Fools Rush In

by Janice Thompson

  “It’s a fire pit.”

  “Still. I’m beyond humiliated.” I spouted a litany of my more recent failures, not the least of which involved ordering eighty boots from a total stranger.

  Sophia listened intently for the first couple of minutes, then stopped me. “Maybe you are humiliated. And maybe you’ve been through the wringer. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re also a professional wedding coordinator whose bride just pulled up in the coolest-looking limousine I’ve ever seen.”

  “Sh-she did?” Sure enough, from the side lawn I could just make out the pickup-style limo as it pulled into the drive. Three minutes earlier and they would’ve found patrol cars lining the property. Thankfully, the timing had worked in my favor.

  Sophia dabbed at my eyes with a tissue and did a quick touch-up of my hair using her fingertips as a comb. “Now, you go say hello to that bride and act as if nothing has happened. Don’t you dare let Sharlene suspect anything has gone wrong. This is her day. She deserves perfection. And don’t worry, we’ll keep things quiet out here.”

  And so I did just that. With professionalism taking hold, I dried my eyes and approached Sharlene and the bridesmaids, where I dove into a lengthy oohing-and-aahing session over how they all looked. Then I led them into the wedding facility for some photos before the big event.

  Joey met us in the foyer with camera in hand and a completely relaxed expression on his face. Within minutes he had several great shots. In that moment, I was reminded that we—the Rossis—had done this before. Weddings, I mean. Oh, not themed ones, but weddings were weddings, just the same. We were professionals. Sure, I hadn’t been the one in charge, but everything always came off without a hitch. Mostly. Every family member had his or her place, and we worked like a well-oiled machine. Surely we could go on this way, now that I’d stepped behind the wheel. Right?

  Within minutes the groom and groomsmen arrived. They were ushered into a different area for their pre-wedding photographs. Then, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, guests began to trickle in. I couldn’t help but admire the abundance of Western wear. And the boots! Wowza! Talk about a feast for the eyes. I could only speculate, but based on all the signs, we had an exciting night ahead of us!

  Armando and Nick flew into gear, serving as valet parkers. One by one, the beautifully draped chairs in front of the gazebo filled with happy, carefree guests, never knowing, never suspecting, the calamities that had taken place in that area less than an hour before. I overheard several people commenting on the smell of the barbecue and the authenticity of the rugged Western decor, which helped to put my mind at ease.

  Thankfully, a beautiful evening breeze blew in off the gulf, creating the perfect temperature for an outdoor event. We couldn’t have ordered up a better night to pull off this shindig. The traffic on Broadway was light in comparison to most Saturday nights. And the neighbors were all safely tucked in their houses. Many of the guests commented on the perfect weather and the perfect ambience, and I even heard a couple say they couldn’t wait to tell this person or that about the amazing wedding facility they’d stumbled into.

  A few minutes before seven, Bubba reappeared, wearing his apron, which Aunt Rosa had somehow salvaged. It would be difficult to aptly describe what our poor barbecue chef looked like. He’d almost returned to his former glory—albeit glossier. I recognized the scent of aloe vera, which my mother had liberally applied to his toasted cheeks and forehead. The tip of his crimson nose would surely heal in time, though it had already started to blister. And the lips would probably take awhile too. But those eyebrows . . .

  I tried not to gasp as I observed the area where Mama had strategically penciled in fake eyebrows in a shade that didn’t quite match Bubba’s real hair color. Close, but no cigar. Still, I would never breathe a word to Bubba, and I hoped no one else would either.

  Sophia drew close and gave him a scrutinizing glance. “I think Mama did a pretty good job, don’t you?” she whispered.

  “Well, she’s the makeup queen, I’ll give her that much.” I sighed. “But they don’t look real, Sophia. Admit it. Even Mama’s not that good.”

  Sophia squinted and gave our well-done chef another pensive look. “They’re a little dark.”

