A Wedding on Lilac Lane by Hope Ramsay (best book clubs .txt) 📕

when it came to reading notes on a page. For years she’d been playing fiddle by ear or making up arrangements on the fly. That was the beauty of fiddling with a band.

Today she’d have to be perfect. So she’d been spending a lot of time out by the tree practicing this piece. She had no idea if the questionable ghost liked Mozart as much as her jigs and reels. At least the ghost kept his critiques to himself. Mom was unlikely to do that.

They set up their music stands in the condo’s living room while Granny settled at her kitchen island with the cards and envelopes. The Mozart piece was a fast-paced allegro with lots of arpeggios. The lead melodic line jumped from one violin to the other and back again. And if ever there was a “fun” piece of classical music, this was it.

“I’ll take first violin,” Ella said, because she’d been practicing that part. Years ago, she’d played second fiddle, but not today. Of course, the second violin part wasn’t any easier, but Mom had always played first violin.

Ella braced for an argument, but Mom only nodded and rearranged her music. They started playing on Ella’s count. She set a quick tempo because that’s how she’d practiced it. The duet was typical chamber music, full of fast notes, and didn’t require a lot of emotion to play. Speed was the thing.  Which made baroque music more like jigs and a reels than the Borodin she’d been messing around with.

They played it with few mistakes, although Ella had the upper hand because she’d practiced the first violin part and Mom was probably sight-reading the second violin. So kudos to Mom for her music-reading chops.

But when the four-minute piece came to an end, Mom was seriously out of breath. “Well,” she said, “you just gave my fingers a workout.” She grinned.

“I’m sorry. That was kind of unfair because I’ve been practicing.”

“I know. You never did have any faith in your sight-reading. Shall we play it again? This time we can switch parts. And I haven’t been practicing.” Was that a passive-aggressive dig or a challenge?

Ella wiped a little perspiration from her fingertips. “Okay,” she said. Game on.

They played it a second time, but since the second violin part wasn’t all that dissimilar to the first violin, Ella was able to keep up even though she was sight-reading the music. And, of course, Mom set a much slower pace the second time through. Neither of them played it error-free, so there was that.

“You played that slower. Were you trying to give me a break?” she asked.

“No. I was giving myself a break. Honey, I can’t play as fast as you do.”

“What?”

She smiled. “You’ve become a much better violinist than you were at fifteen.”

“Guess that means there is some value in country music after all,” Granny said from her post in the kitchen.

“I guess so, Momma. Shall we do it again? You play first violin,” Mom said.

They practiced for an hour and a half, and by the time they were finished, the piece was almost performance ready. Even more important, they hadn’t had a single argument, and the music did nothing but make Mom smile. Ella realized that Mom had been stressing out about a lot of things recently. So this duet had been a really good idea.

They put away their violins and joined Granny at the kitchen island. “How’s it going?” Ella asked.

“Almost done.” Granny dropped her pen and flexed her fingers. “Y’all were great.”

“Thanks,” Mom said. “But now my aging bladder is calling. I’ll be right back.”

Mom headed off to the powder room, and Granny leaned forward and spoke in a voice even quieter than usual. “You want to explain the other day?”

Ella got up and headed toward the fridge as her adrenaline spiked. She’d been waiting for Granny to ask this question. All morning at church, and even before that. She’d expected a phone call.

But evidently, Granny wanted to have this conversation face-to-face and privately.

“There’s nothing to explain.”

“I know my hearing isn’t what it used to be, but I distinctly heard you say that you and Dylan were off for a night to remember. Sugar, I’ve been concerned ever since that night Jim and Brenda caught Dylan wrapped up in that beach towel. You and Dylan aren’t…you know…?”

“No,” she said with her back turned as she pulled the iced tea jug from the fridge.

“Y’all looked chummy the other evening.”

“Granny, have you ever ridden on a motorcycle?” Ella reached for three glasses.

“No, can’t say as I have.”

“Well, there aren’t that many places to hang on.”

“Y’all were barely moving at the time, sugar.”

“Well, we were stopping and going, you know. Kind of jerky motion. And to be honest, I was terrified. And as for what I said, you’ve got that all wrong. A Night to Remember is a catering place on the East Side.”

She turned and met her grandmother’s probing stare just as Mom came down the hall from the bathroom. “What’s this I hear about catering?”

“We booked a place called A Night to Remember. Jude St. Pierre recommended them. And I found out that it’s perfectly okay for us to have a chocolate fountain.”

“Oh, fun,” Mom said with a gigantic grin, while Granny kept staring at Ella as if she’d just told an enormous fib.

Which she had. Not about the chocolate fountain, but about every other thing related to her ride on Dylan’s Harley through the middle of town.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The ten days leading up the Dad’s engagement party passed in a blur for Dylan. He was insanely busy at work, scheduling interviews with potential nurse practitioners, covering for Dad at the free clinic, and finding moments, when no one was looking, to spend time with Ella.

Outwardly, they were working on the engagement party, but really, they had delegated most of the work to An Evening to Remember. Ella kept track of the phone RSVP list, and Dylan kept track of the online RSVPs. And they’d booked a photographer.

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