Every Girl Gets Confused (9 page)

The whole table grew eerily silent as all eyes shifted to me. I cleared my throat and turned my gaze out the window.

“Just praying about it,” Casey said. “I feel sure the Lord will let me know.”

I couldn't help but look his way at this point. Was he really thinking about moving back home? And what was that stuff about helping his father? This couldn't be the same guy who'd called Fairfield a two-bit town just six months ago, could it?

We somehow got the meeting back on track. Less than an hour later, Queenie's shower was planned and I'd gained an entirely new perspective about Joni. In fact, I had a new perspective about a lot of things—the women who'd gath
ered around my grandmother, for instance. And the business owners who'd gone out of their way to lavish her with love and support.

There was much to be said about small-town living. I'd almost forgotten.

Not that I'd trade my life in the big city for any of it. No, I'd made up my mind. Cosmopolitan Bridal was my new home away from home, and that was where I was meant to be, at least for now.

Any girl can look glamorous . . . just stand there and look stupid.

Doris Day

W
hen the meeting ended, Alva and I gave Queenie a lift back to her house. I carried my bagged gown inside to put into the cedar closet.

My grandmother gave me a curious look as I walked down the hallway with it. “What's in the bag, Katie Sue?”

I bit back the temptation to say, “My wedding dress,” and settled for, “The dress I wore for the magazine cover shoot. I was wondering if I could put it into your cedar closet so it stays safe.”

“Surely it won't need to be stored away for long.” She gave me a wink. “Won't be long before Brady James pops the question, after all.”

“Maybe, but I'd like the dress to be safe. Things just hold up better in the cedar closet, right?”

“Right.” Queenie still looked a bit confused.

“I told her she could keep it at my place, but I don't have a cedar closet.” Alva went into a discussion about the benefits of cedar closets and completely lost me. Still, I couldn't help but notice the sympathetic expression on her face as I carried the dress out of the room, and it raised several questions in my mind. Was I one of those people who was never meant to get married?

We spent the rest of the evening visiting and having dinner at Sam's. Seemed strange to eat at Sam's without my mom and dad, but they were out to sea. Afterward Alva and I headed back to my parents' place to spend the night. It felt kind of weird calling it “my parents' place,” but it wasn't my home anymore. Though it sure felt like it as I drifted off to sleep in the comfort of my own bed. Wow. Pure bliss!

On Sunday morning we attended the early service at the Baptist church, but nothing felt right about it. Queenie was a Presbyterian now, so her spot in the pew was empty. Beau was in Dallas, and so was Dewey. That left Jasper and Crystal, but they'd both defected to the second service, which was more contemporary. Mama wasn't leading the choir anymore now that she and Pop were out of town so much. Bessie May, God bless her, gave it the old college try, but even Alva squirmed in her seat when the choir attempted an off-key rendition of the “Hallelujah Chorus.” Yikes.

Speaking of college, I couldn't help but notice the college- and career-aged folks coming into the sanctuary for the second
service, the contemporary one. Turned out Levi and Joni led worship for that one. In fact, the whole stage was transformed in a matter of minutes as a keyboard and several guitars filled the space where the choir had stood just moments before.

I stuck around a few minutes to listen in and smiled when I heard one of my favorite songs coming through the PA system. Even from out in the foyer, I could tell they sounded great. To me, anyway. I'd always known Levi could sing—I mean, the guy won our tenth grade talent show at Fairfield High, after all—but Joni? Who knew she had such a rich alto voice? Their harmonies sounded remarkable. Almost like they were meant to be. Just more confirmation that the WOP-pers were right about this happy duo.

Alva didn't appear to enjoy the contemporary music. She stuck her fingers in her ears. “I don't know why they have to put on a rock-and-roll show in church. It's irreverent.”

“It's not rock and roll, Alva,” I explained. “It's contemporary praise and worship and it sounds great.”

“Well, I don't like it.” She walked out into the parking lot, mumbling about the noise. As we got into the car, she continued carrying on about the instruments. “Back in my day we didn't allow loud instruments in the church.”

“Um, Alva . . . didn't they have an organ?”

“Of course.”

“And didn't the organ play loudly?”

“I don't remember it being loud, but it wouldn't have mattered. The organ is God's favorite instrument, so it's a moot point.”

This certainly got my attention. “Oh?”

“Yes, and I can prove it in the Scriptures. Look it up.”

“I'll do that as soon as I get back home.”

“Yes, look it up. It's in the Old Testament four times. God
loves the rich sound of a pipe organ as it pushes out the melody of ‘In the Garden.' It's in Deuteronomy. Second chapter.”

