Sara did nap, but not for long. She had one of those snoozes that felt like she'd been out for hours but when she awoke, only twenty-five minutes had gone by. It was enough for her. From the backyard, she faintly heard hammering and that only meant one thing: her father was home. She quickly changed her clothes, slipped her feet into her yellow rubber thongs and left her bedroom, closing the door behind her.
Phillip "Coyote" Sidle was five years older than his wife and strong as a horse. He was tall, six foot four. Sara got from him her wit and chocolate eyes. He was lean and exercised regularly—both he and his wife were advocates of yoga and tai-chi—and was a professional carpenter. The nickname of "Coyote" was bestowed upon him in high school for his love of the outdoors, especially the nighttime, and shaggy appearance. It was rumored that this old nickname was the reason he had named his son Wiley. Phil always had a beard and long hair that he kept in a ponytail, desperately clinging onto his hippie roots. The beard and ponytail were now gray, but his spirit was not.
Sara went to the backyard and, sure enough, there was her dad, repairing a picnic bench, wearing only a pair of cutoff jeans. He also wore around his neck a silver peace sign that hung on a silver chain. That peace sign had always been an embarrassment for Sara as a young girl but she now realized it was just part of her dad's charm.
Then, Phil caught sight of his girl and dropped his hammer, "Hey!" he called, holding his arms out wide. "How did you sneak past me, you naughty girl?"
Sara ran over to Phil, tripping over her thongs, and collapsed into his arms, "Hi, Dad!"
"It sure feels good to hug you again, Sunshine!" he said, grinning, holding his daughter close.
"Same here, Dad," Sara replied. She inhaled her father's scent: a manly mixture of sawdust, sweat and spice.
The pair pulled apart and Phil resumed his work. "How are you, Sunshine? Or are you just Sara up there in 'the city'? You know, if it wasn't for your mom and this stupid house, Sunshine would be your first name."
"I'm just Sara in Vegas," Sara admitted, "but it feels good to forget who I am for a few days."
Phil laughed, "It's always good to forget who you are. It's what keeps us young."
"I should do it more often, then."
Again, laughter rolled from the pit of Phil's belly and out his mouth, reverberating through Sara, making her feel tingly all over. It had been a long time since she'd heard laughter like that.
"How about this, huh? Fourth marriage for the Wiley Coyote," said Phil. "Man, I thought being married twice was a trip."
"I can't imagine being married once, much less four times," Sara crinkled. "How is she, Dad, the fiancée? Nice?"
"Put it this way," said Phil, "she's absolutely nothing like her predecessors."
"How so?"
"She's intelligent, for one."
"Already a bonus. But Dad, I can't understand why can't Wiley stay with one woman? Is something the matter with him?"
"Even I can't answer that, Sunshine. But hey, whatever makes him happy, right? Besides, I think girl's gonna be the last one."
"Really?"
"Call it a hunch. Aha!" Phil hammered in the last nail and turned the picnic bench right-side-up. "What do you think, Sunshine? Is your old dad a handyman or what?"
"Or what."
"Very funny. Hey, everyone's going to be back soon. Let's you and I go dress to the nines for dinner and pretend we're happy to be here."
"You mean you're not?"
"I'd rather be surfing."
Hand-in-hand, father and daughter tracked back to the house, which was starting to fill up with people.
"Bummer," Phil muttered. "Run!"
Hiding their faces from any potential relatives, Phil and Sara retreated to the family wing, where they shut the door behind them and laughed.
"That was a close one," Sara said.
"It's bad luck to see the family before the wedding," Phil said, whose own wedding to Eavan was on the beach and attended by only a handful of friends. "I don't know about you," Phil wrinkled his nose, "but I stink to high heaven. I'm going to shower and put on shoes, then see you outside."
"You're going to wear shoes?" Sara couldn't believe her ears. If it was one thing her father hated, it was shoes. He couldn't stand having anything on his feet.
"And khakis. I promised your mother I would. She's being vehement about anti-jeans," Phil sighed and smoothed his ponytail. "Guess I'm going to look like the Gap instead of Garcia tonight. Later, Sunshine." He kissed her cheek and headed for the bathroom. Sara made a beeline for her own room and began rummaging through her still-unpacked luggage.
"Something nice…something decent…no jeans," she muttered to herself. She managed to find, tucked away in the corner, one of the two sundresses she had brought with her: light gray with black-and-red trim, a square neckline and thin straps. It hit just above her knees and was lightweight. A pair of black sandals on her feet would do. She took her time in getting dressed. In terms of makeup, she simply applied eyeliner, mascara and dabbed on some clear lip gloss. She couldn't decide what to do with her hair, so she clipped it back with a few bobby pins and left it at that.
