When We Fall

by C. M. Lally

  As I get back on the highway, each passing mile clears my mind the further I get from Knightsen. What the fuck am I thinking? He’s business. He’s a resource for a job. I can’t begin a relationship with him. For Christ’s sake— he’s Aran’s family, and I consider her a good friend. It would be weird and uncomfortable. Secondly, I can’t honestly be with a moody man. It’s not my style, nor do I possess that level of patience.

  Pulling into the ranch, the many different vendors are already hard at work putting everything exactly where it’s supposed to be. I love it when great ideas develop into exceptional plans, and well-executed plans become a perfect reality. This is going to be one hell of a fantastic wedding. But I’m late and have to rush to catch up on my duties.

  Lynne waves her arms wide to me like she’s trying to flag down a taxi in New York City. Her bright, neon pink clipboard catches my attention as her arm-flapping just about makes her take flight. She’s standing outside the reception tent with a dour look on her face, so I instantly know there’s a problem that requires my assistance. There will be no crises today— I simply won’t allow any. I am calm. I am cool. I am collected is my mantra. Put everything in focus, and focus on everything is my philosophy and work ethic. Perfection will rule this day.

  Chapter 7 – Frank

  I slide into the back of the Cadillac and tell Jim where we’re going. He raises his eyebrow at me in the rearview mirror with a smirk on his face. “Yeah, I know. It’s a wedding and I should have told you, but you’d have still driven me for the free beer you get out of this gig,” I remind him gently of our deal. “But no beer tonight at the wedding. Your beer comes once we return home whenever you cash it in.” His eyes pop open wide in surprise in the mirror at me, but he smiles and winks at me.

  He knows the deal. He’s been hauling my ass places, sometimes at short notice, for almost twenty years, and he’s yet to cash in on his beer tab. He’s always been a friend in deed when this friend was in need. I’d do anything for him if he’d ever ask, but he doesn’t. He’s a simple man living a simple life. You can’t ask for anything more than that.

  The Ryer Island Ranch comes into view about halfway up the long drive, once you cross over the delta slough on the ferry. There is a wedding tent set up to the left of the barn. Long silver ribbons are wound together and tied to hay pitchforks to create a path for the cars leading to the parking area. Clever. I like it. We park under a wide Elm tree offering plenty of shade.

  “I’ll just wait here for you,” Jim states matter-of-factly before sliding his seat back for more leg room and easing it back to rest. He’s got his eyes closed before I’m out the door.

  Round, cocktail tables are set up in the grass, with an open bar near them. There are silver tablecloths and other accents decorating the bar area. Fancy.Shmancy. Not sure this fits my bar, but I’ll reserve my opinion until I’ve seen everything.

  People mill about talking and laughing, and I just realized that I don’t know any of these people. Well, I know Isabella, but I haven’t seen her yet. It’s a good thing I’m just here to observe the wedding planner. I mean, take in the decorations.

  There’s a small three-piece band set up near the tables, playing elevator music...wait, that’s country elevator music. It’s got that distinctive twang to it. It’s not that I have a problem with country music, some of it I like, but that tinny slow draw of music and voice together is like nails on a chalkboard to me. Even though this is without a voice, I can feel the nerves in my back firing and twisting, begging me to run. I walk in the opposite direction to get away from it.

  My watch shows I’ve got ten minutes before everything should start, so I head to the barn. Rounding the corner, past the few small tents that appear to be dressing tents for the wedding party, I hear Isabella talking low.

  “There’s no need to be this nervous,” she breathes. “I know it’s a big step. A shake-up and combination of everything in your lives, but you want to share it with him, right?”

  “Yes,” the unknown woman whimpers, her voice loaded and shaking with nerves.

  “Listen to me,” Isabella says clearing her throat, “I don’t personally know what love feels like, but I know what love looks like. I see it when Brad looks at you. The way he practiced feeding you when we went to taste test all those wedding cakes, and in the way he grabs your hand as soon as you enter a room together. He’s telling the world, ‘She’s mine, and I’m so lucky to have found her’. And the way you look at him could light a million candles with the fire that burns between you. I’ve watched your eyes go soft, being happy and content that Brad is yours. So, shake off these nerves. The first part is the ceremony binding your souls, and the second part is the celebration of that love. The worry and nerves are my job, not yours.”

