The Wedding Circle

Book 3: Cherry Cola Book Club Novel

by Ashton Lee

Genres: Humor & Satire; Literary Fiction

Synopsis

In the charming small town of Cherico, Mississippi, the Cherry Cola Book Club meets to discuss classic Southern literature, sample favorite dishes—and share their unique stories. . . Two wonderful new chapters are unfolding for Maura Beth Mayhew, Cherico's librarian. Thanks to her persistence, a new, cutting-edge library is being built on the shores of beautiful Lake Cherico. And come September, Maura Beth will marry Jeremy McShay at his aunt and uncle's stunning home.

Yet in life, as in fiction, happy endings are hard-won. . . A local politician is trying to divert library funds, while Maura Beth's socialite parents insist on a lavish New Orleans wedding. Maura Beth invites them to Cherico to experience the town's laidback appeal—and the book club's delicious potluck fare. Sadly, not even Voncille Nettle's famous biscuits can placate Mrs. Mayhew once the discussion turns from Eudora Welty's The Robber Bridegroom to real-life marriage.

To get the wedding and the library of her dreams, Maura Beth will have to harness the indomitable spirit of her favorite Southern heroines—and the sage advice of the Cherry Cola Book Club. . .

Release date: April 1, 2015

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

Maura Beth Mayhew was not going to let it happen again. Not a single member of The Cherry Cola Book Club would deter her from her mission this time. After all, it was beyond inexcusable to keep a literary giant like Eudora Welty on the backburner any longer—waiting in the wings like an unproven ingénue with only a few lines to make an impression on her opening-night audience. The standing ovation notices had been in for ages.

“No, ladies and gentlemen,” Maura Beth continued playfully, lifting her chin and shaking her auburn curls for extra emphasis as she stood behind the podium in The Cherico Library, “the time has come to tackle The Robber Bridegroom. We’ve honored Margaret Mitchell and Harper Lee, among our female legends. It’s only fitting that we now pay homage to an icon like Miss Welty. So, let’s open our doors wide for Eudora, shall we?”

There was plenty of gentle laughter and head nodding among all those in attendance, followed by unanimous approval of the previous proposal to make The Robber Bridegroom the club’s next classic Southern read. Maura Beth was pleased that all the regulars had shown up for this midsummer meeting in her cramped little library still smelling of fresh paint from the recent spring storm damage repairs. Most importantly, the big hole that a direct lightning strike had ripped open in the roof had been patched, even if some of the thoroughly soaked children’s books had yet to be replaced. But at least the musty odors and the unsightly stains had been vanquished, and some semblance of normalcy had been restored to the outdated facility tucked away at 12 Shadow Alley.

Maura Beth took a cleansing breath and happily surveyed the audience sitting before her in the makeshift semicircle of folding chairs. Then she began making her mental notes.

Miss Voncille Nettles and her widower beau, Locke Linwood, had recently announced their wedding plans and were still holding hands like smitten teenagers, even though they were both on the verge of entering their seventies. There was no mistaking their fondness for each other, nor the extent to which the prickly, but still handsome, Miss Voncille had thawed and mellowed in the face of Locke’s gentlemanly ardor. Ah, the transformative power of love!

Maura Beth’s folksy girlfriend and owner of The Twinkle Twinkle Café, Periwinkle Lattimore, seemed to have recovered nicely from her ill-fated, second-chance dalliance with her manipulative ex-husband, Harlan; furthermore, she and her accomplished pastry chef, Mr. Parker Place—who had not come with her, however—had been spotted shopping and running other errands together around town. No one had yet perceived them as an “item” exactly, but it was obvious that they had become very friendly coworkers at the town’s most popular restaurant. Rumor had it that he had even begun sharing cooking duties with Periwinkle to lighten her load in the kitchen, and no one thought she would ever delegate an enormous responsibility like that. Not where her fantastically successful Twinkle was concerned!

Maura Beth had now reserved a special corner in her temple of gratitude for wealthy retirees Connie and Douglas McShay, who were sitting directly in front of her. It was they who had generously donated part of their extensive acreage on Lake Cherico for the construction of the brand-new, state-of-the-art library that Maura Beth and Nora Duddney had managed to wangle out of the always scheming Councilman Durden Sparks. Only the three of them would ever know the truth behind his decision to pony up for the much-needed upgrade. As far as the general public was concerned, Councilman Sparks was the genuine hero in the proposition, donating the funds out of the civic-minded goodness of his heart. What wonders a little holding of feet to the fire over misappropriated funds had wrought!

