But it wasn’t my bubble, it was his—and an obviously pricey one at that. I ran my palm over the thick leather wheel, not relishing the thought of driving an unfamiliar vehicle. I drove so little as it was, and only in familiar territory. Harvey must really trust me, though, and that was something.
I picked up the reception card lying in the console and squinted at the low-quality map. GPS would be preferable, but . . . I scoured the car . . . I didn’t see any GPS device, and Harvey hadn’t used one to get here.
He probably meant I could use my phone, but I couldn’t. I didn’t have Wi-Fi here, only at home or in Wi-Fi hotspots.
I returned to the little map and studied it.
After ten minutes of adjusting and readjusting the seat and mirrors, I still didn’t feel ready. With a highly sensitive foot, I backed out slowly and pulled onto the road, trying to make my route match the wispy black line on the map card.
The fuel gauge hovered near empty. Forced to seek a gas station, I took a slight detour.
I soon found a pump and inserted the gas nozzle, and the cost ratcheted up. Minutes later, with a clunk, the car finally stopped guzzling gas. I removed the nozzle and, too late, saw a drop of gasoline fall onto the front of my dress and spread to a nickel-sized stain.
I stared at the ugly splotch for too long, then came to the conclusion that there was nothing I could do but ignore it. Disappointment touched me. This wasn’t the way I wanted to arrive at the reception.
For a moment, as I glided out of the station, I considered turning for home and the comfort of non-expectations. I didn’t look forward to entering the reception as a lone punk-haired, gasoline-stained guest.
But Sarah and Harvey were both expecting me. I squinted against the glare of the lowering sun, then flipped down the car visor. My night out had hardly begun. I can do this.
For a second, I even considered tying my shawl around my waist to hide the gas stain, but that would probably look a little too odd, even for me.
Ick, I even smell like gas. Did the odor come from my dress, my fingers, or both? Not a nice perfume.
Numerous wrong turns later, I finally caught sight of The Blue Spruce Hall sign and sighed with relief. Only now, judging from the packed lot and the endless line of cars parked along the street, I was likely the last guest to arrive. I had quite a walk ahead of me.
My heels crunched against the road, and the back of my shoes rubbed my skin. To cheer myself, I imagined sprouting butterfly wings and flying the rest of the way.
Sweat trickled down my back and dampened my underarms. I sure hoped I wouldn’t be making my grand entrance with the charming fragrance of eau de sweat ’n’ gas.
I hesitated at the door, hearing the din of voices leaking through. I tilted my chin up, shook my hair back from my face, then tucked and smoothed unruly strands into place.
Here goes. Clutching at both my purse and my courage, I stepped through the doors and into the crowded room. Noise hit me like a physical onslaught, and my breathing quickened.
It sure would be nice if Harvey would saunter over right about now, but I couldn’t even see him.
Warm though I was, the abundant air-conditioning quickly chilled me. I wrapped my shawl around me and held it tight.
Step by tiny step, I maneuvered through the people, unsure where I was headed. Were weddings normally this crowded? But what did I know of normal?
In all my twenty-three years, I’d never been immersed in such a crowd. Not even at my family’s funeral.
I could barely think clearly. The cacophony of so many voices talking simultaneously just about shook the roof. I marveled at how any of these guests could hear each other. Maybe they were all talking, with no one listening.
The boisterous crowd jostled me past the bar, which was probably the loudest spot in the whole place. I craved a drink of water and didn’t see any pitchers on the tables.
But battling to be heard at the bar wasn’t worth it, I decided, not with the progress I’d made through the sea of bodies, not when I’d have to backtrack. What I needed most was to sit down.
But where?
All the tables looked occupied—if not by people, then claimed by jackets or purses. I didn’t see place cards anywhere.
I wouldn’t be sitting with Harvey, of course, since he’d be at the head table with the wedding party.
Concern crept through me. As a last-minute surprise guest, would there even be a seat for me?
Chapter 14
My relief at finding a free chair at a corner table soon gave way to realization that the spot may have been left vacant for a reason.
