by Lisa Wingate
The music began playing in the room again—the cell phone ringing. “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.” Since leaving Daily, I’d told myself a dozen times I should change the ringtone, but I hadn’t.
I picked up the phone, surprised. We were miles out to sea right now, somewhere off the Yucatan. Even though some ships were equipped with antenna-to-satellite cell signal converters, the Liberation was not. The cell shouldn’t have been ringing.
I picked it up and answered.
“Hello?” The male voice on the other end was far away, almost lost in static. “Hello? Is this Kee Miller?”
“Kai Miller,” I replied, wondering if this was yet another insurance adjuster. Between the damage to the Surf Shop and the fact that I had merchandise in stores all over Perdida, I’d been contacted by several adjusters already. “This is Kai. The connection’s not very good. Can you call back and leave a voice mail?”
“This is Ronald Bradford.” The voice was suddenly clear, almost brusque. “Ronald Bradford from over in Daily, Texas.”
My mind spun like a car hitting an oil slick at ninety miles an hour, and I blinked hard, struggling to focus, trying to get the steering wheel under control. Maybe I’m still dreaming… . “Donetta’s husband?”
“Yes, ma’am. I need yer help with somethin’. I only got a minute. Donetta’s in the shower right now. We’re in a hotel room in New York, so I can’t get away from her for long.”
“Ohhh-kay,” I murmured, wishing I were up higher on the ship so I could look out a window and see if we were really in the middle of the Gulf or if I was losing my mind. Ronald Bradford shouldn’t have been able to get through to my phone. “What did you need?”
“This mornin’ I was talkin’ with that producer on Good Mornin’ America, and I just called home to talk to Imagene Doll, and we got a plan. Now, you might not know this, but the first time Donetta and me got married, we didn’t get a honeymoon … well, or a weddin’ really, either. I want to do somethin’ about that. That producer and I come up with an idea, but I’m gonna need some help to keep Netta from sniffin’ it out that somethin’s up. Keeping a secret from her is about like trying to hide a bobcat under a bedsheet. I’ll call ya with more details later on, but can I count on yer help?”
What was I supposed to say except “Yes. Of course. I’m on contract for a couple of weeks yet, and then I’ll be back in Perdida on September twenty-ninth.”
“Good deal. I’ll call ya on October first. That’ll be enough time before our annivers—” Ronald’s voice vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and I had no choice but to live with the mystery of his call for the remainder of my time at sea.
As soon as I returned to Perdida, I was caught in a tangled web of communications with Ronald, Imagene, Good Morning America, various businesses struggling through hurricane recovery on the strand, and the Perdida Board of Tourism, which was hoping Ronald’s plan would help show the world, and the tourists planning for next year’s vacations, that Glorietta may have given Perdida a hard right cross, but the little town by the shore was coming back swinging.
The hoopla and planning went on for a month. Even as dozers worked to fill Dumpsters with debris, construction workers replaced saturated Sheetrock, and the Port Authority reopened the port, the buzz about Ronald’s plan was all over Perdida. In the midst of the cleanup and recovery, and the reality of discovering things that would never be the same, there was something to look forward to. Even Maggie, Meredith, Don, and the members of the Holy Ghost Church got in on the act, helping to keep Ronald’s secret plan moving along.
The day before Donetta and Ronald’s anniversary, Maggie, Meredith, and I sat in the coffee shop with the Perdida Board of Tourism director and Sister Mona, who’d driven over to Perdida to rehash the plans, minute by minute. The coffee shop had the air of a Secret Service war room as we ticked through the final schedule, one item at a time: camera crew in place at 2:00, members of the Holy Ghost Church arriving by bus before 2:45, flowers in place at 3:00 (on the beach if the weather was good, inside the ballroom at Le Grande Hotel if it was raining). At 2:30, Donetta and Ronald would arrive in town, ostensibly for a romantic seaside night at Le Grande, in celebration of their anniversary, courtesy of Good Morning America. When they arrived in town, Ronald would make an excuse to drop Donetta off for some last-minute shopping at the high end of the strand, where stores were beginning to reopen, and then he’d leave to go check in to the hotel. But he wouldn’t be checking in to the hotel. On the strand, Donetta would discover that she’d been chosen as Tourist of the Month. The store owners planned to take over from there, and hidden cameras would film Donetta’s prepaid shopping excursion, courtesy of the Perdida Board of Tourism.
