How to Make a Wedding

by Cindy Kirk

  The loud ring of her phone cut off his words. To his surprise, she took the call.

  Hope listened for a second. “We’ll be right there.”

  When she turned to him, her face was as white as her shirt. “It’s Verna. She’s fallen.”

  Dr. Eli Webster put a hand on Hope’s arm, but addressed his comments to both her and John. “Your aunt sustained an intramuscular bruise to her left shoulder. Otherwise, she’s fit and healthy, which is a good thing.”

  John blew out a breath. “What do we need to do for the bruise?”

  He took charge, just as he had when they’d first responded to Verna’s call. When Hope had seen her aunt sprawled at the bottom of the stairs, laundry scattered everywhere, John had been the one to spring into action. After a quick assessment, he’d made the decision to call Verna’s local physician instead of taking her to the emergency room in Boise.

  Hope had no doubt they’d still be sitting in some overcrowded ER waiting for Verna to be seen. Dr. Webster’s son Eli had arrived minutes after the call, black bag in hand. They’d gone to high school with him. Currently in the process of finishing his residency, he told them he planned to return to Harmony next summer to join his father’s practice.

  “Apply ice to the front and back of the shoulder for ten minutes. Remove it for thirty minutes, then put it back on for ten,” Eli told them. “That will help with the swelling in the first twenty-four hours. Keep the injured shoulder elevated above the heart, including when she’s sleeping.”

  “What about pain?” Hope asked.

  “Pain? What pain?” Eli’s lips twitched, making him look like the mischievous young boy he’d once been. “She looks pretty doggone happy to me.”

  Hope felt her cheeks warm. “After we’d gotten her comfortable and John pulled out his phone to call you, she asked for her purse and a glass of water. I thought she was taking a couple of Advil. Before I could stop her, she’d swallowed one of those narcotic tablets her dentist had given her after her oral surgery last week.”

  “I believe that level of pain management is a bit excessive.” Eli grinned. “Tylenol or Advil every four hours should be more than adequate for the injury she sustained.”

  John extended his hand. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

  “My dad will be sorry he missed tending to Verna. She’s a favorite.”

  “Where is he?” Hope asked.

  Eli had mentioned earlier that his father was out of town and he was covering for him.

  “He and my mother are on a cruise. I’m filling in until they return on Saturday.” Eli’s gaze shifted between her and John. “Please don’t hesitate to contact me if you have any concerns.”

  Hope threw her arms around him in a heartfelt hug. “Thank you.”

  “It was good to see you again.” Eli’s gaze encompassed the two of them. “Once things settle down, let’s set a time to meet up at the Thirsty Buffalo. It’ll give us an opportunity to catch up.”

  “I’d like that,” John said.

  Hope let a simple smile be her answer.

  Minutes later, she and John stood in the open doorway, shoulder-to-shoulder, silently watching the taillights of Eli’s Prius disappear from view. Before John even shut the door, tension rushed in like a tsunami, adding a stifling weight to the air. Hope could only hope John would set aside their personal issues for now so they could focus on Verna.

  She got her wish. Without speaking, John followed her up the stairs. Verna looked old, frail, and as white as the sheets of her canopied bed. Still, her eyes flashed open when they entered the room.

  The rueful smile that touched her aunt’s lips was like a balm to Hope’s frightened spirit. She quickly moved to the bedside and clasped Verna’s hand. “You gave us quite a scare.”

  “I’m sorry, honey. I was trying to get all the laundry put away before I got ready for the Chamber of Commerce ceremony at seven.” Verna’s forehead puckered into a frown. “What time is it anyway?”

  Hope glanced at the old-fashioned bedside clock. “Six thirty.”

  “One of you has to attend the meeting.” Verna’s voice held an edge of panic. “Harmony Creek is getting the Horizon award. Someone has to be there to accept.”

  “Don’t worry about that now.” John reached over and calmly repositioned the ice bag.

  “I don’t want to leave you,” Hope said softly.

