Crazy Little Thing Called Love (12 page)

There. Out of sight, out of mind.

•  •  •

“Mindy, what have I done?” Vanessa buried her face in her arms, which were crossed over the glass-topped table positioned on the porch of the Henderson Park Inn.

“You just planned your destination wedding!” Mindy clapped her hands, laughter in her voice. “Why are you upset? This is fantastic!”

“Because this is not the wedding Ted and I agreed upon!” Vanessa peered up at her friend. “He wants the ceremony at the same hotel as the medical conference, remember? You're my matron of honor. You're supposed to be helping me—not encouraging me to do something this . . . this . . .”

“This spectacular?” Mindy shook her head, all the while grasping Vanessa by the shoulders and pushing her back into a sitting position.

“Don't act like this. You're the bride-to-be.
Be happy
.” Mindy caught a piece of paper as it fluttered in the strong breeze coming from the beach. The incoming storm was stirring up the waves, and rain was predicted for later. “Here. Tuck the receipt into the folder the coordinator gave you.”

Vanessa took another look at the total. “I put down a deposit, Mindy. A deposit on the inn—and Ted doesn't even know.”

Mindy waved aside her concern. “Will you relax? It's refundable. Remember how horrified the wedding planner looked when you said, ‘Could you pencil me in until I talk to my fiancé?' Of course the first week in April is the beginning of their busy season. This way you've got dibs on the inn. If Ted vetoes the idea when you get back home, then you call and cancel. No problem. But he won't. Not once you show him the brochure. And the website. And the videos.”

Mindy's calm self-assurance backed Vanessa away from the edge of hysteria. She was right—nothing was undoable. And oh, how she wanted to have her beautiful, elegant destination wedding here.

She could imagine the beachfront wedding ceremony she and Ted could have here, come April. If he agreed. The green-roofed inn nestled right up against the white sands, and they had an idyllic view of the Gulf of Mexico from their vantage point on the inn's porch. Maybe before they left, she and Mindy could walk down to the beach and relax in the freestanding white wooden swing.

“It was fun daydreaming out loud with the assistant wedding coordinator. I can't believe we talked for over an hour.”

Mindy ticked items off on her fingers. “Menus. Wedding cakes. Decorations.”

“But I didn't plan on handing over my credit card—”

“No one twisted your arm, bride-to-be.” Mindy's grin was infectious. “But if there's even the slightest chance you want to get married here next April, you were smart to put down that deposit.”

“I need to talk to Ted face-to-face. That's the only way I'm going to convince him that we have to get married here. And so, matron of honor, you now have another responsibility on your to-do list.”

“O-kay. And that would be?”

“Help me figure out how to persuade Ted that we absolutely must have the wedding here!”

“I told you—didn't I? Isn't it perfect?”

“Oh, Mindy, it's . . . stunning. Absolutely everything I could ever want for a wedding!” Vanessa lowered her voice to a whisper, as if she might break some sort of magic spell surrounding them.

“That's what you tell Ted—with exactly that look on your face.”

Vanessa swallowed the last of the sweet iced tea in her glass, the ice cubes clinking together. Almost as good as a jolt of caffeinated Coke with a spritz of lemon. “What else?”

“Tell him how romantic and private and . . . and . . . perfect the inn is.”

“It is perfect.” Vanessa rested her chin on her hands. “The other hotel will be overflowing with conference attendees and their families and medical vendors and workshops presenters. I'll spend most of my time poolside—alone.”

“You could still end up alone—”

“Maybe. But I'll be alone
here.
”

“True. Tell him about the catering package. The flowers—not that he'll care about Gerbera daisies. Do you think Ted will like the steel drums?”

“He may opt for the DJ.”

“You can always switch—but you love the idea of the drums, don't you?”

“Well, a DJ is traditional, but wouldn't a steel drummer or harpist be lovely?”

“Will Ted want to help decide about the cake?”

“Maybe the flavor—but I don't think he'll care too much about the design.” Vanessa opened the folder again. “I liked the inn's Gold Catering option. Appetizers, salads, entrées, and side dishes. My mouth started watering just reading over the list of crab cakes, kung pao shrimp, a classic Caesar salad, Mediterranean chicken—”

“Stop! You are talking to a pregnant woman here!”

“You don't want me to mention pasta Alfredo or the roasted vegetable platter—”

Mindy clasped Vanessa's hand across the table. “You did a whole lot of daydreaming today. The assistant walked away with a filled-in list, you know. It was fun, admit it.”

“Yes, thanks to you.” Vanessa knew her grin was taking on goofy proportions. “But this is the first time I've really gotten excited.”

“How can Ted say no?” Mindy pushed her windblown hair back from her face. “Any more thought about what color you want me to wear?”

“After sitting here, looking out at the water, yes. All I can think about is how stunning it is—the blues and the greens. What would you think of wearing turquoise?”

“That's a favorite color of mine. Just don't tell me that you want me to go strapless—not when I've just had a baby.”

“You take it from turquoise, Mindy. Didn't you mention an Empire waist would be better than form-fitting the first time we got together at your house?”

“Even with an Empire-waist dress, I'm going to be wearing pantyhose and Spanx, you know that, right?”

“Mindy, it's a beach wedding. Casual.”

“And I'll just have had a baby. Spanx it is. So, turquoise for me—but what about you? Do you have a dress yet?”

“No. No dress.”

“Six months to go—you've still got a reasonable amount of time, but you don't want to cut it too close. Do you want to look while you're here?”

“I don't know—shouldn't I shop for a dress in Denver?”

