How to Make a Wedding

by Cindy Kirk

  “Mama, I know.”

  “Know what?” She came to the table, chin up, gaze down. “Oh, shoot, I forgot ice. Give me your cup.”

  Ginger pressed her hand on Mama’s. “About you and Mr. Wells. Tom Senior.”

  Mama snatched the cup, and her hand, from Ginger’s grasp. “What in the world are you talking about?” She jammed the plastic cups under the ice dispenser. “This town is a gossip petri dish.”

  “Apparently not, Mama. I never heard word one about you and Pastor Wells before. Is it true? Are you the reason he left town?”

  Mama pressed her forehead against the fridge, filling the cups to the brim with ice. “Certainly not. Who told you such a wild tale?” She came to the table and sat with a harrumph, tucking her bobbed copper hair behind her ears.

  “Edward Frizz. Tom confirmed it.”

  “Just like that?” Mama scooped more rice than she’d ever eat onto her plate. “They walked up to you at Bridgett Maynard’s wedding, of all places, and said, ‘Hey, your mama ran Pastor Wells out of town?’ Land sakes, that was twelve years ago. Some folks have to learn to let things go.” Her hands trembled as she dumped almost all of the Moo Goo Gai Pan over her rice.

  “You’re seriously going to eat all the Moo Goo?”

  “Oh, see what you made me do?” Mama shoveled some of it back into the container. “Ginger, I don’t know what possessed—”

  “Is it true? You and Pastor Wells?”

  Mama set the container down, her eyes glistening, and stared toward the bright kitchen, sniffling, running her hands through her hair. “You were to never know.”

  “Why not?”

  “How in the world did Edward Frizz find out?”

  “I don’t know about Edward. But Tom, of course, knows. His dad told him the whole story when he decided to return to Rosebud. Tom’s starting this new church.”

  “I suppose . . . So, Tom’s dad told him? Warned him?” Mama’s eye sparked with a wild, rebellious glint. “Stay away from the Winters women?”

  “Who knows? Probably.” Ginger’s stomach rumbled, asking for food, rejecting the forming rock of tension as any kind of nourishment. Tom certainly didn’t heed his daddy’s warning. “Did you have an affair?”

  “No! No . . .” Mama broke open a set of chopsticks and swirled her chicken through a pile of fried rice but never took a bite. “Remember Parker Fox?”

  “I think. Wasn’t he the banker you dated?”

  “I finally thought I’d found me a good one, you know? He adored you.”

  “If you say so.” None of Mama’s boyfriends ever adored Ginger.

  “He wasn’t a drinker or doper. He wanted a nice suburban life. Just like I wanted when I married your daddy.”

  “So what happened?” Ginger scooped a forkful of rice and beef into her mouth, exhaling, willing this conversation to be about truth. Maybe healing.

  “He asked me about your scars.”

  Ginger set down her fork and wiped her mouth with her napkin. “He didn’t want a stepdaughter with such ugly scars?”

  “No, Ginger, why do you always assume the worst?”

  “Because it’s usually true.”

  “He wanted to know how it happened. So I told him. He was aghast. First that you were trapped in a trailer fire but mostly because I’d left you alone. I told him you were twelve and that I’d only gone down to the Wet Your Whistle for a beer and burger with a guy from work. That was too much for him and he wanted out.” Mama snapped her fingers. “He didn’t feel I’d be a fitting mother should we ever have kids.”

  Ginger shoved her food about her plate. “I’m sorry, Mama.” But in a small way, she understood Mr. Fox.

  “I was pretty messed up. Started having nightmares of you trapped in all sorts of fires. Only I couldn’t rescue you. I’d wake up in a panic, trembling like a pup in a rainstorm.”

  “Where was I? How did I not know this?”

  “You were sixteen, trying to figure out life for yourself. Wasn’t fitting for me to dump my burden on you.”

  “But we were supposed to be the Gilmore Girls. Best friends and all.” A bit of the sarcasm she loathed coated her response.

  “Don’t be impertinent, Ginger. Anyway, that’s when we started attending church.”

  “And you hooked up with Pastor Wells?”

