The Wedding Dress Yes (Crossroads Collection)

by Amanda Tru

  “Never have too much potato salad,” Betty replied. She went to Margaret and the women hugged, then she turned to Traci, arms out. “Happy Easter, Traci. Heard you’re finally making an honest man out of my boy here.”

  Traci hugged Betty, smelling the familiar scent of vanilla that always accompanied her. “I think he’s always been honest.”

  “Meh.” She stepped back and wagged a finger in her face. “Your mama’s been waiting too long, girl.”

  “Betty, I’m 25. Hardly an old maid.”

  “She was in my history class when she found out she was pregnant with you. That girl could’ve quit and took the easy road, but she didn’t. She came to school every day. Finished school, finished college.”

  Traci smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “She was one of the good ones. You’re doing right by her.”

  “Thank you.”

  The kitchen door opened, and Jessica Seaver walked in carrying a grocery bag in one arm and a vase of lilies in the other. She had straight red hair cut into a bob and streaked with blonde highlights. Always elegantly dressed, this afternoon she wore a cream pantsuit with a lilac blouse and lilac heels. “Happy Easter,” she announced. “I brought the mint sauce for the lamb, and Jessica’s bringing the potatoes I made this morning.” She set everything down on an empty spot on the island and hugged Betty first and then Margaret. “Mama, did Aunt Deborah say she was definitely bringing the cake? I never did hear back from her, so Jessica’s standing by ready to hit the grocery store if we need her to.”

  Betty waved a hand. “I talked to her this morning before church. She was frosting it while we were talking.”

  Jessica looked at Traci. “Hey, there’s the bride.” They hugged, and she said, “All the flowers are on order. We’re due to get them June twentieth. “

  The now-familiar nervousness twisted in her stomach. “Great,” she said with a tight smile. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  Everyone stopped talking and looked at her, so she gestured with her head toward the back door. “Can we talk in private?”

  With a perfectly manicured raised eyebrow, Jessica said, “Of course.”

  Closest to the door, Travis opened it and preceded them outside. She’d already talked to him, so he knew the subject of the conversation. Once out of earshot of his family, she turned and looked at his sister. “I’ve asked my mom to be my matron of honor.”

  Jessica nodded. “Oh, honey, I know. She called and told us.”

  Holding a hand against her stomach, wanting to fight back the fear and nerves, she said, “If something happens and she, uh, can’t, I was wondering if you would stand-in for her. Just as her surrogate.”

  It took a second for Jessica to comprehend the words. As soon as she did, her eyes widened and filled with tears. “Oh, Traci. We keep going day by day and forgetting about what might be.”

  Despite the harshness of the thought, Traci said, “Not might. What will be. It’s not if. It’s when. My prayer, our prayer, is that we get through the wedding. But there’s no promise.”

  “Surely, she will be okay two months from now. I just saw her yesterday.”

  Traci closed her eyes and let out a breath. Travis put an arm over her shoulder, and she looked up at him. He obviously understood her silent plea and took over the conversation. “Will you stand in for Michelle if need be?”

  A tear ran down her cheek. “Of course. Yes. I would be honored.”

  Traci stepped forward and hugged Jessica. “Thank you.”

  She stepped back and gestured toward the door. “We should get back in there before everyone comes out here or explodes with curiosity.”

  Soon, the house filled with Travis’ mother’s side of the family. Coming from a really small family, with cousins only on her maternal grandmother’s side, the sheer size of his family sometimes overwhelmed her. His mother’s sister, his Aunt Deborah, arrived at one with her two children, their spouses, and their children. Travis and his cousin set up tables in the living room and one outside for the kids.

  Traci helped Travis carve the turkey while Jessica and Justine lined all the sides and desserts around the island in the kitchen. As soon as the food was ready, the house fell silent, and Travis asked God’s blessings on the meal and their time together as a family.

