The Second Yes

by Amanda Tru

“There’s no way I could get even a simple wedding planned and executed by April. It’ll be hard enough with June. More like having a part-time job.”

  Preston leaned forward and murmured, “You must save some time for me.” As his thumb caressed the back of her hand, he added, “I don’t want to play second fiddle to an event.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll need lots of help making sure I don’t do anything that’ll offend your family.”

  “You make us sound like hyper-sensitive ogres, Lara.”

  “No!” She steadied herself with a deep, calming breath and tried again. “It’s just that I know you have spiritual convictions that I might not know about yet. I don’t want to be insensitive to that.” With assurances that all she had to do was ask still ringing in her ears, Lara decided she’d better confirm that date. “And June twenty-eighth isn’t a problem? You said a Friday was okay as long as everything was done by sundown…”

  He gave her a smile—somewhat insincere, she thought, but a smile nonetheless. “Is that the date you want?”

  It was probably the wrong answer, but Lara decided to just be honest and hope he understood. “Yes.”

  “Then it’s the perfect date.” As if to reaffirm that assertion, Preston took her hands, squeezed them, and offered a repeat of that last smile. “I just want my girl happy.”

  One eyelid peeled open, and through the goop of sleep, the fuzzy outlines of a nine, a four—or was it another nine?—and a six glowed back at her. Lara rolled over on her back, rubbed both eyes, and tried again. The “six” changed to an eight. 9:48.

  “Well… there goes church with Preston.”

  If she were honest with herself, the loss didn’t hurt too much—not at all, really. Switching to a Seventh-day Adventist church wouldn’t really fit her career path. Restaurants needed those weekend patrons, and that meant they needed reliable weekend managers. “And I’ll never get to the place where I can buy The Birches if I don’t put in the tough hours.”

  Her arms flopped back on the bed, and her eyes closed. Lara might have fallen back to sleep, but a buzzing vibration popped one eye open again. Preston’s face filled a circle on her screen. A tap brought up a text message. Good morning, gorgeous. Sleep. Don’t try to make it to church. You can go to yours tomorrow. If I can get out of family lunch, I’ll come, too.

  “And that’s why I love him, Lord!” After zipping back a reply, Lara flung back the covers and bounced out of bed. “He works so hard to make sure he tries to fit into my world, too, instead of just trying to push me into his.”

  All the sunshine and roses that had warmed her heart disappeared as she drew the drapes open and stared out over a drizzly New Cheltenham. “Ugh. I need to go talk to Brenna, but with all that rain, ‘in a minute, I shall melt away,’ as the old Oz witch said.”

  Brenna ran the Curio & Garret—New Cheltenham’s antique store—and served as guardian to her younger sister. As one of the newest residents in town, Lara hadn’t made many friends yet, but the Kinsey sisters were definitely at the top of her list. It might be strange to have a new friend as her maid of honor, but Lara wanted Brenna.

  Fleece yoga pants—a must. Extra-soft granny tunic? Lara hesitated, loving the print but hating how it added twenty years unless someone took the time to really look at her. Still, on a cold, rainy day, comfort trumped style. She snatched it off the hanger and could have purred as the cozy softness slid over her. “Oh, yeah. Good thing Preston won’t be by.”

  Coat, cute rain boots, giant umbrella—she was all set. As Lara locked the door behind her and jogged down the steps, she tried not to grumble about the “no cars” rule for New Cheltenham streets. “It’s worth it…” Once she’d opened her umbrella and the back door of her building, Lara clamped her mouth shut and forced her thoughts inward. No more talking to myself where people can hear me. I’ll make the front page of The Tattler if I get caught again. I can see it now. “Local business manager is a closet schizophrenic.”

  She tilted the umbrella to ward off rain from the side and strolled past The Blue Duck, not even allowing herself to look inside. Besides, didn’t they stop saying schizophrenic? Now it’s some personality disorder? Confused personal… no. Not that.

  A dress in The Sparrow & Lily caught her eye… again, but Lara pretended that she didn’t see it. Five passes and she hadn’t even stopped in to see what the fabric content was. Improvement. At this rate, I may make it to ten before I give up and buy it. Baby steps.

