"I know. I'm sorry," he said. If Erin didn't know better she'd think he was crying—that was how mortified and miserable he sounded. "I'm not even married yet, and already I'm the worst husband in the history of marriage."
Erin was mollified a little bit, but not enough. This was a bona fide disaster. Of all the things that could go wrong with a wedding, a missing groom was one even she couldn't overcome. It wasn't like they could phone in their wedding vows.
Could they?
"Hey," she said, lifting her head. "Do you think it's legal to get married by Skype?"
At least it got a laugh out of him.
"I seriously doubt it," he said after they'd both stopped chuckling. "But I will be there. Don't worry. I will be there."
Erin's face fell as she examined the timetable in her head. "How can you be sure of that? The wedding is at two. It's a, what, twenty-hour drive? If you left right now and drove straight through you'd barely make it in time."
"It's a twenty-five-hour drive," he interjected, sounding miserable again. "I checked. So even if I did leave now, I'd miss the start time. There's one flight out of Love Field that isn't booked, but it's delayed. Love is grounded right now, too. And I can't get to Austin by the last flight out. I think my best bet is to stay here and wait." He paused as they both chewed this over. "Can we push back the ceremony by a few hours?"
Erin started shaking her head and then realized he couldn't see her. "No," she said. "Remember? The minister has another wedding tomorrow. The lodge connected me with him, and I picked the latest time he was available. I have no idea how I'd go about finding somebody else to perform the ceremony in a strange town the night before the wedding. Besides, if we move the ceremony time, we'd have to reschedule everything else, too. The caterer, the musicians, the bartenders, the reception space at the lodge. I can't do that the night before the event." Erin's head felt like it might explode at the mere thought of it.
"Well, what if we moved it to Sunday instead?" He was desperate now, grasping at air.
Erin shook her head again. "No. Won't work. There's a pharmaceutical convention that's coming in here on Sunday, and they have the whole place booked. Besides, a few people are leaving right after the wedding Saturday…Tom, your Aunt Peggy, my cousin Christa from Pittsburgh. It's too late to ask everybody to change their plans. I really can't do anything to fix this."
And then a husky voice piped around the corner of the open doorway. "There's no 'I can't.' Only 'I can try.'"
It took every bit of strength Erin had not to hurtle her body around the corner and clasp her hands around Leo's meddling neck.
* * *
The sound of metal dinging against glass brought the buzz of chatter in the room down to a low murmur. Erin's brother-in-law-to-be, Brian Bertram, stood with his bourbon glass raised.
"A toast to my little brother," he said, eyes glistening and pumped up on liquid courage. Brian was reserved and quiet, average build with light brown hair and nondescript good looks, the kind of guy you had trouble describing to someone else. He and Ben didn't look much alike. Brian resembled their mom, while Ben's sandy blond hair and taller-than-average height came from their dad. "I can say whatever I want since Ben's not here to defend himself, so get ready for the good stuff."
Laughter rippled through the space, a private room in an upscale vegan steakhouse—a concept Erin had trouble wrapping her head around, but this was California. The décor was rustic and airy, with shiplap walls and ceiling beams that looked low enough to brush the heads of diners on a balcony that encircled the dining room. Erin's party was in a small room on the ground floor, separated from the main part of the restaurant by a corridor that stretched from the servers' station to the kitchen. Every few seconds a green-aproned server zipped past the open doorway.
"You'll get no argument from me," Erin piped up, and the motley crew of wedding party and close family and friends tittered again. By now everybody knew the plight of the stranded groom, and Erin had decided to, as her mom said, "roll around in it," or at least accept it as best she could. That was easier to do now that she was a few cocktails in.
She was even letting Leo capture footage of the dinner—for Ben's sake, so he could see later what he'd missed. But she'd held her ground about the rehearsal, which took place in the same large meeting room where Erin had talked to Ben. The wedding itself would happen in a picturesque, sunlit meadow next to a viewpoint that was about a quarter-mile hike from the lodge.