  Traci had spent as many holidays with Travis’ family as she could between work and obligations with her mom. Occasionally, she brought her mom with her. Today, though, Michelle had wanted to lie down after church and insisted that Traci go and celebrate with Travis. They promised Michelle that they’d bring her a plate back.

  While she fixed herself a plate, Traci thought about her day. Last week, she and Travis had sung in the Easter cantata at their church, and Travis’ family had filled two rows to watch them. This morning, the two of them had attended the family church. She thought about the music and the message Ryan had preached and felt such peace and contentment as she sat surrounded by a loving family who had spent time worshiping together this morning. How had she ever thought that she didn’t want to marry Travis and become an official part of this clan? She couldn’t remember even thinking that way before.

  Throughout dinner, she laughed, chatted, and answered questions about the wedding and about her mom. Knowing that she didn’t have to face Michelle’s diagnosis alone, that this group would stand beside her, made it easier to face. She found herself reaching for Travis’ hand and just squeezing it, trying to convey all the thoughts and feelings mixed up inside her. He didn’t press her for any words. Instead, he slipped his arm over her shoulder and squeezed her tightly to him.

  That night, after putting the plate of food in her sleeping mother’s refrigerator, they stood at the gate, saying goodbye. “Hey,” she said as he started to walk away.

  He turned and grinned at her in the dusky light. “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for asking me to marry you.”

  He winked. “Thanks for saying yes. And thanks for the second yes.”

  Travis let himself into his apartment and hooked his keys onto the hook by the door. Immediately, his orange tabby Hobbes rushed at him, loudly complaining about the all-day abandonment.

  “Is that right?” he replied to the caterwauling, letting Hobbes lead him into the kitchen. Minutes later, after filling a bowl full of food and making sure fresh water flowed through the miniature fountain, he ran his hand down the soft fur and straightened.

  The full day of family had left him feeling a bit drained but content. Now he had to prepare for the week ahead. He was thankful for the blessing of having to add the homeschool group to his schedule, but three extra classes a week meant more work. In two weeks, his classes would test for promotions in rank. One of his colleagues had a scheduling conflict, so he needed to find another person to help him with the testing. He’d put a call out to the black-belt class and see what came out of it.

  He had always wanted to teach and had majored in education in college. After graduation, while looking for a job in the Cooper County School System, the owner of the Taekwondo school approached him after he earned his fifth-degree black belt. Master Lee wanted to retire, but he wanted to keep the school active. Travis had prayed about it, talked to his mom at length about it, and at twenty-two years old, signed the contract for the loan to purchase the building and the school.

  Nothing in his life had ever felt more right up to that moment. He took all the skills and tricks he learned in studying for general education and applied them to the martial arts school environment. It clicked perfectly for him. He loved his job, his students, and the fact that two years later, he met Traci.

  Still full from Easter dinner, he left the kitchen and went into the living room. From the window above his classroom, he looked down on Main Street. Easter Sunday night meant Main Street had rolled up the sidewalks and closed everything down. Even the diner lights were out.

  As he settled onto his couch, he looked at the closed laptop sitting on his coffee table. He real
ly should work on lesson plans. He should write evaluations. He should investigate upcoming competitions and such. Instead, he reached over and picked up his Bible, randomly opening it to a passage in Proverbs. Skimming over the words, he read, “He who finds a wife finds a good thing and obtains favor from the Lord.”

  His attraction for Traci had been born out of respect for her concentration and skill on the mat. Her hand-to-hand training in the police academy had prepared her for the discipline to focus on an opponent and anticipate attacks and defenses. Underneath the training, he sensed a raw talent that he’d only seen a few times in the two decades he’d practiced the art.

  It took him months to ask her out, mainly because she gave him absolutely no indication about whether or not such a request would be accepted, rejected, welcomed… nothing. Every time he thought about it, he talked himself out of it. Finally, he just asked, on the spur of the moment, one night when she was one of the last students leaving.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” she’d grinned. “For a minute there, I thought I’d have to make the first move.”

