Buried In Buttercream

sizes and colors sticking out of them. Her bathtub had several new occupants—a rubber ducky, some bath chalks, a happy-looking tugboat, and an assortment of pumice stones and callus removers. There were at least seven different tubes, vials, and bottles of bath gels.
    Bubble baths were serious business among the Reid womenfolk, and there was constant disagreement as to whose soaps and gels smelled best.
    “What do you want to do next?” Savannah said, taking the wedding cake figurines from her pocket and turning them over and over in her hand, gazing at them pensively.
    “Let’s run away to Vegas tonight ... get hitched, stay a few days, and then come back. Maybe by then they’ll all be gone.”
    Savannah laughed. “Don’t tempt me. If it weren’t for Granny, that’s exactly what I’d do. But she’s been waiting so long for you and me to ‘come to our senses,’ as she calls it, and do this. She’d be heartbroken if she couldn’t see the big event with her own eyes.”
    “So, we’ll take Gran with us.”
    “To Sin City? Get real. She wouldn’t let us kids play with the dice in our Monopoly game.”
    “But how are we going to put another wedding together on the spot like this? Took us months to plan that one.”
    Savannah grinned, thinking how Dirk had slaved over the extravaganza. “Let’s see now,” she mused, “you picked out those little hot dog hors d’oeuvres and the ham loaf spread on crackers.”
    “And the M&M cups. And the matchbooks with our names and the Harley-Davidson logo on them.”
    “Ah, yes. How could we forget those?”
    She heard him sigh. “I guess those burned especially good, along with everything else there at the center.”
    “I guess we have to be thankful that nobody was hurt,” she heard herself saying in a far more cheerful tone than she felt. “Could’ve been worse. Everybody we love could have been under that roof.”
    “True.”
    “We’ll put something else together. Not as fancy ... ’cause I can’t afford it.”
    “Me either. Those matches weren’t cheap, you know. Not even with my connections.”
    Savannah snickered. “Oh, yes, your connection ... that old Hell’s Angel you busted years ago who’s your best buddy now.”
    “Naw ... you’re my best buddy.”
    Her heart did a little pit-a-pat. “I miss you.”
    He broke into a passable rendition of Elvis’s classic: “Are you lonesome tonight? Do you miss me tonight?” It brought tears to her eyes.
    “Yes, I do. I miss you something fierce. Come over for breakfast tomorrow morning, and we’ll figure out what’s next on the agenda.”
    “And eat with the hoards? Last time I tried that, I got hit in the head with a flying biscuit.”
    “That was because you were trying to take the last one.”
    “Suppose we could find a place to eat alone?”
    “Sure. Here in the bathroom. You can sit on the john. I’ll lie in the tub.”
    “Sounds like a plan. Good night, babe.”
    “Dream a little dream of me.”
    “Oh, I will.” He gave a naughty little chuckle. “You can bet on that.”

    A few minutes later, she crept to her bedroom door and slowly, quietly opened it. But when she stepped inside, she found everyone wide awake.
    Granny Reid was sitting up in bed, her Bible open on her lap, the reading lamp setting her beautiful white hair aglow with its golden light. In bed with her were Jack and Jillian as well as the youngest set of twins, Peter and Wendy, and Savannah’s two black cats. All seven were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
    And for Savannah, with her not-so-bright eyes and totally bush-free tail, their smiling faces and enthusiastic greetings were a mixed bag of blessing and curse.
    “Hi, Auntie Savannah,” Jillian piped up. “We’re having a slumber party with Granny. Come join us!”
    “Yeah!” Jack rolled to one side, vacating a one-foot-wide strip of bed for her. “You can lay right here by me.”
    “Auntie’s a little wider than that, sweet cheeks,” Savannah said, as she kicked off her slippers and tossed them into the closet. Then she squeezed inside the closet just enough to have a bit of privacy while pulling off her clothes and wriggling into her nightgown.
    For a moment, she recalled that this was one of the reasons why she had arrived at the ripe old age of forty-plus without marrying. Having had no solitude at all as a child, she had been loath to give it up as an adult.
    Though after this invasion, having only one man in her house would seem like a