  An open sign greeted her at The Curio & Garrett. Lara stepped inside, shook out her umbrella, and dropped it into an enamelware bucket by the door. “Brenna?”

  “She’s upstairs taking a shower.” Lara glanced to her left and found Lauren Kinsey draped over a leather armchair, a book in hand.

  “Poirot?”

  “No…”

  “School assignment, huh? I’m going to go with The Scarlet Letter, then.”

  Lauren shook her head. “Nope. For school, she has me reading The Hunger Games trilogy.”

  Brenna’s voice called out from the storeroom, “Lauren is probably the only kid in the greater Rockland area who has to be forced to read contemporary young adult fiction instead of musty old mysteries about…”

  An exaggerated sigh accompanied Lauren hopping to her feet. “There’s nothing musty about Patricia Wentworth.”

  Lara winked at her near name-twin and asked the questions she knew the girl wanted to answer most. “Which book, and what’s it about?”

  “Oh, it’s wonderful. So, this old governess is kind of like Miss Marple—Christie, you know—and she goes around reading Tennyson and knitting all the time. Everyone underestimates her.” Lauren held up the cover as if it would prove her assertions. “So far in The Chinese Shawl, this old family feud is back, and Miss Silver has to figure out who killed whom and why.”

  To Brenna, she added, “And note the proper use of whom, my dear, dismayed sister.” Lauren wrinkled her nose. “I should have added darling. Let me try that again, my dear, dismayed, darling of a sister.” She winked at Lara before adding, “Reading these older books is great for my vocabulary and grammar. You can’t say that about The Hunger Games.”

  Brenna and Lara watched the least “tweenish” twelve-year-old in the country disappear behind the swinging doors to “the back,” book in hand and a spring in her step. “That girl,” Brenna sighed, “should be a huge relief, but I can’t help but wonder if I shouldn’t be pushing ‘normal’ on her.”

  Arms folded over her chest, and a once-over that would make most women blush if it came from a man, Lara just shook her head. “Normal? You think you know what that is? Miss Brenna, Jane Marple, Kinsey?”

  “I am not an amateur sleuth.”

  “No, but you dress like one.” With a quirk of her eyebrow, Lara dared her friend to argue.

  Brenna didn’t even glance at her skirt as she brushed imaginary lint from it. Had anyone walked into the shop when Brenna was alone, they would have been sure they’d stepped into post-war England at the sight of Brenna’s shoulder-length waves, sensible skirt and shoes, blouse, and cardigan—except that today she wore a pullover sweater under that cardigan.

  “Okay, you’ve got me there.”

  “Can you escape for a few minutes? Get coffee with me?”

  Brenna’s, “In the rain?” proved surprisingly soothing.

  At least I’m not alone in my dislike of getting wet. “I don’t suppose,” Lara suggested, “we can cross the garden and go in the back door?”

  “Not if you don’t want to antagonize Mrs. Hobbs.”

  Lauren appeared. “Fine. I’ll go. But you have to buy me a scone.” She gave Brenna a look that no one would challenge. “With sprinkles.”

  “Deal.” Lara pulled cash from her coat pocket and thrust it into the girl’s hands. “Thanks.”

  “I know when I’m not wanted. You didn’t fool me.” With that, she disappeared out the door—sans umbrella.

  Only Brenna’s sigh told Lara she hadn’
t misheard. “I—”

  “Don’t worry about it. She’s intuitive. So, come on. Let’s go to the back table. It’ll give us some privacy.”

  “What about customers?”

  Without bothering to answer, Brenna led the way to the small, drop-leaf table that usually held something being repaired. She propped open the swinging saloon doors and sank into the chair, glancing around her with a smile. “Lauren cleaned up for me.”

  “Cleaned what?”

  “I was working on this doll when the fabric gave way, and I got an explosion of old, musty sawdust all over me.” Her eyes darted about the storeroom. “I wonder where she put it…” Brenna gave herself a shake. “Never mind. What’s on yours—mind, that is?”

  All night long she’d planned what to say—how to ask. She’d be sophisticated, gracious, and she’d definitely manage to convey how much she valued their friendship as she did. What came out, however, didn’t exactly reflect those at all. “I’m getting married!”

  “Wha—? Preston? Really?” Brenna hopped up to hug her. “When did—? Thursday night, of course. I mean, Valentine’s Day, duh!”

