CHAPTER ONE
Reba made no attempt to control her rage, when once again she found herself verbally pitted against her daughter, Veronica. "You're going to do what?" she screamed, banging her fist on top of the liquor cabinet. "Bill's twenty four, you're twenty two, neither of you have jobs and you have no savings. How do you intend to finance this fiasco?" Her lips were drawn together tightly. She was extremely aggravated. "Carl and I will absolutely not pay for this wedding, Ronny."
"We're not asking you to pay for anything, Mother," Ronny declared. "We were hoping to receive your blessings, but I guess waiting for your approval of something I do, will probably not occur in my lifetime." She hated these confrontations with her mother.
Yesterday, she had commiserated over the phone with her stepfather about this very situation. "I just don't know how to tell her so she won't fly off the handle and berate me for hours."
"Reba won't be home tomorrow morning," Carl had assured her.
"Good! That will give me time to rehearse my speech before the inevitable altercation."
This morning, Ronny had boarded the ten o'clock trolley in Philadelphia and arrived in Westville an hour later. Entering the house by way of the back kitchen door, she stepped into a world she had almost forgotten existed. Fourteen years ago, she and Cindy had moved into this lovely home by the edge of the creek and Gram's expertise in this kitchen made Ronny's scary, new world a lot more secure.
Few changes had been made since then. Cherry cabinets lined two walls of this magnificent work space and double, copper-fronted ovens were recessed into one wall at the far end of a white Formica counter. A center-island cabinet held six, copper trimmed burners and overhead a circular rack displayed an assortment of pots, pans and cooking utensils. This area was larger and more efficiently organized than the cramped, poorly equipped kitchen in the Metropolitan Hotel where she had been employed as a waitress for the past six months.
After all those years, her mouth still watered as visions of cinnamon spiked, apple pies and rich, chocolate cakes magically appeared on the counter. Now, Gram was gone, Cindy was off doing her thing and this kitchen had not produced an apple pie in a long, long time.
Fondly remembering those early days in this house, she slowly made her way down the marble foyer and entered the living room. She was shocked to see her mother standing at the liquor cabinet fixing a vodka and tonic. Not shocked to see Reba mixing a drink at eleven in the morning---that was her daily ritual. But Carl had said she wouldn't be home.
Reba looked up when Ronny entered and sarcastically asked, "What are you doing here?"
This was not the reception Ronny had expected, but perhaps she should have. Her mother's attitude was almost always belligerent these days. Why would today be an exception?
"I called Carl yesterday and asked if I could stay here for a few days," Ronny explained.
Reba squinted her face and squeezed a lime into her glass. "Your stepfather and I rarely see or talk to each other. I suppose he forgot to tell me."
Ronny knew Carl had intentionally avoided telling her mother about this visit or its purpose. He was painfully aware of the derogatory statements Reba would hurl when the news of this marriage was divulged. Ronny smiled. I don't blame him for letting me take the heat this time, she thought.
Reba finished her second vodka and tonic of the morning while Ronny calmly attempted to explain her feelings about Bill and their plans for the wedding. But Reba's obnoxiousness, possibly fueled by too much booze so early in the morning, had Ronny on the verge of tears.
"How can you be so positive Bill is the one you want to spend the rest of you life with?" How is he planning to support you?" Reba angrily shook her finger in Ronny's face. "You'll soon find out you can't live on love alone, young lady. You're too young and insecure to be considering marriage."
Ronny hated being disrespectful to her mother, but
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