Free The Wedding Machine by Beth Webb Hart

to LeMar’s window to see Mr. Whiskers leap from the roof through the parting curtains.
    â€œScat!” LeMar’s voice is so deep that she can hear him through the sealed car window and the blasting air conditioner that cools the melting makeup on her face. “Kitty B.! Get this cat out of here!”
    Katie Rae puts a finger to her other ear and walks out to the dock to continue her conversation with the first real boyfriend they think she’s ever had, and Kitty B. waves to no one as she turns the nose of the Lincoln toward the dirt road that leads to Jasper, leaving a swirl of dead oak leaves and one disgruntled husband in her wake.

    â€œThank God for you, Kitty B.!” Ray says, greeting her at the door before striking an Ava Gardner–like pose. “Now don’t I look like death warmed over?”
    Ray’s deep purple eye, coated profusely in concealer and powder, can’t be hidden. Kitty B. gawks at it. Beneath the eye, a stitched-up gash traces Ray’s cheekbone in an awful blackish crimson.
    â€œAre you all right?” Kitty B. bites her lip and cringes.
    â€œIt could have been a lot worse,” Ray says. “That air bag saved my eye, the doctor said. And Willy just happened along the same road right behind me. I didn’t wake up until I was in the Ravenel Hospital. They checked me out all over and sent me home around three in the morning.”
    â€œOh, Ray.” Kitty B. shakes her head in disbelief. “It could have been terrible.”
    â€œIt was —for the buck,” Richadene calls over her shoulder as she opens one of Kitty B.’s Tupperware lids and starts placing the iced petits fours on a tiered silver platter by the kitchen sink.
    â€œHow did it happen?”
    â€œI can’t really say,” Ray says. “I was just driving home, daydreaming, I suppose, and the next thing I knew this enormous buck was striking a pose in front of me.”
    Cousin Willy pops his head in from the back garden. “Biggest one I’ve seen in years—over two hundred pounds. Bent the hood of the station wagon like an accordion.” He walks over to Ray and pats her shoulder. “Now take it easy today.” He examines her gash and gives her a kiss on the forehead.
    â€œI will,” Ray says. “Now go on. You know tea parties aren’t your thing.”

    â€œOnly you, Kitty B.,” Sis says from the living room where she is pouring sugar into the china bowls at the tea stations, “could pull off making four dozen petits fours twelve hours before a tea.”
    Sis looks so fresh in her black linen pants and pink satin blouse with the mandarin neck. Kitty B. notices her newfangled sliders—what does Cricket call them? Mules? They have a sharp pointed toe, too narrow for an actual toe to fit, and a pencil-thin heel. Sis looks as though it could be her wedding gifts the gals will see while sipping tea, as if she has a whole exciting life ahead of her.
    â€œLook at your shoe, Kitty B.!” Ray points at the dirt-smudged ribbon that dangles by a thread from the top of her foot.
    Kitty B. looks down at the shoe and tugs at her skirt in hopes that they won’t notice how tight it is, but the crease pops right back, and she walks toward the utility closet. “Got any superglue?”
    â€œOh, no, that will ruin the shoe.” Ray firmly shakes her head. “You need to take it to Floride—she’ll sew it on properly for you.” “Oh, Ray, I don’t care about that.”
    â€œMe neither,” Sis giggles. “I use a glue gun to put my buttons back on all the time, and do you see this spot right here?” She points to a moth hole in her black pants. “I just took a sharpie pen and dotted it so my skin looked black underneath right there.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t tell things like that, Sis,” Ray says.
    â€œLoosen up, Mom.” Priscilla strolls through the kitchen in