She examined herself in the full-length mirror on her door, turning around and around, checking her profile. It had been a long, long time since she'd worn a dress, much less one this revealing. Sara frowned at her reflection and took out the bobby pins that she decided made her look too girlish and settled on simply pulling it back, half-up-half-down. She tried to do a Pollyanna knot to dress it up a little bit, but couldn't remember how. Returning once again to her mirror, Sara was once again disappointed in what she saw. She was too pale, especially in her arms and calves. And her nose and cheeks were too red. Maybe she'd get a chance to do some tanning while she was here.
Looking at her clock, Sara realized she was now more than fashionably late.
The backyard of Sara's Place was plain. Besides consisting of fresh green grass that Phil mowed himself weekly, there was: an abandoned swing set; some orange, lime and lemon trees; a weeping willow and rows of picnic tables and benches, all enclosed within a white picket fence. The wooden porch was attached to the back of the house and had lawn chairs and Phil Sidle's pride and joy—his barbeque.
By the time Sara arrived, Phil had already taken his position at said barbeque, in his khakis and shoes, happily marinating some chicken thighs and lamb chops, chatting with a man Sara did not recognize. Phil caught her eye and gave a wink before returning to his conversation.
Music from a classic rock station emitted from the stereo system that usually sat underneath the porch awning. A mini-bar was set up, behind which was the first familiar face.
Cecilia Martin, Phil Sidle's first wife, was a blonde, blue-eyed WASP from Seattle with a passion for art and shopping. Sara never quite figured out her relationship to Cecilia, who she liked very much but also resented the fact that there had been another woman before her own mother.
"Hey!" Cecilia waved, an empty bottle of José Cuervo in one hand.
"Hi!" Sara hurried over. Cecilia leaned in and Sara gave her a quick peck on the cheek.
"How goes it, Sunny?" asked Cecilia, throwing the empty bottle into a garbage bin. She was the only person who ever called Sara "Sunny". "Can you believe Phil put me behind the bar, at my own son's party! I should be out there schmoozing. Can I interest you in a Long Island iced tea? A Royal Fuck? A Zipperhead?" she ticked off her specialties. "How about a Queen Charlotte?"
"No thanks…well, what about a Jack Rose?"
"I can do that. Jack's my man," Cecilia agreed. She uncorked the bottle of applejack and pulled out a cocktail glass. "So, Sunny, I can't believe you're here!"
"Neither can I," Sara leaned on the bar. "It's been a while."
"Ha! No shit, Sherlock. I haven't seen you forever, you bad girl."
"Sorry, sorry. What can I say, I love my work. I'm married to my job."
"Oh, is that why this is Wiley's fourth wedding and you haven't even had one yet? You have a lot of catching up to do."
"Cee-Cee!" a tall young lady with curly blonde hair sauntered up to the bar. She wore a tasteful rose-colored minidress with matching high-heeled sandals. "Can you make me an Evil Princess?"
"Evil Princess?" Cecilia crinkled a brow. "Sure." She pulled out a mixing stick and tapped the girl on the head. "Poof! You're an evil princess."
"Cee-Cee," she giggled. "You know what I mean."
"Of course I do, Elizabeth. But why don't you say hello to Aunt Sara first?"
"Aunt Sara? Where?" the girl craned her neck and looked around.
Suddenly, Sara's eyes went wide. This young lady was her niece Elizabeth? "I'm right here," Sara said after a moment, giving a little wave.
Elizabeth broke out into a wide grin. "Aunt Sara!" she squealed. "Hi!" She came around and the two embraced.
"I haven't seen you since Christmas ages ago!" Elizabeth exclaimed.
"You got so tall!" Sara blurted at the same time.
"She's got her daddy's height," Cecilia replied as she slid Sara her Jack Rose in a cocktail glass. "Already a looker, too."
"Cee-Cee, I am not," Elizabeth blushed to the color of her dress. Cecilia made all her granddaughters call her simply "Cee-Cee" in an age-old resentment for the word "grandma" or "grandmother" or, God forbid, "granny".
"Sure you are. You've got my genes. And Aunt Sara knows all about genes, the scientist," Cecilia winked. Sara watched as she mixed white grape juice and apple juice into a Collins glass, then added grenadine, vanilla syrup and lemon juice. "There you go, Libby. An Evil Princess for the evil princess."
"Thank you, Cee-Cee," Elizabeth kissed her grandmother's cheek. "I'll see you later, Aunt Sara. I'm staying here, you know!" she nodded towards the house.
"I know. We'll have a slumber party, okay?" Sara promised. "With Sophie and Megan, too."
"Sure," Elizabeth replied, and, sipping on her drink, departed.
"Wow," Sara said once Elizabeth was out of earshot. "When did my niece grow boobs?"
"See what happens when you stay away from the family too long, Sunny?" Cecilia laughed. A young man came up and ordered a Fire and Ice, but Cecilia turned them away. "No Rumple Minze."
After the young man pouted and eventually sauntered away, Cecilia turned back to Sara, who was innocently sipping her drink.
"What the hell are you doing? Do you know how many people are dying to see you, including Wiley? Take your Jack Rose and go schmooze! Come on, you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here."