Every Bride Needs a Groom (27 page)

We cannot direct the wind, but we can adjust the sails.

Dolly Parton

B
rady stared at Casey and then looked back at me. “I'm guessing that's the person you're talking about.”

“Yeah. That's the one.”

“Casey?”

“Yeah.” I sighed. “Sorry.”

“Don't be.” Brady glanced his way once again, then reached for my hand. “Should I say something to him? Is he making you uncomfortable?”

I was uncomfortable, all right, but didn't want Brady to draw attention to the fact. I didn't have to fret over Casey for
long because my former almost-fiancé and his friends left the restaurant a few moments later. No doubt all of the attention on Brady was more than Casey could take. I finally breathed a sigh of relief. Well, until Mama walked in with Aunt Alva. They waved and came straight toward our booth.

“Well, hello, you two.” Mama plopped down and fanned herself with a church bulletin. “We just stopped in for a bite. Didn't think you would be here.”

“Your mama was kind enough to come back to the house to fetch me,” Alva said. “I had a hankerin' for a burger and some ice cream.”

At that moment, the manager of the restaurant showed up with two M&M Blizzards in his hand. “For our special guest.” He smiled as he handed one of them to Brady and the other to me. “Welcome to the Fairfield Dairy Queen, Mr. James.”

“Well, thanks.” Brady took his Blizzard and swallowed down the first mouthful. “Mmm. If I keep eating like this, I'll never play ball again.”

“Ooh, someone take that ice cream away from him!” Alva laughed. “It'd be a crime if Brady James stopped playing ball.” She pointed her finger at him. “Ice cream is hard on the joints.” She looked at the manager and said, “Can you bring me one too?”

“You a friend of his?” the manager asked.

“You betcha. We're practically family. If I have my way, we actually will be.” She gave Brady a playful wink.

The manager nodded, then headed off to fix a Blizzard for Aunt Alva.

Ophelia Edwards, one of Mama's more troublesome choir members, sat in the booth behind us. She joined in the conversation without invitation. “Marie, who is this handsome young man sitting with our Katie Sue?”

“Now, Ophelia, you know Brady James, surely.” Mama continued to fan herself. “Everyone knows Brady.”

“Can't say as I've seen him before.” Ophelia took off her glasses and wiped them with her chocolate-smudged napkin, then put them back on, covered in streaks. “Nope. He doesn't look familiar.”

Alva rolled her eyes. “Surely you've seen him on television.”

“Oh, is he that new fella on
Guiding Light
?” Before any of us could answer, Ophelia slapped the table with her hand. “I can't believe I'm admitting right here in Dairy Queen that I watch that show. I've tried to give it up, but it just keeps hanging on. Like a bad cough.”

“No, ma'am, I'm not on
Guiding Light
,” Brady said. “In fact—”

“Well, I don't blame you for quitting. All of those nasty bedroom scenes.” Her face reddened. “You're a good man to give it up.”

“Oh, I'm not saying I gave it up. I'm saying—”

“Well, make up your mind. Either you're on
Guiding Light
or you're not.”

“He's not, Ophelia.” My mother made a “she's crazy” sign behind Ophelia's back. “
Guiding Light
hasn't been on since 2009. Please don't ask me how I know that.”

“Well, for pity's sake. I could've sworn I watched it yesterday.” Ophelia's nose wrinkled.

“This is Brady James,” Alva said. “Point guard for the Mavericks and a good friend of the family.”

“The Mavericks? Don't think I've seen that show. When does it come on?”

“It's not a show, Ophelia,” Mama said. “It's a . . . never mind.”

“Well, why did you say the boy was on television? I swear,
people are so hard to follow sometimes.” Ophelia took a bite of her chocolate-covered dip cone, which left a smudge of chocolate on her cheek. She then turned her attention to Alva. With narrowed gaze, she pointed to her and said, “You look familiar. Do I know you?”

The manager arrived just then with Alva's Blizzard. He passed it off to her and she took a bite, then gave Ophelia a knowing look. “Well, you should, Ophelia. We graduated from Fairfield High the same year. In fact, we were pretty good friends back in the day.”

This apparently led to some confusion on Ophelia's part. She couldn't quite place Alva. Not that my aunt seemed to mind. She turned her attention to her ice cream.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Brady. Such a great sport. I couldn't picture him living here, in Fairfield. Couldn't see him having lunch at Dairy Queen every day. Still, he seemed to fit in just about every place he went.

When we finished our Blizzards, I asked Brady if he wanted to take a drive around Fairfield and he agreed. We said goodbye to Mama and Alva, then headed out of the restaurant. Getting out took awhile, what with all of the people stopping us along the way.