Leo now had his camera rolling, though Erin knew the real story wasn't in Tahoe but in Texas. As far as YOLO went, a wedding where the groom was completing his own version of The Amazing Race to get to the altar was the ultimate in reality TV angst. Rishi's second assistant had tried to line up a camera crew in Dallas to follow Ben's side of the story, but with the storm system that was crossing the Great Plains into the Midwest, transportation in the metroplex was a problem overall right now.
Brian cleared his throat, jerking Erin to attention.
"My brother Benjamin," he started, pausing to take a premature sip. "My brother Ben had the most pathetic crush on this girl"—He aimed a thumb in Erin's direction—"from the time we moved to Frisco when he was in second grade, through all of adolescence and into high school, until long after he'd passed the time to do something about it. And I think everybody knew it." He pointed at his mom, who shrugged and nodded, and then at Erin's mom and dad, who nodded in tandem. Her father, Bob, grinned, causing a flush to rise to Erin's cheeks.
"He's one lucky jerk that she stuck it out and waited around for him. And now here she is, still waiting." He chortled, and the rest of the party followed with self-conscious laughter. Erin felt everybody's eyes move from Brian to her and then back again, as if gauging her permission to find that funny. She smiled, relaxed, and continued to watch Brian. "Meanwhile, he watched her go out with loser after loser, even resorting to advertising her singlehood on a certain blog that shall remain nameless."
Erin gave an exaggerated eye roll that was followed by more laughter. At this point she felt like jumping to her feet and giving Brian a high five. This crowd was eating out of his hand.
"I happen to be able to prove it," he continued, and Erin almost didn't catch the words because she was glaring at her dad, who was miming the act of holding a gun to his temple and pulling the trigger. Her dad hadn't been the biggest fan of 30 First Dates, Erin's first blog, which had put her private dating life on public display.
Brian reached into a pocket of his sport coat and pulled out a small notebook, lined and spiral-bound, with a battered royal blue cover. He flipped it open to a paper-clipped page and started to read. "March 17, 1998: Talked to E on way to school today. I think she likes Tyson. Dickwad." Chuckles erupted as he flipped a few pages ahead to another paper clip. "August 24, 1998: E is going to barn dance with Blaine Frye. Wish I'd asked her." Pages ruffled as the audience cooed "Awwww." Erin, as her brain caught up to what he was reading, felt her jaw go slack. The next clip was almost at the end of the book. "February 17, 1999: E's joining the track team. Time to ask mom for new running shoes."
When Brian lowered his hand and glanced at Erin, she was gaping at him, blinking back tears. She'd seen Ben scribbling in notebooks over the years, but she'd assumed they were related to school or work. In the two-plus decades she'd known him, she'd never known he kept a private journal.
For several seconds she couldn't get the words in her brain to spit out of her mouth. Swiping underneath each eye with a knuckle, she finally said, "Ben is going to utterly kill you. And that's a real shame because you'd make a good brother-in-law."
Even though the group was laughing again, Sherri wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and Erin's mom dabbed hers with a napkin. Brian had the place first in hysterics then in sniffles.
Brian finished his toast, and Sherri stood and gave one, too. The whole time Sherri was talking, Hilary glared daggers at her. What? Did Hilary think she deserved to be matron of honor? Erin stopped short of
snorting out loud.
Mark, Hil's husband, was oblivious to Hilary's glowering spectacle. Nothing new there, then. He caught Erin looking at him and smiled, and Erin smiled back sheepishly, avoiding Hilary's eyes. She didn't feel too guilty, though. Hilary probably wanted Erin's wedding to be the disaster it was shaping up to be—then she could call the tabloids with a first-person account. It wouldn't be the first time.
Stop being so negative, Erin! Hilary was here, and that was that. All of her old treachery was years behind them. Hilary was a mother now, a grown-up. Surely she had Erin's best interests at heart. And Hilary had known Ben forever, too.
Erin was so absorbed in these thoughts she almost missed the end of Sherri's speech. "Let's raise our glasses to Erin and…Erin," her friend said, and Erin laughed along with everybody else.
As Sherri sat back down beside her husband, Alex, and Erin's father stood and cleared his throat, Erin's mind was on Ben. What was he doing right now? How was he feeling, knowing he was missing this, his own wedding toasts?
