Swinging On A Star

by Janice Thompson

  “Oh yes. It was beautiful.” Phoebe paused. “But anyway, I left Dakota at home with the maid. She’s watched him before, but, well …”

  “What?” I asked, fearing the worst.

  “I should have known he was up to something, because when I got home, I found him on the computer. He’s never allowed to use the computer when I’m not home, and he knows that.” Her words grew more forceful, and she gave Dakota a stern look. “Anyway, I didn’t know what he was up to then, but …” She groaned. “I do now. It’s been rather startling, actually.”

  I rose from the couch and began to pace the room, then looked at Dakota. “Just spill it. What did you do?”

  He shrugged. “What anyone with half a brain would do.”

  Phoebe rose from the sofa with tears in her eyes. “I got a call this morning from the National Enquirer, asking for Dakota. They wanted to know about the pictures.”

  “No!” I turned to him, stunned. “Tell me you didn’t! You sent them the pictures?” Suddenly I felt like I might faint. Or hurt someone. One or the other.

  “I didn’t send them anything.” He laughed. “I’m not that dumb. I wasn’t going to give them the pictures until we talked money. I figure they’re worth at least a couple mil, don’t you? I mean, c’mon! This is Brock Benson we’re talking about. He’s a hot commodity. Front and center in the gossip rags.”

  Ugh! I wanted to strangle the kid. Instead, I drew in a couple of deep breaths and turned to my mother. “What should we do?”

  “I don’t know.” She laced her fingers and released a sigh. “I’m clueless.”

  “Well, I’m not.” Phoebe walked over to the television and unplugged the camera, which she then yanked from her son’s hand. “First of all, he’s grounded for the rest of his mortal life. Second …” She fiddled with the camera, finally getting it to cooperate. “I’m destroying every picture.”

  Dakota let out a cry, but I had a feeling it was exaggerated. Likely he’d dumped the pictures on some flash drive or CD. I’d be sure to tell her privately to look for them. And she would also need to block his emails and phone calls before he could do further damage.

  Still, I blamed myself for this. We’d taken a risk by sitting out on the front porch that day, and an even greater risk by driving Brock around the island. Once he returned from his yachting trip, we’d have to be much more careful. If we lasted that long. From the looks of things, the paparazzi would be showing up sooner rather than later.

  As I pondered these things, Phoebe turned to Mama with tears in her eyes. “I’m horrified at what my son has done. I can’t tell you how horrified.”

  “Oh, honey, don’t worry too much about it,” Mama said. “These things happen.”

  “No, you didn’t let me finish.” Phoebe drew a breath. “I’m embarrassed and ashamed, but I’m also upset—at you, Imelda!”

  “W-what?” Mama stammered. “What did I do?”

  “It’s what you didn’t do.” Phoebe spoke in a passionate voice. “I cannot believe you—my best friend in the world— didn’t tell me you had a movie star living in your house! It’s simply not fair!”

  “Oh, honey!” Mama threw her arms around the overly emotional Phoebe. “I wanted to! You don’t know how badly I wanted to. But I was sworn to secrecy. Actually, we’re still sworn to secrecy. Brock is here for the wedding Bella is coordinating this coming weekend. He’s the best man.”

  So much for secrecy. Now Dakota had the photos and the story. No telling what he would do with this much information.

  Somehow the conversation shifted. Thank God. Phoebe and Mama got to talking about Bubba’s performance at the opera. Talking about that led to a conversation about how beautiful Mama had looked the night of the opening. Talking about that, of course, led to a conversation about the beauty secrets Mama had so recently learned from Twila and the other women. At this point, my mother was really in her element.

  “Oh, Phoebe, come upstairs with me!” Mama grabbed her by the hand. “I’m going to show you my secret stash of goodies. But you can’t tell anyone what you’ve seen! Promise?”

  “Promise!”

  Seconds later they were headed up the stairs, where I knew my mother would pull out the hemorrhoid cream, Pepto Bis-mol, and sugar—all important ingredients in her skin-care regimen.