  The tent flap rustles and I step away quickly. Eavesdropping on her is not my finest moment, and I certainly don’t want to get caught doing it.

  I head into the barn and take the first seat that I come to in the back, sitting so fast the chair almost topples over. I take the folded wedding program the usher hands me, and sit straight up in the chair. A few people throw strange looks in my direction, but I don’t care. I’ll never see these people again in my life.

  The barn is magically beautiful. Long, white sheer material is hung from the rafters to the walls, creating a circus-like tent structure. There’s a large chandelier in the center with bright Edison bulbs glowing. Both ends of the barn are open to the exterior letting a nice breeze circulate through, which feels great because this part of California can get scorching hot. Either open end lends itself to a gorgeous view of the early evening. The sun has arced over the ranch and is firing the dusk with orange and purple back-lit clouds.

  I’ve got to hand it to Isabella, this is simple but elegantly decorated. I know we could do this in the bar, but the true question is, can we get the alcohol and tobacco stench out of it in time.

  Organ music starts to play, and the place comes alive with excitement for a brief moment. The groom and his best man walk in with the ceremonial servant, taking their positions at the stage. Within a few minutes, the flower girls and bridesmaids stroll in, beaming big smiles for the photographer. After a short pause, The Wedding March plays and the bride enters to a room with every eye on her, except me.

  I look at the groom as he stands there stoic and still. Several emotions flicker across his face, but his smile gives him away. Suddenly I’m thrown back in time twenty years before.

  Jim pushes my shoulder hard with his. He leans in and whispers, “You lucky fucking bastard. Just look at her.”

  “I know, man. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wonder what the fuck I did to catch her, but whatever it was I’m thankful that I did it,” I reply in a low voice.

  The preacher clears his throat several times before mumbling, “Gentlemen...language, please.”

  “Yes, sir,” we both reply without hesitating.

  I’m spellbound by her and she’s not even in her wedding dress yet. We are on our second walk-through for practice, this time with the music, and all I want to do is say these vows for real, put my ring on her and claim her as mine on our honeymoon. Two days. Two long damn days, and then I get her for two weeks before the racing season starts. Those are going to be the best two weeks of our lives.

  She slowly saunters down the aisle, lining each step toe to toe. She’s holding a paper plate of ribbons from her last bridal shower. Her hair sweeps down and slightly covers the smile on her face. She’s watching her feet, making sure she doesn’t trip, but when she looks up at me a small distance away, my heart lurches in my chest at the light and love in her eyes. She’s all mine already, and she knows it, with the saucy wink she throws my way.

  Her heel catches on the last step and she tumbles towards me. I catch her in my arms, as her hands brace my forearms. The swift movement of her body engulfs me with her honeysuckle scent. “I’ve got you, babe. I’ll always catch you. I promise,” I whisper in her ear,
before letting her go.

  She smiles up at me again with my words, as we clasp our hands together and begin practicing our wedding ceremony. I feel her love in the warmth of her hands in mine. It snakes its way to my heart, squeezing it with one of those quick, reassuring embraces that says ‘I love you.’

  The weight of a hand on my shoulder brings me back from my memories. Isabella bends low toward my ear and whispers, “Thank you for coming.” Her honeysuckle scent fills my nostrils. Her warm touch radiates down my body, making me hard. Fuck.

  I kissed her this morning just to piss her off; to get a rise out of her. I wasn’t prepared for her to respond to my kiss the way she did— the way she melted into me with her scent surrounding me. Suffocating me. Choking me with feelings I never want to feel again. I meant to frustrate and aggravate her, but instead, it only bothered me.

  I’ve been a fucking mess all day long. I’ve talked myself out of coming to this wedding, and then back into it five times before I finally got dressed deciding I needed to do this for Aran. She deserves the wedding of her dreams. I deserve exactly what I have. Nothing.