Wretched. Guilty. Tortured. She was sure of it. She only hoped he wasn't doing something crazy, like driving west at 95 miles per hour through Tornado Alley.
Erin forced herself to concentrate once her dad started his speech. She dabbed her eyes with her napkin when he choked up, and she giggled and sniffled when he finished the toast with "To my beautiful, accomplished daughter and her invisible groom."
Through the rest of the party—the eating, the laughing, the catching up—she couldn't let go of the anxiety that formed the backbeat of the entire evening. Everybody was joking it off in front of her, but what if Ben really didn't make it in time for the wedding? What if he couldn't? What would Erin do with sixty-five out-of-town guests, a camera crew, a catering team, a three-tiered cake, a string quartet, and no groom?
CHAPTER FOUR
"I Don't"
Saturday, April 13, 9:35 a.m.
"Oh. My. God."
Erin stopped short when she reached the edge of the cedar-lined path. She wanted to pitch herself onto the mossy forest floor and weep, but instead she forced herself to keep walking, pressing ahead with automatic, wooden steps.
"What happened here?" She clutched Sherri's arm and shot a wild look at her mom, as if they could answer the question or as if her vision was playing tricks on her and what they were seeing differed from her own reality. They exchanged an uneasy glance and then looked back at her, eyes wide.
Erin turned in a slow circle to take in the scene. The beautiful clearing from the online photos—the rocky outcropping that overlooked a glorious view of sunshine sparkling off water, the idyllic ring of trees that hugged a level, grassy swath of land—was dirt-strewn and pitted with ugly, muddy crevices that formed jagged lines across unmowed turf. Where in the pictures majestic trees stood sentinel around the peaceful clearing, intermittent stumps now interrupted the scene without rhyme or reason. Two trees then a stump. Four trees, a stump. A lone, spindly cedar, stump.
Trunks and branches crisscrossed haphazardly along the edge of the clearing, leaving gouges where they'd been dragged, as if whoever had committed this crime against nature grew lazy while clearing the evidence. "Eh. What the heck. Let's just leave 'em here."
Fat tears sprang to Erin's eyes, escaping and streaming down both cheeks as she stood rooted to the ground, unable to rip her eyes from the wrecked picture.
This was too much.
Her knees buckled, and she gave in to her urge to sink to the ground.
Immediately, her mom was cradling Erin's shoulders. "Oh, honey. I'm sure there's a good explanation. I'm sure we can work this out."
Though she was wearing tailored, off-white trousers, Erin's mom knelt on the dirt-smeared grass beside her while Sherri circled and explored the meadow. The air was clear, crisp, and sweet-smelling, totally at odds with the destruction. Birds chirped happily in what remained of their habitat.
"We can fix this," Sherri said, though Erin was barely listening. "I'll get Alex down here, and Brian. And your dad, and surely Mark will help." She paused, and then her voice rose with indignation. "And what about the lodge? I mean, they booked your wedding, for heaven's sake. Why would they tear up their facilities knowing a wedding was happening here today?"
A sob broke through Erin's silence. The heaving, choking sound echoed through the clearing.
"Is it?" she asked when she could speak. "Is a wedding happening? Is all of this a sign? Maybe Ben and I just aren't meant to get married." Her voice broke on Ben's name.
She'd last talked to him about twenty minutes ago, just before she, Sherri, and her mom headed out to inspect the meadow. She'd been so busy since arriving in Tahoe that she hadn't yet made the fifteen-minute hike on a softly sloping paved path from the lodge to the outdoor chapel. She'd assumed it would look just like the pictures—why wouldn't it?
During the walk, she'd been preoccupied with her conversation with Ben. Though his new flight was scheduled to depart Dallas at 11:42 a.m. Central Time and he was in the terminal waiting to board, the airline crew hadn't appeared at the desk, and no announcements about boarding had been made. He'd been awake almost all night, and so had Erin, with Ben fretting about whether he should have jumped in his car versus waiting out the airline, and Erin reassuring him he'd stand a better chance of making it out of DFW than on the ground. Storms had settled over the region, with new lines popping up as soon as the earlier ones moved out. Austin and Houston were battling their own flight delays. Oklahoma City was getting hit, and flights out of Amarillo and Lubbock were sparse with lengthy connections. And the drive between north Texas and northern California wasn't an easy one. The thought of Ben hurtling over a mountain pass, taking a curve too fast in a sleep-deprived panic, was even more terrifying than the thought of canceling the wedding.