Despite the deafening voices surrounding us, the middle-aged woman to my right was determined to be heard—at the expense of my eardrums.
She introduced herself as Pearl, then leaned into my personal space until her lips practically kissed my ear.
I gripped the edge of my chair and restrained myself from pulling away. Her breath radiated a bizarre combination of chocolate and cheddar.
“. . . and that’s cousin Irene, who was actually born in two states. I kid you not. She was born on a bus traveling from Illinois to Wisconsin, and she entered this world right as it crossed the border.”
Pearl’s gaze darted to a different guest. “Oh, and over there in the orange shirt, that’s Carl Rudders. He lives on a lake—in a house on stilts. Must have cost a pretty penny, but I’d just never be able to trust those stilts . . .
“Now Burk, he’s different. Never know what he might be up to. Last I heard, he was hunting rattlesnakes out West . . .”
I nodded but ran my gaze around our table. The heavy man sitting beside Pearl kept his eyes on his phone. “My husband,” she’d told me earlier, apparently not inclined to expand on his story.
Across from me, a stunning young couple sent each other flirty gazes and appeared to be in their own little world. A petite gray-haired woman sat to my left, looking one yawn away from falling asleep.
So maybe Pearl felt it was her duty to keep conversation flowing.
As for me, only my starving stomach spoke up. I felt it roar ferociously but couldn’t hear it, making me suddenly thankful for the din of the room.
Worse than my hunger, though, was my thirst, which continued to increase. Tracing back the details of my day, I realized my last drink had been from my bathroom faucet this morning, shortly before Harvey had arrived. Over seven hours ago.
Glowing tea candles, folded linen napkins, and shiny silverware graced the table, but all the food waited to be served at a buffet island located tauntingly close to our table. All the beverages appeared to be served from the bar.
For wedding favors, delicate folded fans lay at each table setting. Interesting and unique. Like Sarah.
In between scanning for Harvey, I cast glances over my shoulder at the oddest dessert display I’d ever seen. Only a few yards away, a large board the size of a small door stood upright with three long rows of wooden pegs protruding from it. A colorful assortment of donuts hung over the pegs like fat hoops on a ring-toss game.
Sarah was obviously still quite a fan of donuts. I smiled while my empty stomach urged me to cross the short distance and grab one—or better yet, three or four.
Both my manners and my thirst stopped me. If I ventured into this crowd for anything, it would have to be for a glass of water. Donuts would only make me thirstier.
“. . . and anyone would. Marybeth, though, never takes no for an answer . . .”
I gave another polite nod to Pearl, who still prattled on. I found myself studying her impeccably applied, yet not overdone, makeup. Her precisely lined lips and her clump-free mascara fascinated me. No smears or errant black specks in sight. I almost wished I could ask her to give me makeup lessons.
Then her words stopped, and that got my attention. Her gaze lifted above me, and a moment later, I felt a slight touch on my shoulder.
A whisper of breath tickled my ear.
“Excuse me, but you look like you could
use a drink of water.” Jay set a large glass, clinking with ice cubes, onto the tablecloth in front of me. “Am I right?”
So right, I was amazed. Even if he’d guessed I was thirsty, how had he known I wanted merely water and not alcohol, a kiddie cocktail, or soda?
“Yes, thank you.” My words were probably too quiet for him to hear above the racket, but I couldn’t bring myself to shout.
“You’re very welcome.” His hand rested on the back of my chair, and I admired how at ease he seemed. I could use a little of that self-assurance.
I raised the cool glass to my lips and swallowed gratefully. I envisioned a waterfall pouring down my throat and smashing into my very empty stomach.
Pearl wiggled her fingers, which were adorned with chunky rings. “And who might you be, young man?”
Wonder of wonders, she didn’t already know? From the way she’d gone on and on, I’d thought she knew everyone here, as well as each guest’s entire life story.
“I—”
“Hey, everyone, how’re we all doing tonight?” the emcee boomed into his microphone.
Heads turned and the crowd responded with a whooping cheer.