  Verna’s desperate gaze swung to John and she struggled to sit up. Despite the narcotic’s influence, she was becoming agitated.

  “I’ll go.” John answered the question in her eyes, stroking her arm in a soothing gesture. “If it means that much to you, I’m happy to attend.”

  “Thank you. You’re a good boy.” Verna collapsed back into the pillow. Though her pale blue eyes remained half open, they slowly lost focus and turned cloudy.

  “Rest.” John brushed back a strand of hair from her face, then kissed her wrinkled cheek. “I’ll be back soon with the award in hand.”

  “My Tommy,” Verna murmured. “He was so like you.”

  It was high praise indeed. Verna rarely spoke of the fiancé who’d gone off to war and had never come back.

  “I loved him so much.” Her aunt’s fingers tightened around Hope’s hand as her voice broke. “We didn’t get a second chance. Vietnam didn’t give second chances.”

  “It’s okay.” Hope’s heart ached at the pain in Verna’s voice. “Sleep now.”

  “But the Lord didn’t forsake me. I’d always wanted children. After Tommy . . . I never thought I’d have a child. No husband. No child. Then God sent me you and John . . . such a great gift.” Verna was rambling now, her words slurred from the narcotic. “That’s why . . . I only want you to have . . . forgive me for meddling.”

  Hope shot John a questioning glance. When he lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug, she looked back at her aunt. Verna’s eyes had fully closed and her breathing was slow and steady.

  “You better go,” she told John, glancing once again at the clock. “The ceremony will begin in twenty minutes.”

  “Call if you need anything.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “As soon as the awards are presented, I’ll cut out and head back.”

  “Don’t rush.” Hope lifted a hand in a dismissive wave. “I’ll take good care of her.”

  Actually she wished he wouldn’t hurry back. She needed to sort through her tumbled thoughts, bring some order to them, then plan where they went from here.

  “Hope.”

  She looked up and found him staring. His blue eyes were clear and very blue. A sudden look of tenderness crossed his face. “Verna will be okay.”

  Hope stole a quick, worried glance at her aunt.

  “I’ll be a phone call away.”

  She started to nod when, in one deft move, John shifted and gathered her close against him.

  “I love you so much,” he whispered against her hair.

  Her head fit perfectly against his chest, just under his chin. For several heartbeats, Hope let the warmth of his body embrace her, imparting strength, giving comfort. Words of love rose from deep inside her and threatened to spill out.

  At the last second, she clamped her lips together. She would not say the words until she was absolutely sure the marriage would work. Slowly and deliberately, she stepped back. “Drive carefully.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, as if she were a puzzle he couldn’t quite put together. Then he turned on his heel and strode from the room.

  Not until Hope heard the door close behind him did she allow the tears to fall.

  Hope kept the lights in Verna’s bedroom on low. While snow continued to fall, she reviewed her calendar and pondered the earlier conversation with John.

  In the glow of the bedside lamp, Hope admitted to herself what she’d been unwilling to admit to him. She didn’t need the money from her tax work, especially when she factored in the aggravation and impact to her personal life.

  She abhorred the added pressure durin
g a time of the year when Harmony Creek was at its busiest. Last tax season she and Verna had joked they’d seen so little of each other they’d forgotten what the other looked like.

  Was that the kind of life she wanted? The kind of life God wanted her to live? If she and John combined their incomes, they could still put a healthy amount of money away and have a richer personal life.

  Last week, John had shown her his tax statements. She hadn’t asked. He’d just pulled them out, saying he didn’t want any secrets between them. She’d been shocked at his income, which was significant and appeared to be steadily rising.

  Of course, everyone knew a substantial income didn’t matter when expenditures surpassed revenues. Her father had been a successful businessman and her mother had enjoyed a flourishing career as an interior designer. Money had flowed in. The problem was it flowed out even faster. Their home had been filled with constant bickering and tension, all over money.

  From the time Hope was old enough to understand what was going on, she swore once she was grown she’d never put herself—or her children—in that situation.

