Meet Me at the Chapel

by Joanna Sims

  “We rock.”

  Brock put his hands behind his head. “We do rock.”

  She felt too tired to smile or laugh. She just wanted to melt into the couch and never get up.

  “You have paint splattered all over the top of your head,” Brock informed her.

  Eyes at half-mast, she rolled her head to the side so she could see his profile. “You have paint all over your beard.”

  “I should probably take a shower,” he murmured. “Do I stink?”

  “A little ripe—yes.” She rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Oh, my stars. So tired.”

  Those were the last words she remembered mumbling. The two of them fell asleep on the couch, side by side, completely exhausted. And it wasn’t until she heard Brock moving around that she realized she was curled up on her side, her face planted in the knotty fabric of the old couch, drool on the corner of her mouth.

  Lovely.

  “I’ve got to go pick Hannah up from school.” Brock looked worried.

  “Okay.” Casey pushed herself upright.

  “I think we went too far with this thing. She’s going to freak out.”

  “If she does, we’ll handle it. We’ve involved her in the decision-making process, so this isn’t going to be a surprise. Why don’t you take pictures of it so she can look at them on the way home?”

  Brock took pictures of the new and improved, uncluttered and unclogged version of their living room. Even with all of the prepping and priming Hannah to handle the change, it still could be tough going for the first couple of nights. But it had to happen at some point. The house needed to change in order to provide Hannah with the most supportive, stable environment possible. Change was hard—yes—yet Hannah had to learn that it was also a part of life. If Hannah was going to live an independent adult life, Brock had to start developing her coping skills now.

  * * *

  As it turned out, Hannah had several meltdowns over the changes in the house. But when Brock realized that his daughter had to be able to process and cope with change while she still had the benefit of a strong support system, he focused all of his attention on rehabbing the living room. There was still a monumental amount of work to be done in the house beyond this one room, but the living room was the most used room in the house besides the kitchen and Hannah’s bedroom, so it was the most important. Casey was impressed with Brock’s determination and work ethic—once the man got going, there really wasn’t any stopping him. Casey didn’t like to take breaks, but Brock was even worse. She constantly had to remind him to hydrate and eat a snack or break for lunch. If the rancher got it in his head that what he was doing was for the betterment of his daughter, he was a man with a righteous purpose. In that way, Brock was very much like her own father.

  After a physically taxing week of painting and renovating and cleaning, Casey decided to allow herself the rare luxury of sleeping in and lingering in bed. She had grown attached to her loft—early in the morning, before sunrise, she would hear the horses begin to move in their stalls, whickering as the time when Brock would feed them drew near. Sometimes she would awaken completely and listen to the sound of Brock’s deep, distinctive bass voice as he went about his morning routine in the barn. There were some mornings she would meet him in the barn and share the chore of feeding and mucking out the stalls. Occasionally, like today, she would hear Brock’s voice and the sound of the horses in a half-asleep, half-awake state. She remembered it happening later, but she had been too tired for the noise to awaken her fully.

  “Oh...” Casey felt a cramp in her stomach, so intense that it yanked her out of a dream and slammed her into reality without any warning.

  “Oh!” She curled her legs upward and pressed her hands into her stomach. Her body broke out into a cold sweat. She pushed her face into the pillow; tears of pain and confusion were absorbed into the pillowcase.

  Hercules started to whine—he licked her cheeks and her forehead.

  “It’s okay, sweet boy.” Casey bit the words out. “Momma’s okay.”

  She pushed herself upright and then immediately buckled forward to rest her head on her knees. She swallowed several times, pushing down the feeling that she was going to be sick.

  “Uh!” Casey forced herself to stand up. She pressed her hands tightly into her abdomen as she ran to the bathroom. Hercules was too short to make the jump off the bed—he stood at the edge of it barking in distress.

  Casey grabbed the side of the pedestal sink to hold herself up. These couldn’t be menstrual cramps, could they? She’d always been irregular and had terrible pain during her periods, but nothing like this. She was bleeding. Hard. As soon as she put a heavy-flow sanitary napkin in place, she fished around in her travel bag for ibuprofen. Still bent over, she fumbled with the top of the bottle until it popped off and fell into the sink. She shook out several pills, the maximum allowed in a day, and stuck her head under the faucet to fill her mouth with water.

  She sat back down on the lid of the commode and rocked back and forth, pleading with God to stop the pain. The entire time she was waiting for the meds to kick in, she counted backward and realized that it was about the right time for her to have her period. The last period had been over a month ago on the trip from Chicago to Montana. The cramps had been so bad that time that she’d had to add another day to her travel plan so she could rest in the hotel. Her gynecologist, a woman she went to out of habit and a lack of enthusiasm for going through the hassle of finding a new doctor, diagnosed her with endometriosis and suggested that she get the Depo-Provera birth control shot to control it. When she told the doctor she wanted to think about it and the doctor responded by asking why—Casey knew that the patient-doctor relationship was over for her. She fully intended to find a new gynecologist after her summer in Montana—if her body would just cooperate until then!

