Every Bride Needs a Groom (25 page)

Oh boy, you make a great prop.

I gazed into his eyes and whispered, “Are you saying all of this so we'll get a great shot?”

He shook his head. “I couldn't care less about the photos, Katie.”

Jordan held his hand up and cleared his throat. He took a couple of steps in our direction. “Sorry to interrupt, but we're nearly ready to wrap up. Just a couple of shots left.”

“Give her a kiss, Brady!” someone in the crowd hollered out.

“Yeah, every bride needs a kiss from her groom,” Madge said with a wink.

“A kiss, eh?” Brady grinned that boyish grin of his. “I'd be pleased. If the lady doesn't mind.”

I giggled and my heart started that crazy skittering thing again. “The lady doesn't mind.”

Nope. She didn't mind one little bit. And she had a feeling—call it a bride's intuition, call it whatever—this would be the first of many, many kisses yet to come.

Brady lifted me back onto the crate so we could stand face-to-face, and then, with cameras clicking all around us, he gave me a kiss sweeter than all of the peaches of Fairfield combined—one worthy of a magazine cover.

A city is a place where there is no need to wait for next week to get the answer to a question, to taste the food of any country, to find new voices to listen to and familiar ones to listen to again.

Margaret Mead

B
y the time the sun had fully gone down, Brady and I had finally managed to sneak away from the crowd and have some alone time. With Madge and Dahlia's help, I managed to change out of my wedding gown in the restroom and back into my jeans. Dahlia went on and on about the photo shoot, then helped me get my dress onto a hanger and back into a zipper bag.

“Can I ask you a question?” She looped the bag over her arm, fussed with it for a moment, and then passed it to me.

“Sure.” I did my best to juggle the bag so as not to harm the gown inside.

“You two weren't acting out there, were you? I mean, I've known Brady for years and I've never seen this side of him before.”

I shook my head and draped the bag over my left arm. “I honestly don't know how to answer that question.” Little giggles followed.

“Oh, girl . . .” Madge shook her head. “You can't deny the obvious. And maybe it's not as complicated as you've made it. Maybe it's very, very simple.” She walked out of the restroom, carrying on about how life was just like that—full of surprises.

It was full of surprises, for sure. I couldn't help but smile all the way back to the store, where I left the dress so that it could be cleaned. Brady and I said our goodbyes—very generic, since we happened to be in front of the ladies at the shop—and I headed off to Aunt Alva's house. She peppered me with questions. When I couldn't answer them without blushing, she pursed her lips and smiled.

“I see how it is.”

Yep. She saw, all right.

I hated to ruin anyone's good mood, but I needed to talk to her about Queenie's party. After I explained that I would be leaving for Fairfield on Friday afternoon, she wrinkled her nose.

“I'll miss you, girlie. I'm getting used to having you around.”

“Well, that's the thing,” I said. “You don't have to miss me at all, Aunt Alva. Come with me.”

“To Fairfield?” Her eyes widened in obvious surprise. “Over my dead body.”

“It's time, Alva. You should come. It's Queenie's birthday.”

“I know when my own sister's birthday is.” She released a sigh. “But no thank you. You go on and have a good time. I'll
be here waiting when you get back. Maybe I'll paint the guest room while you're gone.” She went off on a tangent about how she'd been thinking of painting that room a lovely shade of rose, but I knew she was just avoiding the obvious. Maybe I'd been wrong. Maybe this wasn't God's perfect timing to take Alva home again. Oh well.

I tumbled into bed that night, the scenes from the photo shoot still fresh on my mind and the scent of Brady's cologne lingering in my imagination. I replayed that awesome moment when he'd given me such a sweet little kiss on the forehead, then that lovely point where his lips had touched mine. Who would have guessed the day would go the way it had, and yet . . .

I slept, dreaming of Brady, then awoke all smiles. I thought of him all day Thursday, though I didn't see him once, since Alva and I spent the day resting. I replayed the moment of our kiss over and over as I slept Thursday night and awoke Friday morning in a joyous mood. In fact, I kept on smiling until noon, when Lori-Lou called to tell me that she and Josh had been approved for the house and had a lot of packing to do.

“You sound out of breath, Katie,” she said.

“Oh, I'm just putting my suitcase into my car. Going home for Queenie's party. You coming?”

“No.” Lori-Lou sighed. “Josh is working extra hours, so I'd be by myself with the kids.”

“I could help.”

“You're sweet, but it's too much to handle if he's not with me. Besides, we're down to one car right now. Mine still isn't working. Before you go, though, I need to talk to you about something.”

“What's that?” I hefted my suitcase into the backseat.