Then Maura Beth turned her attention to Becca and Justin Brachle, respectively, the town’s local radio show chef and real-estate tycoon. By now everyone in Cherico knew that they were expecting their first child. Imagine that—Becca “Broccoli” Brachle and her “Stout Fella,” as she had nicknamed him, were going to become parents after ten years of wedded but childless bliss! That is, minus his “too-young-to-have-one” heart attack episode as a frightening reminder that life was indeed short.

And suddenly it dawned on Maura Beth why everyone had been so eager to approve the club read for the August meeting and get all the other official club matters resolved so quickly. That fawning cluster surrounding the Brachles the moment they had entered the library—including the wealthy spinster Crumpton sisters, Mamie and Marydell—was all about soliciting updates on Becca’s pregnancy. Among the favored topics in small towns like Cherico, Mississippi, which women were expecting and how they were doing with their morning sickness and weight gain surely fascinated the greatest number of people. So, best not to keep them all waiting any longer. Time to retire to the long buffet table groaning with gumbo, chicken spaghetti, tomato aspic, baked custard, and chocolate cherry cola sheet cake, followed by the effortless socializing that had become the trademark of The Cherry Cola Book Club. True to form, it did not take long for the genteel inquisition to begin.

“I see you’re not showing yet, dear,” Mamie Crumpton said, in between bites of jalapeño cornbread. As usual, Mamie was overdressed for the occasion—her significant cleavage stuffed into an iridescent gown far better suited to an evening at Theater Memphis. Always trying to be the center of attention was, of course, her signature character trait. “You must be one of those lucky women who just don’t put on a lot of weight. I had a first cousin like that. Why, the day Marcella Louise was about to pop, you wouldn’t have even guessed it. As I recall, she didn’t even have to wear maternity clothes. Must have saved a fortune!”

“Oh, it’s a bit too soon for me, Miz Crumpton,” Becca said, her petite figure still truly intact. “I’m not even out of my first trimester yet. But I’m looking forward to my baby bump all the same. After all this time, it’s well worth the wait.”

“Otherwise we’re doin’ just fine,” Justin added, towering over her with his big frame and smiling the way expectant fathers do. Then he gestured in her general direction with his thumb and firmly set his jaw. “At least she is.”

Becca gave him an exasperated glance and shook her pretty blond head. “Please, Justin. Enough about your feet!”

The kibitzing Maura Beth was intrigued and moved closer with a smile. “What’s this?”

Becca pointed her plastic fork at him accusingly before resting it on her paper plate. “Oh, he keeps claiming his feet feel like a thousand bees are stinging him all the time. I’m willing to bet it’s those snakeskin cowboy boots he wears night and day. That’s got to be what’s doing it. The snakes are getting their revenge!”

Justin looked unconvinced as he glanced down quickly. “Then how come when I take them off, my feet feel even worse? You know I’ve even been having trouble sleeping because of it.”

Becca shrugged, flicking her wrist dismissively. “Okay, then we’ll ask Dr. Healy about it when I go for my next visit.”

“Now, what does your obstetrician know about feet?” he continued. “Unless they’re tiny baby feet that show up in a sonogram. Seems like I was born wearin’ a clunky size fourteen.”

The group that had gathered around the Brachles was chuckling, and Becca said, “He’s paying the price for all that line dancing he did all those years out at the Marina Bar and Grill with the boys.”

Justin immediately did a passable imitation of taking offense. “Hey, there’s nothin’ wrong with a little boot-scootin’ boogie now and then!”

With one question from Periwinkle, however, the focus of the gathering changed from the Brachles to Maura Beth herself. “That cute Jeremy of yours couldn’t make it down tonight, honey?”

“Afraid not,” she explained, barely able to disguise her disappointment. “He’s up in Nashville packing for the big move in a few days. He’s also getting rid of a lot of his bachelor guy things right and left. I pretty much told him he had to. For instance, he’s hung this actual airplane propeller on the wall over his bed. Don’t ask me where he got it. Anyway, he explained—and these were his exact words—that it was symbolic of his ability to rev up his engine. I told him straight out, ‘I can vouch for the fact you definitely don’t need that anymore, big boy!’ and we both had a good laugh. But the truth is, until we move into a bigger place after the wedding, all the space we’ve got is inside that little efficiency of mine on Clover Street, and believe me, that’s about as cramped as it gets.”

