Fools Rush In (22 page)

I smiled as I pondered her nickname for me, the one she used only in very special circumstances. Just as quickly, the smile faded. Thinking back on last night’s fiasco, I wanted to pull the covers over my head and hide for a week or two.

“Come on now.” She approached the bed and smiled at me. “Surely you’re not going to let a little thing like what happened last night keep you from moving forward. Things happen, Bella. Things happen.”

Yes. Things happened. To me. A lot. Strange things. Things that didn’t happen to anyone else I knew. And I had the oddest feeling stranger things lay ahead. So staying under the covers might just be my best option.

“Laz feels terrible about letting Guido out of his cage,” Mama said with a sigh. “He didn’t mean any harm. He said he thought the fresh air would do the poor little bird good.”

“The poor little bird?” I just shook my head, unable to think of anything sensible to say.

“Aw, c’mon, bambina. Forgive and forget. That’s what we’re called to do. And today is a new day, after all.”

After a few more words of reassurance from my mama, I started to feel better about my life and its strange coincidences. She left the room, and I took the time to reach for my Bible, determined not to let yesterday’s events determine today’s attitude. So what if everything had crumbled around me last night? So what if D.J.’s parents thought I was a nutcase? There were worse things, right?

I stumbled from Scripture to Scripture, finally landing on just the right one: “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything, by prayer and supplication, make your requests known.” Laz’s favorite verse resonated once again, and I finally felt a sense of relief sweep over me. Still, how could I lay down every anxiety? The way things were going, I’d lay one down and another one would pop up. I felt like my life had morphed into a never-ending arcade game with no win in sight.

Clutching the Bible, I closed my eyes for some alone time with God. I prayed for the bride and groom, that their day would be perfect. I prayed for my parents, that they’d be able to rest easy and enjoy the day. I even offered up a special prayer for Guido. And for Sal. That done, I offered up a quick prayer that the Neeley family would see fit to forgive me for last night’s bizarre and unexpected antics.

After praying, I rose from the bed and showered, then dressed for the day in some cute shorts and a Galveston-themed T-shirt. I’d be changing later tonight into a denim skirt and Western shirt, one I’d purchased especially for this occasion. Jenna had even loaned me a hat, though I wasn’t sure I could bring myself to put it on.

Only one thing remained undone. I stared down at the pair of cowboy boots I’d selected from the front hall batch. They were cute, I had to admit. Brown leather against pink. They matched my pink country-western shirt and had a great boot-scootin’ feel about them. But, cowboy boots? Could I really do it?

Just for fun, I slipped them on, then primped a bit in front of the full-length mirror. Sophia chose that moment to stick her head in the door. “Hey, Bella, can I borrow your—” She never finished the sentence. Instead, her gaze shifted to my feet. “You’re wearing boots.”

I shrugged. “Don’t know if I can do it tonight, but I’m trying them on for size. Gotta see if they fit.”

“They do. It’s just like Cinderella.”

“What?”

“You know. If the boot fits . . .”

“Then the Texas cowboy version of Prince Charming will sweep me away to wedded bliss?”

She nodded and reality hit. These boots symbolized a lot more than just a country-western themed wedding. If I committed to wear them, I’d be making a statement. I was ready for change. Ready to embrace something new. Different. Ready to Texas Two-Step my way into D.J.’s arms.

If he still wanted me after Guido had stolen his father’s hair.

Sophia continued to stare, worry etched in her brow. “I’m not sure the boots go with your shorts, though.”

She left the room, and I took off the boots and set them to the side, reaching for my sandals. There would be plenty of time to contemplate the boots later.

As I entered the hallway, I heard Guido’s raspy voice ring out from inside Uncle Laz’s room. I rapped on the door, and he answered with a look of chagrin on his face. “Bella, about last night—”

I put my hand up. “No. Don’t worry about it. What’s done is done. Today we start fresh.”

“Guido has something he wants to tell you.” Laz took me by the hand and practically dragged me across the room. “Go ahead, Guido, tell her.”

The featherless bird warbled out something that almost sounded like, “Sorry, Charlie!” and I had to laugh.

“Did you teach him that?”

“We worked on it till after midnight. It’s the least I can do.”