  Well, let them have their time together. Mama had the uncanny ability to forgive and forget very quickly. I understood that. I could forgive, no problem. But, forgetting? That might be a different issue altogether.

  From across the room, I caught Dakota’s eye. He had that “What are you gonna do about it?” look, but that didn’t faze me. Oh no. He’d almost taken me down, but I was on to him now. I wouldn’t let this wedding be foiled by a ten-year-old. No, I’d watch my back.

  After I pulled the knife out of it.

  20

  Come Rain or Come Shine

  Wednesday was spent making phone calls. I telephoned Marian, asking about her dress. She responded with a lengthy story about the alterations lady, who’d overcharged her and done a shabby job. I couldn’t blame her for getting emotional. I’d be upset too, especially if I’d spent that kind of money on a dress. And besides, a bride had only one chance to show off her special gown. It had to be perfect.

  “Did you get it taken care of?” I asked when her conversation finally slowed.

  “Oh yes. I went to my future mother-in-law’s house, and her sister fixed it. I should’ve just asked her in the first place but didn’t want to be presumptuous.”

  “Be presumptuous, girl! It’s your wedding day!”

  She laughed, and then we talked about the construction of the castle.

  “Have the people from the set design company come yet?” she asked.

  “They’re coming tomorrow morning,” I said. “No worries. They’ll get the exterior walls up first and will come back on Friday to work on the inside. I understand from the pictures the guy showed me that they’re using some sort of shiny teal fabric to create a river effect around the castle. And they’re putting in gas lamps. It’s going to be a ton of work.”

  “Wish I could be there,” she said, “but I’m up to my eyeballs in RSVPs. You wouldn’t believe how many people wait till the week of the wedding to let you know they’re coming. Or not coming. It’s nerve-racking!”

  “Oh, I’d believe it, trust me. I’m in the wedding business, remember?”

  “Oh, that’s right.” Marian giggled. “Well, I’d better hang up before I get caught up in chatting and forget I’m supposed to be getting my hair trimmed and my nails done. These are important things.”

  “Yes, they are. A bride has to look her best. Though”—I couldn’t help but laugh as I said this—“I’m not sure nail polish is exactly authentic to the time period.”

  “I know, I know.” She laughed. “But a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  When I ended my call with Marian, I called to check on the wedding flowers. Marcella assured me she had everything under control, asking only a couple of questions about the floral arches. That done, I turned to the table linens and seat covers, making sure everything was clean and pressed. Oh, if only people realized how much work went into events like this!

  The hours zipped by, and before I realized it, evening’s shadows were falling. Yikes! Likely the whole family was sitting around the dinner table. I’d better get home—quick!

  As I entered the house, I heard the sound of voices coming from the dining room. Sure enough, they’d started without me. Oh well. Maybe Rosa would forgive me just this time.

  Thankfully, no one much noticed as I entered the room. Their eyes were fixed on Sophia, who looked like she’d been crying. I took my seat and filled my plate, wondering if she would say anything. When she didn’t, I turned her way.

  “What’s happened?” I asked.

  Sophia shook her head. “You … you haven’t been listening to the radio?”

  “No.�
� My heart began to race. “What happened, Sophia? Tell me.”

  “There’s a tropical disturbance headed for the gulf.”

  “No way.” I almost dropped my fork. “Are you sure?” My gaze shifted from person to person at the table. Everyone had that same somber look. A gripping sensation took hold of my heart. Our little island had already been through enough. We didn’t need another storm. And the guys … they were out there. Somewhere. What would happen to them if they got caught up in the midst of it? “How could this have happened?”

  “I listened to the weather report just before dinner,” Mama said. “The forecasters said the tropical depression came up so quickly, they never knew what hit them. It took everyone by surprise, including the experts.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yes, and they’re predicting it will turn into a tropical storm just as quickly.” Sophia’s voice trembled, and I knew she was thinking of Brock. Who could blame her? I couldn’t help worrying about him myself. And the other guys, of course.

