Never the Bride (13 page)

“I am! I can’t catch my breath! I think I’m having a heart attack. My chest hurts.”

“Do you want me to call 911? Or should I take you to the ER? Do you even have medical insurance anymore?”

I look at her over the paper bag that is rapidly deflating and inflating. I’m pretty certain my insurance continues for a month or so, but right now nothing seems sure.

“I can take you to the free clinic. I go there all the time when I need my birth-control pills filled.”

I roll my eyes and try to get a grip. The last place I want to end up is at a clinic. I close my eyes and…pray
God, please help me.
Slowly, I feel myself calming down. Brooklyn looks tense.

“I’m fine,” I say.

“You’re not helping my confidence level here,” she says. “I mean, you’re actually making me feel like I might need to go out and get a real job.” She pulls back onto the road, driving slowly.

“Look, Brooklyn, give me a break, okay? This is a big thing for me.”

“I’m just not used to seeing you, like, freaked out.” She glances at me a few times.

I grip the door handle. “I’m not freaked out. I’m having a normal response to the job equivalent of jumping off a cliff. I’m fine now. Did you get the sign ordered?”

“I think so.”

“You think so?” I neatly fold the McDonald’s sack in my lap.

“I placed the order. I mean, that’s what you told me to do.”

“Turn here,” I say, pointing toward Waverly Street.

“Why?”

“Because we need to go to the grocery store. I hope you like ramen noodles.”

“Come on, it’s time to hang the sign in the window!” Malia yells. “It just arrived!” Brooklyn is separating her eyelashes with a paper clip. I’m writing out a deposit slip. I drop everything and rush to Malia, who is at the front of the store.

“Thank goodness,” I say. “That took forever.” A whole week to be exact. In the meantime, we’d been arranging our little corner in Malia’s.

We stand at the large plate-glass window that has been rearranged to include fewer floral arrangements and knickknacks to make room for our sign. Malia is pulling the sign out of the box, but it takes the three of us to get it out. Malia threads the hook with hearty rope, and we hoist it up.

Together the three of us steady and secure it.

“Come on!” Malia squeals. “Let’s go outside and take a look!”

We file outside and stand in front of her store. It actually takes
my breath away. Carved from wood, with fancy lettering, it’s painted in vivid, romantic colors: Stone Serenades.

“I like it,” Brooklyn says. “It really stands out here in the window.”

“It does!” Malia says, squeezing both of us into sideways hugs. “I can remember when both of you were born! Now look! Your own business.”

I smile, but inside I’m quivering. Maybe it’s excitement. Or nerves. Or both. I don’t know. It just seems strange for my name to be on something. For me to
own
it. A feeling of pride rushes over me. Momentarily.

“You okay, hon?” Malia asks me.

“Yes, fine. Exciting, right? Really, really—really!—exciting.”

Malia checks her watch. “Time to open up shop! You girls ready?”

Brooklyn and I look at each other and grin. “Ready!”

Two hours later, I’ve rearranged our little area eight times. We have business cards, fliers, a cute floral arrangement to warm the counter up, and three different forms for our men to fill out. But no men. I decide to lay three feather pens out for them to use, just for the sake of irony. If a feather pen can’t write for me, at least it can write for someone. I can only assume God sees and appreciates the selflessness of it all.

Brooklyn has spent the last hour redoing her makeup and separating her lashes, again, one by one with a paper clip. She’s now studying herself in a tiny compact mirror, pushing at the skin under her eyes. “Seriously. Six pounds of groceries could fit in these bags. Do I look old?”

I look to Malia, who is sitting behind her counter reading a Harlequin novel. “Malia, does my sister need to be committed to the convalescent home?”

“I hear there are a lot of single men there.” Malia smiles, then goes back to reading.

“Funny,”
Brooklyn huffs, snapping her compact closed. “Look, it’s going to take me awhile to get on this new schedule. I mean, eight o’clock in the morning? It’s the crack of freakin’ dawn.”

Malia and I exchange knowing glances.

“And where are the customers, exactly?” Brooklyn asks. “And why isn’t there a coffee shop closer?”

“It’s going to take some time,” I say. “A lot of this is going to be word of mouth. Right, Malia?”

“That’s how my business grew. A few loyal customers recommended me to their friends.”

“We just need to make a good impression,” I say, “so that’s why you, flopped over the counter like you’re dead, are worrying me.”

