Always the Wedding Planner, Never the Bride (23 page)

"Thanks for everything, Doc."

When Andy tried to pull out of the handshake, Russell smacked it with his free hand, holding it in place.

He looked Andy in the eye seriously and spoke softly. "By the way, you had a visitor before we left the house today, mate."

"Oh?"

"The name
Maya
ring any chimes?"

Before Andy could reply, Russell released him and headed for the door. With his arm strapped around J.R.'s neck, he began singing
Born to Be Wild.
Even after Jackson closed the door, they could hear the remnants of the song until the two men got into the elevator.

"Russell has a great singing voice," Emma commented.

"I think I read he has a rock band," Fee added. "They play in little clubs every now and again."

Andy had no time to weigh his newly-gleaned information about Sherilyn's penchant for rock stars. All he had room for was the echoing lyrics of the quiet song Russell had left behind.

The name Maya ring any chimes?

"I'm so glad you called, Andy."

"This isn't a social call, Maya." Andy pointed to the chair across the table. "Please sit down."

He chose the Starbucks in Buckhead because he remembered it as the closest one to Maya's dance studio. He'd have preferred to meet somewhere they'd never been together, but he decided not to put that much time or thought into it.

"You ordered my coffee?" she asked, running a finger around the rim of the cup he'd placed on her side of the table.

"Yes."

"You remember my order, after all this time?"

"I didn't come here to talk about coffee, Maya."

"So why did you come?"

The way she smiled at him, the flicker of intimacy in her dark brown eyes, it was all too familiar. It made his gut tighten, squeezing him with the threat of emotions better left buried.

"Look, I heard you stopped by my house this morning."

"Yeah," she said, pausing for a sip from the mocha latte, skinny, no foam. "When did you get to be chummy with Russell Walker? You can't imagine how shocked I was when
he
opened your door!"

"Maya. Can we focus?"

And there it was. That chill that he remembered so well. It moved over her like a December wind, bringing up the vacant frost in her eyes, the frozen attempt at a smile, the crooked tilt of her mouth.

"Fine. You obviously have a whole monologue worked up, Andy. So I'll just sit here quietly and let you have center stage. Go for it."

In years past, the reference would have knifed him, backed him up. But that was then, this was now.

"Thank you, Maya," he said with a frost all his own. "The direct approach is best, so I'll just say this to you straight out: I want you to stop. Don't try to enlist my mother, don't talk to

my friends. And do not—
ever!—
come to my home again. Do you understand?"

She brushed her hair back and stared at the table for a long moment.

"I'm getting married, Maya. I'm happy, I'm in love, I have a life, and there's no place for you in it."

When she glanced up at him, he couldn't miss the glint of damp emotion.

"I'm not trying to be cruel."

"Nice try, but no cigar," she sniffed.

Andy wanted to groan. "What are you looking for here, Maya?"

"Oh, I don't know, Andy," she flared. "Maybe a second chance at something I messed up? You used to believe in second chances."

"I still do," he told her. "Just not with you and me." She nervously brushed back her hair again before firmly taking his hand. "We had something perfect for a while, didn't we?"

Removing his hand from her grasp, Andy sighed. "It wasn't perfect."

"You loved me."

"I did. You're right. But that was a long time ago, and I've moved on. I've built something really special with Sherilyn—"

"
Sherilyn,"
she repeated softly.

"—and I'm not going to jeopardize it. She's my future, Maya. You are my past."

He waited for a time, but she didn't look up at him or offer a response.

"To push your way from the past to the present is only going to hurt Sherilyn, and yourself in the long run. So just stop, Maya. Please, just stop."

He began to wonder if she'd turned to salt.

"Are you listening to me?"

"I hear you," she finally replied on raspy emotion.

"But are you listening?"

Maya looked up at him and narrowed her eyes, sarcasm flashing. "I'm listening, Andy. I'll leave you alone. I'll disappear. I won't upset
Sherilyn."

Andy leaned back into his chair and crossed his arms as she glared at him.

After a moment, she softened. "Sorry," she muttered.

He paused, swallowing before he said, "I still believe things happen for a purpose, Maya. We weren't meant for each other. I've found the woman I was meant for, and there's someone else that you're meant to be with."