  “Not a hurricane?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No. I’ve been watching the Weather Channel, and they don’t think it’s that bad. But even a tropical storm could be catastrophic if the guys are in a yacht. Right?”

  “Right.” I shook my head, trying to erase the image. Not only did my thoughts go to the men on the yacht, they traveled to the wedding as well. Would a storm prove to be our undoing? Lord, help! “When?” I asked, dreading the answer.

  “It’s expected to hit land tomorrow night.”

  “Surely they have access to the National Weather Service on the boat, right?” I looked to my pop for support, and he nodded.

  “They should, hon. And if they think they’re in trouble, they’ll send out an SOS. More likely, though, they’ll catch wind of what’s happening—pun intended—and head back home. I’m predicting we’ll see them tomorrow before the storm hits. They’ll race it to shore.”

  “I hope so,” Sophia whispered.

  “Either that, or they’ll head west to McAllen, near the Mexico border. The storm isn’t supposed to go that far south.”

  “McAllen.” I shook my head, trying to imagine how we could possibly have a wedding with the groom on the border of Mexico.

  Over the next few seconds, I forced my thoughts into alignment. While I didn’t have any control over this, I did need to spend some time figuring out how it might affect everything we’d planned. Provided the groom made it back in time, of course.

  Okay, so the storm is coming ashore on Thursday. That gives us all day Friday and even part of Saturday to get things in order. The wedding isn’t till Saturday night. We can do this. I know we can.

  Still, I could hardly imagine putting up the castle on muddy ground. What was it the Bible said about building your house on sinking sand? Did mud count? Were we destined to fail?

  Sophia’s gaze shifted to the table. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. She looked up, her eyes filled with tears.

  “What do you mean?” Pop asked, shoveling a bite of food into his mouth. “Do about what? You can’t control the weather, baby.”

  Sophia’s shoulders began to heave, and before long sobs erupted. As she finally came up for air, I heard her stammer, “I … I …”

  “Sophia, what is it?” I looked her way, startled. While my sister was prone to emotional outbursts, something about this seemed different.

  “I … I’m in love with Brock Benson,” she whispered. “And I don’t know what to do about it.”

  You could’ve heard a pin drop at that revelation.

  “Well, honey …” Mama reached over and took her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Who says you have to do anything about it?”

  “Don’t you see?” Sophia’s gaze circled the table, drawing us in like flies to honey. “He could be swept out to sea. I might never see him again.” She sighed. “That would be a Hollywood ending all right, wouldn’t it? But I don’t like that ending. I want another one.”

  Okay, now she was being dramatic. Was this really about him … or her?

  “It’s much more likely he’ll come back, and everything will move forward as planned.” Pop nodded, as if that settled the whole thing.

  “Yes.” She sighed. “But what if he comes back, does his thing in the wedding, then goes back to Hollywood and forgets that I even exist?”

  “I somehow doubt he’ll forget any of the Rossis,” I said with what I hoped was a comforting smile. “It’s more likely he’s going to go on remembering us for years to come.”

  “Maybe. But which Rossi will he remember? You know?”

  Ah. I got it now. She was worried he might have feelings for me … and that those feelings would somehow cause him to forget she existed. After my latest run-in with him, I couldn’t really argue. Not that I wanted his attention. No, right now I just wanted to get him home so he could be the best man in a wedding. Nothing more.

  Mama looked at Sophia with her brow wrinkled. I could tell she was worried about this latest revelation. “Sophia … Brock hasn’t given you any indication that he …”

  “A girl can hope, can’t she?” My sister had an almost frantic look in her eyes.

  “Yes, she can.” I nodded, but I didn’t say what was really on my heart. After all, Sophia was the sort to get her hopes up almost every time a handsome guy walked into her life. I’d seen her heart broken at least a dozen times since high school and didn’t want to see her injured again, especially with someone who didn’t share her faith. Besides, strange as it was, I still held out hope that she and Tony might actually continue their relationship.

