Hitched

49

The Reillys’ family room in Summit, New Jersey, was an extension of their large open kitchen. Nora and Luke were relaxing on one of the overstuffed couches, the Sunday newspapers in front of them. They’d watched Regan on the morning show and then turned on a classical music station.

They knew that they’d hear from Regan when she had a chance to call.

“I somehow didn’t think this was the way we’d be spending the Sunday morning before Regan’s wedding,” Nora said. “Watching our daughter on television talking about her stolen wedding dress.”

Luke smiled. “Shouldn’t you have learned by now to expect the unexpected?” He leaned over and broke off a piece of a crumb bun sitting on a plate on the coffee table.

“I suppose.”

The phone rang. When Nora answered, the caller hung up. “I don’t know what that was about,” she said with a shrug.

“I got a strange call yesterday,” Luke said. “Someone asking exactly when Regan was getting married. Something about sending a gift. It didn’t sound legit.”

The phone rang again. Nora looked at the caller ID. “Unavailable,” she said.

Luke grabbed it. “Hello.”

“Mr. Reilly?”

“Who’s calling?”

“I’m Georgie, the leader of the band that’s supposed to sing at your daughter’s wedding this Saturday.”

“Supposed to sing?” Luke repeated.

“I’m really sorry. But it doesn’t look good.”

“Doesn’t look good?” Luke asked, astonished. “What do you mean?”

“We were playing at a wedding last night when a brawl broke out. The crowd knocked over a lot of our equipment. Most of it has to be replaced. You should see my guitar. It’s toast. One of my guys has a broken wrist and another is in jail for throwing punches. I’ve told him a hundred times he needs to go to anger management classes.”

Luke was silent for a moment. Finally he said, “You have a contract.”

“What do you want me to do, get out there with a harmonica?”

“Certainly not.”

Georgie sighed. “It looks like our band is going to break up for good.”

“I’m sure the public won’t be as heartbroken as when the Beatles called it a day.”

“You don’t have to be sarcastic, Mr. Reilly. I’m trying to give you plenty of notice.”

“You call six days plenty of notice? Who do you suggest I get to play at my daughter’s wedding? A bunch of high school kids?”

“They’re probably already booked. Some of the kids’ bands out there are not bad.”

Luke’s voice was icy. “We gave you a deposit.”

“I’m sending it right back.”

“You’d better.”

“I know, I know. I’m returning your check and I’m getting out of the wedding business. Too many problems with emotional people who complain if you don’t sing their first song at the exact pace they rehearsed it in the one dance class they took in their lives. It’s not my fault if they’ve got two left feet. Or the bride’s mother complains the music is too loud. The young generation wants one kind of music, Uncle Harry wants another. I’ve had it. I need a rest.”

“I hope you get a nice long one,” Luke said and hung up the phone. He turned to Nora who looked as dismayed as he did. “As you have gathered, the band canceled. There was a brawl last night.”

Nora sighed with frustration. “I tried to convince Regan to hire one of those lovely twelve-piece orchestras, but she and Jack had heard this group at a wedding. She said they really got the crowd going.”

“Apparently they have that talent.”

“I can’t believe it. First Regan’s dress is stolen. Now she’s without a band. What are we going to do?”

Luke managed a smile. “Your cousins all love to sing. Eamonn never met a microphone he didn’t like. Maybe he could fill in.”

The very thought of it propelled Nora out of her seat. “God forbid! I’ll start making phone calls and see who we can find.”