  If she didn’t have Hercules to worry about, she would have stayed locked in the bathroom. But the tiny poodle hadn’t stopped whining since she had left him abruptly. She would need to get dressed and get him downstairs to go to the bathroom, feed him breakfast and then get right back into bed. At the moment, that little to-do list seemed insurmountable.

  Casey slowly pulled on her jeans and her favorite comfy Chicago Cubs sweatshirt. She had just sat down on the bed to push her bare feet into her boots when she heard a knock at the door.

  “Casey?”

  It was Hannah. Even feeling lousy like she did, she waited to see if the social stories and all of the practice had paid off—would Hannah wait after she knocked? She had been knocking consistently—now for the next step.

  “Come in, Hannah.”

  Hannah bounded in. “I knocked.”

  “And what else?” Casey prompted in a slightly strained voice. She pasted a weak smile on her face, not wanting to alert the preteen to the fact that she wasn’t feeling well.

  “I waited.”

  Casey held up her hand to give Hannah a high five. “Nice work!”

  “Do you want me to take Hercules out?”

  Blessing from above!

  “Yes—thank you.” Casey pointed to his bowl and his bag of specialty food for a sensitive stomach. “Could you feed him, too, and then watch him for a bit?”

  Hannah was enamored with Hercules and the feeling was absolutely mutual. Brock’s daughter couldn’t take her up on the offer fast enough.

  “Are you coming for breakfast? Dad wants to know.”

  “Oh, no, honey. Tell him I’m not feeling hungry.”

  Hannah nodded and then slammed the door behind her. They had made a lot of progress on the entrance, but they were going to have to work on Hannah’s exit strategy next.

  Casey rolled into the bed with her knees tucked up to her chest, pulled the comforter over her shoulders and closed her eyes. The ibuprofen had begun to take the edge off, but not eno
ugh to feel remotely normal. Female problems. What a bum rap. She must have dozed off again because she hadn’t heard Brock come up the stairs leading to the loft apartment.

  “Casey? It’s Brock. Can I come in?”

  “Come in.”

  Brock opened the door to Casey’s world. The loft had been transformed with some artfully placed rugs and throw pillows and vases with freshly cut flowers. Admittedly, he hadn’t known her all that long, but the one thing he had picked up on was that she liked her breakfast. It didn’t matter if it was a light breakfast, like a protein bar, or a heavy breakfast, like eggs made by free-range, vegetarian, happy chickens, Casey ate breakfast.

  “I was concerned about you.” Brock had his hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans. “Are you okay?”

  What should a woman say to a question like that? Skate around the issue or just be blunt?

  “I’m not feeling my best today.” She didn’t lift her head off the pillow.

  Brock pulled a hand-carved wooden chair closer to the bed and sat down. Casey had pale skin, but today it looked pasty and gray. Her cinnamon freckles stood out in stark contrast compared to the paleness of her cheeks.

  “What’s going on?”

  The fact that he had pulled the chair up and sat down signaled to her that he wasn’t going to go away without some sort of legitimate explanation.

  “Female problems.”

  He processed the information for a moment, didn’t seem fazed, and then leaned forward, his hands clasped. “Is there something I can do to make you feel better? I think we have a heating pad. Would that help?”

  “Thank you. But I think I just want to rest.” She tried to smile at him so he was reassured. “I’ll feel better by tomorrow.”

  “I’ve got to go to work today,” he explained, as if he needed to.

  “You’ve been out for a week already,” she agreed.

  He didn’t get up right away. “Are you sure you don’t need anything?”

  “No—just remind Hannah to bring Hercules back before you leave. Okay?”

  Brock stood up and moved the chair back a little. “Will do.”

  He paused at the door. “You feel better.”

  * * *

  “Did Aunt Barb call you about our birthdays?” Taylor raised her voice because Penelope was banging on her brand-new xylophone.

  “No.” Casey was sitting in the long window seat in front of the large loft window. The cramps had, for the most part, subsided with the help of the ibuprofen. Her bleeding was still unusually heavy, which concerned her, but at least she felt well enough to be out of bed.

  “She wants to throw us a birthday party out at the ranch.”

  Their birthdays were a week apart—she would be turning thirty-five and her sister would be turning forty.

  “That would be fun.” Casey leaned her head against the window—the cool glass felt nice against her skin.

  “I think so, too. I’m just worried about how that would work out with Luke and Sophia...”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Luke was Aunt Barb and Uncle Hank’s oldest boy; he was a retired marine captain and a veteran of the war in Afghanistan. From what she had gathered, Luke had been deployed to Afghanistan five times and had been injured once. Luke was married to Sophia and they had three young children together. Taylor had decided to rent her house in Sophia and Luke’s neighborhood so she would have a built-in support system; Taylor and Sophia had become very close friends.

  “Oh, I haven’t told you. I just found out myself.”

  “Found out what?”

  “Luke moved back to the ranch.”

  Casey didn’t say anything—it took a minute for her sister’s words to sink in. “Wait—are they separated? They’re not getting a divorce, are they?”

