Flower Girl Bride

by Dana Corbit

  He was hurting, and he wanted me to hurt, but I wasn’t going to let him push that sensitive button to get to me this time.

  “You could be right. Maybe I would. But I do know Sam. I was almost his stepmother, remember?” I had to pause then because the pain of losing that child of my heart was second only to the loss of his father. “You don’t have to do anything to make Sam proud of you. You’re his daddy. That’s enough.”

  “I want him to look up to me, but I don’t expect you to understand that.” He glanced past me out the window that faced the dark water. “You’ve had people looking up to you all your life.”

  “Do you want Sam to grow up being proud of your accomplishments but be a complete stranger to you?”

  I waited for the weight of my words to sink in and for him to strike back, but I didn’t expect it to hurt so much when he did.

  “This coming from the person who’s so willing to leave here and drop out of our lives forever? You don’t get parting shots, Cassie. You don’t want to be a part of our lives, a part of our family, so just mind your own business.”

  With that, he patted the pocket where he’d shoved the engagement ring, turned and strode to the door. He didn’t slam it, but its quiet click reverberated in my ears. Nothing had ever felt so final. Doing the right thing had never felt like such a mistake.

  My stomach growled for the third time in the last ten minutes, which shouldn’t have come as any surprise. I could have eaten a bowl of Raisin Bran four hours ago when I’d started my mad cleaning frenzy, but I’d been too busy scrubbing toilets and adding my tears to the suds to take the time. My aunt and uncle would be here by early afternoon, and I wanted their home to be perfect.

  Now I had only sparkling porcelain, shiny floors and burning eyes to show for my efforts, but I kept moving to stay ahead of my thoughts. Fat lot of good it had done me. I’d seen Luke’s face in the shiny wood grain while I dusted, replayed our last conversation in the buzz of the dishwasher.

  It was only right that a whirlwind romance would end in a whirlwind breakup. What would Aunt Eleanor say when I told her? Would she still tell me to trust and wait on God?

  It was strange. This time I knew I was doing the right thing for the right reasons, but I wasn’t prepared for how much it would hurt. We weren’t even together very long, but I couldn’t imagine a future without Luke in it. I’d pictured myself as Luke’s wife and Sam’s stepmother, and now I was having an awfully hard time blotting that image from my memory.

  I sprayed the mirror in the great room with ammonia cleaner and started wiping with a paper towel. As the smeared glass cleared, I caught sight of my reflection and stared. My skin was blotchy, and my eyes were swollen and red.

  My aunt and uncle probably expected that I would look better than when I had first arrived, and they should have been right. I was no longer as gaunt, and even with the sunscreen, I had earned some healthy-looking color. But if my relatives got a load of me right now, they would be sorry they’d ever left me to my own devices while they traveled across France.

  Putting the cleaners back in the caddy I’d been carrying all over the house, I crossed into the kitchen and stood in front of the sink. Hot and cold compresses, those were what I needed to bring down the swelling on my eyes. I pulled out a clean dishrag and turned on the cold water faucet. I was still waiting for the water to get as cold as possible before I put the rag under the spray when I felt the regular brush of Princess on my bare ankles.

  I glanced down at my little charge. “What’s up with you, girl? You’ve already had breakfast and lunch.”

  She’d eaten really well both times, too. Just because I was too upset to eat didn’t mean that I thought the poor kitty needed to go hungry.

  Instead of sauntering away, Princess wound in and out of my legs in her trademark figure eights. I knew I was wasting water, but I let it run a little longer.

  “You can’t be hungry again. If you keep eating like this, you’re going to lose your girlish figure.”

  To my comment, the cat answered a plaintive “meow.”

  “You can be as sweet as you want, but I’m not feeding you again until dinner.” It struck me then that I wouldn’t even be giving the cat her dinner. My aunt would be back to spoil her by then, probably feeding her albacore tuna off her own fork.

  Again, the cat meowed, but finally she backed away from my legs. I expected her to disappear as she frequently did, leaving me alone with my thoughts and this squeaky-clean house. But anybody who understood cats knew that felines prefer to do as they please instead of what is expected.

  In a single, effortless leap, Princess hopped on the counter. She barely hesitated before she leaned into the sink and started batting the stream of running water and then lapping at it with her tiny pink tongue.

  For a few seconds, I could only stare at her. Had she really deigned to drink just for me?

  “Well, it took you long enough.” I eyed her suspiciously. “You know they’re coming back today, don’t you?”

  Of course she didn’t. Ruler of this roost or not, she was just a cat, though I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d seen me crying and just felt sorry for me.

  Princess looked back at me before continuing to lap from her private water fountain. When she was done, she hopped down from the counter. At my feet, she stopped and rubbed against my ankles again.

  I shut off the faucet, and then, on impulse, crouched down and scratched her tiny ears. Her fur was softer than I’d expected. Silken. Instead of skittering away or, worse yet, breaking into one of her hissing choruses, Princess tilted her head so I could scratch under her chin. And then she started purring.

  “You were holding out on me, weren’t you, Princess?” I said, scratching until she was ready to be finished and sauntered to her recliner for a nap.

