Rude Awakenings: A Novel of the Terribly Acronymed Detective Club (Book 2)

Chapter Thirty-Six: Lauren, Summer, 2010

Also in attendance was Marjorie Wilson, the woman from the New Westminster Historical Society, who'd interviewed them all and taken their pictures the day Al proposed to Rachel; she'd been a close confidant of Martha Anderson in the years before her death, and was thrilled to discover that the kids in the stories Martha had told her, the ones who'd stopped the abusive dad, had all grown up and reunited, and were helping Rachel execute Martha's will. She hadn't witnessed the proposal, but Al and Rachel had gone back to visit her at Mrs. Anderson's old house, now a museum operated by the Society, and she'd been delighted to accept the invitation to their wedding.

One thing the Society had instigated, once the museum was in operation, was a writer-in-residence program, in partnership with the New Westminster Public Library, which was opening a new branch at the Queensborough Community Centre and using the program in cross-promotion with the announcement of the new branch. Rachel had learned this from Marjorie and told Lauren, and she thought it was an interesting way of getting visitors. A local author could apply to the program and, if successful, live there rent free while completing their work over a season, while visiting with museum attendees and talking about their work. Al was particularly interested in the program, and wished for a moment that he worked for the New West Library system. "Alas, I'm with the bigger, badder Vancouver system," he lamented often, "which plops its writer-in-residence in a cold, all-glass room like a goldfish in a bowl, on the fifth floor of the Central Branch."

Al and Rachel exchanged beautiful vows they wrote themselves, and Lauren felt tears run down her cheeks as they talked about growing up together in Queensborough, losing each other just when they might have begun to explore deeper feelings for each other, then finding their way back to each other at last, and being thankful that they were here today in the sight of their old and new friends and family, and any loved ones who'd passed and were looking down on them. It was perfect, the opposite of Lauren and Joe's boilerplate, but now her mascara was running just as she feared it would if she and Joe had exchanged vows like these. Al and Rachel didn't even cry, though; dry eyes and wide smiles only. Maybe they'd rehearsed them before today, just to prevent tears from coming. It wasn't the worst idea.

Sunny made a show of not knowing where the rings were, emptying out his pockets, and the congregation laughed uproariously, and then, with the trademark gleam in his eye and his mile-wide smile, he presented them just in the nick of time.

Lauren asked Al, once, if he'd considered having Samson, his cat, walk up the aisle with the rings tied around his neck in some kind of pouch, but he shook his head. "Cats are assholes," he explained. "I have no illusions about my own. They tend to do the exact opposite of what you want them to do. If we tried it, most likely he'd get spooked by all the people and dart up a tree, and then we'd have to call the Fire Department."

"You'd have a very memorable wedding," she suggested, "if big beefy firemen arrived on the scene."

He wagged his finger at her. "You already had your bachelorette party. Do you want to make me compete for my bride's attentions on our wedding day?" He asked this not knowing he would be doing exactly that, but with a competitor he might not have considered.

Lauren and he were in the middle of a rare moment alone together, while he was at their house planning the arrangement of the chairs and the flower arch where they would stand. He was been remarkably involved, unlike Joe, who'd been happy to let his Mamma run the show.

"And you guys?" she asked. "How was your party?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Do you really want to know?"

"I'm not an innocent, Al. As long as no genitals made contact, you have nothing to worry about from me."

He gave her a sheepish grin. "Well, it was depressingly predictable. Lap dances at the Paramount."