“All right, that’s what I like to hear! Let’s get this party rolling. If everyone could please take their seats, let’s turn our attention to the entrance, because it’s time to welcome the bridal party!”
“Sorry,” Jay mouthed. With an apologetic nod at both Pearl and me, he retreated into the crowd. I found myself slightly disappointed that he wasn’t at our table.
Pearl’s eyes lingered on me with a questioning glint. “Shouldn’t your date be sitting here?”
Again with the assumptions? “He’s not my date.”
“No?” Her expression remained unconvinced. In fact, her eyes sparked with far too much interest, as if I were hiding some tantalizingly torrid love affair. The mere thought made me blush.
Pearl wriggled slightly in her seat. “Do you have a date?”
How to answer that? “I’m here with Harvey Sanford, the bride’s brother. I mean, he brought me.” Well, to the ceremony, anyway.
“Oh, Harvey? I know him.”
No surprise there.
Her lips moved almost in a spasm, making me wonder if she had a story to tell but was trying not to.
If so, her lips won. “So hard to keep track of who that boy’s dating. Like keeping track of the flavor-of-the-week.” She giggled, then sobered. “Be careful, dear. He’s broken lots of hearts. Why, just the other day, his aunt, my friend Bernice, told me . . .”
My ears buzzed as the emcee again called for attention.
Pearl wasn’t distracted. “. . . and a man that good-looking? A crying shame.” She seemed torn, as if she wanted to lower her voice but knew she couldn’t do so and still be heard. “And if you ask me, that could only mean one of two things, if you get my drift . . .”
I didn’t, but I was afraid she was going to tell me.
Thankfully, guests stood and cheered as the grand march began. Bursts of applause punctuated the wacky, audacious display of groomsmen and bridesmaids making peculiar entrances that I wouldn’t even know how to perform—odd dance moves, strange gyrations . . .
“Please welcome Harvey Sanford, brother of the bride.”
At last, there he was.
“. . . and Amber Blake, friend of the bride.” The beautiful blond bridesmaid leapt onto Harvey’s back. Unfazed, he proceeded to carry her—piggyback style—through the room to the head table, laughing.
Pearl poked my arm. “Are you okay? You look a little flushed.”
I put a hand to my cheek. “I’m just really hungry, that’s all.”
“Sure you are.” She sighed. “Well, I have to admit, even with all the rumors about him, I can see why you’d want Harvey over the water boy, too.” She patted her heart. “Just don’t get hurt, dear.”
“Rumors aren’t always true,” I said quietly.
After Sarah and Roger entered to loud cheers, mine included, I sank back into my seat.
The head table, strung with twinkly white lights, felt far away. The inconvenient angle prevented me from seeing much of Sarah or Harvey.
I folded my hands and bowed my head for the blessing, then the bride and groom began the buffet line.
A string of speeches followed, first from the father of the bride, then the best man, and finally, the maid of honor. All paid tribute to Sarah and Roger’s marriage, all making love sound lofty and magnificent.
Ours was the last table granted permission to visit the buffet island. Sarah and Roger had already cut and shared their celebratory slice from a one-layer wedding cake, a dessert so small that I hadn’t noticed it earlier. No need for a tiered tower when you had a smorgasbord of donuts available.
Hungry as I’d been, I appreciated my meal of creamy beef tips, crinkled red-skin potatoes, crisp green beans, fresh salad, and golden dinner rolls—a meal larger and finer than I’d ever made for myself. It reminded me of my mom’s homemade meals.
“You look finished, dear,” Pearl said. “Why don’t you do our table a favor and slip over to that dessert buffet and bring us all back some lovely donuts?” She patted my hand. “That way we won’t have to all go shoving our way through the crowd, and you’re so slender it’ll be no trouble at all for you.”
Load up on sweets for this entire table of strangers? The thought appalled me. I wanted to say no, but Pearl’s strong personality pushed me, and I found myself filling two dessert plates, stacking random donuts and feeling like I was being viewed as a greedy pig as I toted back the sugary heap.