  Taylor sighed. “I don’t know. Luke has really struggled since he retired—he’s been diagnosed with PTSD and it’s just taken a toll on their marriage.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that.” Now she understood what Taylor meant about the birthday party. How would Luke and Sophia feel about being at the party together? Was Aunt Barb, who had a very difficult time not meddling in her children’s lives, hoping that the party would be a good reason for them to be back under the same roof together?

  Taylor agreed with her. Luke and Sophia were the perfect couple—if they couldn’t make it, who could?

  “We’ve got a couple of weeks—let’s just see how it pans out. Maybe they’ll figure it out by then.”

  Her sister agreed again and then changed the subject. “You sound tired, sis—usually you’ve got energy to spare. You okay?”

  “Um...” Casey’s hand went to her abdomen. “Yeah... I don’t know. I got awakened out of a really sound sleep by horrible menstrual cramps.”

  “Out of a sound sleep?” Taylor asked, concerned. “That worries me. I mean, you’ve always had a rough time of it but never that bad. The shots didn’t help?”

  “Not really,” Casey told her. “If anything, I think it’s gotten a little worse. The bleeding is really heavy.”

  Casey recounted her experience with her ex-gynecologist and when she was finished, her sister said, “I think you need to see someone ASAP.”

  “I’ll see.” Casey did not want to add a pelvic exam to her list of fun things to do on her summer vacation schedule. No, thank you.

  “Aunt Barb has the name of a really good gyno—it’s kind of weird that this doctor basically has a monopoly on all of the Brand vaginas in the greater Helena area, but if you can get over that...”

  “Say hi to Clint for me. And give that good-lookin’ niece of mine a big smooch on the cheek. ’Kay?”

  “You got it. Love you.”

  “Love you.”

  Chapter Nine

  Brock came back to the ranch for lunch. He took Hercules out and then brought Casey some fruit, crackers and cheese to eat. It was a kind gesture—a caring gesture. The man truly had a good heart.

  “Hercules wants up.” Casey covered her mouth with her hand. She chewed a couple more times and swallowed. “He really likes you.”

  Brock stared down at the micro-dog at his feet. “I’m still convinced that he runs on batteries.”

  “Oh, be nice to my baby boy!” she chided the rancher. “He can’t help it that he’s tiny any more than you can help how big you are.”

  As if on cue, Hercules yipped and hopped in a small circle.

  Brock scooped up the poodle that fit in the palm of his hand—and still had room to spare—with a shake of his head.

  “Wait—hold that pose. I want to get a picture of the two of you together. It’s like one of those pictures where they put a Great Dane and a Chihuahua together in a shot with a silly caption like ‘opposites attract’...”

  Casey held up her camera. “You’re not smiling.”

  “I’m not going to...”

  “Spoil sport.” She took the picture, anyway.

  Brock always had a comment about Hercules, but she knew that he secretly liked her canine companion. Instead of putting the poodle on the window seat next to her, or back on the ground, Brock put Hercules on his thigh and went back to drinking his water.

  “This was nice of you. You didn’t have to...but I appreciate it.”

  “I’m a nice guy.” He gave her a little smile. “I’m glad to see that you look like you feel better.”

  She raised her eyebrows with a small nod in agreement. She was glad that she looked like she was feeling better, too.

  “You know what?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you about this furniture.”

  Brock seemed guarded. “What about it?”

  “Where’d you get it? It’s beautiful. All o
f the hand carving—the details—it’s really well made. I’d love to have a set like this. Did you buy it local?”

  Brock finished his water, twisted the top back on and put the bottle down on the floor next to his chair.

  “Nope. I made it.”

  Now it was her turn to look surprised. Casey tilted her head questioningly. She pointed to the bed frame. “You made that?”

  “All me.”

  “No, you didn’t.” She shook her head. “Really? You made all of this—the dressers, too?”

  “Every bit of it.” Brock picked at his thumbnail before he chewed on it a bit. “And the rocking chairs.”

  Casey’s mouth dropped open. “Why didn’t I know that?”

  Brock looked down at the poodle that had made himself at home on his thigh. “I don’t know. I suppose I never had a reason to bring it up.”

  “Well,” Casey said, amazed, “you are talented as all get out. I’m telling you that right now. You could sell the heck out of this stuff in Chicago. Are you kidding me? You could sell the heck out of this stuff online—get a website built.”

  Brock scratched his beard—a beard that had gotten way too long and was pretty salty on the bottom part of his chin. “I don’t really tinker with that too much anymore.”

  “That’s nuts. Why not?”

  “I don’t know. Haven’t really thought about it. We had Hannah and it seemed like she took up most of our spare time.” Brock handed Hercules over to her.

  “Do you want to see some of the stuff I made along the way? Maybe you’d see something you could salvage.”

  When she hesitated, he added, “It might do you good to get some sun on your face. You’re looking a little green around the gills.”

  “Gee.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Thanks a lot.”

  She grudgingly got up and reached for her shoes.

  “Hold Hercules while I put on my shoes, will you? He doesn’t want to be on the ground right now. Imagine that everything in your world was giant?”