-together.” She waved her hand and glanced at the floor. “Anyway, he called because he has a referral.”

“That’s great. You need the business.” Betty grabbed her mocha and leaned down for a hug. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. Change in court time. But tell me quickly, did you enjoy the Gala?”

Darcy wrapped her arms around Betty and squeezed her friend. She smelled of floral soap and felt as soft and comforting as a teddy bear. “The food lacked imagination. The band played songs I didn’t know.”

“But you had fun?”

Releasing Betty, Darcy shrugged. She didn’t want to confess she enjoyed the evening and Victor’s company. She didn’t want to admit to anyone she found Victor to be a good man with good looks and good potential. “I know you have to go, but tell me about the softball tournament.”

Betty jumped up and down like a cheerleader. “Chuck’s team won!”

“That’s wonderful!” She smiled. “I’m glad you attended.”

Betty’s phone beeped. She shifted her weight and scowled at the screen. “I really have to go. See you here same time next week.” She stalked away a few feet then paused and turned. Narrowing her gaze, she pointed with her mocha. “Promise me, no raining on your daughter’s parade, okay? She might only get married once. You need to keep the wedding special.”

As if swearing to testify before a jury, Darcy raised her hand. “I promise.”

****

Later that night, Darcy nudged a shopping cart down the cereal aisle of a twenty-four-hour grocery store. Her cell rang in her purse. When she recognized Joyce’s caller ID, she clenched her teeth. Oh, no, Darcy thought. What does she want?

A throbbing headache pulsed against her skull. She held her breath, not wanting to respond to the insistent ringtone. How could she talk to Joyce calmly after she argued with Nathan about planning the wedding and after she promised Betty she would be joyful in the midst of her dismay? Why plan a wedding when she had enough problems planning a divorce?

The phone stopped ringing. Exhaling, she relaxed her shoulders and scanned the row of cereal boxes for something without too much sugar.

Seconds later, the phone rang again.

She ignored the sound.

After a brief pause, the phone trilled again.

Tension bristled across her shoulders. She seized her phone and swiped her finger across the screen. “Hey, sweetheart.” She parked her cart against a shelf full of frosted flakes.

“Mom, Tyler and I have chosen the tenth of June as our wedding date. I know it’s technically less than twelve months away, but I’m sure we can find a venue. What do you think of the places I’ve sent you?”

A tangle of nerves tightened in her gut. Sure, she read the emails her daughter forwarded about wedding venues, but she only clicked on a few links before the possibilities overwhelmed her: church or secular, indoor or outdoor, hosted or no-host bar, buffet or formal dining. How could she narrow it down? She squeezed her cell phone against her ear. “I haven’t had time to look. I thought we could browse the venues together.”

A sigh whooshed. “Mom, of all people, you know you have to call in advance to make reservations to preview a place. Why haven’t you made any calls?”

Because she had been working every day, including the weekend, and that’s why she was shopping at eight-thirty when she should be home enjoying dinner like most people, Darcy thought. She tightened her stance. “Okay, I promise I’ll take a look tonight and make some calls tomorrow.” She tapped her foot. “Am I going to these places alone? Or are you coming up? If you want a say in what I decide, then I’ll need to know when you are available.”

“This weekend,” Joyce said. “I made reservations at a bed and breakfast to see if the place is a possibility for our honeymoon night.”

“Is Tyler joining us?” Darcy met him once and could not remember much about him.

“He can’t since he’s working in Washington DC,” Joyce said. “Send me an email with the venues we have appointments for. I want to make sure we see as many places as possible within the two days before I make my decision.”

For Darcy, a weekend of just the two of them felt as refreshing as a glass of lemonade after a hot afternoon by the pool. Since Joyce graduated from Stanford, they’d spent little time together. The wedding planning almost didn’t matter. “No problem.” A tingle of anticipation prickled her skin. “I’m looking forward to spending the weekend with you.”