“That makes sense, especially if you need alterations. But we could stop by a bridal shop today and just have fun. Try on different styles. I've got time. Do you have any idea what you want?”

Vanessa shook her head. “Not at all. Something for a beach wedding. Long. Or short. White. Or ivory. Sleeveless. Or short sleeves. See? I don't know. I've never shopped for a wedding dress before . . .”

Her voice trailed off.

She'd never shopped for a wedding dress.

When she and Logan got married, she'd worn a yellow flowery sundress she'd packed for spring break—something she'd brought along in case they had a chance for a romantic dinner together one night, without the rest of the group. She hadn't imagined it would be her wedding dress.

“What happened, Vanessa?” Mindy's quiet question interrupted the memory.

“What do you mean?” Vanessa couldn't quite meet her friend's eyes.

“What happened between you and Logan? I never asked, because, well, I figured it was none of my business.” Mindy twirled her straw in her water glass. “One weekend you're married, all excited to go surprise him at college in Oklahoma—to see about turning your marriage into a non-long-distance one. And when you come back, you say you're getting a divorce.”

“Nothing happened.” Vanessa scanned the horizon and then met her friend's gaze. “And that was the problem. Logan and I got married—and nothing happened. He liked his life in Oklahoma more than he liked being married. I was in the way of what he wanted.”

“You two loved each other—”

“We never should have gotten married. It was an immature thing to do. Logan felt sorry for me and I . . . I thought I was in love with him. But I wasn't.” She rested her head against the back of the chair. “Want to hear something funny?”

“What?”

“When I went to see my father after his heart attack, my mother had two boxes waiting for me.”

“Two boxes? Of what?”

“High school stuff. My yearbook. My cap and gown.” Vanessa shook her head. “Mostly junk. But I also found Logan's class ring.”

“Oh, my gosh! What did you do with it?”

Vanessa ran her fingers through her bangs. “I didn't know what to do with it. I mean, it's not my ring—even if Logan gave it to me. But I don't know where Logan is—or at least I didn't. And even seeing him on the beach for a couple of minutes doesn't mean I know where he lives now.”

“So where's the ring?”

“I mailed it back to my apartment along with some other things. I didn't know what else to do.”

Mindy stared at her, her lips pursed. “Hmmm. I'll think on this. I mean, his family still lives here. Even his sister Caron works in town—I ran into her when Jett and I were house shopping. Maybe I could contact her—”

“It should probably be you, rather than me. I'm not sure Caron would want to talk with me.” She pushed her chair away from the table. “Enough talking about the past. If we're going to look at wedding dresses, then we need to stop sitting around here.”

“Oh, we're definitely shopping for dresses, girlfriend. I want to have fun trying them on before I'm showing.”

“Good point.”

“I thought so.” Mindy linked their arms together. “But then, I am your matron of honor. Thanks for asking me, Vanessa.”

Vanessa shared a half-hug with her friend. “No—thank you for saying yes, Mindy. Having you as part of the wedding is perfect.”

“Because I led you to the inn, right?”

“No. Because every bride wants her best friend there when she gets married.”

Life is a challenge. Meet it.

—MOTHER TERESA (1910–1997), FOUNDER OF THE MISSIONARIES OF CHARITY

T
he Gulf waves clamored against the shore, as if warning anyone walking along the beach of the incoming hurricane. Surfers created a staggered chorus line. Some paddled out toward the building waves while others faced shoreward, balancing on their surfboards, intent on conquering the challenge of balance, force, and motion.

“So, are you ready to go home?”

Julie's question tugged Logan's attention away from the surfers. If only he was wearing a pair of boardshorts and had hauled his board out of his parents' garage. He'd join the locals—take on the challenge. As one surfer wiped out, he acknowledged Julie's question.

“Do you mean am I packed?”

“Not exactly—although, sure, we all need to be packed before our flight tomorrow.” She moved closer to the waves, so that the water reached above her ankles. “But I was wondering how you were doing after seeing Vanessa.”

“Oh. That.”

“Yes.
That
.” Julie turned her back on the waves, hands on her hips. “Logan, why aren't you two still married?”

“Because we're divorced—”

“But why? It's obvious you still love her.”

“Julie, why are we having this conversation now?”

“I remember what you were like right after the divorce—the look on your face.” Julie stopped walking, anchoring her feet in the sand beneath the water. “You looked lost. I haven't seen that look in years . . . until now.”

Maybe Max wasn't so far off when he called Jules “Mom.” She saw too much. “We couldn't make our relationship work. Too much pressure. Not enough time together. I thought we were managing the long-distance relationship okay, but we had a fight and we couldn't figure out a way to forgive each other. To get past it. All of it.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe seeing Vanessa again is your second chance?”

“If this was some sort of chick flick, sure. But it's not.” Over Julie's shoulder, one of the surfers caught a wave for just a moment—perfect—and then tumbled into the Gulf. “One random meeting doesn't bridge eight years of silence. And it wasn't like we even had a real conversation the other night. She ran off.”

Again. Vanessa had run off
again
.

Brady splashed through the waves alongside them. “Don't mean to interrupt, but I think Max is about done with all the sand and surf.” He pointed to where Max had settled onto the sand, his crutches lying next to him. “Let's have a little mercy on the guy, huh?”

“I can go sit with Max if you two want to hang a little longer.” Julie ran out of the water and onto the beach, sending droplets of water onto Logan and Brady.

“That's okay.” Logan turned to follow her. “I'm about done here.”

“Last time I checked, our flight was still good to go for tomorrow.” Brady's footsteps kicked up bits of sand behind him. “I'll double-check again in the morning.”