Finally cleared from the traffic, Brady reached for my hand and squeezed it. When we got to the door, I realized that Casey was sitting outside at one of the tables on the patio. He glanced up at Brady. And me.

Mostly me.

“You're Brady James.” Casey's opening line wasn't very well thought out, apparently, since he wasn't actually looking at Brady when he spoke the words.

“Right.” Brady slipped his arm over my shoulders.

Casey looked back and forth between Brady and me, and
I could read the confusion in his eyes. Now he homed in on me, giving me a penetrating gaze. “Katie, we need to talk.”

“Brady and I were just headed out for a drive. Can it wait?”

“I, well . . .”

Brady cleared his throat and then announced that he would be waiting in the truck. I nodded and told him I'd be right there. Once he disappeared from sight, Casey tried to take my hand, but I wouldn't let him.

“Katie, I'm confused.”

Well, duh.

“I mean, I'm confused about what you're doing in Dallas. This is out of character for you to go away.”

“Ah. I see. So, it's okay for you to go to Oklahoma, but I can't go see my cousin in Dallas? If we're not a couple anymore, then why do you care where I go?”

“It's just not like you to go away.”

“I happen to like Dallas. I've met a lot of nice people there.”

“Okay, I have to ask—what's the deal with Brady James? How in the world do you know him? When I talked to you about him during the playoff game, you didn't even know who he was. Now you're dating him?”

“Who said Brady and I are dating?”

“It's obvious you have feelings for him. And vice versa. You were holding hands.”

“Brady and I are in the getting-to-know-you stage. And to answer your question, I met him at a store where he's working.”

“Wait. A pro ball player works in a store? What kind of store?”

“It's kind of a long story, Casey, and I don't have time for a long story. That's what I was trying to say before. We're headed out for a sightseeing trip and then back to my parents' place to have dinner. I'm leaving to go back to Dallas
tomorrow after church, so you won't be seeing me around.” I took a step away and then turned back. “So, what happened in Tulsa?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged. “I'm going back. Just came home to pack up my stuff.”

“Queenie thought you were back for good.”

His eyes widened. “Oh, I see. Is that what you thought?”

“I didn't know what to think. I still haven't quite figured out the part where you left in the first place, so seeing you come back again is even more confusing. It's all so strange.”

“Kind of like you staying in Dallas and buddying up with a pro basketball player at some store.”

“We're changing. Both of us.”
Obviously.
“We're not the same people when we're away from Fairfield.”

He shrugged. “Guess not.”

“And that's okay. Maybe we needed this to discover who we really are.” I glanced toward Brady's truck and saw him standing next to the door on the passenger side. I wouldn't keep him waiting any longer. “Anyway, have a nice trip back to Tulsa, Casey. Give your mama my love before you go. Oh, and if you happen to see me on the front of a bridal magazine wearing a really awesome dress, don't panic.”

“What?”

“Just don't read too much into it, okay? It's not a ploy to get you back. In fact, I seriously doubt you'll ever see me wear that dress in person. So rest easy.”

“O-okay.” He paused. “Have fun in Dallas.”

“I will,” I said. And I meant it. I gave him a little wave and walked toward Brady, all smiles.

“You okay?” he asked when I drew near.

“Oh yeah. Better than I've been in a long time. Feel like I've lost a hundred pounds.”

“Katie, if you lost a hundred pounds, you'd be the size of a toddler.”

That made me laugh. He pulled me into his arms and gave me a kiss on the forehead. “That's just a sampling of what's to come,” he whispered.

“Mmm.” Sounded good.

We spent the next few hours on a lengthy drive through the country. I showed Brady everything. The property my great-grandparents had owned. The high school. The lake. I took him by every place that had ever meant anything special to me while growing up, including the ballpark where my father coached Little League.

As we stood at the edge of the ball field, Brady pulled me close. “I can see why you love it here, Katie. This is very . . . quiet. Peaceful.” After a moment's silence he added, “Quaint.”

I couldn't tell from the way he used the word if he really meant it as a compliment. “You mean small?” I asked.

“I think it's just right. There's enough of a town to offer the things you need, but not enough to overwhelm you. It's nice.”

“Well, speaking of town, there's one place I haven't taken you yet. Would you like to see our family's hardware store?”

His eyes sparkled as he answered, “I thought you'd never ask.”

“Pop's already gone home by now, I'm sure,” I said. “But I have a key.”

We drove to the store and found it empty, as I'd said. That turned out to be a very good thing.