Around 11 p.m., planes were finally taking off again. At 3 a.m. they'd finally announced a new time for Ben's flight. They couldn't afford another single minute of delay—the new takeoff time meant Ben would touch down in Reno about forty minutes before the ceremony, and it was a forty-five-minute drive from the airport to the lodge. During the night he'd unpacked his suitcase and whittled down his entire set of belongings for the wedding trip and their two-week honeymoon into a single carry-on bag, stowing his suitcase in the back of his Explorer in the airport parking garage so he could avoid baggage claim and get through Reno-Tahoe and into a cab as quickly as possible.
He was already wearing a tuxedo.
While lying awake—or sitting awake, in Ben's case—with their phones pressed to their ears, Erin and Ben had mapped out the schedule to the minute. But they hadn't planned for any other setbacks. This new trick of fate seemed cruel after everything else that had gone wrong.
Erin gazed miserably around the meadow. Could things get any worse?
Taken on their own, each situation was enough to deem her wedding a disaster. Together, they threatened to snap her hold on sanity. Especially since Ben's flight was now scheduled to take off in—she glanced at her phone—three minutes, and he hadn't sent her any boarding updates. Did he not realize he was driving her crazy?
Sherri and Erin's mom were pacing the site, and Erin got clumsily to her feet as they walked to the edge of the outcropping, their backs to the meadow, to take in the picturesque view. At least that wasn't ruined. They had their heads together, talking in voices too low for Erin to hear. Plotting ways to fix this, she was sure, and she was grateful even if she wasn't hopeful.
She glanced at the phone again. One minute to takeoff, and still no text. All she could do was hope that Ben was too busy boarding and settling in to text her.
Yeah. Right. Like she was that lucky.
Joanne and Sherri turned around and, seeing that Erin was standing, started walking her way. She fell into step beside them as they all headed back toward the path. They'd almost reached the small wooden signpost that marked the start of the paved trail when Erin saw him.
Leo.
Leo, damn it all and
his camera, too. He was pointing the thing straight at Erin's tear-streaked face. For half a second, she wondered how long he'd been there, how much footage he'd captured of this latest devastation. In the next half second, she charged him like Bridezilla on methamphetamines.
* * *
"What do you mean, scheduled maintenance?" Erin shrieked. "If there was 'scheduled maintenance' taking place in your wedding facility, why wouldn't you notify a wedding party that was booked for your property?"
The resort attendant shrugged one shoulder. "I don't know. I've only worked here for a week." She ducked her head and fished around under the counter, while Erin bit back the urge to scream like an abandoned toddler.
The girl was young, barely over twenty if Erin had to guess, and wearing standard-issue desk clerk attire—a navy blazer with the sleeves pushed up over a pink and white pinstriped blouse. Her hair was gathered in a messy knot at the nape of her neck. Her fingernails were slate gray, but her left middle finger was painted a glittery pink. Erin couldn't stop staring at that one pink nail, even when the girl lifted her head and passed a card across the desk.
"Here you go," she said. "My GM." She picked up a cell phone encased in hot pink—did the pink stop with this chick?—and swiped the screen. "He leaves for Carmel on Saturday mornings, so I'm not sure you'll get him today."
Erin gaped at her. "But my wedding is today."
The girl shrugged again. "I'm really sorry." She didn't look sorry.
Erin stared at her for several seconds. "What about the event staff? Who's setting things up, and what are they going to do when they go down to set up chairs and find a dug up, muddy field?"
At this point the desk agent looked noticeably uncomfortable. "Look," she said. "I really don't know much about the special events here, OK? I was hired for the high season, and like I said, I've only been here a week and a half." Not helpful, but at least she was showing something other than indifference. "Nestor, our catering manager, comes in at 11:30. He's been here for, like, ever, and I'm sure he'll be able to answer your questions. I'll give him a message to call you when he gets in."
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