  I had this ridiculous urge to throw my hands in the air and shout “victory,” but since I doubted that my new friend would appreciate the gesture, I contained myself. I couldn’t help this tremor of accomplishment flowing through me, though.

  Just as Luke had told me, I’d waited for her to come around, and she had. Sure, she’d waited until half past the eleventh hour, but she’d come. That I could win over a cat didn’t automatically signal that the dreams I’d long since abandoned were within my reach. Still, it was something.

  Trust and wait. My aunt’s advice came to me once more, not so different from Luke’s hints regarding the proper care of animals. Could I do those things now, letting go and letting God make sense of all my confusion?

  “Okay, Lord, I’m trusting, and I’m waiting.”

  Turning the faucet back on, I wet the rag, squeezed it out and pressed it against my swollen lids. Next I switched the water to hot, dampened the rag again and repeated the process.

  I glanced at Princess, finding her asleep now, dreaming the contented dreams of the seriously pampered. Her gesture today hadn’t been a monumental statement. It was just the long-awaited acquiescence of a stubborn feline, but it was the best I had today.

  “Cassie, I’m home.”

  I had been in the laundry room folding the last load of towels, but I hurried out at my aunt’s call. Standing just inside the front door instead of the garage door where I would have expected her to enter, Aunt Eleanor looked utterly European, dressed all in black except for the multicolored scarf tied artfully at her neck. She had sunglasses propped on her head like a 1960s movie star.

  “I’m so glad you’re back.” Rushing forward, I bent and wrapped her in my arms. When I could finally force myself to let her go, I stepped back and glanced around her.

  “Where’s Uncle Jack, and where’s your luggage?”

  “He’ll be along shortly. He had an errand to run.”

  I realized that “errand” was code for him getting lost for a bit so that my aunt could have a few moments alone with me. Clearly, I didn’t have any news to give to her; she already knew. The only way I could have beat this dissemination of information would hav
e been to plan a press conference.

  Because she’d never been one to mince words, she asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I shook my head at first and then changed my mind. “I guess this whole matchmaking scheme didn’t turn out how you’d planned.”

  Eleanor led the way to the kitchen and poured both of us glasses of ice water from the dispenser in the refrigerator door. “I’m just sorry you got hurt by it.”

  “I’m not hurt,” I began, but because she could see right through me, I didn’t bother to say more. I accepted the glass from her and joined her as she headed out onto the deck.

  Following her lead, I settled on one of the two chaises, holding my glass between my hands. “That had to be about the shortest engagement known to man, though I can name a celebrity or two with shorter marriages.”

  Instead of laughing as I hoped she would, my aunt turned serious. “You really love him, don’t you?”

  Aunt Eleanor was looking at the waves instead of me, but I still couldn’t deny what she asked.

  “I do. Too much for the short time we were together.”

  She laughed long and loud at that. “I fell in love with my Jack the day I met him. It just took a little longer to let him catch me.”

  “I heard that,” my uncle called from inside the house.

  “Then you quit eavesdropping and go bring in the bags.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, laughing with her, before he disappeared farther into the house.

  After a long time, Aunt Eleanor spoke again. “I wouldn’t give up just yet, sweetie.”

  For a few seconds, I traced my finger along the condensation on the glass, letting my thoughts travel a bit, as well, but then I stopped. “I have to.”

  “Why?”

  I explained the discoveries I’d made about myself during my retreat at her home and my commitment never to sell out that way again.

  “Luke will never figure out what’s most important.”

  “Never is a long time, Cassie,” Eleanor said with a smile. “And I’ve known Luke Sheridan since he was a boy. He’s always been a smart one.”

  “He accused me of being judgmental and thinks I can’t see any more in him than his late wife did.”

  “All right. There are a few subjects he’s a little slow on—one being his own worth.” Eleanor took a long drink and set her glass on the table before turning back to me. “But you should be able to relate to that.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked with a frown.

  “You’ve been trying to live up to your mother’s and my brother’s expectations ever since you were a girl. I know Melinda’s goals for you sometimes became criticisms, but I don’t think she intended to send you chasing for her approval.”

  I shook my head to deny what she was saying, but the truth of it was startlingly clear. No wonder I understood Luke’s challenge when my own was so similar.

  “Your mom and dad have been gone a long time now,” my aunt continued. “Don’t you think it’s about time you just loved their memory and lived your own life?”

  “I’m trying to do that. I spent a lot of time in prayer here, trying to get my priorities straight. And then everything happened so quickly with Luke. I finally realized the one thing I need from a relationship—time. It’s the one thing he can’t give me.”

  She smiled at me and pressed her glass against her cheek to cool herself. “Time. Isn’t that the exact thing we often neglect to give to God?”

  “Patience is definitely not my virtue.”

  “Remember Isaiah 40:31? ‘But they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.’”

  “Trust and wait, right?”

  She grinned. “Trust and wait.”

  “I need to learn more Scriptures so I’ll have one for every situation the way you do. I think I’ll start by memorizing that one.”