I never thought I'd be kissed by a pro ball player in the lawn and garden section of my family's hardware store, but that was exactly what happened. Brady caught me somewhere between the fertilizer and the sprinklers and gave me a kiss so sweet that I almost tumbled straight into the insect repellent
display. When we came up for air—and it took awhile—I felt a little woozy.

He caught me and grinned. “Easy now.”

I giggled.

“I guess I should've asked your permission before doing that.”

“Doing what? Kissing me? Who asks permission?” I gave him a wink. “I'm not sure I really got the full effect. Would you mind trying again?”

And so he did. He kissed me again in the lawn and garden section. And twice in housewares. And three times in hardware. By the time we reached the electrical department, I'd pretty much made up my mind that we had already generated enough electricity to light the city of Fairfield for a month. He must've realized it too, because he took a giant step backwards and mouthed, “Wow.”

“Yes. Wow. That's—that's the word I was thinking.” Wow. Wow to the moon and back. Most of all, wow to the idea that I'd waited until the age of twenty-four to really, truly have that sort of reaction to a kiss from a boy. Correction—a man. Yes, Brady James, all six feet four of him, was more than enough man to knock a girl off her feet in the hardware store.

“You're quite a kisser,” I said.

“Well, I should be. I've had a lot of practice on
Guiding Light
. But don't tell Ophelia.”

We both laughed until tears came.

Then, in an instant, I remembered something. “Brady, it's almost six thirty. Mama's expecting us home for dinner.”

“What about Queenie? Should we go back up to see her before visiting hours are over?”

“I'm sure she's already been released, actually. I'm guessing Pop is there now, ready to drive her home. I'll stop by her house
tomorrow after church. Besides, I have a sneaking suspicion she'd want the two of us to spend more time together. She's a romantic at heart, even though she doesn't always come across that way.”

“You think?”

“Yes.” I thought about what I'd just said. “I'm pretty sure Alva would too. You know, those two sisters are more alike than they are different. And I think they would both be tickled pink that you and I are . . .” A girlish giggle escaped. “Well, you know, that we just . . .”

“Kissed in the family hardware store?”

“Yes. Kissed in the family hardware store.”

“Well, anything for the family,” Brady said. He reached down and gave me a little kiss on the tip of my nose. “Anything for the family.”

Stand straight, walk proud, have a little faith.

Garth Brooks

O
n Sunday morning we all attended church together. Brady left immediately after the service so that he could call his mom and update her on the photo shoot.

I managed to talk Alva into staying in Fairfield and riding back to Dallas with me. If she'd known that I planned to take her to Queenie's house after church, she probably would've bolted. Still, with nowhere else to go, she reluctantly tagged along. My parents led the way in their car, and we followed behind them in mine, knowing we would have to leave for Dallas by four o'clock.

When we arrived at my grandmother's house, I could tell Alva was hesitant to go inside. In fact, I wondered if I would be able to talk her into getting out of the car at all.

“Couldn't I just wait here?” she asked.

I gave her a sympathetic look. “Alva. C'mon in. Let's get this over with.”

She sighed and followed me to the door. My dad gave the usual three-rap greeting, then opened the door and led the way inside. Queenie was all smiles until she saw Alva. Then her smile quickly faded. She said nothing to her sister at all. Not “Thanks for coming.” Not “Get out of my house.” Nothing. It was as if Alva hadn't come at all.

Mama and Pop did their best to make small talk, asking Queenie how she was feeling.

“Oh, I'm fine,” my grandmother responded with a wave of her hand. “Fit as a fiddle. Not sure what happened the other night. Just got worked up, I guess.”

“Well, I'm glad you're okay now, Queenie,” I said. “You scared us to death.”

“Didn't mean to do that.” Her nose wrinkled. “In fact, I didn't mean to draw attention to myself, period. That's the last thing I wanted to do, especially with all of the young folks showing up with dates.”

“It was an interesting evening, for sure.” Pop shrugged. “Not exactly our usual Friday night routine, but I kind of liked the changes.”

“You liked seeing your mother passed out in a car in the parking lot of Sam's?” Queenie asked.

“Of course not, Mama,” he said. “Just saying that I'm coming to the realization that breaking from the norm can be a good thing. And I'm really glad you're better now.”

“Thank you. I'll be back up and running soon. Tell me
what I missed at church this morning. Did Bessie May sing the solo again?”

Mama rolled her eyes. “Yes. And speaking of Bessie May, I'm not going to be able to stay very long. I have to be at the church at four o'clock for a meeting. We're getting new choir robes, and Pastor needs me to be there to settle a dispute between Bessie May and Ophelia about the color. Can you believe Ophelia wants to go with purple? I mean, seriously. Purple?”

“I like purple,” I said. “It might shake things up a little.”