Brooklyn groans. “As soon as that bell chimes, I promise I’ll be chipper and lovely. Until then, let me rest.”

I check my watch. “This is probably a good time to show you this. I special ordered it for you.”

Brooklyn’s head jolts up. “A gift?”

“Not exactly.” I pull out a box from under the counter, open it, and remove a stuffed bunny suit. Holding it up, I wiggle it to try to get another expression to come to Brooklyn’s face. But it’s total deadpan.

“What is that?” she asks, her voice low.

“It’s a bunny suit.”

“I can see that. Halloween is months away, and usually I go as a witch.”

“Look, we need some gimmicks, okay? Something to get people to come in. A cute girl in a bunny suit, standing on the corner of the—”

“I don’t think so!” Brooklyn says, grabbing the suit and throwing it on the counter like it’s a real rodent. “And why would you buy a bunny suit? Shouldn’t we have a cupid or a heart or something?”

“Look, money is tight and the bunny was on clearance. Just hear me out,” I say as Malia comes over to see what’s going on. “You’re an actress, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“And the one thing that Gary said drew you to him was that you were willing to tackle tough roles?”

Brooklyn puts her hands on her hips and narrows her eyes. “Uh-huh…”

“This is your moment to shine, Brook. I mean, our business depends on it. We have to bring in customers or we’ll have no income. Do you get what I’m saying?”

She is standing there, arms crossed now, not saying a word.

“Let me put it to you this way. If we don’t get some customers coming in, you’re going to be forced to buy Cover Girl makeup and use hair products from Wal-Mart.”

Growling, she snatches the bunny suit off the counter. “Fine!” she says. “But I’m not doing this all day!”

I nod my head energetically. “A couple of hours, tops. When the traffic is heavy out there. And listen, I heard this is how Jessica Simpson got discovered.” Totally making that up, but I gotta feed her a bone. It seems to work.

“I can play it up, believe me. Before we know it, we’ll have a ton of gorgeous guys coming in. Now, can I take my lunch break, please?”

I check my watch. It’s barely after ten. “Yeah. Go on. I’ll hold down the fort and try to keep all these gorgeous men at bay, okay?”

Brooklyn grabs her purse. “Not that I’m complaining, but opening this business is no way to remedy singleness. Every single gorgeous man who enters these doors is going to be in love with someone else.”

I watch Brooklyn fly out the front door. I sit back down on my stool, pondering her words as I stroke the bunny suit. I actually hadn’t thought of
that.

Terrific. So I’m in a life-or-death-and-taxes job that I took on to be obedient to God, and there’s absolutely no chance of meeting my Prince Charming.

I realize I’m choking the bunny. I need some dark chocolate.
Now.

I know I am sleeping well when I open my eyes and I’m on my back. Any other position tends to signal some sort of nightmare or a battle with stress-induced insomnia. This morning I am on my back, but for some reason, my eyes fly open like I’ve just experienced something terrifying.

“Ah!” I scramble backward and grab my sheets. My head hits the wall.

“Morning, sunshine.” God smiles.

I catch my breath—only to feel slightly embarrassed to be caught sleeping in. My guilty conscience is kicking in again. “It’s Sunday. My day to sleep in.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince myself or Him.

“Correction. Your day to go to My house. Legally this time.” He sits on the edge of my bed. “The pastor dropped the charges and has been praying for you. The least you can do is say hello.”

I groan and cover my head with the sheet. When I peek out, He’s
still there, tapping my purple pen against the nightstand He’s perched on. Yes. He’s actually sitting on my nightstand, His legs curled up to His chest, holding the clock, the only thing on the table.

“I had a dream about You last night.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t pretend You don’t know everything.”

He laughs. He actually gets my jokes. That’s funny. “So you’re talking about the one where you want to have Me incarcerated?”

I nod.

“And you’re the judge, plaintiff, and lawyer?”

“Uh, yes.” I throw the sheets off, and my feet hit the floor.

He hops off the nightstand and starts making my bed. “I kind of liked the part where I, acting as My own defense attorney, dump all those purple pens out on the table as evidence.”

“Yeah. Hysterical.” I wiggle my feet into my slippers and move to the other side of the bed to help Him. “I am upset. You’ve put me in a position of meeting only unavailable men.”