“But Aunt Alva, the pipe organ wasn't invented until . . . Oh, never mind.” No point in getting her riled up.

Thinking about pipe organs reminded me that I'd promised Queenie we'd stop by the Presbyterian church to say goodbye before leaving town. We were just in time for their second service, so in we went for round two of Sunday in Fairfield. Well, round three if you counted the five minutes of listening to Levi and Joni sing.

The Presbyterian service was quite a bit different than the Baptist. For one thing, the pastor—my grandfather-to-be—wore a long black robe with a collar. The service kicked off with an organ prelude. A
loud
organ prelude. I put my fingers in my ears and did my best not to groan at the pain it caused.

“See there, Katie Sue?” Alva nudged me with her elbow when it ended. “God's smiling down on this service. I have it on good authority he's a fan of the organ. Deuteronomy chapter four.”

“Ah.” Either the chapters were changing or the Bible had a lot to say about pipe organs.

I was so busy examining the inside of the sanctuary that I almost got lost in the experience. I'd been in here a couple of times before, but never on a Sunday morning. The grand arches and white wainscoting were breathtaking, especially with the sun shining through the brilliant colors in the stained-glass windows.

An elderly fellow led us in a responsive reading and we sang a hymn. Alva nodded and smiled, then leaned over and said, “A beautiful hymn. Just what we should be singing in church, Katie Sue.”

I had to admit it was lovely. But again I was distracted, this
time staring at Casey Lawson, who'd entered late and took a seat with his parents.

We all recited the Apostles' Creed, sang another hymn, and watched as the children went forward for a kid-friendly sermonette from the pastor. Then it was time for the announcements. Lo and behold if they didn't announce Queenie and Reverend Bradford's wedding just like it was an ordinary church event.

“Join us next Sunday for a potluck, followed by homemade apple pie from Sister Susie. And don't miss out on the upcoming nuptials of our own dear Reverend Bradford as he ties the knot with Queenie Fisher on December 12th. You're all invited.”

You're all invited?
No doubt Ophelia would have to add a fifth tier to that cake after all.

Queenie turned all shades of red as they asked her to stand. She did—albeit slowly, thanks to the titanium knee—then took a seat, mumbling about how embarrassed she was.

She wasn't, of course. The old girl loved the attention. No doubt she would make an amazing first lady for First Presbyterian. If they didn't mind the fact that she didn't know all the words to the Apostles' Creed by heart.

Reverend Bradford took his place at the podium and began an enlightening sermon on the prodigal son, but I was a little distracted by a humming sound coming from my purse. I reached for my phone to make sure I'd turned off the ringer and happened to notice several texts coming through from Casey. I turned around to make sure he was still sitting a few pews behind me, and he was. Weird.

I glanced at the phone, but Queenie put her hand over it as if in warning:
Don't you dare get
on that telephone during service, Katie Sue!
She didn't even have to speak the words. I
heard them loud and clear when her hand clamped over mine. I shoved the phone back in my purse and spent the next few minutes trying to figure out what was so important that Casey would have to text me in church.

When the service ended, folks gathered in the foyer to visit. Many made their plans to have lunch at Sam's or Lone Star Grill. Me? I just wanted to get out of there and get back home to Dallas.

Home. Dallas.

Weird but true. I somehow made it out of the church without alerting Casey, who appeared to be distracted by Reverend Bradford. Alva could barely keep up with me as I trucked across the parking lot.

“Wait up, Katie Sue! I'm no spring chicken.” I could hear her huffing and puffing behind me as she tried to keep up. “Ooh, chicken! Let's stop and have some lunch before we drive back. They've got great fried chicken at Sam's.”

“But we just ate there last night. Besides, the lunch crowd at Sam's will be terrible, Alva.” I turned back to look at her. “If you really want chicken, then what about KFC?”

“Yeah.” She sighed. “I guess some people get their chicken there.”

I had barely made it inside my car when Casey caught up with me. I reluctantly rolled the window down so as not to look rude.

“Leaving so soon?” he asked. “I was hoping to talk you into Sam's. My parents wanted to spend time with you.”

His parents wanted to spend time with me? I had a feeling there was more to it than that.

“C'mon, Katie.” Alva gave me an imploring look from the passenger seat. “I don't get to go to Sam's very often and it's my favorite. I sure could use another piece of that coconut cream pie.”

She had me at
coconut cream pie
.

Not that I could say no to Casey, who refused to budge from outside my door until I nodded. “Okay, we'll meet you there.”