“But . . . purple?” Mama looked aghast.

“Alva and I need to leave by four o'clock too,” I said. “We've got a drive ahead of us.”

“I still can't believe you're going back,” Mama said. “Are you moving away for good, Katie?”

“Would it be so awful if I did?”

She paled. “What are you saying?”

“I don't know. I love it there, Mama. I really do. I mean, I love Fairfield too, but there's something about Dallas . . .”

“It's that boy.”

I didn't know quite how to respond to that one. After a moment, I finally decided that I needed to come clean and tell my parents the whole story about the contest, the dress, the photo shoot . . . everything.

And so I did.

My father sat with his jaw hanging down as I relayed the story, and Mama . . . well, she looked as if she might be sick.

“You're telling me that you're about to be on the cover of a national magazine wearing a wedding dress that was made just for you?”

I nodded.

“So, those pictures I saw you looking at on your phone the other night . . . ?”

“Were from the photo shoot. Would . . . would you like to see them? They're really good.”

It took her a minute, but she finally agreed. I pulled them up on my phone and then passed it her way. Though she refused to admit it aloud, I could tell she thought the pictures were beautiful. Pop certainly did. He whistled when he got to the picture of Brady kissing me.

“Guess it's a little clearer why you're set on going back to Dallas.”

“Yeah.” I sighed.

“So this is how it is.” Mama gave me a pensive look. “One minute you're marrying Casey Lawson, the next you're kissing a baseball player.”

“Basketball player,” Pop, Alva, and I said in unison.

“And Mama, just for the record, you were ready to marry me off to Levi Nash the minute you heard that Casey had left town.”

“True.” My mother fanned herself with her hand. “I never felt that Lawson boy was good enough for you, just so you know.”

Her statement seemed to strike a chord with Alva, who squirmed in the seat next to me. “Is it getting warm in here?” she asked.

“No, it's just fine.” Pop settled back in his chair.

“I for one think it's good for Katie to get away and experience new things,” Alva said. “To have new adventures.”

“You would.” Queenie's first words to her sister were short and to the point. “Which is, I suppose, why you've convinced her to stay with you.”

“W-what? You think that's why I asked her to stay with me—to separate her from her family?” Alva looked shocked by this.

“Well, isn't it?” Queenie placed her hands on the arms of her chair.

“Of course not.” Alva shook her head. She glanced around the living room, and I could tell she wanted to get up and look at a photograph she kept eyeing on the mantel. I'd never noticed it before, but it was the same photo that she'd framed and put on display in her own living room. Ironic.

Queenie directed her next sermonette at me. “Well, I suppose there's nothing I can say to keep you here. It's not like this is the first time someone's taken off for Dallas and left me in the lurch.”

As those words were spoken, I realized exactly why Queenie didn't want anyone to move away from Fairfield. Why she'd fought so hard to keep Jasper here when he'd wanted to move to Houston. Why she'd talked Dewey into going to the local junior college. Why she'd encouraged Mama to hold so tightly to Beau.

She'd already lost her sister to the big city. She didn't want to lose anyone else.

In that moment, the revelation came swift and sure. Queenie didn't hate Alva at all. She loved her so much that she kept a tight rein on everyone else so as not to lose them as well.

Alva cleared her throat and I turned to her, seeing the tears trickling down her cheeks. We had to put an end to this.

“You two need to talk, Queenie,” I said. “Get things out in the open.”

“Nothing to talk about.”

“Sure there is, Mama.” My father stood. “Marie and I will go in the kitchen and make some coffee.”

“When you come back, bring me one of those little sandwiches Bessie May brought over last night,” Queenie said. “I haven't had lunch.”

“Sure,” Pop said. He and Mama scurried from the room.

“You want me to stay or to leave?” I asked.

“Stay,” Alva and Queenie said in unison.

“Okay, stay it is.” I settled back against the cushions on the sofa. “Who wants to go first?”

I noticed that Alva's hands were trembling. “Queenie, I . . . I owe you an apology.”

Queenie huffed but didn't say anything.

“All those years ago, I got in the middle of your relationship with Paul. I led you to believe that I had feelings for him, but it wasn't true.”

“Wasn't true?” Anger flashed in my grandmother's eyes. “You're telling me now that you didn't try to break us up because you cared for him?”

“I liked him fine as a person, but I didn't think he was right for you. I didn't think he was good enough for you, if you want the truth of it.” Alva sighed. “I was young and foolish. But I'm older and wiser now.”

“Older, for sure.” Queenie gave her a sideways glance. “But I'm not buying that story, Alva. Not one bit.”