  She’d work hard and save her money. If she married, she would choose a man with similar views on money. She wouldn’t take his word on his spending habits; she would watch and observe. That way she would know for sure.

  When John had encouraged her to play hooky from her duties to grab some pizza, her antennae had started to quiver. Yet Hope admitted that his point about not working a regular eight-to-five job, as well as the need to be flexible, had validity.

  Tossing a twenty-dollar bill on the table for an eight-dollar tab had red flags popping up all over. She’d be a fool to ignore such a blatant warning. Hope leaned back in her chair and shut her eyes. Tears stung the backs of her eyelids and slipped down her cheeks.

  “Hope.”

  Verna’s soft voice had her blinking rapidly and straightening in the antique rocker.

  “You’re awake.” Hope cleared her throat and swiped at her eyes, hoping the light in the room was dim enough that Verna couldn’t see she’d been crying. “How are you feeling?”

  “My shoulder is a little sore,” Verna admitted. “But I’m hanging in there.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Hope pasted a bright smile on her lips. “Can I get you anything?”

  Verna glanced around. “Where’s John?”

  “He’s not back yet.”

  “Ah, yes. He went to pick up the award.” Verna nodded, then winced.

  Hope’s heart twisted. “You’re hurting.”

  “Just a bit. Would you mind repositioning my pillow?” Verna asked. “It seems to have slipped.”

  “Of course.” Hope leaned over her aunt and made the adjustment.

  “Why the tears?” Verna asked in a low voice.

  Too late, Hope realized that bending close to adjust the pillow had given her aunt a good view of her reddened eyes. “I’m just tired.”

  Worry furrowed Verna’s brows. “What’s wrong?”

  Hope averted her gaze and took several long strides toward the door. “I’ll get you some Advil.”

  She’d almost reached the door when Verna’s voice sliced the air. “Not one more step, Hope Anne.”

  Her aunt’s use of her middle name had her skidding to a stop. Hope turned and strove for a matter-of-fact tone. “I don’t like seeing you in pain.”

  “My pain isn’t in my shoulder, it’s in my heart.” Verna’s gaze softened with compassion. “Tell me what’s wrong, honey. We’ve always been able to talk about things that matter. I know John matters to you.”

  Heaving a resigned sigh, Hope crossed to her aunt’s bedside. “I love John, but I don’t see how we can be together.”

  Verna patted a spot on the bed. “Tell me why you feel that way.”

  After grabbing a tissue, Hope sat and did as her aunt requested.

  Verna listened attentively, without commenting, until Hope stopped, not knowing how to make her position any clearer.

  “Did you ask John why he gave the woman twenty dollars?”

  Hope shrugged. “Does the why matter?”

  “Oh, dearest . . .”

  She bristled at the underlying hint of reproach in the words. “Our tab was eight dollars. The service was mediocre at best.”

  “Do you know how John’s mother supported the two of them after his dad took off?”

  “He told me she worked a lot of part-time jobs.”

  “She was primarily a waitress.” Verna’s eyes took on a distant look. “Caroline worked extremely hard to provide for her and her son.”

  A tight band encircled Hope’s chest. “You think John left such a generous tip because his mother once waited tables?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “He should have told me,” she insisted. “He—”

  Hope’s voice trailed off. He had tried to tell her. She’d just been too stubborn to listen. She recalled his words and the accusation in his eyes—You think you have all the answers, but you don’t.

  Though shame flooded her, fear remained, like a pebble in her shoe she couldn’t ignore.

  “I’m scared.” Her laugh held a desperate quality. “I’m terrified of staying with John and building a life with him and then regretting it. I don’t want the kind of life my parents had. I’d rather be alone. I started to make a pros and cons list while you were sleep—”

  “Have you prayed?”

  Hope chuckled. “I’ve prayed so much I’m sure God is sick of hearing my voice.”