  For two years, they dated very casually, their relationship building very slowly. Eventually, he went to her church instead of his home church. Eventually, they spent holidays together, assumed plans, and people started talking about them as a couple rather than two separate people. He told her he loved her one night in the emergency room while they waited for her wrist to get wrapped after she’d sprained it in intramural baseball league practice. She’d grinned up at him and said, “I’ve loved you since the first time you flattened me on the mat and didn’t apologize.”

  Asking her to marry him had taken a lot more courage than anything he’d ever done. He knew she didn’t want to get married. He knew she didn’t want a family or anything traditional. But he needed to be married to her. He needed that completion, that one-ness spoken of in the Bible. He required more than casual, gradual. The proposal was his way of writing his future in stone.

  Her immediate yes surprised him. Her second yes humbled him. Knowing she felt the same way about him, even if it took her a little extra time to come around to the notion, thrilled him. Knowing that in two short months they’d come together as man and wife excited him.

  After praying, thanking God for her, for them, for Him, he finally opened his laptop and started generating lesson plans for the coming week. With Hobbes curled up in a contented ball at his side, he worked until about midnight, sending the plans to himself so he could print them from his work computer.

  Knowing Traci had likely gone to bed hours before, he didn’t send her a text to tell her that thoughts about her had distracted him from working most of the night. Instead, he set an alarm for five, knowing that she’d come out of her garage apartment about five-ten for a morning run that would take her past his school. He would wait downstairs for her, as he did most mornings, and he would cherish that time.

  Traci stood on the box, Dorothy at her feet, pinning the hem of the wedding gown. She couldn’t believe that London Hutchins had taken those scraps of paper from her mother’s binder and created something of such timeless beauty. A delicate lace butterfly created a collar at the neck, and the lace came down over her chest to a satin bodice that very subtly looked like the wings of a butterfly, extending down the tight waist and into the skirt. Lace butterflies interspersed throughout the lace of the train. Simple sleeves kept the dress elegant and tasteful. The satin ended at the elbow, and the same butterfly lace went to her wrists.

  Looking at herself in the mirror, she felt more than pretty. She felt beautiful, stunning, like someone stepping out of a fairy tale story.

  “Oh, Traci. I can hardly believe you had this dress made for me.” Michelle sat on the brocade couch and sipped a cup of tea. “In all my dreams, I never actually imagined I’d be doing this as a mother. I assumed as a grandmother, but never a mother.”

  Traci couldn’t help but smile at her, though it hurt her face to do it. “I’m happy you’re enjoying yourself,” she said sincerely, wishing she could pay someone to stand in for her. “I just hope the dress is ready in four weeks’ time.”

  “We’ll be pushing the clock, but it will get finished,” Dorothy promised. She stood and put the pin she’d had in her mouth into the holder on her wrist. “I need you back in here on June fourteenth for your final fitting.”

  “Another one?” Dorothy made a circling motion with her fingertip, so Traci turned her back to her. She felt Dorothy’s fingers go to the fasteners on the back. Soon, the tight satin loosened, and she gripped it at her chest to keep it from falling all the way off.

  “Yes. No matter what you do, you’ll gain or lose some weight in the next month. Trust me. I’ve been doing this a long time.”

  “Listen to her,” Michelle said, setting her cup and saucer on the table in front of her. Traci noticed the slight tremor that had appeared in her mother’s hands this week. “I never argue with Dorothy about a dress.”

  Dorothy gestured toward the dressing room as she turned to Michelle. “You, my friend, are a gem, and I am so thrilled to be helping with Traci’s dress.”

  In the dressing room, Traci carefully stepped out of the dress, peeled off the awful two-inch heels, and gratefully put her uniform back on. With her lunch break nearly over, she still had to swallow a sandwich before getting back to work. Her boss only had so much patience for this whole wedding business. She needed to tread carefully.

  Knowing that one of Dorothy’s clerks would do something with the dress, she left it draped over the bench and stepped out of the room.

