Page 112 of What Doesn't Kill Her

“Wait a minute, Mom. We’ve got something to tell you.” Max went into the adjacent parlor and bellowed up the stairs. “Rae, come down here please!”

Rae bellowed back, “Coming, Daddy!” Her shoes clattered on the stairs and she appeared in the doorway, a vision in pink, glitter and glue, which she had smeared on her cheek.

The Di Lucas were the loudest people Kellen had ever heard. Her parents, what she remembered of them, had been busy, boisterous people, but when they had died and Kellen went to live with her aunt and uncle, the household had been ruled by her aunt’s migraines and the most commonly used phrase was,Use your indoor voice, please.

Come to think of it, Kellen didn’t mind the Di Luca noise.

“Wash your hands for dinner,” Verona said.

“I did!” Rae rubbed her palms on her shirt.

Max put out his hands. “Let me see.”

Rae sighed dramatically and headed into the bathroom by the back porch. She didn’t shut the door, so they heard the scrape of the stool across the Spanish tile, the splashing and the humming, and when Rae walked out, her hands, her hair and the front of her shirt were dripping wet. Proudly, she proclaimed, “I washed my face, too!”

Kellen waited for Verona to fuss.

Instead, she said, “Good thinking, Rae.”

The family was so casual and encouraging about the little stuff and kept their drama for the big life-changing events. Kellen liked that, too, except—oh man, there was about to be drama.

Max got a kitchen towel out of the drawer and used it to wipe Rae down. “Why don’t you and Grandma sit down? Mommy and I have something to tell you.”

Verona looked from Max to Kellen and sank down in her chair as if her legs were too weak to hold her.

Rae pulled her chair out from the table—another long scrape across the tile—and perched on her heels, leaned over the table and fastened her gaze on her father.

Max took Kellen’s hand. They faced Verona and Rae, and with the flare of an accomplished showman, Max announced, “Kellen has agreed to be my bride.”

The reactions were exactly the opposite of what Kellen expected.

Verona shot to her feet. “A bride? You’re going to get married?” She clasped her hands and shook them at the heavens. “My prayers have been answered!”

Rae said nothing, but her eyes were big and wary.

“I wonder if we can manage it by Christmas?” Verona walked to the calendar that hung on the wall. “To get the dress done and the family here—”

“Two weeks,” Max declared.

Verona swung around. “You’re kidding.”

“Two weeks,” Max repeated. “We’re getting married in two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” Verona squawked like the chicken who had swallowed the rubber band, and faced Kellen. “Wait. Are you pregnant again?”

“Mother.” Max sounded excessively patient. “Even if she was, we wouldn’t know yet and anyway, we have a seven-year-old daughter together. We can safely say the scandal ship has sailed!”

Kellen grinned. “Nice interception,” she muttered to Max.

Verona promptly returned to her main complaint. Which was, “I can’t get a wedding together in two weeks!”

“We don’t have to have a wedding,” Kellen said. “We can get married at the justice of the peace and have a reception later.”

Max and Verona and even Rae stared at her as if she was speaking a foreign language.

Max and Verona turned back to each other.

“How can everyone in the family make arrangements so quickly?” Verona asked.

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