“Awesome. See you in a bit.” He sprinted across the parking lot toward his truck. I couldn't stop the little sigh that wriggled its way up.

“Look on the bright side, Katie Sue. We'll have a wonderful lunch and then I can nap all the way back to Dallas.” She pulled down the visor to block the sun.

Yeah. Sounded dreamy.

As we pulled out of the church parking lot, a call came through my Bluetooth. The moment I heard Brady's voice, I felt my heart rate level out. He always had that effect on me.

“How was church?” he asked.

“Interesting. How was church on your end?”

“We had a guest speaker—some guy from Missouri. Really good stuff. He talked about the seasons we go through. Timely. You can listen to the sermon online when you get back.”

“I'd like that.” I put on my turn signal to pull out onto the main street. “I miss you, Brady.”

“I miss you too, Katie. A lot. Have a piece of coconut cream pie for me when you go to Sam's.”

“Wait . . . what? How did you know we were going to Sam's?”

Brady laughed. “That's funny. Anyway, have a slice for me. Talk to you later.”

We ended the call just as I pulled my car into the parking lot of Sam's. As I turned the key in the ignition, Alva stirred in her seat. “I just think it's remarkable,” she said.

“What?”

“First that gal from San Antonio was on the radio, and now Brady. Seems like those talk show hosts wouldn't be as
interested in him now that he's not playing ball, but there he was, on the radio for all to hear.”

I didn't even bother to explain. One of these days I'd clue her in about how Bluetooth worked, but not now. No, on this day I wanted to fill up on yummy food at Sam's, then head back to Dallas. Where I belonged.

I'm tired of being thought of as Miss Goody Two-Shoes . . . the girl next door, Miss Happy-Go-Lucky.

Doris Day

S
pending time with Casey's family at Sam's turned out to be a blast. Funny how I could slip back into the “nothing's changed” gear with such ease. For that hour, I was Katie Fisher from Fairfield—Peach Queen and all-around happy-go-lucky small-town girl.

Mrs. Lawson had apparently forgotten Casey and I weren't dating, because most of her stories revolved around the two of us. Even the waitresses seemed to have forgotten. A couple
of different times I had to whisper, “We're not a couple” to the folks who engaged us in conversation as if we were a duo.

Casey was his usual jovial self, acting as if he'd never moved away to Oklahoma in the first place. At one point he slipped his arm over my shoulder. I used that opportunity to get up and walk to the dessert table. I didn't care much for the feelings that swept over me at his nearness and did my best to push them aside.

Alva seemed a little bugged by Casey's attempts to flirt with me, but the coconut cream pie distracted her. By the time we settled into the car for the drive back to Dallas, she seemed to have left her angst behind. She settled in for an afternoon nap.

I spent my time behind the wheel thinking through all that had happened. I felt so conflicted. Half of me really loved being back in Fairfield. The other half could hardly wait to see Brady again.

Brady. The sound of his voice had worked magic on my heart. Now, to get back to where I belonged—the bridal shop.

Unfortunately, the next few days we were so crammed full of work-related things that my sweetie and I hardly had a chance to be alone. We tried, but chaos reigned. I made up my mind to focus on my job. God would take care of my love life.

On Thursday morning at 10:00 a.m., I met bride-to-be Carrie Sanders. As anticipated, she arrived with quite the entourage: her parents, the groom's parents, even the handsome groom-to-be. Very odd. We'd had a few of these gatherings before, but having the groom in attendance never settled well with Nadia or Madge. They were of the opinion that the groom shouldn't see the bride's gown until the moment those back doors of the chapel were opened. I agreed.

Hmm. Brady had seen my gown before. He'd even been
photographed standing next to me when I wore it on the cover of
Texas Bride
magazine.

Not that Brady had proposed.

Carrie was a gorgeous young woman, probably twenty-six or so, with perfectly styled blonde hair and picture-perfect makeup. She looked very stylish in her Dolce & Gabbana jeans and trendy blouse, but what really got me were the cowgirl boots. I wanted to kneel down to take a closer look but didn't dare. I knew Lanciottis when I saw them. Wow.

When the Sanders family entered, I couldn't help but notice the Spurs shirt Mr. Sanders wore. The minute he saw Brady hobbling our way, his eyes widened. “Brady James?” Instead of the usual boisterous welcome we'd come to appreciate from fans, this fellow crossed his arms and remained silent.

“Yes sir.” Brady gave him a polite nod and extended his hand. The fellow took it hesitantly. “Welcome to Cosmopolitan Bridal. I'm the acting manager while my mom's in Paris.”

“You're Brady James.” The groom-to-be extended his hand. “Jimmy Dennison. Great to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.” A smile turned up the edges of Brady's lips.