“Nothing is impossible with Me. Now, come on. Time to get ready.” He gestures toward the bathroom. I go in and grab my toothbrush.

“You know,” I call through the open door, “it didn’t go so well at the shop. We didn’t have any customers. Not a single one. We could use some help, especially since all this was Your idea. Did I mention I won’t have health insurance anymore?”

God pokes His head around the corner. “Listen, I have to go. Sunday school is starting.” He smiles. “I’m just messing with you. I can be in more than one place at a time.” I laugh. “But I should let you get ready. Make sure you say hello to Pastor Landry got it?”

I pull the toothbrush out of my mouth. “Yeah, sure. Fine. Hi to Pastor Lan—wait a minute. He has a son, doesn’t he? My age, right?” I smile at the mirror. “Did his son grow into a hottie? Still single?”

God calls out, “See you there. And don’t forget Brooklyn.”

“I just can’t believe you’re being this mean!” Brooklyn’s wearing a dress, but it’s got a length problem. It would barely pass at a bar.

I put on my blinker and turn toward the church. “I’m not trying to be mean, Sis. We need to go. Mom and Dad went and they took us. Don’t you remember that?”

Brooklyn presses her cheek up against the glass. “All I remember is that I worked my butt off this week and I just want to sleep
in.”

“You can take a nap this afternoon. Until then, I need you to take this seriously. We need a lot of help from upstairs.” I smile. “Plus, I hear it’s a great place to meet guys.”

“Ugh. That doesn’t sound fun. Really, it doesn’t.”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I mean, guys that get up on Sunday morning and go to church are at the very least responsible.”

“Whatever. We’ve never liked the same kind of guy anyway.” She slouches in the passenger seat.

I pull into the church parking lot. It is packed with cars, but I see a sign: Visitor Parking. Perfect. I pull in and open the car door.

“Come on, let’s go.”

We both get out of the car. Brooklyn, irritated as she stuffs her compact into her sequined silver bag that moonlights as a disco ball,
trails behind me. “You’re shocking my system. This is a lot of change. I mean, I’m happy you quit your job and everything, but you’re kind of dragging me into your nightmare.”

“Trust me. You don’t know the half of it.” I gaze up at the church, bright white and beautiful. Amazing what a little sunshine can do. I glance at Brooklyn. “Now shut up and try to look a little less immature.”

“You can’t say ‘shut up’ in church.”

I’m about to smack her with my denim purse when a deacon opens the door for us. “Welcome.”

“Thank you,” I say, smiling pleasantly as I take a bulletin with a dove on it. I stop in the foyer, and Brooklyn comes up beside me.

“Wonder if you’re famous.”

I smile and nod at strangers as I whisper, “Shut up!” to my sister.

“You’re going to make God mad with that foul mouth of yours.”

“Nobody’s going to recognize—”

“Jessie Stone!”

We both whip around. There is Pastor Landry arms open wide. He is wearing his black pastor’s robe and a look of delight. “Pastor Landry,” I say quietly. “Hello.”

He reaches in for a hug. I pat him lightly on the back. “I haven’t seen you since the funeral.” He steps back and looks me up and down.

“I know. I’m sorry. And sorry about the other night too.”

“No need to explain,” he smiles.

Thank God. Literally.

“And who is this?” he asks, holding out a hand to Brooklyn.

“My sister, Brooklyn.”

“Brooklyn! My goodness, sweetheart, you’re a grown woman now! It’s hard to believe so much time has passed.”

Suddenly, a man appears next to the pastor. He attempts a smile three times before it finally pops through. His cheeks flush right there in front of us like he’s just done vodka shots. He keeps trying to make eye contact but doesn’t manage to. Now he’s staring at Brooklyn’s rhinestone stilettos.

“Do you remember my son, Gavin?”

“Hi, Gavin. How are you?” I say.

“Yes,” he answers.

“Oh, uh, good.” I look back at Pastor Landry who is grinning enough for both of them. “Gavin here is in charge of marketing at the church.”

“Marketing? For a church?”

Gavin nods. “Yes. We put up billboards, send out postcards, and actually walk neighborhoods to invite people to come.”

“Seems to be working. Looks like you’ve got a full house.”

Pastor Landry takes my hand. “Jessie, anytime you want in, no problem.”

Gavin finally makes eye contact with me. “I’ll unlock your door…I mean, our door…for you anytime.”