  She comes around into the aisle and asks to take the seat next to me on the opposite side. “May I?” I pull in my long legs and allow her to pass by to occupy the seat. Her lean body turns to squeeze past me and the row in front. Her ass is in my face as she passes by, and my hands ball into fists needing restraint. I want to touch her with every ounce of need in my body.

  Something tells me she’d let me, but my heart hurts in being here at a wedding. Another thing I always try to avoid. I’ve been successful at it up until these past few years when Jenna and Nick got married. I feel like I’m betraying Olivia, and that pisses me off.

  The vows are finishing up and the kiss will come soon declaring them man and wife. Isabella’s legs cross, and her grip on the chair she is sitting in tightens. She’s antsy or anxious, but about what I have no clue. I study her profile. She glances at me sideways and gives me a shy smile. She’s enthralled with the vows being promised. “When the groom says his vows, that’s my favorite part to listen to,” she whispers, tapping my thigh for emphasis of her words. Her fingers linger there while she goes back to listening. The heat of her fingertips on my leg shoots sparks straight to my cock.

  “...in sickness and in health, until death do us part,” she whispers as the groom speaks those words. “Never has there ever been more powerful words that will be spoken between a man and a woman. Those words are why I’m a wedding planner.” She looks at me with conviction in her eyes. I believe her in this moment.

  Maybe she’s not like my wedding planner who was only in it for the money. When she found out there wouldn’t be a wedding, she actually threw a tantrum. She lost her precious commission, turning her heart cold and dark. She left me to cancel everything in my grief. I didn’t give a fuck about the lost deposits. I’d lost my fiance. My wife in my heart. The mother of my future children. I’d lost my whole life, and it was my fault. I wipe away the tear that starts to fall from the corner of my eye. Yeah, Isabella isn’t like that bitch at all.

  “Pardon me,” she says, wanting to cross back out into the aisle before the wedding party approaches. “I have to get back to my wedding duties.” She touches my arm, as I stand to let her pass, and I grab onto her hand, holding her in place.

  “Save me a dance later?” I ask, searching her eyes and praying for a positive response. Her warm chocolate brown eyes are dark and mysterious to me. I can’t read them right now.

  “It’ll have to be later...much later, after everything winds down and all events are over,” she breathes. “I’m sorry if that’s too late for you to stay.”

  “I’ll wait,” I say, and release her hand for her to go. She softly drags it up and across my arm infusing me with her heat just a little longer.

  I swear I can feel her hand on my arm two hours later.

  Chapter 8 – Frank

  I followed her around with my eyes all night. She caught me looking several times, as she worked her personal magic and spread it about from duty to duty. I was quick to avert my eyes though, pretending to notice something just above or beyond her face.

  She’s graceful in her presence and efficient in her job. First, it was the grand entrance of the newly married couple, as she lined everyone up and got them on queue for their country line dance entrance. She laughed just as much as the bridal party did while it was going on. Secondly, she stood back far enough from the official cake cutting and subsequent “smashing” to not get messy, but was close enough to bellow like a sailor with phrases like ‘do it’ and “give ‘em the frosting in the kisser’.

  She loves her job and knows how to make everyone have a great time, but when things go wrong (and they do) she takes charge and handles the situation like a professional. She must be “handling” a problem because I don’t see her anywhere. I wanted to ask her to dance now that the evening is winding down. Maybe I should find her and make sure she’s alright.

  I step out of the barn into the cool evening air, loosening my tie and finally taking in a full, deep breathe. The night crickets are chirping, and fireflies start to light up the evening sky. Something rustles in the dumpster sitting on the far side of the barn, and I walk around it not wanting to surprise a mean and hungry raccoon. Suddenly, a hand slaps the side of the aluminum box and “fuck” is shouted as loud as can be. Then a “damn it” echoes in a familiar voice through the box and out into the night. Isabella?