With outstretched arms, Laz pleaded silently for my forgiveness. I slipped into his embrace and heard him praying over me in Italian, asking the Lord to bring peace. To grant my every wish on this fine day. And to make the wedding facility a success.

I stepped back and brushed the tears from my eyes. “I love you, Uncle Laz.”

“Love you too, kiddo.” He planted a kiss on my cheek, then glanced at his watch. “I’m supposed to be at the restaurant, helping Jenna and Marcella. But I’m going to stop off next door and see how those Neeley boys are doing with the barbecue first.”

“Me too. I’ll be over there in a few minutes.”

He headed off on his way, and I stopped to chat with my mother, who sat on the stool in her bathroom, going through the usual morning makeup routine. She took more time than usual this morning—probably needing to erase the worry lines from last night.

At exactly 9:30, I headed downstairs to catch up with the boys next door. I’d almost made it to the bottom of the stairs when the doorbell rang. My heart flew into my throat when I saw D.J.’s mom standing there. Visions of Mr. Neeley’s toupee in Guido’s beak flashed through my memory, and I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could somehow have a do-over. Had Earline come to give me a piece of her mind, perhaps? Was she hoping to dissuade me from dating her son? Or had she decided to ask us to pay for the damages to her husband’s hair?

Ushering her inside, I once again offered profuse apologies for Guido’s behavior, hoping my heartfelt words would win her over. She shushed me, then reached into her purse to pull out a stack of bright pink CD cases, which she handed me with a relaxed smile as she offered up an explanation. “A couple of months back, Pastor Higley preached a series called ‘Taming the Tongue.’ After some prayer on the matter, I decided Guido needed to hear the sermons. They’re arranged according to date, so they should be easy to follow. And the topics are most assuredly appropriate.”

I stared in disbelief as she flipped through the six CDs, which she promised would change Guido’s life forever. Was I the only one who hadn’t yet climbed on the “let’s get Guido saved” bandwagon? Was the Lord trying to send me a message? Was it really possible to rehabilitate a bird and thereby minister to his owner?

“You just give this situation to the Lord, Bella,” Earline said with an affirming nod. “He cares for the birds of the air and the fish of the sea. And he loves you even more. And by the way . . .” Her eyes filled with tears as she finished. “I think you’re just wonderful, darlin’. Don’t you fret one little bit about what happened last night.”

Relief swept over me, and I reached to give her a hug.

After releasing me from her embrace, Earline reached into her purse and pulled out a tiny slip of paper. Pressing it into my hand, she said, “Memorize this Scripture. Trust God for a new season.”

I opened the paper and read, “The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come. Song of Solomon 2:12.”

I glanced back at Earline, curious as to its meaning. She gave me a wink, and I had the strongest feeling the verse—at least her interpretation of it—had nothing to do with Guido. No, Earline was trying to tell me something altogether different. She somehow recognized the fact that the Lord was shifting me into a new season.

Suddenly, reality hit again. Like Guido, I’d spent my whole life in the confines of a tiny little cage—aka the Rossi clan. I knew little outside the realm of my own family. But now, with D.J. in the picture, the Lord was symbolically opening the door to my little cage and asking me to spread my wings and fly a little. Could I? Would I?

A girlish giggle rose up as I pictured myself flying straight into D.J.’s arms.

Earline chose that moment to wrap me in another motherly hug, one that felt quite comfortable. She finally released her hold, and I saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes again. “I’m headed next door to check on my boys,” she announced. “Want to come with me?”

“Do I ever!”

We followed our flared nostrils to the brisket on the far side of the lawn. Bubba stood to the side of the fire pit, stirring the massive pot of southwestern beans. I gave an admiring whistle, which caught his attention. “This looks great, Bubba. I feel like I’m on the wagon train, waiting for my chuck wagon supper.”

He smiled his response. “Well, that’s high praise, Bella. Thanks.” His cheeks flushed pink. Actually, they’d been pink all along. It was ninety-five degrees outside, after all. Still, he didn’t look bothered by that fact.