“Couldn’t y’all have timed things a little better?” Periwinkle continued.

“His lease expired, and we haven’t been able to find anything suitable down here yet. So my place will have to do for the time being.”

Then Periwinkle gave her a sideways, skeptical glance and folded her arms. “And how are your parents down there in Louisiana taking this early move in part? Or have you even told ’em about it?”

“I did tell them, and maybe I shouldn’t have,” Maura Beth said. “They’re still giving me lots of flak about everything.”

It was hard to imagine her socialite parents, William and Cara Lynn Mayhew, being less thrilled about her announced forthcoming wedding to Jeremy McShay. Actually, it was her imperious mother who had kept up the disdain in phone call after phone call once she had learned about the engagement: “Maura Beth, here you are making next to nothing as a librarian in that redneck town in the middle of nowhere, and you’re going to compound that mistake by marrying a high-school English teacher? They make even less than you do. I can see it now—your father and I will have to send you money all the time so you can make ends meet. Of course, we’ll be glad to do it, but is that the kind of future you really want? All of this is so far beneath you.”

“Thanks for that huge bouquet of support, Mama,” Maura Beth had stated as evenly as possible. She knew it was useless to do anything more than serve up a huge helping of sarcasm, but she would have given anything for a sunnier exchange every once in a while.

Then there was the issue of Connie and Douglas McShay, Jeremy’s generous aunt and uncle, hosting the wedding at their lodge on Lake Cherico. Cara Lynn had immediately recoiled in horror at the prospect of her only daughter not reciting her vows at St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church down in New Orleans, followed by the proper, seated gourmet dinner and reception at the terribly exclusive, live oak–shaded Three-Hundred Club.

Here, Cara Lynn Mayhew had risen up like a cobra about to strike, practically hissing through the phone: “Really, Maura Beth! Your father and I thought this rebellious phase of yours would peter out eventually—this wanting to be a drab little librarian to amuse yourself by shelving books and shushing other people’s children. But we fully expected you to come back to us for your birthright. You’re a Mayhew—a New Orleans Mayhew, one of the finest Uptown names. Not to mention my family, the State Street Danforths. I’m just glad your grandparents aren’t alive for this. You deserve better than standing among those strangers at some tacky fishing lodge for that special moment in your life!”

Somehow, Maura Beth had managed to hold her temper and had even offered an olive branch. “Mama, they’re not strangers. They’re all my friends. And the McShays’ home on the water is just lovely. Just think of Lake Cherico as a little Lake Pontchartrain without the sailboats. But Jeremy and I have discussed it, and we’re willing to postpone the wedding until you’ve had a chance to come up here to Cherico and meet him and his family. They’re all very nice, cultured, educated people, I can assure you. Besides, you’ve never once bothered to actually come and see what my life is like up here. Will you at least do that much for me?”

Maura Beth came out of her reverie, revealing to Periwinkle and all the other members of The Cherry Cola Book Club the outcome of that particular conversation. “I don’t know how I did it, but I convinced my parents to come to The Robber Bridegroom review and meet all of you. After that, God willing, we’ll be able to finalize our wedding plans, and I will have made peace with my family.”

Connie McShay did not appear to be taking these latest revelations very well, the worry clearly showing in the lines around her eyes. “Oh, Maura Beth, Douglas and I don’t want to be the cause of friction between yourself and your parents. You know we’ll be happy to withdraw our offer to host your wedding in an instant. Just say the word.”

“That’s very understanding of you, but it won’t solve the real problem here,” Maura Beth returned, sounding fiercely determined. “I’ve got to face my parents once and for all about the choices I’ve made for my life. They’ve got to understand that I don’t necessarily value the same things that they do. It seems we’ve been at odds with each other for the longest time, and whenever I want to see them, I have to go down there. Maybe we can’t resolve anything after it’s all said and done, but I’ve got to give it at least one last try.”

Miss Voncille offered up an odd little chuckle as she leaned into Locke Linwood and gave him an affectionate glance. “If it’s not the parents causing all the trouble, it’s the children.”

