A Wedding in the Lowcountry (Brides of Lowcountry #3)

Chapter One

Avila Houston would never make it on Broadway, not anymore, but her daughter had a fighting chance, and that was all that

mattered.

“I can carpool to practice with Jenna. You don’t have to take me here if you have to work an extra shift this evening.” Twelve-year-old

Ebony cut her eyes at her mother and adjusted the tote bag on her shoulder.

“The extra shift was optional. This is more important. And besides, I like to make sure you get here safely.” Avila stepped

through the doors of George Street Playhouse. She made a mental note to tell Ebony about the dangers for a young girl in hanging

around New Brunswick by herself, but Ebony interrupted.

“Most of the theater kids carpool.”

Not from what Avila had observed, but she knew that Ebony didn’t want to be around her a whole lot. That preteen stage was

kicking in.

“You ready for today?” Avila asked, trying to ease the situation. “I’m looking forward to seeing you rehearse the new scene.

I think it will be a good audition piece for you, once you land a talent agent.”

Ebony sighed.

“Not trying to rush you or anything, love. Just saying. You have a gift. I don’t want it to go to waste.”

“I know.” The contents of Ebony’s tote bag rustled.

“You’ll be amazing today.”

“Thanks.”

Thanks . All Avila got was a thanks in return. It was better than nothing.

Ebony’s steps quickened as she headed down the narrow hall to the Murphy Room, the space that was reserved for rehearsals.

Avila knew that underneath the tough veneer was a little girl who was trying to find her way. She had been through a lot in

her twelve years of life.

Ebony attended St. Martin de Porres Catholic School, located in the upper-middle-class part of Edison, but she wasn’t part

of the in-crowd. The in-crowd consisted of those whose parents raised the most money for the school or who made tens of thousands

of dollars in donations every year. The children of those parents snubbed Ebony, but Avila encouraged her daughter to shine

in other ways. Theater was one of them.

Avila tucked her keys in her back pocket, stepped inside the theater, and headed to the front row. The lights on the stage

were gradually getting brighter, which indicated that class was about to begin. Avila’s tummy flipped, and she wasn’t even

the person who would be on the stage. Then she glanced at Ebony, who was still as a rock. “You okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

That “uh-huh” meant she was nervous. The time on Avila’s cell phone read 3:53. “Baby girl, you have seven minutes until your

acting class starts. Use that nervousness for good. I’m gonna be here in the front row quietly rooting for you.”

“I really don’t need you to stay.”

Avila crumbled inside. “Like I said, work can wait. Can’t a mother watch her talented daughter onstage?” She layered her voice

with a thick coat of guilt.

Ebony set her bag on the empty chair next to her, and it tilted on its side. “I guess so,” she said, mumbling, then made her

way to the stage.

Avila sat and eyed the mail, which she had shoved in her bag in a rush to make it here on time. A few months ago, the children

had mentioned that it was cringy for the parents to sit front row center. Other moms gathered, but they settled in the rows

behind Avila. Those mothers never included her in their suburban chatter, so Avila kept to herself. One of the mothers spotted

Avila and gave a half-smile, but that was all she was going to get from them.

Henrietta, the acting instructor, was flipping through the pages of what was probably a script while the kids gathered onstage.

The thick, red velvet stage curtain shimmered under the lights. Ebony stood in a group with some other students, going over

lines and giggling. A brunette girl whispered something to a boy, and they glanced at Ebony and laughed. Even from a distance,

Avila could feel Ebony’s upset, and, being a mother, she figured the worst. Avila wanted to tell that girl to cut it out.

If she did that, she’d probably look out of control, so she took a deep breath and made a mental note to ask Ebony about it

later. Ebony could handle whatever had happened in that brief exchange. She hoped.

Avila grabbed a bunch of envelopes from her purse. Bills. Junk mail. Bills. And more junk mail. That was all she’d gotten, along with a clothes and shoes catalog. She didn’t impulse shop on clothes and shoes. Most of her paychecks went to living expenses, Ebony’s tuition, and her acting lessons. Those were Avila’s priorities.

Underneath the mail, an envelope decorated with lavender peonies peeked out at her. She pulled it from the stack and flipped

it to the front. A letter from Ms. Mable, addressed in ornate, old-fashioned cursive. Her Charleston, South Carolina, address

was proudly written in the upper left-hand corner.

Interesting. Ms. Mable only sent her Christmas cards these days, since Avila had been living in New Jersey for the past twelve

years. She used to call Avila weekly and mail her baby and toddler items for Ebony, but that had slowed with time. Avila assumed

that with age came the inability to keep up with long distant contacts... or perhaps Ms. Mable grew weary of asking Avila

when she was moving back to the Lowcountry. The answer was always the same:

Not sure , or

I don’t know , or

We’ll have to see.