She blinked, and a single teardrop cascaded down her cheek. "Any idea where he is?"

Andy smiled. "Just around the corner."

October 2010

CarolAnne Venetti—Angelo Diamonte

Traditional Italian wedding with ceremony at St. Andrew's

A multi-course Italian meal developed by Anton Morelli:

• Non-traditional Italian Wedding Soup
  
• Antipasto—olives, stuffed mushrooms, cheeses, mortadella, prosciutto, and calamari
  
• Main course of tortellini stuffed with ricotta and herbs;
  Rosa di Parma
  (rolled and stuffed beef filet);
  Asparagi alla Parmigiana
  (asparagus wrapped in a Parmigiano crust)
  

Cake:

• Crème brûlée wedding cake with intricate ribbon detail
  

S
herilyn pushed open the swinging door to Emma's kitchen and klunked down at a stool before the door fell still. Fee and Pearl were seated at the other end of the table watching Emma perfect the curved petal of a beautiful arched lily.

"'Sup?" Emma asked her without looking away from her work.

"I've got a consultation in two hours, and some of the information I need is in my BlackBerry, which I can't seem to find anywhere."

"Oooh, that's not good," Fee commented. "I'd be up a creek without mine."

"Same here," Sherilyn whimpered. "I've been through my hotel room at least three times. I've checked my office, the car, I've retraced my steps all over the hotel."

"What about at the house?" Pearl chimed in.

"It could be there, but I've been trying to reach Andy, and he hasn't picked up his phone. I guess he's with patients or something."

"I'm just about finished here," Emma told her. "And I've been thinking about a protein shake from this place next door

to where I used to work. We'll run by and get a couple of them, and I'll ride to the house with you to have a look around."

"Really?"

"Really!"

Sherilyn dashed up the sidewalk ahead of Emma the moment the car came to a full stop in the driveway. She jammed her key into the lock and pushed open the front door. Henry galloped down the hall toward her, his tongue hung out to one side and his eyes completely obstructed with fur. The impact of dog against both legs jarred her, and she held on to the doorjamb to keep from falling.

"Hey, Henry," Emma greeted the dog as she passed him to catch up with Sherilyn.

"It's got to be here somewhere. Where did I leave it?"

"Upstairs?"

"I wasn't up there." She set the plastic cup on the counter and circled the kitchen twice before coming in for a landing on the wooden seat of one of the dining chairs. "Emma, what did I do with it?"

"Don't panic," she replied before slurping the last of her shake through the thin straw. "Just take a deep breath and think."

"Don't panic?" she questioned, pushing to her feet and pacing through the kitchen. "I've got my life in that BlackBerry. All of my numbers, my appointments." She paused in thought before gasping. "Ohh! Em!"

"What?"

"The guest list for my wedding. It's
in my BlackBerry."

"We'll find it."

"Like my first dress? Or the second one after that? We were going to find those too. I swear, I think this wedding is cu—"

"Stop!" Emma cried, jumping in front of her and holding up both hands. "Don't even say that out loud."

Sherilyn nodded and bit her lip.

"We could still find your dress. One of them." The lilt in her voice at the end of the statement betrayed her. Emma obviously wasn't exactly believing it herself.

Henry, bored with them already, trotted into the living room and hopped up on the sofa.

"Okay. Your phone. Let's concentrate on finding your phone."

"I know I had it with me. I checked my email—"

Crunch-crunch-crunch.

"—and I sent a text to Pearl, I think."

Crumple-crunch-cruuuunch.

"What is that?"

They both turned back at the same moment. Sherilyn shrieked, and Emma bolted toward the dog at a full run.

"Nooo!" Sherilyn whined. "Henry, no!"

"Oh, Sher." Again, Emma's inflection betrayed her.

Sherilyn covered her eyes with both hands. "Don't tell me."

"Do you want the good news or the bad news?"

"The good?"

"I found your BlackBerry."

Sherilyn's heart sank with a thud. She didn't need to hear the bad news.

"The bad news is that it's in about four hundred small pieces . . . Bad dog! Really, Henry! Very
baaad dog!"