Meanwhile, Ronald would be meeting me at the coffee shop.
If everything went perfectly, Perdida, Good Morning America, and Donetta Bradford would have a day to remember.
If everything went perfectly. Ronald reminded us repeatedly that, with Donetta involved, it was never a straight trip from A to B.
When Ronald’s truck rolled by the coffee shop on the afternoon of November second, Maggie, Meredith, and I breathed a collective sigh of relief. My phone rang shortly afterward, but I didn’t answer, because the number was Donetta’s. She was undoubtedly calling to see whether I’d be able to meet them for supper while they were in town. I’d already told her I’d probably be gone working.
Just as Donetta gave up repeatedly trying to ring my number, Ronald rolled into the coffee shop parking lot. After having talked to him long-distance so many times, it was strange to finally meet him in person. We shook hands, and once the introductions were made, Maggie and Meredith headed off to meet the GMA camera crews and supervise the final preparations, while Ronald and I continued with our part of the plan.
“I want to thank you for all the help with this,” Ronald offered, looking sheepish and out of place in M&M’s eclectic coffee shop, with the strings of seashells in the doorway and the trails of incense in the air.
“It’s been my pleasure.” A giddy sense of anticipation fluttered in my stomach as I thought ahead to the moment when our plans would come to fruition. “Did you get the video I sent?”
“I did.” Ronald stood in the light of the coffee shop’s only remaining plate glass window. “It was real good. I watched it every time I could get Netta out of the house, where she wouldn’t see. She come in for lunch one day and caught me in the livin’ room with the mop. I had to pretend I’d got the urge to clean the tile.”
The image of Ronald gliding across the living room with the mop made me chuckle. “You ready to get started?”
He shifted from one foot to the other, burying his hands in his pockets as I walked to the counter, where I’d stashed everything we would need.
“Kemp says hey.” Ronald’s voice drifted across the darkened interior of the shop and brought me up short as I set Maggie’s boom box on the bar. All these weeks, as I talked to Ronald and heard little snippets of what was happening in Daily, I’d wondered if my name ever came up with Kemp or if he had forgotten all about me. I’d come close to asking a couple of times, but if the answer was no … well … it was easier just to live with the question.
“He said to tell ya hey for him,” Ronald repeated.
If Kemp really wanted to say hello, he could have called. It’s not like he doesn’t know where to find me… .
Emotion choked my throat, and I didn’t trust myself to speak at first, so I just nodded. Every time my cell phone rang, I grabbed it and looked at the caller ID with a rush of excitement. I couldn’t admit that to anybody. Not even to myself.
I swallowed hard, taking a breath. “Tell him I said hi back.” It sounded so juvenile, like a couple of high-school kids playing a silly game of hearts. “How is he doing, anyway? I know he was getting ready to go back to playing ball.”
Ronald laughed softly. “Well, he hadn’t really made any decisions, I don’t think. He’s had his mind on other things, I reckon
.”
I nodded again. Jennifer. He probably had his mind on Jennifer.
I pushed the idea away, because there wasn’t anything else to do. Time. It’ll just take time to move on. Once this business with Donetta was over, there wouldn’t be so many reminders. Even the few Daily details Ronald sprinkled into our phone conversations made it harder to forget.
“I got a feelin’ he’ll figure out what’s best,” Ronald said, and chuckled. “Young fellas hadn’t always got the clearest vision at first. If they did, I wouldn’t be here with you, seventy-one years old and only now doin’ somethin’ I shoulda done years ago. Sometimes a fella’s just gotta get out of his own way, ya know?”
Shaking off the cloud of emotion, I straightened my shoulders and turned around. “Guess we’d better get busy then, huh?”
Ronald smiled, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Guess we better.”
I turned on the boom box, and Ronald and I completed the first part of our mission for the day. It went much more smoothly than I’d anticipated, and an hour later, we were heading toward the beach right on schedule. Beside me, Ronald was as nervous as a teenager driving to the prom. He even looked the part, having changed into a tuxedo in the bathroom of the coffee shop.
