Brenda Dolan was a washed-out version of her daughter, the coppery hair faded to peach, her figure rigidly maintained, her face nipped, tucked, and Botoxed free of any expression beyond mild distaste. She looked as if she would rather be waiting for a pap smear than sitting in a sunny summer garden watching her daughter circle in her new husband’s arms.
Jack gave a mental shrug. Not his problem. From the little Luke let drop, Brenda Dolan had never been much of a mother.
The servers were busy passing hors d’oeuvres, mini crab cakes and prosciutto-wrapped asparagus, cold jumbo shrimp and tiny stuffed cherry tomatoes.
Jack touched Lauren’s arm. “Get you another drink?”
She smiled. “That would be great. Thanks.”
He strolled the long ramp to the deck, where a bar had been set up next to the deejay. Hank Clark was already there, clutching a beer and staring morosely through the kitchen windows at Jane.
“She’s a guest, right?” Hank asked Jack. “Not a damn waitress.”
Jack followed his gaze through the glass, where Jane appeared to be giving the caterers a hand. “She’s dressed like a guest. Champagne and a Newcastle, please,” he told the bartender.
Hank grunted. “Right. So why isn’t she out here dancing and enjoying herself instead of inside working her ass off?”
“I don’t know, Hank. Why don’t you ask her?”
“She won’t talk to me.”
“Ask her todance,” Jack said and collected his drinks and went back to Lauren.
Who was not standing where he had left her.
He looked around and spotted her at the table with Brenda Dolan.
“... must be very happy,” Lauren was saying as Jack approached.
“Obviously you don’t have children,” Brenda said bitterly. “I’ve lost her. I had nothing to do with this wedding.”
Lauren met Jack’s gaze and gave a barely perceptible shake of her head. He stopped.
She patted Brenda’s thin arm consolingly. “Kate will always be your daughter,” she said in her warm, soothing voice. “This is your celebration, too.”
“I lost her years ago. And now, seeing her like this, seeing her with them...” Brenda shredded her pretty paper napkin. “The Fletchers are all the family she wants now. She doesn’t want me.”
“She invited you.”
“Because she had to. It wouldn’t look good if she didn’t invite her own mother to her wedding.”
“Would you say appearances are important to her?” Lauren asked quietly.
Brenda sniffed. “Not to her. Never to her.”
“Then she must really want you here.”
Brenda’s eyes brightened. Her lips trembled. “She doesn’t know how hard I tried... I did the best that I could.”
Maybe, Jack thought cynically. And maybe her best wasn’t enough to protect her daughter.
But Lauren’s face revealed nothing but patience and sympathy. “Obviously, things have been a little strained between you. But it’s never too late to start over.”
Brenda dabbed at her face with the ruins of the napkin. “What do you know?”
“I know a daughter wants her mother’s blessing on her wedding day. Why don’t we walk over there right now and see her?”
Brenda’s shoulders drew up to her ears. Jack expected her to refuse.