  “I did not hook up. I started wondering if this God business was what I needed. We needed. I had a few questions and Pastor Wells agreed to meet with me. We discovered we both liked nature and art. He lent me a book on John Audubon. I showed him a few of my sketches. I started attending the women’s Bible Study on Tuesdays before work and I started stopping by his office before I left.” Mama lifted her gaze. “He was so kind, you know? Actually listened to me. No man, not even Parker Fox, ever really listened to me before.”

  “So you had an affair? With a married man of God?” Ginger shuddered. Having experienced fire, she had a deathly fear of hell. And of the God, if He existed, who claimed He could send her there. Real or imagined, she tried to avoid ticking God off at all costs. So messing with His men was way off limits.

  Another reason to avoid Tom Wells Jr.

  “We didn’t have an affair.” Mama snatched up her glass of sweet tea, taking a big gulp. “But I was falling for him. Found myself thinking of him all the time.” She pressed her hand over her heart. “He started living in here more than he should. I was falling in love . . . So I told someone.”

  “Who?”

  “The leader of the women’s Bible study, Janelle Holden.”

  Ginger had some experience with church women in the shop. Having a crush on the pastor was a big, fat no-no.

  “Why would you tell her? Why not Aunt Carol or your buddy, Kathleen?”

  “Because Janelle said she was there to help us, to guide us to Jesus. Ha, what a crock. She went from friend to foe before I even got to the end of my first sentence. Next thing I know I’m sitting before an elder board, confessing the whole story without a moment to defend Tom or speak to him privately. He didn’t really do anything, Ginger. He was just sweet and nice. Maybe too sweet and nice. I don’t know why they made him leave, but boy howdy, I wasn’t surprised when I found out Robert Holden was the new pastor.” Mama sighed. “I was so stupid and naive. At thirty-seven to boot. I was thinking I’d like to be saved, give Jesus a chance to straighten me out. Maybe He’d be able to lend you a hand too.”

  “Well, falling in love with a married preacher isn’t the way to get straightened out. Did he say he loved you?”

  “No, never.” Mama’s eyes swam as she rolled her gaze toward the popcorn ceiling. “But he showed signs of being interested. I thought he might have feelings for me.”

  “Mama, he was married.”

  “Ginger, for crying out loud, I know.” Mama slammed her glass down on the counter. “You think I wanted to fall in love with an unavailable man? Even if he became available, there’d be scandal and gossip, but I was . . .”

  “Hoping?”

  “Yes,” she glared down at Ginger. “And what of it? Don’t I have the right to a good man? One who cares, listens, understands?”

  “Not when he’s married to another woman. How did I not know about this? How was it not all over school? One of the most popular boys, a football star, upped and disappeared at the beginning of his senior year and no one came at me?”

  “I agreed to keep quiet if they agreed to keep my name out of it for your sake. Everyone seemed more twisted up about Tom Senior and what was going on in his life than about me. I’m sure Janelle was all ready to blab if Tom didn’t step down and leave. She didn’t care about me. She cared about getting Tom out and her husband in.”

  “Then he must have had feelings for you. I mean, to leave the way he did.”

  “I don’t know. We never spoke again. But I heard there were other issues with the church, with his wife, and I was the icing on the cake.” Mama shrugged, swirling her tea, the ice clinking against the sides. “Who knows what�
�s really true?”

  “So that’s why we never went to church again?”

  “I figured they’d brand me with a scarlet A or something.” She shook her head. “And I was pretty sure God didn’t want to see the woman who caused His man to resign his church.”

  “Were you at least sorry?”

  “Sorry? I was confused. And poor Tom. It seemed like such a brouhaha over something so one-sided.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? You knew how upset I was by Tom Junior disappearing without a word.”

  “Because I felt so foolish.” She returned to the table, shoving her plate forward, cupping her tea in her hands. “I’d lost my friend Tom and my women’s group. I didn’t need you loathing me any more than you already did.”

  “I didn’t loathe you.”

  “Yeah, whatever . . . So, now you know.” Mama popped the table with her palm. “Aren’t you proud? Oh, who am I kidding? It’s just more of the same. Where was I the night of the fire? Where was I half your teen years?”