  “Have you tried quiet?”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “When you’re confronted with a problem, your first impulse is to make a list of pertinent factors so you can arrive at a logical solution. Correct?”

  Hope nodded.

  “I’m suggesting you try a different approach.” Verna met Hope’s confused gaze with a steady one of her own. “Forget the lists. Make room for God’s presence by being still. Trust in Him. He will guide you down the right path.”

  Hope opened her mouth, but shut it without speaking.

  “We listen and wait.” Verna’s bony hand curved around hers in a comforting gesture as they sat in the quiet, the only sound the steady tick-tick-tick of the old clock.

  Hope wasn’t sure how long she sat there, listening in the silence. And it was in the silence she understood that instead of accepting all the ways she and John were so perfectly matched, instead of admiring him for being a generous, thoughtful man, she’d looked for reasons their relationship wouldn’t work.

  He’d given her no reason to fear or doubt him—unless you counted a generous tip—yet she’d continued to worry. Worse yet, she’d withheld her love. She’d refused to tell him she loved him even though she did . . . totally, completely, desperately.

  Hope looked at her aunt’s sweet face and thought of Verna and her Tommy. They hadn’t been given the opportunity to build a life together. She and John had that chance.

  It was time to commit to her marriage, to John, and to the life they would build together. Full in. No second guesses, just faith. The rightness of the decision brought both joy and peace.

  Hope continued to sit motionless in the silence until she heard Verna’s soft snore. Only then did Hope slip down the hall to her bedroom, to the small drawer in her jewelry box.

  John had made her keep the ring. She’d told him she wouldn’t put it on until she knew she loved him and was ready to be his wife for eternity.

  Hope slipped the band on her finger.

  In a roomful of suits and silky dresses, John accepted the Horizon award on behalf of Harmony Creek in jeans and a ski sweater. The Chamber members didn’t seem to mind, especially once he told them of Verna’s fall.

  Every person in the room expressed their concern and urged him to take Verna their wishes for a speedy recovery. John skipped the dinner after the ceremony. He was eager to get home to Verna. To Hope.

  He was out the courthouse door and headed to Verna’s car when
Chet fell into step beside him.

  “Bad news about Verna.” Chet’s tone seemed more conversational than concerned. “Be sure and give her my best.”

  “Thanks. I’ll do that.” John picked up his pace. He wanted to call Hope and see how everything was going, but he didn’t want to risk waking Verna.

  “You need to let her go.”

  John realized with a start that Chet had continued to walk across the lot with him.

  “You need to let her go,” Chet repeated.

  “Verna?”

  “Hope.” Chet swiped at the snow dusting his cashmere coat. “You need to go away quietly and not put her through a messy divorce.”

  “What are you talking about?” John frowned, feeling as if he’d suddenly dropped into some alternate reality. “Hope and I aren’t getting a divorce.”

  “She was eighteen, impulsive. She made a mistake,” Chet said, as if that explained everything.

  John ignored him and pulled out his keys, clicked the door unlocked.

  “You know how loyal Hope is.” Chet might have been leaning casually against the Buick, but his eyes glowed with an intensity that was anything but casual. “Because of a sense of duty, she’s honoring something that never should have been. Do the right thing and give her a chance at the life she wants, the one she deserves. Be man enough to walk away.”

  “You don’t know anything about Hope.” John jerked open the car door. “Or about our marriage.”

  He slid behind the wheel and shut the door, almost clipping Chet’s fingers in the process.

  The banker yelped and jumped back.

  “You know I’m right,” Chet yelled.

  John hit the gas and sped from the lot. He drove several blocks before wheeling the car to the curb. He sat there while the engine idled. Was he being selfish? Tying Hope to a vow made when she was only a girl? Would it be better for her if he simply walked away?

  She didn’t trust him. From her lack of response when he left, she might not even love him. Maybe she never had. Maybe she never would . . .

  He could take the car home, pack a few items, and jump on his bike. Hope would be free to start her life with a man who was more what she wanted. Since he would be the one to break it off, the guilt would be all his.