Love Letters From Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [2]
Cici opened her one good eye and stared at her.
“I mean,” Lindsay tried to explain, “not that everyone wasn’t worried about you, but you saved the cake, and after the first little excitement, everyone forgot about it and moved on, and, if you think about it, at least you gave everyone a good story to tell. And no one was mad. Not really.”
Cici looked at her for another moment, then closed her eyes again. Her tone was flat. “I’m so glad.”
The screen door opened again, and the silk banner pulled away from the wall and sagged down on Bridget as she came through the door. She wrestled with it for a moment, her petite stature and frothy chiffon dress making her look like an Easter egg doing battle with a marshmallow. Finally she simply jerked the fabric away from the remaining staples that held it to the wall and let it cascade to the floor like a fallen flag. She kicked it aside unceremoniously.
Bridget was the oldest of the three, with a sweet round face, a bouncy platinum bob, and an earnest innocence that made her lookyounger than either of her two friends. She was wearing Hint of Spring green in a delicate peau de soie with an empire waist and matching two-inch heels. The Nearly Nude Shimmer & Silk stockings actually did make her legs look longer, as promised by the manufacturer.
“Feeling any better?” she ventured hopefully to Cici.
Bridget winced as Cici removed the package of peas from her face to reveal the ugly red and purple bruise that had half closed her left eye and was beginning to discolor her cheek.
“Oh, yes,” Cici said without expression. “I’m just fine. Thank you for asking.”
Bridget hurried over to her. “It was an accident, you know. She’s really sorry.”
Cici returned the peas to her eye. “What did I say about goats?” she demanded simply.
Bridget wisely declined to answer that. “I found your earring,” she said instead and offered up a mud-encrusted seed-pearl drop pendant.
Cici just stared at her for a moment, clearly debating whether maintaining her pique was worth the effort. Then a corner of her lips turned down ruefully, and she held out her hand. “Thanks.”
Bridget smiled, dropped the earring into her hand, and took a chair, and the three of them sat in exhausted silence for a while, watching the birds and the changing patterns of muted light. In comparison to the chaos that had reigned only hours before, the muffled sounds of activity from the house sounded like a benediction.
“You know,” Bridget observed after a time, “all things considered, it really was a lot of fun.”
Cici tried to lift her head to look at her, winced in pain, and settled back again. “You did not just say that to me.”
“Well, I mean, except for the storm.”
“Tornado,” corrected Lindsay.
“That hasn’t been confirmed yet,” Bridget objected.
“And the dog,” Cici said without opening her eyes.
“And the groom’s mother.”
“And the groom.”
“And the explosion.”
“And the goat.”
“Like I said,” Bridget said uncomfortably. “All things considered.”
No one spoke for a measure of time. No one had the energy.
“You know what the problem was, don’t you?” Bridget said after a moment.
“Personally,” replied Lindsay, a rather tired smile twitching at her lips, “I blame Michelle Obama.”
Bridget smothered a giggle, and even Cici, without opening her eyes, managed a lopsided smile.
“Okay,” Cici said, “Tell me what the problem was.”
“Sex.”
Cici opened her eyes and lifted her head to look at her two best friends. The three women thought about that for a while. Then Cici gave a slow, reflective nod of her head. “Do you know, Bridget,” she said, “this time I think you’ve got it exactly right.”
Lindsay agreed regretfully, “Sad but true.”
“But it was a beautiful ceremony” Bridget said.
Cici glanced at one of the half-empty champagne glasses on the small table beside her chair. She had no idea to whom it belonged. She picked it up dubiously sniffed the contents, gave the rim a cursory examination for lip marks, and drank it