“Did you know that Casey's back home?”

That stopped me dead in my tracks. “Casey's back home?”

“Yeah. Beau called Josh yesterday.”

“Casey's in Fairfield?”

“I think maybe he didn't like the job in Tulsa? Or maybe it wasn't a good fit? I don't know. I just know he's back home. Beau said that everyone's walking on eggshells around him.”

Casey. Back home. Crazy.

My heart flip-flopped all over the place at this news. I vacillated between anger, hopefulness, and a variety of other emotions that ping-ponged around my heart. Most of all I wondered why he hadn't called me.

Then again, why would he? We weren't a couple anymore, after all.

Lori-Lou went on to ask about the photo shoot, and I told her about the shot of Brady kissing me.

“Wow.” She giggled. “Wow, wow. Now there's a plot twist. What are you going to do if they choose that one for the cover? Your family is bound to see it. And Casey too, right?”

“He doesn't read bridal magazines, but I suppose it's inevitable. Who knows, maybe the people at
Texas Bride
won't choose that picture for the cover, right?”

“True. They might want one of you in the dress. By yourself, I mean. But still . . .” Lori-Lou started scolding Mariela for coloring on the walls. She returned breathless. “Sorry about that.”

“Don't ever be sorry about your life, Lori-Lou,” I said. “You've got a great life. Great husband. Wonderful children.”

“If you don't put those colors down right this minute, you'll never use them again, young lady!” Lori-Lou's voice faded and then she returned again. “What were you saying?”

“Just saying that life is good. It's full of twists and turns, but it's good. And I'm not really worried about the magazine cover. My parents—and Casey—will find out in a couple of months, but I'll have to cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“In the meantime, don't do anything rash.”

“Like appearing on the cover of a national magazine kissing a pro basketball player?”

“I thought you said he was kissing you?”

“Right. I think I kissed him back, though.”

“Hey, no one would blame you. The guy's great. Tall, handsome, suave, but kind too. And he's a Christian.”

“And he's been waiting on the perfect-for-him girl. I heard all about it.”

“Does he realize the perfect-for-him girl still hasn't quite let go of the not-so-perfect-for-her guy back in Fairfield?”

“I've let go of him, trust me.” The truth of those words settled over me. “So, Casey's really back in Fairfield?”

“Mm-hmm. Just try to avoid him this weekend.”

“Oh, I will.”

I thought about my cousin's words as I headed back inside. Before leaving, I gave Aunt Alva a hug and tried one last time to talk her into going with me. She shook her head and told me to have a good time.

“But we're having the party at Sam's,” I said. “That's your favorite restaurant, right?”

“You'll have to eat a double portion of barbecue for me,” she said. “I just can't do it, honey. Not yet, anyway.”

I wondered when—if ever—she would work up the courage to go back home again. Still, it wasn't my business.

I made the drive back to Fairfield, a thousand different thoughts flying through my head. Brady. Kissing. Photos. Casey. Newspaper. Mama. WOP-pers. Queenie. Birthday. Alva.

It all rolled together in my brain.

I arrived at Sam's about twenty minutes early and checked my email on my phone. My heart jumped when I realized Jordan Singer had sent me a link to the photos from Wednesday's
shoot. I clicked the link, and picture after picture greeted me in living Technicolor.

Oh
. My. Goodness.

I rolled the window down on my car to keep from getting overheated, then flipped through the pictures, mesmerized by how great the shots were. Hannah and Drew had done a spectacular job of capturing not just the ambience of the setting, not just the amazing Loretta Lynn gown, but the emotions on my face.

And Brady . . .

Whoa. My heart quickened as I saw picture after picture of Brady gazing at me with pure adoration in his eyes. Either the guy was a terrific actor, or . . .

“Katie?”

Mama's voice came from outside the open window. I minimized the photo on the screen and turned to face her. “Yes?” I did my best to steady my voice. “You scared me.”

“Katie, what was that?” She pointed at my phone. “What were you looking at?”

“Oh, some pictures. Wedding gowns. You know how I am.”

“Well, yes, I know you like wedding dress photos, but that almost looked like . . .” She shook her head. “I could've sworn I was looking at a picture of you in that wedding dress. Pull it up again so I can see it. Strangest thing ever.”

Thank goodness I didn't have time to do that. Queenie pulled into the spot next to us and needed help getting out of her car.

“Why in the world they don't have more handicapped spots is beyond me. There are never any available, no matter what time of day I come.”

Like she had ever come at a different time.

I noticed that my grandmother was having more trouble
with her knee than usual and asked her about it. “Oh, this old thing?” She pointed down. “It gives me fits, but I keep going. I'm still a spring chicken, you know.”