  I would also follow my aunt’s sound advice, even after I returned home. The situation felt hopeless, but it couldn’t be if it was in God’s hands. I would wait on Him this time. If it wasn’t His will to heal my relationship with Luke, then I prayed He would heal my broken heart.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The four walls of my office at Blue Ribbon Elementary Academy felt even closer than normal as I sat at my kidney-shaped table surrounded by four second graders in the stifling post–Labor Day heat.

  “It’s too hot, Miss Blake,” Lindsay whined, initiating a series of moans from Kayla, DiAndre and Michael.

  I couldn’t blame them. I wanted to whine, too, but I was the adult here, and I needed to distract them quickly. Indian Summer played havoc with education even in the best of circumstances, but it was a particular bane in schools like mine with no central air-conditioning.

  “Just sit still and the breeze from the window will cool you off,” I told her, hoping it was true. “Okay, we’re going to work on our r sounds. Let’s do our sound warm-up.”

  “Rrrr-rrrr-rrrr,” I said to the group, all who were among my caseload of students with articulation disorders.

  “Rrrr-rrrr-rrrr,” the chorus of voices repeated.

  “Now remember, I don’t want to hear your old r sound. I want to hear your new r sound. Watch my mouth for clues.”

  “Row-rue-rie.”

  “Row-rue-rie,” they repeated.

  “Ar-ir-or-ur.”

  “Ar-ir-or-ur.”

  I went through the series of exercises, with each of the students repeating them together and individually. Later we would play the Concentration game together, using only r words.

  “Ara-ari-aru.”

  “Ara-ari-aru.”

  “Who’s that, Miss Blake?”

  It had better not be another distraction was all I could think. I’d kept my office door open for the last few days in hopes of generating some sort of breeze out of this dead air, but I’d only invited more interruptions than any of my students could handle.

  But the particular distraction who stood in the doorway wearing a sheepish grin was one I would have to allow. The children would let me make it up to them later.

  I shook my head to stop my thoughts from spinning. Luke? Here in Toledo? I’d pictured him showing up here at school dozens of times since school started and at my apartment hundreds of times since I’d left Mantua two months ago. I’d imagined what he would do, what he would say and what I would say in return. Reality beat my fantasies hands down, and neither of us had spoken a word yet.

  “Hi,” he said finally.

  “Hi.” I doubted that our dialogue would win any best screenplay nominations, but my hands were still sweaty, and goose bumps scaled my arms.

  “Sorry about the interruption at work.”

  “That’s okay,” I said automatically. Did he really think I’d mind?

  “Is that your boyfriend, Miss Blake?” DiAndre asked, adding that second-grade distaste for the word boyfriend.

  “Ooh,” the other three chimed.

  My face felt warm. Okay, none of the times I’d imagined this moment had I pictured an audience of seven-year-olds.

  I turned back to the children. “Uh…well…no. I don’t—”

  But Luke cleared his throat to interrupt me. When I stopped, he lowered his gaze to my students. “We’re good friends.”

  I studied him, waiting for him to say more.

  He answered with a smile and a nod of certainty. “You and I need to talk.”

  I wanted to hear more, was desperate to feel that same assuredness that he had, but my answers would have to wait.

  “These young ladies and gentleman and I have a date with the r sound right now. Any chance you’ll be around in about forty minutes? I have a prep period and can meet you in the teachers’ lounge.”

  “I came a long way to get here. I’ll be waiting.”

  With that he turned and strode down the hall, his shoulders straight. Something had changed for Luke; I j
ust knew it. I couldn’t wait to learn what it was.

  I reclaimed the children’s attention and got back to work. All my nervous energy I channeled into today’s lesson. First things first. The rest was, as it always had been whether I’d realized it or not, in God’s hands.

  Forty minutes and thirty seconds later I hurried into the teachers’ lounge. One of my colleagues must have figured out what was happening and orchestrated the event because Luke was already situated at a table in the room, a soda next to him, but except for him, the usually busy lounge was deserted.

  I sat across from him. “So you came.”

  “I came.”

  Louder than the words we spoke were the ones we didn’t say. Luke had come after me, and I had hoped so much that he would.

  “I’m sorry about the way we left things in Mantua,” I began, but he shook his head to stop me.

  “You were right.”

  “It wasn’t about being right.”

  “No, it was about doing the right thing,” he said, finishing for me.

  I studied him for several seconds, but then I had to ask. “The right thing? I’m not sure I understand.” Yes, choosing not to marry Luke then had been the right thing for me, but had it been right for him, too?

  “Your rejection felt like a sledgehammer to my head.”

  I cleared my throat and straightened in my seat. “That was…graphic.”

  The sides of his mouth turned up. “It was also the wake-up call I needed.”

  “You mean about spending too much time away from your son?”

  “Not exactly, but I don’t expect you to understand because I never told you what was going on with Clyde.”

  Were we back to that? Had he driven across Michigan to tell me that he’d just been going through a rough patch at work and things would be just fine now?

  He must have seen the doubt in my eyes because he chuckled. “No, we’re not going there again. Here, let me explain. Clyde dropped a bomb on me. He told me with skyrocketing lumber and fuel prices, Heritage Hill Real Estate Development needed to do some belt-tightening on the new homes in the Wings Gate subdivision.