  Lara stopped herself from asking about Brenna’s Valentine’s Day just in time. After all, no matter what Mitchell might have come up with, it would just look like a cheap-shot comparison. “I was so surprised!”

  Faint lines appeared on Brenna’s forehead as she stared at Lara’s hand. “When do you guys go pick out rings?”

  “Pick out—?” That’s when Lara recalled that she’d put the ring in her pocket so as not to give away the news. She dug for it, and at finding a hole in the pocket, nearly retched.

  “What?”

  “H-h-hole!”

  “What?” Brenna seemed to be saying words, but Lara couldn’t imagine what they were. “Lara!”

  She dug deeper into the pocket, ripping the hole open even wider. “It’s—gone! I’ve got to go—”

  Lara bolted from the store, eyes scanning the ground and cursing the lack of sun. The diamond was large enough to send a beacon into space if sunlight hit it just right, but without sun…

  Brenna followed behind her, coatless, getting just as soaked as she did. Lara protested. “Go inside! You’ll get sick!”

  “And you won’t? Keep going. I’ll follow in case you miss it.”

  “Like I could ever do that,” Lara muttered to herself. All the way home, upstairs, around the apartment, and back down again—nothing. She found nothing.

  After half a minute’s debate, Lara caved and agreed to retrace her route to Brenna’s shop—just in case. Brenna promised they’d go to “the constables,” New Cheltenham’s contracted security “police,” if they didn’t find it.

  They’d just passed The Blue Duck when Lauren’s voice caught up with them. She arrived a second later. “What’re you doing out here? You’re all wet, and now I’m getting wet, too!”

  “You went out without a coat,” Brenna argued. “You were predestined to be wet when you left.”

  “I dodged the drops. Now…”

  Something glinted, and Brenna pounced half a second before Lara could, but it turned out to be a child’s cheap, plastic bauble. “I thought I had it.”

  “What? What’d you have?”

  “Lara’s ring—she’s lost it—hole in the pocket.”

  Why does that make me feel like the worst fiancée ever?

  “What does it look like, and why do you think it’s on the street?”

  Lara pulled out her pocket as they reached The Curio & Garret. “Hole. I’ve got to go see the constables. Maybe someone turned it in.”

  Although Brenna would have turned and gone right with her, dripping wet and all, Lauren pushed them both through the shop door and shooed them to the back room.

  “Take off that coat, too.” Lauren eyed Brenna. “Go up and change—and blow out that hair. You can’t get sick again.”

  “Yes, bossy…”

  Lara waited for Brenna to get upstairs before turning to go. “I’ll come back—”

  “No! Let me see that coat.”

  Perhaps it was the air of authority in the tone, maybe it was just having someone else deal with it for a minute—no matter how ineffectively. Lara didn’t know which was correct, if either was, but she complied. “I really need—”

  “Call them if you like, but I bet it’s in here…”

  With the shock worn off, tears pricked Lara’s eyes at the thought of trying to tell Preston about his ring. “That ring is worth thousands… five digits, Lauren. I need to get help.”

  “Found it.” Lara watched, amazed, as Lauren shook the coat, reached through the pocket, fumbled around the bottom, and pulled out the ring. The girl gazed at it, whistled, and forked it over. “Whew! No wonder you were freaking out. That’s not a ring. That’s a down payment on a house!”

  Standing in Brenna’s bathroom doorway with the blow dryer making her have to shout wasn’t precisely how Lara had planned to announce her engagement and ask her friend to be her maid of honor, but it would have to do. “It’s June twenty-eighth. Will you do it?”

  “What about your sister?” Brenna shouted over the din of the hair dryer.

  “I don’t want the—” Halfway through “don’t,” Brenna shut off the dryer and Lara’s voice echoed in the small room. She finished with a more dulcet, “Drama.” At Brenna’s hesitation, she added, “Please?”

  “If you’re sure…” Brenna grinned and spun to hug her. “I can’t believe it! You’re getting married!”

  “I’m going to need lots of help….”

  Brenna picked up wet clothes from the floor, draped them over the shower curtain rod, and hustled her from the room. “Remember that cool wedding planner we saw at Office Factory? I’ll go get it the minute—”

  “I got it yesterday,” Lara confessed.

