Page 91 of A Dead End Wedding

"Stop, already. This is the same paper that accused me of being a threat to the morality of all of northeast Florida, and the 'precursor of the gambling menace.' I don't care what they say about you. In fact, I might like you a little better now that thePost Unionhas trashed you."

I could hear the laughter in her voice, and the tension in my neck and shoulders melted away. "I'll be right over. Oh, can I bring something?"

"Nope. Just your sweet self. But get over here quick, before the kids get any hungrier. They're cranky when they're hungry, and I don't want to scare you out of the neighborhood in your first week here."

I heard lots of singing and yelling in the background, so took her at her word. Taking a moment to grab one of the two bottles of wine that were the sole contents of my fridge, I headed across the lawn to her house.

A good-looking, bookish-type guy opened the door before I knocked. "Hey, December. Good to meet you. Emily said you're suffering from the local version of tarring and feathering. Welcome to our sinner's nest. I'm Rick."

Rick was tall and slim, with sandy brown hair, and the brown eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses were warm and friendly. I shook his hand and returned his smile, but mine felt a little strained. "Yes, it's been an interesting day, to say the least. I've been offered a few cases of what you might call the lowlife variety since the paper came out this morning."

"Daddy, Daddy! Who's that? Can we play with her?" Two small and sticky-looking people shoved Ricky out of the way to get to me. I involuntarily backed up a step when the chocolate-covered one tried to jump me. I haven't had much experience with children, but I tried not to flinch.

"Hi, Miss December. We're so happy to see you!" The older one looked solemn. He held out his hand in imitation of his dad. "I'm Ricky Junior. That's Joker. She's only three, but I'm six. We had a dog, but he's in dog heaven now, where he gets all the biscuits he wants, but not chocolate. Chocolate is poisonous to dogs. Do you have a dog?"

I shook Ricky Junior's hand carefully, wondering which part to respond to first. Rick Senior stepped in to help, catching his son's hand in his own. "How about we let Miss December sitdown and relax before we bombard her with questions, buddy? Fifteen minutes of computer time, okay?"

"Putt Putt Saves the Zoo?" Ricky asked, squirming out of his dad's embrace and jumping up and down.

"Yes, that's fine. Let Elisabeth watch," Rick called after the kids, as they made a beeline for the computer table in the corner.

He turned to me. "Come on into the kitchen. I think Emily is out back picking some peppers or something."

As I followed him into the kitchen, I tried not to moan. "She not only bakes cakes and cooks homemade food, she gardens? I either have to hate this woman or marry her myself," I said, laughing. The smell of something tomatoey and delicious wafted through the air, and I took a deep breath.

He nodded. "Yes, it's a little scary, isn't it? The Queen of Poker goes domestic. Oh, there she is."

Emily stepped in from the backyard with a basket of something green and leafy in her arms. "Hey, December. Glad you could make it. Oh, you brought wine! I love wine, and we seem never to have anything stronger than chocolate milk in the house these days."

"I always forget – is chocolate milk for fish or red meat?" I grinned and handed the bottle to Rick. "What can I do to help?"

"Not a thing," Emily said, then handed Rick the basket and went to wash her hands as he placed it on the cheerful yellow-and-white-tiled table. The walls were painted a warm, buttery yellow, and copper pots hung over a center island. Crayon art decorated every inch of the refrigerator. It looked like a kitchen where people actually cooked, like Aunt Celia's. I sighed, trying not to feel inadequate, and slid onto a stool near the counter.

"Seriously, I'm no Rachel Ray, but I can do something. I'm a terrific potato peeler, for example."

Rick grinned at his wife. "Er, you may not want to mention Rachel Ray here, December. Emily thinks any meal that onlytakes thirty minutes to prepare might as well be eaten from a takeout bag."

I looked at them both. "It can take thirty whole minutes to cook a meal?"

Emily did a mock shudder, then checked something in the oven. "Rick, will you pour the wine?"

"Gladly." He rummaged around in a drawer for a wine opener. "So, tell us about your druggie past, December."

I flinched a little, then dropped my head into my hands. "Argh. I haven't even called Aunt Celia yet. I bet she's hearing about this in a big way from her friends down at the seniors' center. Those women know everything about everybody."

I thought of the kids in the other room, and what I'd be wondering if I were a mom, and sat up straighter on my stool. "Look, I know you don't know me, but I want to assure you that there is not the slightest hint of drug use in my past. Well, I tried one drag of that joint in high school, which is what they were talking about from my bar app, but that was it. It was disgusting. I don't even like to take aspirin. Seriously?—"

Emily held up a hand. "Stop. We know Celia and Nathan. They never would have put some criminal in a house next door to our kids. Plus, we consider ourselves good judges of character, and we can tell that you're a good person."

Rick started putting plates on the table and laughed. "Well, The Psychic over there cooking lasagna is a good judge of character. I have a habit of giving fifty bucks to 'homeless, will work for food' people who turn out to drive Mercedes convertibles."

Emily blew him a kiss. "You just have a big heart, sweetie. And I should have warned you about Glad Hand Luke. The intersection of Blanding and Argyle is his territory, and he talks about his weekly take when he's playing cards down at the Wild Card Room."

I took the silverware from Rick and started setting the places. "You have a panhandler who's a regular in weekly poker games? Now that takes balls . . . er,basketballs. I love to play basketball, don't you?" I grinned a huge, fake smile at a puzzled-looking Emily and jerked my head toward the kitchen doorway, where Elisabeth peeked out at us.

"Hey, punkin tater. Where's Mommy's Princess?" Emily said, holding her arms out. The sturdy little girl, the exact image of her mother with her dark, glossy curls and pink cheeks (except Emily's weren't chocolate covered), ran to Emily to be swept up in a big hug.

"Did you meet Miss December?" Emily settled her daughter on her hip and turned toward me. "She's our new friend, and she lives next door."

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