“Well, happy birthday, spring chicken.” I gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“You back for good?” Queenie asked. “Or just home for the weekend?”

“I came home to spend time with you, but I might go back for another week or two.” Or longer. Somehow the thought of spending more time with Brady held me in its grip.

“Guess you heard that you-know-who is back.” Queenie gave me a pensive look.

“Yeah, I heard he was home.” I sighed. “That might be a good reason for me to stay put in Dallas a little longer, if you want the truth of it.”

“You can't avoid the inevitable forever,” she said. “And I don't know how in the world you're handling staying with Lori-Lou. All of those kids would drive me bonkers. How are you managing?”

Oy vey. There it was. The dreaded question. “Well, actually, it's pretty crowded at Lori-Lou's place, so I found someone else to stay with.”

“Someone else?” Queenie's gaze narrowed. “You have other friends in the city?”

“Not friends exactly, Queenie,” I said. “More like . . . family.”

“Family?” She tilted her head and I could read the confusion in her expression. Until the light bulb went on. Then, in an instant, confusion morphed to anger. “Oh no. Tell me you haven't made amends with Alva.”

“Made amends? Queenie, I never had a falling-out with her. In fact, I've never had much of anything to do with her, good or bad.”

“How in the world did you end up at her place, anyway? Did she track you down?”

The timing certainly wasn't right to tell Queenie the whole story.

“Well, I think it's time to change the subject.” Queenie squared her shoulders. “We gonna stand out here in the heat or go inside? Where is everyone, anyway?”

Mama gave me a wink. “They're inside.”

They were inside, all right. The whole Fisher clan was seated at the usual table holding signs that read “Happy birthday, Queenie!”

She shook her head and grumbled that we shouldn't have gone to so much trouble, but her attention was quickly diverted to the three strangers at the table. I was a little diverted too. Looked like my brothers had talked Dahlia, Crystal, and Twiggy into coming to the party.

Oh boy.

Was this going to be fun, or what?

Change is the one thing we can be sure of.

Naomi Judd

M
ama stared at the girls, her eyes narrowing as she noticed Twiggy sitting next to Beau. And Crystal sitting next to Jasper. And Dahlia sitting next to Dewey.

“Well, who do we have here?” My mother took a seat and looked all around the table, her brow knitted.

“Mama, this is Dahlia.” Dewey looked a little scared, but Dahlia didn't seem to notice.

She offered Mama a broad smile. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Fisher. I've heard so much about you. And Queenie . . .” She looked at my grandmother, who took her usual seat at the head of the table. “My goodness, I feel as if I already know you, I've heard so many fun stories.”

“All good, I hope.” Queenie gave my brother a concerned look.

“All good.” Dahlia smiled.

Mama seemed to be having a hard time with our guests. She narrowed her gaze as she looked at Dewey and his guest. “Dahlia?” Mama spoke the word, then repeated it slowly, as if trying to make sense of it. “Dah-li-a.”

“It's Swedish,” Dahlia explained, her accent sounding even heavier here in Fairfield than it had in Dallas. “It means
valley
.”

“Well, my goodness.” Mama fanned herself with her hand. “Down in the valley, the valley so low.”

Dahlia's countenance fell at once.

“Mama!” Dewey groaned. “It's a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

“Well, she is lovely, isn't she?” Mama pointed at Dahlia's hair. “Is that real?”

“Mama!” I gave her a scolding look.

Dahlia didn't seem bothered by my mother's hair question. “Actually, they're extensions. I got them at a salon in Dallas a few months ago. I think they work for my face shape, don't you?”

“Did she say
salon
or
saloon
?” Mama whispered.

I gave her a warning look.

“I need to take you to meet Nancy Jo at Do or Dye.” Mama turned her attention back to Dahlia. “She's new in town and is really hip. Like you. I'd bet you two would be terrific friends. What did you say those things in your hair are called again?”

“Extensions.”

“Extensions.” Mama mulled over the word and shrugged. “Need to get me some of those, I think. This current Diane Keaton ‘do' is turning out to be more of a ‘don't,' don'tcha think?” She fussed with her hair.

Jasper, perhaps nervous by our mother's odd welcome to Dahlia, decided this would be the perfect time to introduce Crystal.

“Mama, I want you to meet someone. This is Crystal. She's from Georgia. Where they have peaches.”

Like that would help.

The petite blonde flashed Mama a broad smile. “Oh, Miz Fisher, I've heard so much about you!' Her Southern drawl seemed more pronounced today. “Jasper here tells me you're the
purr
-fect mama, and that's just
purr
-fect with me, because my mama and daddy are singing with the angels right about now. I miss 'em
so
much.” She rose and walked to my mother's chair, then wrapped her in a big hug. “I hope we'll be
free
-unds. Can we?”