  The rest of the meal was spent in a somber frame of mind. Afterward, as Mama and Rosa headed off to the kitchen, Pop and Sophia settled on the sofa to watch the Weather Channel. I slipped out onto the veranda to call D.J. He answered on the third ring, his familiar twangy voice bringing joy to my heart.

  “Bella, I was just thinking about you.”

  “Happy thoughts, I hope.” I smiled as I took a seat on the porch swing. Somehow, just talking to D.J. made me feel better.

  “Very happy thoughts. How are things on your end?”

  “Everyone over here is fretting over the storm. Did you hear about it?”

  “Yeah.” He sighed. “I did. Hope it doesn’t interfere with your wedding.”

  “Same here.” Now I was the one sighing. “Just feels like everything is so hard. Nothing in my life comes easy.”

  “Yeah, but you appreciate things so much more when you have to work for them,” he said. “And I know you, Bella.

  You’re strong. You’ll weather this.” He chuckled. “Funny. Didn’t even mean to say it like that. But you will get through this medieval wedding, rain clouds or no rain clouds. It’s going to be great.”

  After several more consoling words from D.J., I finally headed back inside. By the time I ended the call, I felt much better about things. My pop gestured for me to join him on the sofa, so I placed my cell phone on the coffee table and sat down.

  Nestled in my pop’s arm, I felt like a kid again. We’d done this countless times through the years, after all—waited on storms to blow in. I always knew my daddy would protect me, of course, and it felt so good to hide under the shadow of his comforting embrace. But Sophia, who sat on Pop’s other side, was on the edge of her seat, eyes and ears glued to the television. I watched in silence.

  Sure enough, the forecasters were already predicting a tropical storm. And to make matters worse, reporters were headed to the island so that they could broadcast live. After our last big storm, this one would be of great interest to people around the country. All eyes were on tiny Galveston Island once again. And just in time for the wedding.

  And the Food Network! I gasped as I remembered. Would the tropical storm keep the folks from the Food Network away? I hoped not. For the first time, I really prayed—fervently, even—that Rosa would still get her big break. She of all people deserved it.

  Pop turned awa
y from the Weather Channel and sighed. “So, we’re about to be inundated with reporters from the mainland.”

  “Sounds that way.” I shook my head, overwhelmed by all of this.

  “And they’re coming for a story.”

  “Yeah.”

  He shook his head, and I could almost read his mind. We were two peas in a pod when it came to things like this. He was likely thinking of the potential disasters that awaited us if the newshounds found out Brock Benson was out in the gulf with a major storm approaching. Surely they would be on that story in no time.

  As if to somehow solve the unsolvable, Pop reached for the remote and clicked off the television.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” Sophia looked at him, clearly irritated.

  “The Bible says, ‘You have not because you ask not.’ Well, we’re going to ask—for a miracle. We’re going to pray that those boys come home safe and sound. And we’re going to pray a hedge of protection around our home and the wedding facility too.”

  As Pop bowed his head to pray, I reached to take his hand. His strong, steady voice brought the same comfort and assurance it had given me as a child. Suddenly I was little Bella Rossi again, ear tuned to her daddy’s loving voice.

  A message for my current situation, perhaps?

  21

  Between the Devil

  and the Deep Blue Sea

  The guy from Stages Set Design must not have gotten the memo about the incoming storm, because he arrived at the wedding facility on Thursday morning at 9:00, as planned. The huge moving trucks—three of them in all—lined Broadway. I stared in disbelief, wondering how or if we should move forward with this. According to the newscasters, we had only eight or nine hours until the outer bands of the storm came ashore. Until then, sunny skies reigned. But once the storm blew in, who knew what would happen? If the walls to my castle fell in, would I be held responsible?

  Turned out Larry, the set-design guy, knew all about the storm. “Doesn’t sound like it’s going to be a big one,” he said with a wave of his hand. “So we’re better off getting the flooring and walls in beforehand. If we wait till after, the ground will be too wet. Not a good scenario. Trust me on this, okay?”