“I don’t think I was this tied up in knots when we got married,” he said, dragging the palm of his hand along his pants. “The first time.”
I laughed. In the past hour, I’d become better acquainted with Ronald. I was learning to enjoy his dry sense of humor and his habit of referring to almost everything in hunting and fishing terms. We had fishing in common, so he was easy to talk to. I was sorry we hadn’t been able to spend time together in Daily.
“You’ll be all right,” I assured him. “You look very handsome.”
“Are we almost there?”
“We’re almost there.”
“Is Donetta where she’s supposed to be?”
“Maggie and Meredith will walk her out the back of the Le Grande Hotel as soon as we give them the signal.”
“I hope she don’t string me up when she finds out what I done. She ain’t much for surprises, unless she’s the one givin’ them out.”
“She won’t. My gosh, what woman wouldn’t be thrilled?” What woman wouldn’t be thrilled? My heart tugged. I wanted to find my own happy ending. I wanted it so badly there was a dull, constant ache inside me each day. I couldn’t distract myself from it, no matter how far from home I traveled or how busy I stayed. Even the commotion of helping orchestrate Ronald’s big surprise couldn’t take away the heaviness, the yearning for something different. My life had become exactly what Kemp had described—an old shoe that didn’t quite fit anymore.
I felt it rubbing and pinching as Ronald and I drove down the highway, parked in the shadow of the imposing Le Grande Hotel and hurried to our places—Ronald at the bottom of the hotel terrace steps, and me among the crowd of spectators seated in chairs on the beach, wedding guests doubling as an audience for the GMA taping. As I made my way to a chair, Sister Mona stood up and hugged me, Obeline patted my hand, and Ernest looked over the blue dress I’d put on in the coffee shop storeroom and said, “Gal-ee, I’m’ma say you clean up pretty good there, cher.”
As I slipped into my seat, Pastor D. waited up front under an arch of gossamer loops and palm leaves, his hands clasped expectantly behind his back. Nearby, where a portable cabana had been draped with filmy white cloth, Bluejay and his Kings of Creole band waited to play. Behind them, the small section of beach, specially cleaned and prepared by the Bureau of Tourism, lay pristine in the afternoon light, sand catching sun and creating a glistening backdrop that surrounded the spectators and outlined the long red carpet stretching from Brother D. to the hotel steps—an aisle awaiting a bride.
A florist slipped a bouquet of roses into Ronald’s hand as he took his place at the base of the hotel steps, the segment producer cued the cameras, Bluejay’s band began to play, and a sentry standing atop the old stone steps waved toward the hotel. Ronald gazed expectantly toward the stairs, and a moment later, Donetta appeared on the upper landing, looking—as Ronald would have phrased it—like a deer in the headlights.
The bridegroom beamed, clutching the bouquet of roses against his chest as Donetta made her descent one hesitant step at a time. The breeze caught the long white cotton lace beach dress that had been given to her as part of her Tourist of the Month package.
“Good gravy. What’s all this?” Her voice echoed over the crowd, shattering the hush of silent expectation. “I reckon I’m in the wrong place. I was just supposed to have my picture made on the beach, bein’ as I’m Tourist of the Month.”
Ronald took a knee, and the movement drew Donetta’s attention to the base of the steps. Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes grew wide. “Ronald? What’n the world’re you doin’ here? I thought you were at the hotel room.”
“Donetta Bradford”—Ronald’s voice was so loud, he didn’t need the microphone the television crew had hidden in a potted palm beside him—“the first time we got married, we didn’t have a big weddin’, or a honeymoon. I know you always wanted them things, so now we’re gonna have both. Miss Donetta Eldridge, you are the most beautiful thing I ever did see. Will you do me the honor of bein’ my bride and then joinin’ me on a cruise on the good ship Jubilation?”
Donetta’s eyes widened and her lips trembled, hanging open in a half moon. “Ronald?” She tiptoed to the edge of the center landing and teetered there.
“I’m gonna be awful embarrassed if you don’t say yes here pretty quick, darlin’.”
The crowd bubbled with muted laughter.