  “What a difference, huh?” Dorothy said with a grin. “It’s like night and day.”

  She laughed. “It feels like it, too. I think, what a relief to get my uniform back on.” She pulled out her phone and made a notation to come back. “I’ll be here on the fourteenth.” Looking at her mom, she asked, “Do you need me to take you home?”

  “Oh, no dear. I’m going to sit here for a while. Watch a couple of fittings. I miss it.”

  “Okay, Mama.” She paused with her hand on the door handle and looked back at her mother. She didn’t like the breathless way Michelle had talked all day. Had she said no because she was too tired to walk home, or did she honestly just want to sit there?

  Dorothy obviously saw the look on her face because she came closer. “I’ll take care of her. You go on now.”

  Nodding, Traci walked out of the shop, listening to the bell jingle on the door as it shut. She walked down the street, nodding to people she knew, and turned the corner to go to the sheriff’s office. As she stepped inside, she slipped her hat off her head and greeted Anna May at the reception desk. “How’s it been?”

  “Lucas is with Sheriff and Tiny down by the river. ‘Nother one of them Jelly drugs. Man jumped off his own roof. Word is he broke his neck.”

  This chalked up death number three in Cooper County due to what the DEA had nicknamed Jellies. They’d arrested three other people who had taken the drug then threatened someone they loved. The drug did something terrible to the brain, and most people who took it eventually turned from violent thoughts to suicidal thoughts.

  “Do I need to go out there?”

  “Sheriff said he’d call you direct if they needed you. For now, though, he needed someone to cover the high school release. Tiny’s on the schedule.”

  “Got it.”

  All the deputies took turns directing traffic for twenty minutes in the mornings and again in the afternoons when the Cooper County High School released. In the two years since they started doing it, the incidents of fender benders, road rage, and accidents had dropped dramatically. She never really minded the duty, because it gave her a chance to get good eyes on so many of the high school students—especially the ones old enough to drive.

  At two minutes after three, she got out of her car and walked into the intersection, stopping oncoming traffic on both sides and directing the first wave of traffic out of the school. At the first lull, she sto
pped the school traffic and gave the oncoming cars a chance to get by. She waved, blew her whistle, gestured, and nodded, enjoying the time. On this Friday before Memorial Day, the sun beat down on her hat-covered head, and the students’ excitement at the notion of fleeing the school for a long weekend resonated in the air.

  While she had both arms raised, she felt the phone in her back pocket vibrate. She couldn’t lower her hands, though, so she ignored the incoming call. Ten minutes later, when most of the cars cleared out of the parking lot, she pulled her phone out on her way to her vehicle. She saw she’d missed a call from the dress shop.

  Anxiety crept up her neck as she dialed the number. Had something happened to her mom? Did she have another heart attack? By the time Dorothy finally answered, she’d worked herself up to a full-blown panic. “What’s wrong?” She demanded by way of greeting.

  “Uh, nothing. Your mom is fine. I wanted to talk to you about what you’re doing with your hair.”

  Confused, she shook her head to clear it. “My hair?”

  “At the wedding. London designed a hat to go with your dress.”

  “Oh.” Honestly, she felt like people overused the word wedding way too often in her presence lately. “I’m not doing anything on it. I’m sure it will be styled somehow, but no veil, no hat.”

  “Great! Thanks.”

  Staring at the phone for several seconds after Dorothy hung up, she finally tossed it on the seat next to her and rested her forehead on the steering wheel. She honestly didn’t know how much longer she could do this.

  Then she sat up. “Four weeks,” she said, reiterating that to herself. She knew exactly how much longer she could do this. One month.

  Travis held the pads strapped to his hands higher. “Again,” he directed, bracing his body for the kick. “Higher.”

  Traci jumped and spun, her right leg striking out, hitting the pad dead center. The force of the kick pushed his arm backward, and he had to take a step back to maintain his balance. “Good,” he said, lifting the pads. “Again. Higher.”