“Well, shore, honey.” Mama's own accent thickened. “I have a feeling we're two peas in a pod.”

“Mmm, peas.” Crystal giggled. “I haven't had a good bowl of black-eyed peas since I left Georgia.”

“Then you have to come to our house when we're done. I made a big pot of black-eyed peas just yesterday.”

“Ooh, I'd love that. Yum.” Crystal gave Mama another hug, told her that she felt sure they'd be best friends, and then headed back to her chair.

Beau, perhaps encouraged by this scene, cleared his throat. Mama shifted her attention his way, her gaze landing on Twiggy, who sat beside him in complete silence.

“Beau? Who have we here?”

The whole table grew silent. You could've cut through the tension with a knife.

Beau took a swallow of his sweet tea, then released a slow breath. “Mama, I'd like you to meet Twiggy.”

“Twiggy?” Mama's brows scrunched. “Like the model from the sixties?”

A delightful smile lit Twiggy's delicate face. “Yes, that's right.”

“Is she your mama or something?” Before Twiggy could respond, my mother gave the young woman a closer look. “I do think I see a family resemblance, especially in the calorie department. You look as if you could stand some padding, girlie. We'll have to load you up with carbs. It'll do you a world of good.”

Twiggy paled. “Oh, no thank you. I'm off of carbs. In fact, I'm gluten-free. Well, mostly.”

“Gluten-free?” My mother's eyebrows shot up so high I thought they might take leave of her face. “Well now.”

Oh. Dear.

Mama couldn't abide anyone who hated bread. Bread was a staple in our world, kind of like air or water. Or lemon pound cake.

Beau's sweetie lit into a dissertation about some diet plan she'd found online. Before long she and Dahlia were engaged in a conversation about it. Mama, on the other hand, refused to play along.

“The only diet I've been able to stick to is the one where you cut back at the buffet.”

“Or eat your weight in lemon pound cake,” Beau whispered to me.

“I heard that.” Mama gave him a sour look. She pointed at Twiggy's short bob. “Now that's a haircut! I think I saw this
once on a TV show. Did you pay money to have that done or cut it yourself?”

“I-I paid money.” Twiggy squared her shoulders. “I've never cut my own hair. Well, not since I was three, anyway.”

“I've cut Herb's hair for years,” Mama said. “And my boys' too, though frankly, most of the time they just shaved it all off in the summertime, due to the heat. I always say a woman who can cut her man's hair is of great value. She saves him the $6.99 at the barber shop.”

“Oh, I
ahl
-ways cut my brothers'
hay
-er too,” Crystal said. “I'm
real
-ly good at it.”

Mama turned her gaze to Crystal and smiled. “Good to know. Why don't you and I go have a look at the buffet, Crystal? In fact, I'll show you around the restaurant so you'll feel right at home.”

“Oh, yes ma'am.” Crystal rose and joined my mother. “I'd love that.”

“When we're done, I'll come back and feed that skinny one some bread.” She pointed at Twiggy, who sat in stony silence, glaring at Beau.

Mama and Crystal headed off arm in arm to take a little tour of the restaurant. Dahlia engaged my grandmother in some conversation about the weather. And Twiggy—God bless her—reached for a slice of bread from the basket in the center of the table.

Beau offered a little shrug, then passed her the butter. “And there you have it,” he said with a smile. “That's our mama.”

Yep. That was our mama, all right. Nothing we could do about that, at least at the moment. Queenie switched the conversation to the recent drought, and Pop joined in, talking about how he'd seen an upswing in the sale of garden hoses.

Less than five minutes later Mama and Crystal returned to
the table, all smiles. I couldn't help but notice my mother was carrying a large slice of lemon pound cake. Strange, since we hadn't eaten any real food yet.

“You'll never guess, Katie. Crystal's from Georgia.” Mama took her seat once again and set the pound cake down.

“Well, yes, I know. She's—”

“From Atlanta. She was Miss Peaches two years in a row. Isn't that a fun coincidence? I told her that you were Fairfield's Peach Queen your senior year and she can totally relate.” Mama gave Crystal an admiring look. “She even loves peach cobbler, my all-time favorite.”

“Well, Mama, you didn't think I'd bring home a gal who didn't like peaches, did you?” Jasper looked offended. “I know a good girl when I see one.”

“I believe you do.” Mama shook her head and looked at all of the girls. “I still can't get over the fact that all of you met in a bridal shop. Doesn't make a lick of sense to me.”

