Read Online The Game of Denial by Brenda Adcock - Free Book Online Page B

problem. Do you still want me to call with an update each day?"
    "Yes. At least until Friday. The rehearsal is that day and we'll be up to our asses in last minute preparations. You deserve a bonus for this, Cleo."
    "I like that," Cleo said. "A bonus for doing my job. Give my best to Charmaine and Fran and try to relax and enjoy yourself."
    "I will, Cleo. Talk to you tomorrow."
    Joan disconnected and released a sigh. "Charmaine!" she called out. A moment later Charmaine walked around the side of the house and looked up to the porch.
    "What's up?" she asked.
    "Call the office. The art department has a question concerning the new campaign for Sag Harbor that will run in the December issue." Joan handed Charmaine her cell phone. "What is everyone doing?" she asked.
    "Giselle and Tucker are taking the kids for a ride in a little while. I have no idea where Meg is. She took off a little while ago to commune with nature, whatever that means. What are you going to do?"
    Joan rolled her eyes. "The minister performing the ceremony called and wants to meet with Brad and Fran and, unfortunately, with their parents."
    Charmaine laughed. "That should be delightful."
    "It will be brief," Joan said.
    Joan opened the front door of the house and walked inside. She needed a drink, preferably something stouter than coffee or sun tea. Maybe a Long Island Iced Tea. She heard what sounded like a moan and heavy breathing as she started to close the door. Recognizing what it was she stomped on the wooden floor, coughed loudly, and slammed the front door. Brad's head popped up from the sofa, his hair disheveled, followed by Fran, hastily rearranging her blouse.
    "Greetings Earthlings," Joan said. She shifted her eyes to Fran and smiled as her daughter blushed and straightened her hair. "You missed a button, dear."
    "We were, uh, just..." Brad said.
    "Practicing?" Joan asked, trying to keep a straight face.
    "Mother! Stop it!" Fran said.
    "I think that was my next statement. Without the Mother part, of course."
    "Don't try to pretend that you and Mama didn't"“"
    Joan's hand flew to her neck and she gave Fran her best outraged look. "Well, I never!"
    "Oh yes, you did!"
    Joan nodded. "You're right, but you weren't supposed to know that."
    Brad sat looking back and forth between the two women as they helplessly began laughing.
    Evey walked in from the kitchen, rubbing lotion on her hands. "Reverend Nagle will be here in about fifteen minutes," she said. She stopped and took in the scene before her. "What are you laughing at?"
    "You don't want to know," Brad managed as he joined in the laughter. He finally stood and pulled Fran up from the couch. He kissed her cheek and they walked past Evey.
    "Oh, Fran," Evey said. "One of the buttons on your blouse is undone."
    Fran looked down at the offending button as Joan and Brad broke into uncontrollable laughter again.
    It took Joan a few minutes to get herself under control and calmed down. By the time she finished a non-alcoholic bottle of water, a solid knock on the front door alerted her that it was time to face the minister. All Brad had told anyone was that Reverend Thomas Nagle had been recommended by one of his professors at William and Mary. He apparently wasn't associated with any particular denomination, but did have a license from the state to perform wedding ceremonies.
    Joan walked casually back into the living room in time to notice that Fran had changed her blouse. A swarm of bees took flight in her stomach when there was another knock at the front door. It was time to corral her feelings and behave as diplomatically as possible. Evey opened the front door and invited their guest inside.
    "Mrs. Chase?" the man asked. When Evey nodded, he said, "I'm Dr. Thomas Nagle. It's a pleasure to meet you." Nagle was well over six feet tall. Even though his face appeared middle-aged, his thick hair had turned prematurely gray. That, along with the wire-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, gave