“Well, that's your loss, because it's the truth. I didn't want to give up my sister to just anyone. Paul was a fine boy—man—but I didn't think he deserved you. I didn't really consider what it would do to you if he broke your heart.”

Queenie's eyes flooded with tears. “You don't know what you're talking about, Alva.”

“Yes I do.”

“No you don't. You think that Paul broke my heart?”

“Well, sure. You two broke up, didn't you? I assumed . . .”

“You assumed wrong. I turned him down.” When Alva didn't respond, Queenie raised her voice. “Alva, do you hear me? Are you listening? I said that I turned him down.”

“What do you mean?” Alva looked stunned.

Tears ran down my grandmother's face. “Paul Bradford proposed to me the summer after I graduated from college, but I turned him down.”

Alva scooted to the edge of the sofa. “Why would you do a fool thing like that? If you loved him, why not marry him?”

Queenie swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Because as much as I cared about him, I cared about my sister even more. Even if she wouldn't speak to me all these years.”

“Are you saying you turned the man down because of me?”

“Of course I did. I thought you had feelings for him, and I didn't want to hurt you. You were the last person on God's green earth I'd want to injure.”

“Were?” Alva gave her a hopeful look.

Queenie sighed. “Are.”

“All these years I didn't know what to think.” Alva rose and paced the room. “I wondered why you didn't marry him. Wondered if he'd broken your heart.”

“Well, you can rest easy on that count,” Queenie said. “He didn't break my heart. I broke his. And I'm not sure he ever got over it.”

At that, the room went silent.

“You're just plain crazy, you know.” Alva stopped at the edge of the fireplace and looked at the photograph on the mantel. “You always have been, but this really takes the cake.”

“Thanks a lot.” Queenie squirmed in her chair.

“No, I mean it. Paul Bradford was in love with you and you let him slip through your fingers because you were more worried about me? I'd say that's the definition of crazy.”

Queenie bit her lip. “You might be right.”

“Maybe it's not too late, Queenie.” I gave her a hopeful look.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, he's a widower. You're a widow. Maybe you two should . . .” I left the sentence open-ended.

“Not. Going. To. Happen.” Her jaw clenched.

“Because he's Presbyterian?”

“No.” Pain flashed in her eyes. “Because too much time has passed. It's water under the bridge now.”

“But I want you to be happy.” Alva walked toward her sister and took a seat in the chair next to her. “You still can be.”

My grandmother's eyes filled again, and she swiped at them with her hand. “Alva, I had the best husband a woman could ever ask for. Joe meant the world to me. I'm sorry you never really had the chance to know him. You would have loved everything about him. So don't worry about my happiness. God turned my broken heart into the most wonderful experience of my life.”

“So why the tears?” I gazed tenderly at my grandmother. “Is it possible you're starting to have feelings for Reverend Bradford again?”

“I let go of those feelings years ago.”

“But Queenie, no one would blame you if they . . . resurged. You know?”

“I'm too old for feelings.”

I shook my head. “No one is too old for feelings.”

“I am. I'm eighty-two. Eighty-two-year-olds should be more practical, less emotional.”

“If anyone has earned the right to be emotional, it's someone your age. So don't apologize if you are smitten. And by the way, love knows no age limits. Is it possible—even a teensy-tiny bit possible—you've got some feelings for Reverend Bradford?”

“His name is Paul.” Her words came out as a whisper.

“Paul.” I gave her a bright smile. “He showed up at Sam's the night you collapsed. Did you know that?”

She shook her head. “No, but I'm not surprised.”

“I'd venture to say he's in love with you now.” I don't know where the words came from, but I'd obviously spoken them aloud, based on the look of shock on my grandmother's face. “Isn't he?”

Her gaze shifted downward and then back up to me. “Yes. He is.”

“Really?” I got it right!

“Yes, I have it on good authority he is crazy about me.” Queenie sighed. “Head-over-heels, can't-sleep-nights, can't-walk-straight, can't-remember-if-he's-fed-the-cat crazy.”

“How do you know that?” Mama asked as she walked back into the room with a tray of sandwiches in hand.

“Because he told me.” Queenie tried to stand, nearly stumbling in the process. “Yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that.” She finally managed to stand upright. “He's told me every day for the past six months. Every single morning there's a note on my front door that says, ‘You are loved.'”

“Are you serious?” I asked.

“Want the proof?” Queenie hobbled over to her desk and opened the drawer. She reached inside and came out with a folder stuffed full of handwritten love letters, which she pulled out and showed us. My father happened in at that very moment with several cups of coffee on a tray.

“This,” my grandmother said as she clutched the letters to her breast, “is all the proof anyone will ever need. Paul Bradford is head over heels in love with me.”