Kristin Butcher - Truths I Learned From Sam 2-Book Bundle: Truths I Learned From Sam / In Search of Sam

Copyright Kristin Butcher, 2013

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I stand behind the silk drapes and peer down at my mothers black Beamer in the parking lot. As I watch, a bird craps right in the middle of the roof. Being pooped on is supposed to be good luck, but Im pretty sure my mother will want that bit of luck hosed away the second she discovers it.

She cant see me. Except for her long, slender fingers on the steering wheel, I cant see her either. I watch anyway. I think Im hoping shell change her mind, turn off the engine, and come back to the condo. But she wont. Shes on a mission, and nothing short of Armageddon will deter her.

Shes on her way to Marjories Bridal Boutique for the final fitting of her wedding gown. She invited me to tag along, but I begged off. I mean, its not like I havent seen her in a wedding dress before. I just havent seen her in this one. Personally, I dont even get why shes buying a new dress. She already has four hanging in her closet. Come Saturday, shell have five. It seems to me she should open her own bridal boutique.

I watch the Beamer slide out the Oak Street exit and merge into traffic. Then I sigh and look around my mothers room. Its huge as big as two bedrooms. Thats because it is two bedrooms. When Mom and I moved into the condo right after she split from husband number two there were three normal-sized bedrooms and a den. Now theres one regular bedroom and one giant bedroom. The den morphed into Moms closet.

After the wedding, Mom and I will move in with Reed aka husband number five but Mom will still hang onto the condo. Its the one constant in her life besides me. Its like she already knows the marriage wont last, and sooner or later well need to move back.

I flop into a chair. This whole wedding thing is so pointless. I wish my mother would give it a rest, but she says she cant help herself. Shes just a crazy romantic. Ha! Crazy like a fox, maybe. My mom is thirty-eight years old, but she looks more like twenty-five, so I sort of understand why she gets a rush out of the courtship deal. Flowers and presents and having some guy drool over you like you were Aphrodite reincarnated would give any females ego a boost. Even so, my mother has her eyes on the prize. Shes working her way up the social and financial ladder one husband at a time. Its just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor one, Dani, she always says with a laugh. But its really not a joke. Its the motto she lives by. Husband number one my father was a high-school teacher. Number two was an architect. Number three was an investment banker. Number four owned a chain of hardware stores, and number five inherited the family brewery and the fortune attached to it. I have no idea how number six will top that. At the very least, hell have to be a prince and own a small country.

Dont get me wrong. My mother isnt a bimbo or a man-eater or anything like that. She doesnt need to marry these guys. In fact, shes perfectly independent. She owns an interior design business, and between marriages she even works at it. Thats how she meets her husbands. They hire her to decorate their homes.

Except for my dad. Mom met him while they were both in university. One thing led to another, and the next thing they knew, Mom was pregnant. So they got married. Gary thats my dad lasted longer than any of Moms other husbands, and for five whole years the three of us were a family. We shared the same toothpaste, carved Halloween pumpkins, read bedtime stories, and traded Christmas presents. Then one day, it was over. I dont even remember any yelling or fighting. Gary just left, and Mom jumped onto the wedding merry-go-round.

The crazy thing is that all my mothers husbands are nice guys, and even after she divorces them, they keep in touch. Two of them are even coming to her wedding.

I look around the room some more. Its very glamorous: an elegant, vintage boudoir with silk drapes, satin bedding, a lush carpet, and expensive antiques. In the corner, I spy the lacquered armoire that holds my mothers jewellery. I frown. Something isnt right. I push myself out of the chair and pad across the room for a closer look.

Just as I thought the little gold key is still in the keyhole and one of the doors is slightly open. Mom has forgotten to lock the cabinet. She must be more stressed about this wedding than I thought.

A shiver of excitement shoots up my spine. When I was a little kid, I loved to root through my mothers jewellery. That was before she got the lacquered armoire. In those days, her jewellery box was exactly that a box. It was covered in a shiny pink fabric, and when you lifted the lid, a ballerina inside twirled to a tinkly interpretation of Strausss The Blue Danube . Back then, the jewellery was paste, plastic, and gold plate, and Mom didnt care if I swathed myself in every necklace and bracelet she owned.

I pull open one door of the armoire and then the other. Necklaces hanging from hooks sway from side to side. I run my fingers over a turquoise pendant dangling from a silver chain, a leftover from the old jewellery box. Mom has had that necklace forever, though I cant say Ive ever seen her wear it.

The interior of the armoire is a tower of drawers. The bottom one contains elegant jewellery rolls. The next one up has brooches. Sparkly bracelets fill the one after that. But its the drawer above that one that makes me stop.

Like the others, its lined with velvet, but this time its divided into long trenches stuffed with rings. Moms engagement rings and wedding bands take up one row all by themselves. What a waste. I mean, here are all these gorgeous rings, and my mother cant even wear them. She should probably get the stones reset and make an all-the-men-Ive-ever-loved bracelet or necklace. But she wont.

I wonder if she ever looks at her rings and thinks about the husbands that came with them. Even if I didnt know which guy had given her which rings, I could tell just by looking. The ones from my dad are the least flashy: a small solitaire diamond and a plain gold band. Brian hes the architect didnt give Mom an engagement ring, just a wedding band, but he designed it himself. So its one of a kind with about twenty diamonds. Being an investment banker, Stephen wanted the biggest bang for his buck. The diamond he chose was enormous and pure. Wyatt, the hardware store mogul and Moms most recent husband, believed more is more, so he made sure there were lots of diamonds in the engagement ring and the wedding band. Of course, Moms current engagement ring is on her finger. Its a pricey family heirloom that goes back a couple of hundred years. Its not what I would want, but Mom seems to like it. I wonder if Reed will want it back afterward.