For the first time, I noticed his apron with words S
HADE
T
REE
C
OOKERS
on the front, and the tagline S
PLENDIFEROUS
B
ARBECUE FROM
S
PLENDORA,
T
EXAS
, underneath. I couldn’t help but smile, especially when D.J. appeared at my side. He slipped his arm around my waist, and I melted into his embrace.

“You’re still speaking to me?” I whispered.

“Well, of course.” He looked baffled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I started to give him a list of all the reasons he should turn and run all the way back to Splendora, but I stopped myself short. I did somehow manage to squeak out a weak response. “For starters, my bird stole your dad’s hair. And then there’s the part where my uncle raised your mother from the dead.”

At this, D.J. laughed long and loud, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Well, at least he’s got a sense of humor about it.

“My dad and that toupee.” D.J. grinned. “We’ve been trying to talk him into going without it for years now, but his pride wouldn’t let him. Likely this’ll do the trick. And as for Laz raising my mother from the dead, well, I should be thanking him. We witnessed a miracle, you know.” D.J. gave me a wink, and my heart melted.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” I whispered, leaning my head against his shoulder.

“You’re doing just fine.” He pulled me a bit closer and placed a few tender kisses along my hairline.

Uncle Laz appeared and muttered a teasing “Hey, no PDA, you two,” and D.J. and I each took a small step back. My uncle shifted his attention to the fire underneath the beans, and his pleasant demeanor took a turn for the worse. “It’s not hot enough.” He spoke to Bubba like one would scold a child. “Those beans are going to be half-cooked if we don’t get a better flame going.”

“No, sir. It’s fine like it is.” Bubba’s response was more Southern gentleman than harried chef. “This ain’t my first rodeo.” He added a playful wink.

When Laz gave him a curious look, D.J. offered an explanation. “He’s just saying he’s done this dozens of times before, Mr. Rossi. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah.” Bubba nodded. “The coals are nice and white, just like they need to be. And I’ve banked them, so they’re plenty hot.” He pointed at the bottom of the pit to prove his point.

Laz grunted, then went over to the smoker to check the meat. I looked at Bubba apologetically and shrugged. “He’s used to being the one in charge. Sorry.”

“No problem. I understand.”

A plume of smoke rose from the open smoker just as my uncle’s voice rang out again. “I think this brisket is getting dried out. Come and have a look.”

To his credit, Bubba didn’t respond right away. Instead, he drew in a deep breath, then walked over to the fifty-five-gallon drum smoker. After a quick look inside, he assured Laz everything was moving according to plan. “I’ve kept the temperature at 220 since five this morning. We’re in great shape. The food will be cooked perfectly, I promise.”

Laz muttered,
“Troppi cuochi guastano la cucina,”
under his breath. I knew the translation, of course: “Too many cooks spoil the broth.” But I said nothing. Instead, I offered the Splendora team an encouraging smile and thanked them for their hard work. Laz took that as his cue to head back to Parma John’s to help Jenna with the appetizers and side dishes.

The rest of the afternoon sailed by. I found myself strangely calm as the undeniable presence of God swept over me, removing any lingering anxieties. After giving the facility a thorough once-over, I made sure the linens on every table were spotless and wrinkle free. Then I spent some time fussing over the head table, all the while trying to imagine what it would look like once the bridal party was seated. That done, I set out the chafing dishes and the punch bowl and checked our ice supply.

At 3:00, I watched with trepidation as Mama and Aunt Rosa carried the wedding cake into the reception hall and pieced the layers together. That done, Rosa touched up a couple of spots with the cream cheese frosting, then pulled out the decorating tips, and the party began. My, but that woman could make a simple cake look like something out of a magazine. Using perfectly white buttercream, she added her own unique reverse shell technique around the edges of each layer, then began to place some intricate scrollwork on the sides of each cake. Maybe one of these days she would teach me her tricks.

We all laughed when Mama added the cake topper—one Sharlene had specially selected with a cowgirl bride lassoing a cowboy groom. Sometimes a picture really does paint a thousand words. We stood back and examined the whole cake, now complete. I gave a little whistle, and Mama nodded.

“It’s a little uneven on the back,” Rosa said, walking around the table. “But I don’t think anyone will notice.”

“Uneven? Rosa, it’s perfect.”