“Well, that's kind of a long story,” I said.

“No time for that now.” Mama shifted her gaze to Twiggy. “I daresay we get busy feeding this one something before she wilts away to nothing. Oh my goodness. Why, you're eating the bread.”

“I am.” Twiggy took another bite. “It's good.”

“Well, for pity's sake. I hope we don't have to call 9-1-1,” Queenie said. “I once heard of a gal who had to be hospitalized after eating bread.”

“It's a very real problem,” I said. “People who are overly sensitive blow up like balloons when they eat bread.”

“Good thing I'm not overly sensitive then.” Queenie gave me a wink.

“It's not really like that, anyway,” Twiggy said and then took another nibble. “I'm not hypersensitive to gluten or anything
like that. Mostly I just don't like the carbs, so the gluten-free diet works for me. Really, it's more Paleo, if you want the truth of it.” She took another big bite of the bread.

“Paleo?” Mama's nose wrinkled. “Are you an archaeologist or something?”

“No. It's a kind of diet.”

“Well, I understand. The doctor put me on a diet once too. Didn't really take, but I gave it the old college try.” Mama took a nibble of her lemon pound cake. “I think mine was called the California diet. No, maybe it was the Arizona diet. Anyway, it was named after some state. Never heard of the Paleo thing. I'll have to look it up on the internet.”

Queenie sighed. “I'm terrible on the computer. Things are whirling so fast on that machine, I just can't keep up. To be honest with you, I'd be just as happy if there was no such thing as the internet. I liked things the way they were before we were all in each others' business on those crazy social media sites.”

“Oh, but if we didn't have internet, our whole business would collapse,” Pop said. “We're dependent on networking, you know.”

“Well, all this talk about bread has me hungry,” Queenie said. “Does anyone mind if I get some food? It is my birthday, after all.”

“Yes, we wouldn't want the birthday girl to starve.” Pop chuckled.

Everyone rose and made their way to the buffet. Mama caught me in front of the salad bar and leaned down to whisper in my ear, “Dewey's got his eye on that tall girl with the platinum hair, does he?”

I nodded. “Dahlia's very nice.”

“I don't trust anyone whose name I can't pronounce.”

“Like Mayor Luchenbacher?” I asked.

“Well, of course I can pronounce Luchenbacher. I grew up with Karl Luchenbacher. That's not foreign to me. Delilah is foreign.”

“Dahlia.”

“Exactly. Foreign. And I can't understand half of what she says. Do you think she's trying to impress us with that accent of hers?” Mama's eyes flashed with suspicion. “Maybe she's really from California or someplace like that, and she's just acting. Putting on a show so people think she's all hoity-toity when she's just a regular small-town girl like us.”

“I don't think there's much that's regular about us,” I said.

“I'm definitely not regular,” Pop said as he stepped into the spot next to me. “Haven't been for the past four years, but I think it's got something to do with male menopause.”

This led to yet another bizarre conversation with my parents.

“That Twiggy girl is the last person on earth I'd picture with my Beau.” Mama reached to fill her plate with lettuce. “Such a skinny little thing.”

“Mama, why do you care if Beau has a girl?”

Mama turned back to look at me. “I don't expect you to understand, Katie. You're not a mama.”

“But even if I was, I'd want my kids to be happy. It's obvious Beau is very happy with Twiggy.”

“He can be happy with someone closer to home. When the time is right.”

I pulled her off to the side, away from the others. Time for a heart-to-heart with Mama. “What if the time is right now?” I asked. “And what if the place really is Dallas? Would that be so awful?”

A painful silence followed my words.

“What if this is God's answer to Beau's prayers for someone to love?” I continued. “Would you argue with him? The Lord, I mean.”

“She lives in
Dallas
.”

“If we could put that part aside and focus on the look of happiness on Beau's face, then wouldn't you agree this is for the best?”

Mama said nothing. She shifted her salad plate from one hand to the other.

“Point is, she brings out the best in him,” I said.

“In Dallas.”

“That's where her work is, sure. But Dallas isn't exactly Timbuktu, Mama. It's only an hour or so away.”

“Conversation over.” Mama headed back to the salad bar. “My goodness, it's crowded in here tonight. We have to fight for food.”

Among other things.

We filled our plates and headed back to the table. Before long everyone but Mama settled into comfortable conversation. We even had Queenie laughing on more than one occasion. When it came time to open gifts, she turned her attention to the packages, obviously intrigued. She had just ripped the paper off of a gift from Mama when something—or rather, someone—caught my attention from the other side of the room.

Walking toward us, albeit hobbling a bit, was Aunt Alva . . . on Brady James's arm.