Sherilyn shooed Henry away from them and carefully gathered each and every piece of metal, plastic, and unidentified substance on and around the sofa. She hovered over it on the coffee table as Emma moved the couch cushions to check for more debris.

"This dog is unbelievable," Sherilyn mumbled at a downward angle while lamely attempting to put the shattered Humpty-Dumpty phone back together again. "I'm not a dog person. I told him I'm not a dog person. But did he care? No.

He picks the mangiest, most ill-mannered, garbage-smelling dog he could find in the bushes, and he brings the thing into our lives. It belches and passes gas, it barfs every time something moves—"

"Umm, Sher?"

"—I'm not kidding. You put this dog in the car, shift into drive, and he pukes all over the place. Seriously, you can't make this stuff up. If I told you what happened the other night. We just turned our backs for a minute, and he'd eaten our dinners right off the table, and to make matters worse—"

"Sher!"

She snapped her head upward. "What!" And Emma jumped slightly in response.

"Sweetie, I think you're losing it."

Sherilyn seethed. "Well, welcome to the party, Emma Rae!"

She meticulously brushed the pieces of her phone into a neat pile with both hands before contorting slightly in order to push it all into the pocket of her coat. When a few pieces fell on the floor, she knelt down and picked them up, dropping them in with the others.

She wondered if it was possible—Could she actually
feel
her blood boiling?

Without a word, she walked over to the back door, flung it open and stood back, staring at the clueless dog wagging its stub of a tail and panting happily at her.

"Get out."

"Sher!"

"I mean it. Get out, Henry!"

Henry shook his fur from head to paw, and he sat down and grinned at her.

"Do you think I'm joking?" she asked him through clenched teeth. "Get out of my house this instant!"

"Sherilyn, stop it."

"No, Em! I want this dog out of my house and out of my life right this minute!"

The dog looked confused as he walked like he was on a death march toward the door. He looked up at her for a moment, then cast a glance back at Emma before he slowly and obediently left the premises. He looked back again at the edge of the deck, but Sherilyn slammed the door and walked away.

"Sher—"

"Don't you dare, Emma. Not one more word about that dog."

"—you are not going to send Henry packing, out into this cold weather. This is
not
you," she said, hurrying toward her and grabbing her by the shoulders with both hands. "You are not this cruel."

"Cruel? I'll show you cruel." Sherilyn began unloading the contents of her coat pocket, then pointed to the mess strewn across the dining table. "
This
. . . This is cruel!"

A little voice from deep inside told her to stop. She heard it clearly, like crystal bells clanging at her.

"You think this isn't me? Well—" Tears rose in her eyes, and her extremities began to feel weak, as if she'd been suddenly injected with some sort of warm anesthetic. "Well, it is me. It's the new me." She began to sob as she added, "Pleased to
meeeeet yooou."
She dropped down into the nearest chair and collapsed into her arms atop the chunks of BlackBerry before her.

"You've been under a lot of stress," Emma said softly. "The move, the wedding, a new job and a new home, all the trips to the hospital."

"And I'm allergic to the love of my life," she wailed into her folded arms.

"No. You're not."

"And I can't find my wedding dress. . . .
Either of them."

"It's only natural that, at some point, you'd go a little batty."

Sherilyn whimpered and nodded her head without looking up.

"I think a good cry is in order. I really do."

She knew how pathetic she sounded as she sniffled, "O-kaay."

"But while you do that, Sher, I'm going to go find your dog. And then we're going to call the veterinarian and find out if chewing up a cell phone—"

"He's not my dog," she pointed out weakly. "Please don't call him my dog. He's not my dog."

"I know you'd like to believe that," she said, rubbing Sherilyn's shoulder. "But, sweetie. He's your dog. More importantly, he's Andy's dog. And you've just evicted him."

It took a few seconds, but realization stabbed her, and Sherilyn's head popped up.

"Oh, sweet kumquat! What have I done?!"

And with that, Sherilyn barreled toward the door, threw it open, raced out to the deck . . . hit a patch of ice and promptly went flying, tumbled down three frozen steps, and thudded into several inches of tightly-packed snow.

