Unfinished Business

ten minutes, she was creeping out the back door in her oldest jeans and baggiest sweater. Thoughts of a romantic assignation were dispelled when she saw Joanie, Jack and Lara.
    “What’s going on?” she demanded.
    “We’re decorating.” Brady hefted a cardboard box and shoved it at her. “Crepe paper, balloons, wedding bells. The works. We thought we’d shoot for discreet and elegant here for the ceremony, then go all out down at Dad’s for the picnic.”
    “More surprises.” The box weighed a ton, and she shifted it. “Where do we start?”
    They worked in whispers and muffled laughter, arguing about the proper way to drape crepe paper on a maple tree. Brady’s idea of discreet was to hang half a dozen paper wedding bells from the branches and top it off with balloons. But it wasn’t until they had carted everything down the block to the Tuckers that he really cut loose.
    “It’s a reception, not a circus,” Vanessa reminded him. He had climbed into the old sycamore and was gleefully shooting out strips of crepe paper.
    “It’s a celebration,” he replied. “It reminds me of when we’d roll old Mr. Taggert’s willow every Halloween. Hand me some more pink.”
    Despite her better judgment, Vanessa obeyed. “It looks like a five-year-old did it.”
    “Artistic expression.”
    With a muttered comment, Vanessa turned. She saw that Jack had climbed on the roof and was busily anchoring a line of balloons along the gutter. While Lara sat on a blanket with a pile of plastic blocks and Kong for company, Joanie tied the last of the wedding bells to the grape arbor. The result of their combined efforts wasn’t elegant, and it certainly wasn’t artistic. But it was terrific.
    “You’re all crazy,” Vanessa decided when Brady jumped from the tree to land softly beside her. He smelled lightly of soap and sweat. “What’s next? A calliope and a snake charmer?”
    He reached into a box and drew out another roll of white and a roll of pink. “The mall was out of calliopes, but we’ve still got some of this left.”
    Vanessa thought a moment, then grinned. “Give me the tape.” With it in her hand, she raced to the house. “Come on,” she said, gesturing to Brady. “Give me a boost.”
    “A what?”
    “I need to get up on your shoulders.” She got behind him and leaped up nimbly to hook her legs around his waist. “Try to stand still,” she muttered as she inched her way upward. He tried not to notice that her thighs were slender and only a thin layer of denim away. “Now I need both rolls.”
    They juggled the paper and tape between them.
    “I like your knees,” Brady commented, turning his head to nip at one.
    “Just consider yourself a stepladder.” She secured the tips of the streamers to the eaves of the house. “Move back, but slowly. I’ll twist as you go.”
    “Go where?”
    “To the back of the yard—to that monstrosity that used to be a sycamore tree.”
    Balancing her and craning his neck behind him to be sure he didn’t step on an unwary dog—or his niece—or in a gopher hole, he walked backward. “What are you doing?”
    “I’m decorating.” She twisted the strips of pink and white together, letting the streamer droop a few inches above Brady’s head. “Don’t run into the tree.” When they reached it, she hooked her feet around Brady’s chest and leaned forward. “I just have to reach this branch. Got it.”
    “Now what?”
    “Now we do another from the tree to the other side of the house. Balance,” she said, leaning forward to look at him. “That’s artistic.”
    When the deed was done, and the last scrap of colored paper used, she put her hands on her hips and studied the results. “Nice,” she decided. “Very nice—except for the mess you made of the sycamore.”
    “The sycamore is a work of art,” he told her. “It’s riddled with symbolism.”
    “It looks like Mr. Taggert’s willow on Halloween,” Joanie chimed in as she plucked up Lara and settled her on her hip. “One look at that and he’s going to know who rolled it in toilet paper every year.” She grinned up at Vanessa, who was still perched on Brady’s shoulders. “We’d better run. Only two hours until countdown.” She poked a finger in Brady’s chest. “You’re in charge of Dad until we get back.”
    “He’s not going anywhere.”

    “I’m not worried about that. He’s so nervous he might tie his shoelaces together.”
    “Or forget to wear shoes at all,”