Her lips spreading into a wide smile, Donetta gathered her skirt and ran down the remainder of the steps. “Oh, of course yes. Good gracious, of course yes!” She slipped her hand into Ronald’s, and he slowly kissed her fingers, then rose to his feet.
Tender emotions sent a warm flush over my skin as Bluejay’s band played the Creole wedding march, and the bride and groom walked down the aisle to become husband and wife. Again.
Donetta saw me in the crowd and shook a finger at me as she passed by. I only smiled back at her. She’d forgive me once they were on the ship enjoying a seven-day adventure, all expenses paid.
The service was short, but sentimental, as Ronald had requested. When it was over, the spectators stood and tossed flower petals into the air. I tipped my head back, watching them float slowly to the ground as the band played “La Valse de la Vie,” “The Waltz of Life,” and the newly remarried couple proceeded up the aisle. On the way, Donetta stopped to give me a hug, and Ronald shook my hand, thanking me for my help, and then he smiled in a way that acknowledged there was still one secret left between us.
When they started toward the steps again, the bridal bouquet was in my seat. I picked it up and held it in the air as Ronald and Donetta dashed toward the veranda overhead.
“That’s a wrap,” the GMA producer reported a few moments later. I barely heard the words. Ronald and Donetta had paused again on the upper landing. Donetta was hugging someone. I knew who it was as soon as I saw the baseball cap in Daily Dawgs colors and the pink-tinged polo shirt. Everything—the crowd disbursing, the TV crew wrapping up their cables and packing away their cameras, the band finishing the last of the song—seemed to disappear. Air caught in my chest, and I couldn’t breathe.
Donetta kissed Kemp on the cheek, and Ronald took something out of Kemp’s hand, then he pointed toward the beach, toward me. I realized I’d stepped to the middle of the red carpet, and I was just standing there all by myself, holding the bridal bouquet. Ronald slipped an arm around Kemp’s shoulders, leaned close to say something, then propelled Kemp forward, so that he half stepped and half tripped off the top stair. After he caught his balance, his eyes met mine across the distance, and I felt myself smile as he descended, the ball cap now dangling from his fingers, which were partially tucked into his pockets.
The next thing I knew, I was tossing the bridal bouqu
et into a chair, walking, then running up the carpet. All I could think was He’s here. He’s really here.
I skidded to a halt just short of tackling him at the bottom step. So much for playing coy.
“Your uncle didn’t say you were coming.” Tell him how you feel, a voice urged inside me. Just be honest. What have you got to lose?
“I didn’t know I was.” He looked down at the carpet. On the beach, a crew from the florist shop was starting to dismantle the archway. Soon they’d want the carpet. Kemp and I would have to move … somewhere. “Uncle Ronald forgot the passports.” His lips twisted to one side like he was fighting a smile. “He accidentally left them on a table at the Daily Café this morning. Good thing Imagene found them and sent me after him.”
“Yes, it is.” I smiled and blushed at the same time. It looked as though, while I was helping Ronald plot a surprise for Donetta, Ronald and Imagene were plotting one for me, as well.
“Funny how Imagene knew right where to send me to catch up with them.” Tipping his head back, Kemp eyed me ruefully.
“That is funny.” A pulse fluttered so hard in my throat, I was sure he could see it. “Did you get here in time for the ceremony?” In a way, it had seemed a shame that none of Donetta’s friends or family had been present at the renewal of vows, but that was the way Ronald wanted it. If there’s a secret around Daily, Texas, Donetta Bradford’ll sniff it out, he’d said. The less people we tell, the better. They can all watch it on TV later.
“I didn’t know Uncle Ronald had it in him.” Kemp surveyed the beach. “This is pretty impressive for a guy whose idea of luxury is a deer blind with carpet and cup holders in it.”
“He learned to dance, too,” I told Kemp. “We just had a lesson down at the coffee shop. Waltz, western swing, and two-step. He’s not bad.”
Kemp laughed, looking down at his boots. “Tell me about it. He’s been spending at least three hours a day watching that instructional video you made for him. When he advanced past the mop and the broom, he started stopping by the field house during lunch so he could practice in the film room. He made me be his dance partner. My feet may never recover.”