Locke slowly shook his head of thick gray hair, looking suddenly forlorn. “What Voncille is referring to are my two very opinionated, grown children. At first we thought we had their blessing for our wedding, but everything seems to have fallen apart these last couple of weeks. First, my daughter, Carla, has had second thoughts. My son, Locke, Jr., in particular, is getting all bent out of shape about my getting married so soon after his mother’s death. I told him, ‘Son, it’s been over two years, and whether you believe it or not, this is something your mother would want for me. I told him I wasn’t going to argue any further and that Voncille and I intended to get married with or without his approval. He’s making noises like he and his wife won’t even be attending the wedding. Can you imagine that—after all I’ve done for him— sending him to law school and giving them the down payment for their big house over there in the Delta?”

“It’s very upsetting to us,” Miss Voncille added, her usual vinegary demeanor somewhat watered down now. “We had both of the children and their spouses over for a home-cooked dinner, and I thought everything went well. But apparently, it was a surface appearance thing. Once they saw I was a real, flesh-and-blood person and not just a name mentioned over the phone, something must have clicked in their brains. Suddenly, Locke started getting calls and e-mails about who was going to inherit the house and this and that piece of furniture or which bank account and—well, I’m sure you get the picture.”

“I guess I’ve found out who my children really are now,” Locke continued, his voice full of disappointment and only a bit more forceful than a whisper. “I don’t know who they take after with that attitude. Maybe greed skips a generation and then rears its ugly head again when it’s good and ready. Their mother wasn’t like that. I mean, Pamela wasn’t overly concerned with material things, and I’m grateful for what I have and for what she left me, but I’ve always realized that I couldn’t take any of it with me there at the end. Heh. I remember once Pamela said that she was reasonably certain Heaven was not going to be one big, climate-controlled, storage warehouse filled with family heirlooms.”

There was a wave of appreciative laughter, but Mamie Crumpton quickly changed the mood of the room, dramatically heaving her bosom as she lifted up her cup of cherry cola punch. “Be that as it may, there are still a few dark clouds hanging over these weddings.”

Maura Beth looked especially pensive for a few moments. “Sometimes I think we’re all in rehearsal for a Tennessee Williams play with these dramatic developments. But I truly hope not. Most of his works didn’t end well for the main characters, and I’d much rather be thought of as a Scarlett O’Hara than a Blanche DuBois. I don’t know what’s so appealing about that faded Southern belle concept anyway.”

“Now I know things’ll work out for ya, honey,” Periwinkle said, nudging her friend playfully. “Don’t get down in the dumps about this. Deep-six the Tennessee Williams scenarios. Why, we’ll put on a show for your parents that they’ll never forget when they come for their visit. We’ll stage a feast at The Twinkle!”

Maura Beth brightened, as she frequently did when she was around her best girlfriend. “Oh, that would be wonderful. I really want them to get to know and love all of you the way I do!”

“Don’t you worry that pretty red head of yours,” Connie put in. “Matter of fact, it might be a good idea for your parents to stay with us out at the lodge. We have two wonderful guest rooms on the second story overlooking the lake, and our sunsets out on the deck are to die for. We’ll show them there’s more to our Cherico than meets the eye!”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell my parents all these years,” Maura Beth explained. “Unfortunately, they think New Orleans is the center of the universe, and they treat me like I’m living on an alien planet.”

“Does your father like to fish?” Douglas asked. “If he does, I could take him out on The Verdict to see what we can reel in.”

Maura Beth smiled, even as she was shaking her head. “Not to my knowledge. He’s out there on the stands during duck-hunting season, though. That’s always been his greatest conflict in life at that time of the year: whether to shoot ducks or cheer for the LSU Tigers on Saturday nights. Sometimes he even manages to do both. But fishing? I don’t think so.” Then Maura Beth screwed up her mouth as if reconsidering. “But Daddy is an attorney. Perhaps the two of you could compare notes on your careers. Maybe there’ll be some bonding in that.”

Now it was Douglas’s turn to flash a skeptical smile. “Louisiana is so different from all the others states with that Napoleonic Code, though. What kind of law does your father practice?”

Maura Beth’s brief little laugh sounded more like a hiccup. “Oh, he helps couples part company and split up their inventory, to put it politely. It’s a big business these days!”

“Yep,” Douglas added, clucking his tongue. “Good ole divorce—I like to think of it as Alka-Seltzer for a marriage gone sour!”

“Very clever,” Maura Beth said, but quickly adopted a more serious tone. “If you and Connie wouldn’t mind, though, I’d like to explore this business of my parents staying with you out at the lodge a little further. Perhaps you could stay a bit afte. . .