When I set the donuts in the middle of the table for everyone, I was rewarded with a critical look from the pretty young woman across from me, who couldn’t have heard a word of Pearl’s request.
I may not have been familiar with reading body language, but hers said, Excuse me? You think I want to eat those donuts after your fingers were all over them?
I imagined I almost heard a sniff of indignation. She whispered something to her date and he chuckled as his gaze bounced off me.
At least Pearl’s husband had no qualms about claiming three donuts immediately.
I looked down at my hands, sticky from sugar glaze, then reached for a napkin.
The lights dimmed. A love song began, and the bride and groom shared their first dance, so poignant my throat ached.
Chapter 15
And now for the father-daughter dance,” the emcee announced.
Sarah and her dad embraced, and the song began.
As if the previous dance hadn’t tugged enough at my heart-strings, this one just about snapped them in two. Not just the song and lyrics, which certainly pulled my emotions, but the blazing, irreversible thought that even if I did someday marry, I’d never be able to share a father-daughter dance with my dad. Our tender moments were all in the past. And there weren’t even enough of them as it was.
To my dismay, my eyes began leaking. I shifted my gaze to the tabletop dusted with donut crumbs and sporting a greasy stain from one of my errant, buttery green beans. Eating in front of an audience wasn’t something I was used to, and being overly conscious of my every move and every bite had made my hand unsteady.
Now, pretending to dab at my mouth with my linen napkin, I actually swiped quickly at my cheeks, removing any trace of tears.
I eyed the folded fan resting beside the crumbs. When I opened it, the delicate paper spread like a large white butterfly wing, one accented with tiny blue flowers.
I lifted the fan and appreciated its wide cover while I collected myself behind its comforting shade. The perfect shield.
Moving my wrist slightly created a refreshing breeze, and I lingered in it before closing the fan and setting it back on the table.
What to do now? Maybe I’d take a cue from Pearl’s husband and focus on my phone for the rest of the night. Even if I didn’t have any Wi-Fi, nobody else would know that.
Instead, with a deep breath, I stood, deciding to stretch
my legs and slip to the bathroom and freshen up.
“There you are.”
I looked up to see Harvey standing in front of me. The room’s shadows flattered him, bringing out the angles of his features in a striking, mysterious way.
He smiled. “Why were you so hard to find?”
“Was I? I’ve been here all night.”
“Glad I finally tracked you down. What’s a guy gotta do to get a dance with you?”
I felt myself blush. “Asking would be a good start.”
“Yeah? Okay, I’m asking. What do you say?”
The music thumped, the beat heavy, bold. “I’d like to, but I don’t know how to dance. Homeschooled, remember?”
He scratched his head. “And your point is?”
Wasn’t it obvious? “Normal kids learn how to dance. In high school, at school dances.”
He laughed. “That’s not dancing, that’s just moving as crazy as you can. They don’t give lessons, if that’s what you think. And ‘normal’ kids? Come on, Lila.” He nudged my shoulder, the contact causing a pleasant current to rush up my neck.
“You’re not the only one who was ever homeschooled. And if you’d seen the kids I went to high school with, you wouldn’t call them normal. Heck, you wouldn’t call me normal.”
My lips twitched. “I never did.”
“Good.” He glanced at the dance floor several paces away and started bopping his head and shoulders in a ridiculous way. “You saying you can’t manage this?” His feet barely moved, but his arms and body sure did.
“Maybe.” My brows rose. “Whether or not I want to make that kind of a spectacle of myself is another matter.”
He shook his head, exaggerated disappointment covering his face. “I gotta tell ya, I wouldn’t have thought a little dancing would scare a girl with pink hair.”
“Pink highlights,” I corrected. “And this isn’t about being scared.”
“Then what is it about? Come on, Lila. Be norrrmal,” he drawled, gyrating his arms, then shaking his hands. “All the cool kids are doing it.”
“You’re making this less appealing by the second.” Yet his next moves made me giggle. He danced backward, closer to the dance floor, motioning me to follow.
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