  Approaching the box that is spewing curse words, I look inside and see her. She’s covered in sauce from the lemon pepper chicken, and she has little bits of broccoli and rice in her hair. She’s shaking her hands to remove the slimy food particles while she continues reaching for bags and ripping them open. I lean against the big steel box, trying to hide my surprise, but a smile escapes my lips. She stands majestically in the middle separating piles of bags to search from those that have been searched. Or at least it looks like a possible search and rescue mission.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, my smile growing bigger as soon as the words leave my mouth. “Did you lose something?”

  She jumps, grabbing at the sides of the dumpster to balance herself, startled at the sound of my voice. Strands of her hair have escaped in frustration and cling to her face, as she tries to use her shoulder and her elbow to remove them from blocking her vision. “You scared me,” she breathes, brushing food particles from her dark skirt using the backs of her hands. Her fingers are mired in every kind of filth you can imagine in a dumpster of garbage. “The catering company accidentally threw away the bride’s veil, so it has become my duty as the wedding planner to save the day...and save the veil!”

  “Good Lord,” I choke out, exasperated at her. “Why didn’t you come and ask me to help you? I would never have let you get inside here. It’s nasty and dangerous.”

  “Haha. This is the glamorous part of my job, don’t you see?” she asks, smiling at me and holding her arms open wide to the mess beneath her. Her beautiful wide smile and laughing eyes do little to convince me of her sincerity. “I’m an expert dumpster diver. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to do something like this. I once had to cut a wedding dress off my bride because her bustle collapsed and fell in the toilet while she was using it. The automatic flush grabbed it and pulled her down, clogging the toilet and flooding the bathroom.”

  “Yes. It all sounds so glamorous,” I laugh, shaking my head in complete disbelief. “With stories like that, you should write a book, The Misadventures of Wedding Planning.”

  “I love that story. It still makes me laugh so hard I could pee,” she chuckles, stepping out of the circle of muck and mire she has found herself buried in to get closer to the back of the dumpster. “I only have a few more bags to go through. Do you want to help or would you rather stay clean and cheer me on from the sidelines?”

  “In good conscience, I can’t let you get any dirtier than what you already are. Please step out so I may get in
to finish?” I command.

  “No, bossy man. It’s my wedding, my bride, and my responsibility,” she grumbles and growls at me in frustration, blowing and flipping her hair out of her face again.

  “For fuck’s sake, Isabella,” growling at her in return. I reach in and pull the matted strand of hair from her cheek and tuck it behind her ear. “Don’t fuck up your suit and shoes for this veil. My clothes will launder just fine, yours may not. And they look expensive, so c’mon. Get out of there.”

  “No!” she shouts, blowing out her red cheeks and pursing her lips in anger. Her hands go straight to her hips, and I simply can’t resist. I charge her like a linebacker and push her back onto the soft plump of the trash bags. At first, she fights me, kicking and pushing me away, but I hold her tight until she gives in, completely exhausted from the day. Out of the blue, she begins to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask, taking a long look at her tired face. Her eyes are closed and she lowers her head back to rest on the trash. Giggles escape her lips every so often. I roll off her and lay to her right on my side, cushioned by another mound of garbage.

  She turns her head slightly and opens just one eye to gaze at me. “Something happens at every wedding. I’ve been doing this for fifteen years now, and I’ve yet to have a wedding that goes smoothly,” she says, sighing loudly with the burden of her confession. “Many minor issues have happened, some major ones and some have even been repeated over the years, but never have I ever been tackled by a guest in a dumpster. There truly is a first time for everything.”

  She belly laughs loudly as the absurdity of this situation comes to a head. She pushes herself upwards onto her elbows and takes a look around the dumpster at the mess she’s made. I can tell her brain is working to figure out the best way possible to find the veil quickly.

  “C’mon, let me finish this for you?” I ask, taking a hold of her hand closest to me and wiping it down my chest, smearing a dark trail of cake down my silk tie. “See, I’m already dirty.” Her eyes go wide with surprise, then she takes her other hand and wipes it next to the trail of sauce, rice and cake muck.