  “And a little thick,” I said in a strained whisper. Turning to Earline, I tried to gauge her reaction to this most recent catastrophe. She was too busy playing beautiful music on the keyboard to notice, but I felt sure she’d have something to say later on. Hopefully something humorous. After watching her transformation earlier this evening, I had no doubt the woman walked and talked with God daily. Only someone with a close relationship to him could possibly cool down that quickly. And authentically.

  I gasped as I glanced at my watch. Five minutes to seven. No time to fret over Bubba’s eyebrows now. I needed to head back inside to prepare the bridal party for their entrance.

  Something told me I should start with the guys. I found the groom looking pale and shaky as Patti-Lou pinned on his boutonniere, which she did like a pro. After giving a few words of encouragement and instruction, I headed off to find Sharlene and her jittery bridesmaids. When I’d seen them last, they’d been in a flutter, touching up makeup and tidying up loose hairs. Now I found them sitting silently as they listened to every strain of music coming from the piano outside.

  “Ready?” I asked, gazing into the bride’s fearful eyes.

  She nodded, then came to me for a quick hug. “I can’t thank you enough,” she whispered. “You’ve given me the wedding of my dreams, Bella.”

  I wanted to say, “Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched,” but I resisted. I simply nodded and whispered, “You’re worth it,” then turned my attention to the bridesmaids for my final speech. “I’m headed outside. Remember to listen for your cue.”

  As I stepped outside to the gazebo area, I marveled at how beautiful everything looked. The decorations were perfect. With all of the boots and flowers, the rusty wagon wheels and Texas stars, the whole area might’ve stepped out of an old Western.

  I stood in the back, waiting for the musical cue that would usher in the groom and groomsmen. As the music shifted and the groomsmen took their places, D.J. slipped into the spot next to me and leaned close.

  As the music shifted gears once again, I found myself distracted. Over the next several minutes, I watched the wedding unfold like a beautiful orchid opening just once for a brilliant burst of glory. Everything about the service went just as planned. The groomsmen looked amazing in their black Western suits lined up across the front. And the bridesmaids! They glowed with anticipation as they made their entrances up the aisle one by one. The yellow rose bouquets with red, white, and blue ribbons dangling underneath looked just right against their floor-length soft yellow gowns. Sharlene had been right—once again. Okay, Lord. I get it. I’ll take my brides at their word from now on.

  Then came the moment we’d all been waiting for. As Earline began to play “The Wedding March,” Sharlene made her way up the aisle on her father’s arm. She’d chosen the most beautiful white wedding dress, with Western flair, of course. The tea-length gown had a tapered eight-point skirt with fringed hem, which gave everyone just the right view of her exquisite white cowboy boots. Or would they be called cowgirl boots? Hmm. I’d never thought of that before. I glanced down at my feet, trying to settle the issue in my mind.

  Turning my attention back to the bride, I admired the lace trim on the vintage dress. And that hat! She wore a white cowboy hat with a veil attached to the back. I’d never seen anything so unique—or appropriate.

  Once she reached the gazebo, memories of Guido’s most recent performance fluttered through my mind right away. I glanced up, double-checking. I knew I had nothing to worry about, of course. The bird had been quarantined to Uncle Laz’s bedroom . . . probably for the rest of his life.

  During the ceremony, I found myself caught up in Pastor Higley’s beautiful message about God’s view on marriage. At some po
int, D.J. slipped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close.

  “I’ve been meaning to tell you something all evening,” he whispered.

  “Oh?” That your parents plan to sue us over Bubba’s eyebrows? That you have every intention of skipping town the minute this wedding is behind you? That you wish you’d never stumbled into my life in the first place?

  “In all the chaos, I forgot to mention that you look amazing in that outfit.” He winked, and I melted like butter.

  “R-really?”

  “Yep. You’re the real deal, Bella. Half cowgirl, half—”

  “Mental case?”

  “No.” He grinned and pulled me close for a quick kiss before whispering, “Half perfection.”

  “Hardly.”