  In a move more Lauren-like than Brenna-ish, her friend marched her out the door, down the stairs, and through the store. “Go get it. We have work to do. Especially if you really did say June twenty-eighth.” She peered into Lara’s face as if it would give away secrets. “I don’t suppose you mean of next year…?”

  The Boar & Hops, known affectionately by locals as “The Jumping Pig,” bustled with business, despite the gloomy, rainy day. The sheer number of couples present suggested that they represented belated Valentine’s Day outings. A pang of longing for that special someone with whom to share fish and chips or shepherd’s pies and soft mead on special occasions lasted until Ty saw the third couple begin an under-the-breath squabble.

  I can wait for Your timing, Lord. I’ve seen too many rushed relationships. I’ll practice patience until the day You bring her.

  A new girl behind the counter took his money and carried two brown paper bags out and plopped them on the counter. “Roger says there better not be a sermon on Noah or loaves and fishes—whatever that means.”

  The idea that anyone wouldn’t get at least the Noah reference struck a pang to his heart, but Ty grinned, nonetheless. “Might want to stop in tomorrow and see. If you show up, I’ll do it—just to enlighten you and annoy him.”

  That prompted a smile. “If I didn’t have to work, I might have done it. Just so I could tease him.” At that, her gaze shifted just past him, and Ty decided he’d better get the food to Mitchell’s place.

  Thirty-four N. Piccadilly Square still didn’t have a sign. As far as Ty could recall, it never had. Mitchell Bogaert, one of the winners of last year’s Dickens Ghost Storytelling contest—the plasma phobic one, no less—still hadn’t done much with the place. It served as an eclectic reading room for the locals of New Cheltenham. A place for kids to gather and do homework, for the Chamber of Commerce meetings, for the township association meetings, and for harried husbands or mothers seeking a few minutes of peace to arrive and just read.

  The antique library table served as a perfect place for Mitchell and Ty to spread out their lunches, and as he popped the Styrofoam lid of his fish and chips container, Ty wondered what
had prompted the discussion—or for Mitchell to lock the front door. “Everything all right?”

  “Yeah… just don’t want Lauren wandering in and overhearing.”

  Ty’s heart sank. He’d been rooting for Mitchell and Brenna long before Mitchell had figured out just what a special girl Brenna really was. “So, everything isn’t all right, then.”

  “It’s going too well if anything.” Mitchell dunked battered fish into vinegar and took a bite. “And that’s the problem.”

  Okay… looks like commitment phobia, then. Related to the ghost phobia, I wonder… The way Mitchell picked at the food, dunking but rarely taking a bite, hinted that this wouldn’t be an easy fix.

  “I know it’s only been a few months, but…”

  Ty nodded. “But sometimes things move faster than we expect?” The memory of Lara’s news the previous day bore testimony to that one. Is four months enough time to really know?

  “Yeah.” In a move Ty had only seen when Mitchell was nervous, the guy removed his glasses, rubbed them on his shirttail, and popped them back on again. “Yeah,” he repeated as if it clarified anything.

  “I doubt Brenna expects—”

  “Me to know how to be a big brother? Good. Because I don’t.”

  Fish abandoned, Mitchell began pacing. “I mean, I’m going to want to marry her… eventually. Then what? Do you know how awkward it’s going to be moving into their house or vice versa? With a teenager?”

  Cruel? Perhaps. Still, Ty couldn’t resist. “She’s not thirteen yet.”

  Mitchell came to a stop beside Ty’s chair. “Not. Helpful.” He snatched one of Ty’s fries, which only prompted Ty to snatch one of his. Then, as if he’d never stopped, he began ranting again. “I mean, I’d be sort of a father to a kid old enough for me to have to scare guys away from! I don’t know how to do that!”

  Without looking up from his fish, Ty mumbled, “So don’t,” around a mouthful.

  “I’m in love with Brenna, Ty. When you fall in love, you marry the girl. It’s human relationships 101.” Mitchell dropped into his chair, sagging against the back as limp as a jellyfish. “It’s storytelling 101. Guy meets girl. They hit it off. Something drives them apart. They work to fix something together. They live happily-ever-after.”