Mr. Sanders turned and glared at his future son-in-law. “What is this? Some sort of setup?”

Jimmy shook his head. “Hey, I'm completely innocent. I had no idea Brady James would be here.”

“I'm thrilled!” The other older man in the group stepped toward Brady and extended his hand. “Marcus Dennison. Father of the groom. I'm a huge Mavericks fan. We all are.” He gestured to the group.

“Not
all
.” Mr. Sanders turned his glare on Mr. Dennison. “I believe I've made it clear where my loyalties lie.”

Oh boy.

Not that Mr. Dennison seemed to notice. He kept his focus on Brady. “So sorry to hear about the knee. We really miss seeing you out there.” The fellow placed his hand on Brady's shoulder. “Things just aren't the same without you.”

Brady flinched but managed a quiet “Thanks.”

“Oh yes, it's such a shame.” A lovely woman stepped into place alongside Mr. Dennison. “I'm Julia, by the way. Marcus's wife. We just adore the Mavericks. Always have. We lived in Dallas years ago and fell head over heels for the team. Even had season tickets for a time.” She put her hand on Brady's arm. “I do hope your knee will be okay. I tried to get the ladies in my prayer group to add you to our list, but we live in San Antonio. I'm sure you understand.”

“They won't pray for a Mavericks player in San Antonio?” Madge asked.

Mr. Sanders gave her a hard glare. “I thought we drove all the way to Dallas to pick out a wedding dress, not talk basketball.” He muttered something under his breath about how talking about the Mavericks didn't mean we were truly talking basketball anyway. I prayed Brady didn't hear it.

Unfortunately, someone else did.

“What's that you say?” Stan's voice rang out from behind us. “We have a duel going on here?” He slapped Brady on the back. “Don't worry, folks. One more little surgery to get out of the way and we'll have this boy back on the court.”

“You're still under contract?” Mrs. Dennison looked hopeful.

“He will be.” Stan plastered on a fake smile. “Next season. Now, if you don't mind, folks, I need to talk to my boy here about an article for the paper. Got to keep his name in front of the fans, you know.”

Brady excused himself to his office, but I could read the concern in his eyes. We didn't often get basketball quarrels at
the dress shop. Bridal gown quarrels, sure. Money quarrels, always. But, basketball disputes? Never. Here in the Dallas area, it was the Mavericks all the way.

After Brady left, I did my best to reel everyone back in and focus on the bride.

“Let's start by looking at available dresses.” I gestured to the rows and rows of gowns. “If you don't find anything you like, we'll involve Dahlia and her team. What's the wedding date again?”

“January 8th.” The bride put her hand up. “I know, I know, we don't have long. But we don't want to wait until after the playoffs to get married.”

“You're setting the date based on a basketball schedule?” Madge looked mystified by this. “Gracious.”

“Now, what about that dress designer?” Mrs. Sanders asked. “Nadia something or other? She's the one who's so famous, right? Everyone raves over her, so we want her to design our Carrie's gown.” She giggled. “Can you imagine the look on Janine Parker's face when she finds out that my daughter's dress came from Cosmopolitan? She'll be green with envy.”

Alrighty then. That was how this game was played.

“Nadia James is Brady's mother,” I explained. “She's the designer you mean. But she's in Paris right now. So Dahlia would be the one to—”

“No mother of a Mavericks player is going to be designing my daughter's dress.” Mr. Sanders crossed his arms. “Gotta draw the line somewhere.”

“But Mr. Sanders . . .” Wrinkles formed between Jimmy's brows. “It's Carrie's big day and this is what she wants.”

The puffed-up father of the bride softened a little at that comment.

“To be honest, Nadia has designed many of the gowns you
see here in the shop,” I explained. “So even if Carrie picks out something off the rack, it will likely be Nadia's design.”

“Then we might need to rethink this plan. I want the best for my girl, but I'm sure there are plenty of other dress shops between here and San Antonio,” Mr. Sanders said.

“Now, Frankie, you're just being silly.” Mrs. Sanders patted her husband on the arm. She turned to me and sighed. “He lives, eats, sleeps, and breathes basketball. You should see our house. Everything has the word
Spurs
on it. And we've got season tickets, of course, so dragging him up here to Dallas this late in the season was the equivalent of taking the man for a root canal. Maybe worse.”

“That's why we've come on a Thursday morning,” Mr. Sanders said. “No game today.”