  Still, hearing him speak the word suddenly put everything in perspective. Somehow these Neeleys could see beyond a person’s flaws. They could even see beyond mistakes. They were walking, talking examples of godliness.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and listened as the pastor continued.

  “Love is patient. Love is kind,” he quoted. “It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.”

  As I listened, I turned to look at D.J. once again. Thank goodness he’d seen fit to forgive my quirky family members for all of their flaws of late. In so many ways he epitomized this very Scripture.

  “Love does not delight in evil,” Pastor Higley continued, “but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”

  The good pastor might as well have been talking about the man with his arm wrapped around me. He’d already served as protector that night at the restaurant. And I now saw him as a trusted friend as well. But there was more. I’d fallen in love with D.J. Neeley from Splendora, Texas, and my life would never be the same.

  Gazing up at him, I noticed the tears in his eyes. “You okay?” I whispered.

  “Mm-hmm.” He placed a gentle kiss on my cheek and pulled me closer.

  The service came to its rightful end, and Earline began to play as the wedding party was dismissed. The bridesmaids and groomsmen exited as couples.

  I’d been waiting for this part all evening. Each groomsman had a white Stetson positioned at the end of a row. As they walked out, they snagged their hats and, in chorus, hollered, “Yee-haw!”

  I couldn’t have put it any better myself.

  20

  In the Chapel in the Moonlight

  After the bride and groom said their “I dos,” Pastor Higley released the crowd into the reception hall for appetizers. The wedding party remained in the gazebo area for pictures. Joey, a consummate pro behind the camera, managed to get some great shots in record time. I’d never been prouder of him.

  As we wrapped up, Sharlene looked my way with joy beaming from her face, then hollered, “Let the party begin!”

  Yes, let the party begin! After the events of the past few days, I was ready for a boot-scootin’ hoedown. Oh, if only I could relax and enjoy it like the others. If only I didn’t have to worry about my caterers catching the building on fire, or D.J. fainting from fear as he took the microphone in hand. If only I didn’t have to fret over broken chafing dishes or the number of trash cans we’d set out. If only I didn’t have to wonder if we’d prepared enough appetizers or adjusted the AC to properly accommodate such a large crowd. Then I could have fun with the others.

  I drew in a deep breath and heard the Lord whisper, “You don’t have to worry, Bella. Do the things you need to do and leave the rest to me.”

  Ah. What a happy reminder. All of my fretting wouldn’t accomplish anything anyway. Right? Might as well just have a good time and trust the Lord.

  Once everyone was inside, the festivities began. Guests filled their plates to the brim with brisket, beans, potato salad, and more. I’d never seen so many contented people or heard so many compliments on the food. Bubba, Laz, and Jenna worked in tandem to serve the guests. After the eyebrow incident, my uncle had certainly learned his lesson.

  I managed to sneak a bite of the brisket and had to admit it was truly amazing. The sauce had a zip and a zing to it, and the meat was so tender it practically melted in my mouth. And those southwestern beans! They were perfectly seasoned with just the right amount of brown sugar and sausage. And the texture? Primo! Man, Bubba really knew his stuff. Surely he’d even win over Laz, his toughest critic, with tonight’s food.

  Finally the awaited moment came. D.J. gave my hand a squeeze as he headed off to morph into a deejay. I whispered a silent prayer that his nerves wouldn’t get in the way. I watched in awe as he opened the floor to the bride and groom for the first number. “Ladies and gentleman, our happy couple will now dance their very first dance as husband and wife.” After less than a minute of watching him in action, all of my former worries faded away.

  Oh, that voice! That beautiful, deep, mesmerizing voice! Just the sound of it and my breath caught in my throat. I was swept back in time to that first phone call where he’d won me over, sight unseen. And I still swooned every time the boy opened his mouth to speak. He’d reeled me in, and there was no turning back.

