Through the now-closed doors, she could hear Father Tim’s stumbling second attempt to pronounce Bobby and Claire husband and wife. A moment later, applause thundered through the church.
Meghann pulled Mama into the dressing room and shut the door behind them.
“What?” Mama whined, obviously unable to frown but wanting to. Too much Botox, no doubt.
A dog barked. Mama looked down at a small St. John beaded travel carrier in her arms. “It’s okay, honey. Meggy’s makin’ a mountain out of a molehill.”
“You brought your dog?”
Mama pressed a hand to her ample breast. “You know Elvis hates to be left alone.”
“Mama, you haven’t been alone in years. Forget whatever poor fool you’re currently sleeping with, you employ three gardeners, two housekeepers, a personal assistant, and a houseboy. Certainly one of them could dog-sit.”
“I don’t have to clear my lifestyle with you, Miss Meggy. Now why in the hell did you throw me out of my own daughter’s weddin’?”
Meghann felt a surge of impotent anger. It was like dealing with a child. There was no way to make Mama understand what she’d done wrong. “You’re late.”
Mama waved a hand. “Darlin’, I’m a celebrity. We’re always late.”
“Today was Claire’s day to be a star. Can you get that, Mama? Her day. And you walked in right at the moment of glory and stole the show. What were you doing out here, waiting for the perfect moment to make your entrance?”
Mama looked away for just a second, but it was enough to confirm Meghann’s suspicion. Her mother had timed her entrance. “Oh, Mama,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s a new low. Even for you. And who are all those people? Do you think you need bodyguards at a wedding in Hayden?”
“You always pooh-pooh my career, but my fans are everywhere. They scare me sometimes.”
Meghann laughed at that. “Save the acting for People magazine, Mama.”
“Did you see the article? I looked good, don’t you think?” Mama immediately went to the mirror and began checking her makeup.
“As soon as the church empties out, I’m going to talk to your entourage. They arrived in cars; they can sit in them until it’s time to leave. I’ll protect you from your stampeding fans.”
“Dang it, Meggy. Who’ll take my picture at the weddin’? A woman my age needs filters.” Mama reached into her crystal-encrusted evening bag and pulled out a black tube of lipstick. She leaned closer to the mirror.
“Mama,” Meghann said slowly, “Claire has waited a long time for this day.”
“That’s for sure. I was startin’ to think she and those friends of hers were gay.” Mama snapped the lipstick shut and smiled at her reflection.
“The point is, we need to focus on her today. Her needs.”
Mama spun around. “Now, that hurts. When have I ever put my needs ahead of my children’s?”
Meghann was speechless. The most amazing part of this science-fiction moment was that her mother actually believed what she just said. Meghann forced a smile. “Look, Mama, I don’t want to argue with you on this special day. You and I are going to walk over to the reception and tell Claire how happy we are for her.”
“I am happy for her. Bein’ married is the most wonderful feelin’ in the world. Why I remember when I married her daddy, I felt swept away by him.”
You get swept away more often than a muddy riverbank. Meghann kept her lips sealed and her smile tacked in place. She didn’t remind Mama that the marriage to Sam had lasted less than six months, or that Mama had run out on him in the middle of the night, after sending him to the store for tampons. For years, Meghann had had a mental picture of Sam, returning to the Chief Sealth Trailer Park in Concrete, Washington, on that rainy night, standing at the empty site, holding a box of tampons. He hadn’t known for almost ten years—until Meghann called—that his marriage had produced a daughter. “That’s the way, Mama. Pour it on. But,” she stepped closer, looked up into her mother’s surgically wrinkle-less face, “you may bring one photographer. One. No bodyguards and no dog. These rules are not negotiable.”
“You are a pain in the ass, Meghann,” Mama said. Her accent was so thick only a trained ear could understand it. “No wonder you can’t keep a man for long.”
“This from the woman whose been married what—six times? Pretty soon you and Elizabeth Taylor will have to start swapping husbands or you’ll run out.”
“You have no romance in your soul.”
“I can’t imagine why, growing up as I did with so much love.”
They stood there, inches apart, staring at each other.
Then Mama laughed. The real thing this time, not that sexy kitten-laugh she used in Hollywood, but the deep, tavern sound she’d been born with. “Meggy, darlin’, you always did bust my ass. You flipped me off when you were eight months old—did I ever tell you that?”