Stunned, she just laid there. All thoughts of her BlackBerry, retrieving Henry, having a bunch of
crazy
to make up for . . . all of it, gone.

Until a large, warm, pink tongue began slurping at the side of her face.

"Oh, Henry. Thank God."

After Emma finally managed to help her stand up again, and after half an hour of cuddles and apologies on the sofa, Sherilyn and Andy Drummond had a dog again.

And something else besides.

"Oh, Sher," Emma exclaimed as she helped her friend out the front door toward the waiting car. "Just take slow, deliberate breaths. I'll get you to the emergency room."

"Hotel," she managed as she climbed into the passenger seat of the Explorer. "Inhaler."

"No, Sher. We're going to the hospital. Just hang on, okay?" Sherilyn clutched her neck, massaging it as she tried to force air down her throat and into her lungs. Her heart pounded wildly, and the ringing in her ears partially drowned out whatever Emma had been trying to tell her.

"I . . . can't . . ."

"But the good news is you're probably not allergic to Andy at all!" Emma declared as she sped through the stop at the corner. "It's clearly Henry you're allergic to, Sher."

The reality of the revelation felt like a pile of bricks stacked on her chest. Or was that just her airways constricting?

"Shhh." Emma greeted Andy at the door of Sherilyn's hotel room with her finger over her lips. "She's asleep."

Andy carefully clicked the door shut behind him and softly approached the bed. Sherilyn always pulled her hair into a ponytail at the top of her head when she didn't feel well; something left over from her childhood, she'd told him during a bout with the stomach flu back in Chicago. True to form, her hair formed a teepee at the center of her head, scrunched together with a large gingham ruffled band. With her face tucked sideways into the pillow and her wayward hair pointing upward, she reminded him a bit of a sleeping Pebbles Flintstone.

Emma rolled her hand at him, and he followed her out to the balcony as she slipped into her coat. Once the door formed

a solid barrier between them and Sherilyn, she began to explain in an almost-whisper.

"She was looking for her BlackBerry over at the house. She

was in very close proximity with the dog, and she was having trouble breathing, closing up the way she does."

"Henry?" The implication wasn't lost on him, and Andy battled the disappointment.

"The doctor did some tests. The results will be ready in a couple of days, but we're pretty sure, Andy. It's Henry. Sher's allergic to the dog."

"Ah, man." He sat down on the cold iron chair next to the bistro table, and Emma leaned against the railing.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"She didn't want Henry anywhere near her," he said, shaking his head. "But I talked her into it."

"Well, you didn't know."

"I should have—"

"Andy," she interrupted him. Leaning down until she caught his eye, she repeated, "You didn't know."

He nodded. "I'll find a home for him."

She rubbed the sleeve of his coat. "I'm sorry, Andy. I know you really love him."

He smiled. "I love her a little more."

"Just a little?" she said.

"I'm a sucker for any shade of redhead. Always have been."

"Lucky for her you didn't fall for an Irish Setter then."

"Yeah. Close call."

Andy glanced through the glass and noticed Sherilyn sitting straight up in bed, her funny little ponytail pointing at the ceiling and her eyes turned stormy. When she saw him, she tried to smile, but it didn't quite make it all the way across her lips, and the corner of her mouth twitched a greeting.

"Brrr," Emma growled as they went inside. "It is really cold out there."

Andy sat down on the edge of the bed, and Sherilyn melted into his arms, burying her face inside his open coat.

"Andy, it's Henry," she said into his collarbone. "I'm allergic to Henry."

"I know."

"I'm so sorry."

He pressed his palm against the back of her head and smoothed her lumpy hair in an upward motion. "You have nothing to be sorry about."

"But you—"

"—love Henry," he finished for her. "And I'll put all of my efforts into finding him a really great new home."

She moaned and tossed her head against him.

"There are probably lots of people who would love to have a dog like Henry," he reasoned. "He'll have new digs in no time at all."

She made an indecipherable sound, sort of like, "Ihh."

"Hey. Did you find your BlackBerry?"

When she simply whimpered but didn't respond, Andy looked to Emma. With a reluctant shrug, she told him,