  And now, as the melody of “Could I Have This Dance for the Rest of My Life” came on, I caught the eye of my handsome cowboy deejay. He winked at me from across the room, putting me at ease and causing my heart to flutter all at the same time. Oh yes, D.J. Neeley. I’d like to have this dance . . . for the rest of my life. In that moment, as my eyes locked in on his baby blues, everyone else in the room faded into the background. It was just the two of us, decked out in our cowboy/cowgirl attire, ready to dance the night away.

  After the bride and groom finished their dance, D.J. called for Sharlene’s father to take the floor. The misty-eyed oilman swept his daughter in his arms, and they danced to a song called “I Loved Her First.” I’d never heard this particular song before—no great surprise there—but the words brought tears to my eyes. For a moment I could picture my own wedding, my own father-daughter dance. Surely my pop would blubber like a baby from start to finish. Likely, I would too.

  Next came the mother-son dance. Cody and his mama enjoyed some laughter and a few tears as “Mama, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys” played overhead. My thoughts shifted to my someday-wedding again. If I married D.J., he and his mama would be the ones dancing right about now. A mixture of feelings washed over me, and I found myself searching for Earline through the crowd. When we made eye contact, I waved and she winked in response. My heart did a little dance of its own as I realized just how much I admired her already.

  As the music ended, the crowd stirred in anticipation. D.J. grinned as he made the announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’d like to open the floor to all of our guests. C’mon and grab a partner, and let’s get this show on the road!”

  I’d never seen Patti-Lou move so fast. She snagged Mr. Billings by the hand and pulled him onto the dance floor. Not that he seemed to mind. Within seconds, they were two-stepping in tandem. The bride and groom knew all the right moves, and so did Dwayne Sr. and Earline, who danced as if they’d been doing it all their lives. Maybe they had. Maybe I was the only one who’d never learned the dance. I had to wonder if perhaps I’d spent my whole life one-stepping when I could’ve been two-stepping.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I peeked at D.J. Maybe one of these days he could catch me up on all I’d missed. For now, I needed to two-step my way over to the punch table to see why Mama and Rosa had let the bowl go empty.

  Over the next hour, I watched D.J. work the crowd. Turned out that deep twangy voice of his was a favorite, not just with the bride and groom but with everyone in attendance. Sure, Armando did a fine job managing the soundboard, but D.J. was the real star, calling the dances as if he’d been deejaying all his life.

  I watched, awestruck, as Sharlene, Cody, and all of their guests did the “Waltz acros
s Texas,” line-danced with abandon, and two-stepped like pros. I couldn’t help but laugh as Rosa tried her hand—or rather, her feet—at the “Cotton-Eyed Joe.” And the schottische that followed reminded me of one of her folk dances. She was actually quite good at it. Even Uncle Laz joined in, cane in hand. They’d found their common ground—not in Frank Sinatra or Dean Martin music but in country-western. Go figure.

  Of course, the night wouldn’t have been complete without the addition of “Boot-Scootin’ Boogie,” which the groom had selected as one of his personal favorites. We all laughed as folks formed long lines, dancing as a group.

  At 10:30 we brought the dancing portion of the evening to a close with an announcement from D.J. “Folks, it’s time for the bride and groom to cut the cake.”

  I drew near to the beautiful cake, which Rosa had spent hours making. After Sharlene proclaimed it the most beautiful cake she’d ever seen, she and Cody did the usual bride/groom thing—smeared pieces of it all over each other’s faces. Then Mama and Aunt Rosa served up hefty slices for the crowd. After that, speeches were given and toasts were offered.

  I found myself getting misty-eyed as parents of the bride and groom took the microphone to speak words of love over their now-married children. How interesting to imagine what my mama and pop would say when their turn came. It’s likely my mother—who would no doubt outshine the bride in appearance—would tell the crowd that she’d wasted twenty-nine years praying for a good Italian boy for her daughter. Pop would probably tell a couple of embarrassing stories, including the one about my misshapen head.

  Suddenly, I could hardly wait.

  As the evening wore on, several people from Sharlene’s family made a point to thank me for my hard work. I heard everything from “This is a beautiful facility” to “I’ve never seen such a flawless wedding.”