And Ms. Mable would always say in response, I understand, young lady. You and your little one are in my prayers regardless.

But then the weekly phone calls stopped, and Avila assumed Ms. Mable just didn’t want to speak to her anymore. That was her

life. People eventually gave up on her, or they left.

Curious, Avila opened the envelope’s sealed flap. Inside, a folded piece of lavender stationery caught her eye. She tugged

out the paper and carefully unfolded it.

My dearest Avi,

I hope you are doing well. I misplaced your phone number. So I had to write this letter since I’m not good with email and

all this new technology. It’s been a while since we’ve communicated, and for that I want to apologize. I assumed you were

a busy mother, and that you needed to focus on your main priorities.

Avila shrank inside. Yes, she was busy, but that wasn’t why she didn’t keep in touch. She read the next line.

I’m afraid I have some bad news. Just yesterday, your mother had a stroke. I called the ambulance as quickly as I could, but

she passed on the way to the emergency room. I know things were tense between you and Coraline, and I know this is an awful

way to share this sad news.

Avila’s body went numb. Her mother! Her mother was gone. Sadness and grief and confusion filled her, along with a sense of

regret.

Since you’re her only daughter, I hope you return home as soon as you can. I’m sorry that you had to hear about this in a

letter, but it’s the only way that I could reach you.

Avila’s hand trembled; the letter shook. Amidst the chatter from the other parents, her vision blurred, and her brain went in a million different directions. Dread overtook the sadness. Why didn’t she keep in touch with her mother more regularly? Avila could have called once a month, at least. Last time they spoke was a year ago. The last thing her mother had said to her was: I can’t convince you to come home, even if I could. I know your theater career and my granddaughter keep you busy.

She never told her mother that she had stopped pursuing those career dreams when Ebony was born.

You always have a home in Charleston. Remember that.

But all Avila wanted to do was forget. Forget all the mess-ups she had made.

She skimmed over the funeral information. It would be held this weekend. Avila would have to return to Charleston soon. Ebony

would come along, of course, but it would be awkward to attend a funeral for a grandmother whom she’d never met.

The words on the page made her chest tighten, and she held back the urge to cry. She should’ve visited her mother at least,

but she hadn’t wanted her mother to see how much she had failed.

And then there was Terence. Yeah, they were friends, but when she had heard that he was engaged shortly after graduating from

Hampton University—well, she felt some type of way about that too.

The chatter in the background sounded like a muffled din, and all she could do was breathe deeply, making a flimsy effort

to push against the weight of a past that sought to pull her under.

Returning to Charleston would be tough. Was Terence there? Seeing him would be awkward.

Then there was her mother’s house. Before Avila left, her mother had given her a copy of a will that made Avila the executor and left the house to her, but what could Avila do with it? Avila couldn’t stay in Charleston. She would have to sell the house, which meant that she’d have to get it ready for sale. All of its contents would have to be put up for sale too. And the house would have to be cleaned out.

Knowing her mother, she probably had all of her affairs in order, and so being her executor wouldn’t be tough... but it

would take time.

How long would it take to ready a house for sale? Since Avila had never taken a sick day or a vacation day, she had accumulated

about six weeks of vacation time on the books. But Ebony couldn’t take six weeks off from school. Even with winter break,

she’d be too far behind, and Avila would never let her daughter slack off on her education. How would she deal with this situation?

The thought of trying to work all this out made her stressed. Avila shifted her focus to the stage and saw Ebony standing there, alone. Just then, she began the monologue she’d been practicing

for so long:

“There was a time when I had yearned for home, but that time wasn’t now. Nor will it ever be.”

Ebony’s wistful tone moved her. Looking at Ebony was like looking into the mirror at her own self—the younger, fearless version

of herself.

“Very well done, Ebony,” Henrietta said. “I can tell that you practiced working on dramatic beats this time.”

“I did. Thank you.” Ebony smiled, and then she exited stage left. When she passed by the girl who had whispered to the other

boy, the girl looked away, snubbing Ebony.

This was tough. She had stayed here to give Ebony the best education and the best opportunities. Besides, if Ebony ever became a professional performer, they would have to live near New York City. Being here was perfect—almost.

There were times when she couldn’t stretch her paycheck though, and then she’d get a call from the school stating that an

anonymous person had covered Ebony’s tuition. She’d press the issue, asking who the person was so that she could thank them.

Yet the school said that the person wished to remain anonymous.

She refocused her attention on the letter. Could Avila return? She could. If it meant that she could close off all ties to

that place one last time and move on, she most definitely would.