  “Can we not rehash this?” Ginger spent most of her teen years and twenties forgetting the past. Trying to build a future with her handicaps.

  “I suppose not. You don’t need further proof I failed you.”

  “Mama.” Sigh. “You didn’t fail me.” Ginger wanted her confession to at least sound true even if she didn’t believe it. Not entirely.

  “Look at you, all scarred on your arm and side, across your back and that sloppy skin graft on your neck. That’s what government-funded medical care will get you. And you have a sexy figure. But can you show it off? Wear a nice bikini down to the lake? No—”

  “Mama, stop. I don’t need an inventory. I see myself every morning in the shower. Can we talk about something else? How’s your Moo Goo?”

  “Cold.” Mama picked up her plate for the microwave. “What’s going on with you and Tom Junior?”

  “Nothing.” A low warmth crept across Ginger’s cheeks. At least she had the treasure and memory of his touch.

  “Are you sure?” Mama’s tone lightened, her words lilting and teasing. “He was mighty handsome as a young man.”

  “Mama, no, come on.” The bit of rice Ginger scooped into her mouth went down sticky and dry. “I’m no more right for him than you were for his daddy. Even if Tom Senior wasn’t married, Mama, you never cared about serving your own daughter let alone serving others or being a woman of faith.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to talk about how I failed you.”

  “I didn’t. I don’t.”

  “Look, Ginger, just because I messed up with Tom Senior doesn’t mean you can’t like his son. If there’s something between you, then—”

  “Is it seven o’clock already?” Ginger scooted away from the table, downing the last of her tea. “I need to run. The shop’s books await.”

  “Ginger, don’t deny your heart.”

  She snatched up her purse, a Hermès Birkin clutch gifted to her by Tracie. Styling for celebrities had its perks. “I’m not denying my heart. Tom Wells is not for me.”

  If she said it enough, her heart would believe it.

  “Listen to me.” Mama grabbed her by the shoulders. The only touch Ginger allowed without flinching. “I ruined things with your daddy because I was young and stubborn.”

  “He left you, Mama.”

  “But he wanted to come back and I wouldn’t let him. Thought I wanted something better. How did that work out for me? All these years later and I’m alone.”

  “No, Mama, you’re not alone.” Ginger drew her into a hug, resting her chin on her shoulder. “You have me.”

  “And that is a true gift.” Mama stepped back, her eyes glistening. “Now go on, get your books done. How’s that cute apartment of yours?”

  “Good. I like living above the shop.”

  “Thanks for dinner,” Mama said.

  “Thanks for the truth.”

  Ginger made her way down the concrete steps to her car, tossing her bag into the passenger seat, glancing up to the pale light outside Mama’s door.

  Tonight she’d discovered a few things about her own heart. She appreciated Mama more than she realized.

  And she learned to never make the same mistakes. Which meant loving the wrong man. Ginger marked an X on the image of Tom Wells drifting around her soul. He was officially off-limits, no matter how much she yearned for his tender touch.

  On Thursday evening, Tom stepped out of the Rosebud Gazette office and inhaled the smooth fragrance of an Alabama winter, feeling rather pleased. His interview with Riley Conrad had gone well.

  Her questions were thought-provoking and interesting. They laughed and reminisced about Rosebud traditions, recalled old names and faces. Including his father.

  “Can you tell me? Did he leave town in disgrace? Did he have an affair?” Riley said.

  “No, to both counts. He did have some issues to work out and along with my grandfather and mother’s wisdom and support, he resigned his church, took a job in Atlanta, at which he became very successful, and fixed the things he needed to fix in his life. Look, being a pastor doesn’t have to be a lifelong call. My father came to the end of that season in his life.”

  “But it took an outside situation to force him to make a change.”

  “Doesn’t it for almost everyone? You left Rosebud, Riley. Why’d you come back?”

  She gave him a wicked grin. “Outside situation.”

  Tom paused on the corner of Main and Alabaster, the glow of a street lamp on his shoulders. Riley’s piece would be this Sunday morning’s feature and hopefully inspire Rosebud’s citizens to check out Encounter Church.