“Ah.” So we had to work everything around the bride's father's obsession with the Spurs? And doing so meant that Nadia was out? “Maybe we need to think about choosing something from one of the other designer lines.” I pointed to a row of expensive gowns. “These are just in from New York. And we have several from Paris as well. Would you like to start there?”

“I think that's my cue to exit.” Jimmy gave his bride-to-be a kiss on the forehead. “My parents and I are headed to the party supply store to pick up some things. We'll be back in a couple of hours. Sound good?”

“Sounds great.” Carrie gave him a tender kiss on the lips and waved as they headed out the door. Then she followed on my heels as I pulled several gowns for her to try. In spite of her beautiful figure, none of the dresses seemed just right. She was short-waisted with long legs. Carrie tried on nine gowns in all but couldn't seem to find the perfect one.

After an hour of fretting, her mother came to the only
obvious conclusion. “Honey, I really think we have no choice. We'll have to have something designed just for you.” She turned to face her husband. “Don't you agree, Frankie?”

“Not by a woman who produced a Mavericks player.” Mr. Sanders shook his head. “Not going to happen.”

“Now you see my problem, Katie?” Carrie's eyes flooded with tears. “Welcome to my life.”

And what a life it was.

“Just ignore him, Katie,” Mrs. Sanders said. “We'll have something special designed for our girl by Nadia James. Carrie will look lovely.”

“Like I said, Nadia is in Paris right now,” I pointed out. “She's not even here to design the dress. And our other designers are working against the clock for other customers.”

“See?” Mr. Sanders said as he approached. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

“Oh, but we must have a dress from Cosmopolitan.” Mrs. Sanders looked as if she might panic. “We've told
everyone
and they'll be expecting it.”

I did my best to keep Carrie's parents calm, finally suggesting they visit the Mexican restaurant next door for an early lunch while I took Carrie to discuss the problem with Dahlia.

Once I was alone with the bride-to-be, she was free to let the tears flow. “See. What. I. Mean?”

“Mm-hmm. How do you do it?”

“Oh, trust me, I don't. I try not to get involved. I'm not even a basketball fan, but please don't tell my parents that. To be honest, Jimmy isn't either. He's an engineer.”

What that had to do with anything, I couldn't be sure.

As I led her back to meet with Dahlia, we passed Brady in the hallway. He gave her a warm smile and extended his hand.

“Sorry about all of that,” she said. “It's nothing personal
with my dad.” She paused. “Actually, I guess it kind of is. If it's not the Spurs, he's not interested. And now that he's retired from the oil and gas business, he has way too much time on his hands.”

“We'll work around your dad, and no hard feelings. I'm not playing right now anyway.” Brady seemed to flinch as he said those words. “And the Spurs are a great team. I'm good friends with a couple of the players.”

“That's good to know. I'll tell him.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “But honestly? This whole wedding experience was supposed to be about me, not about a stupid ball team.” She put her hand over her mouth. “Oops. Sorry.”

“Again, no offense. Trust me when I say I'm at the point where I'm ready to admit there's a lot more to life than basketball.” He shrugged. “I can't believe I can actually say that and mean it, but I can.”

I couldn't believe it either, but I was happy to hear it with my own ears.

“Let's see what the design team has to say about coming up with a new dress, okay?” I pushed open the door to the studio.

Had I known what I'd be walking into, I never would have taken Carrie back there. I found Dahlia in a puddle of tears. I rushed her way, alarm bells ringing in my ears. “What happened? Dahlia?”

“Oh, Katie.” She threw her arms around my neck and sobbed. And sobbed some more. I tried to calm her down, but she would not be soothed. Carrie came to stand next to me, handing Dahlia tissues. The noise must've alarmed the folks up front because Madge showed up at the door, followed by Twiggy. They all rushed our way.

“Who died?” Madge grabbed a box of tissues and pressed it into Dahlia's hands.

“I—I don't know.” Perhaps Dahlia had received bad news from back home in Europe. One thing was for sure—with her carrying on at this rate, we'd never know.

Remarkably, Carrie got her to calm down at last. “Now, tell us what's wrong so we can help.”

Dahlia released a slow breath and took a seat in front of her favorite sewing machine. “It's Dewey.”

“Dewey?” My heart sailed straight to my throat as she spoke my brother's name. “What's happened to Dewey?”

“He . . . he . . .” She reverted to sobbing again. Off in the distance Eduardo looked on, his eyes wide. Hibiscus continued to work, but Jane seemed to be in a puddle too.

“Is he okay?” I knelt down next to her chair. “Tell me. Please.”

“Physically, yes, he's fine.” With a wave of her hand she dismissed any concerns in that area. “But he won't be . . . after I kill him!”