  So, now what? Tom glanced left where Alabaster curved around into Park Avenue, ending at Mead Park. To his right was Main Street and downtown.

  He’d parked his car in front of Sassy’s Burgers, where he’d eaten every night this week. Most of the shops were open late on Thursday and their golden light fell across the sidewalk in large squares.

  Including Ginger Snips. The main window glowed with a string of white lights. Was she there? It was after seven. Tom brushed his hand over his slightly gelled hair, wishing he needed a trim. Wishing he had an excuse to stop by the shop.

  But did he need one? Couldn’t he pop in to say hi? He’d told Ginger he wanted to be friends.

  He stepped off the curb, ducking in front of a car turning left, and took long strides to Ginger Snips before he changed his mind.

  He found the front door open, paint fumes scenting the breeze.

  “Well, looky what the cat dragged in again.” Ruby-Jane spotted him. Tom took a cautious step over the threshold. “What brings you here on a Thursday evening, pastor?”

  “I was down—” He paused when Ginger emerged from the back room with a paint tray and a bucket swinging from her hand, “—at the Gazette.”

  She stopped when she saw him. “Tom, what are you doing here?”

  “Just saying hi. So, y’all are painting tonight?”

  Ruby-Jane huffed, folding her arms. “That’s what she tells me. Of course the other two, Michele and Casey, get a pass.”

  “Leave it alone, RJ. You know why.”

  “Still doesn’t seem fair. Just because they have families.”

  Ginger set her tray down without a word or a backward glance. “We can waste time talking about it or get to work and be done with it.”

  Tom slipped off his jacket and draped it over the nearest chair. “Can I help?”

  “No,” Ginger said. “We only have two roller brushes.”

  Ruby-Jane shot him a sly smile. “No worry. He can have mine.”

  “No, he can’t.” Ginger rose up, steel in her words, a hard glint in her eyes. “Stop yapping and start working.” She peeked at Tom. “Word of advice. Don’t hire your friends to work for you.”

  “Duly noted.” He nodded, trying to hold her gaze. You okay? The recessed light dripping down from the ceiling haloed her chestnut hair and reflected in her hazel eyes.

/>   She was breathtaking. But he couldn’t see her for himself, could he? He had to see her as God’s daughter. Pop’s advice from before the wedding had been coming back to him all week, “If you love her, win her to Jesus,” along with the whisper of the Lord, “Tell her she’s beautiful.”

  “I meant it,” he said. “I can help.”

  “It’s okay, Tom.” Ginger hoisted the big paint can, sloshing some over the side as she filled the tray. “We got it.”

  Tom stepped over, reaching for the handle as she tried to set it down without hitting the corner of the tray.

  His fingers grazed hers. When he looked at her, she was looking at him. His pulse drummed in his ears. “Y-you can let go.”

  She hesitated. Then, “Ruby-Jane and I are perfectly capable of doing the job.”

  “I never said you weren’t. But many hands make light work.”

  “Hey, Ging,” Ruby-Jane said, walking over to Tom, offering him her roller. “I need to run. Daddy just called and Mama’s made a big ole spread for the entire family.” RJ held up her phone as if to prove her story. “Apparently my brother just drove into town . . . So, y’all two got this?”

  “What brother? All your people live in town.” Ginger rebuffed Ruby-Jane with a stiff lip and a firm jut of her chin. “RJ, you can’t leave.”

  “Family first. Besides, I’m on salary, not an indentured servant. Tom, I hereby dub you my replacement.” Tom reached for the long handle. “Do me proud.” Ruby-Jane edged toward the back door. “See you in the morning, Ginger.”

  “RJ? RJ, wait.” Ginger chased her to the back room but to no avail. When she returned, she took up her roller and slapped it against the wall, mumbling, “. . . brother who just drove into town, my eye.”

  “She seems to think we should spend some alone time together.”

  Ginger rolled, rolled, rolled on the paint. “I had enough of you last weekend, no offense.”

  “None taken. Now, where can I power up some tunes? Let’s get this place painted and beautiful.”

  She wanted to be indifferent. Take him or leave him. Forget Tom Wells was in her shop, singing along with the music from his iPhone piped into the shop through the sound system.