Crazy Little Thing Called Love Page 6

  “Meaning you’re not eighteen anymore?”

  “Exactly.”

  “So why is Destin so important to your fiancé?”

  Of course Mindy had to ask. And Vanessa would tell her the truth. If she didn’t now, it would come out sometime later. “We’re mixing a bit of wedding pleasure with medical business.”

  Mindy tilted her head, her hair framing her face. “And what does that mean exactly?”

  “Ted’s attending a medical conference at the hotel the week after our wedding.” Vanessa focused on the puppy’s sweet face. “He’s a very practical kind of guy—and he’s always scrambling for time to go to medical conferences. And a destination wedding will be smaller than the one we were planning in Colorado, so it will cost less. See? Practical.”

  “Makes sense.”

  And once again, Mindy came through for her.

  “So, let’s get some details down.” Mindy reached for her cake again. “The most important thing first, of course. When is the wedding?”

  “Next April.”

  Mindy slumped back against the couch. “April? When in April?”

  “The first week. Why?” Vanessa’s hand stilled on the puppy’s fur. “Is that a problem?”

  “Kind of.” Mindy pressed a hand against her abdomen. “I’m pregnant.”

  But I’m desperate. Vanessa pressed her lips together to keep from speaking the insensitive thought out loud.

  “How pregnant are you . . . I mean, when are you due?”

  “The middle of March.”

  “The middle of . . .”

  It looked as if Mindy’s pregnancy trumped her need for a matron of honor after all.

  “Wait a minute . . . if you really want me to be your matron of honor—”

  “I do, Mindy. You’re my . . . best friend. But I didn’t know you were pregnant.” How could she, when she’d been so unavailable? And how to explain to Mindy that it wasn’t because she didn’t want to be friends—real friends? She just didn’t know how to do the whole “friends forever” thing.

  She didn’t believe in it.

  And Vanessa couldn’t tell Mindy that she was the only person she could ask. But her friend probably knew the truth.

  Mindy licked frosting off her fork. “My mom always delivered early—four kids, and each one of us at least a week early. And my sister Ginger—you remember her? She had a baby two years ago. And he was born two whole weeks before her due date. So, the odds are I’ll go early—maybe even the first week of March. No problem.”

  No problem. Right. More like no other option.

  “Mindy, I don’t want to pressure you like this—”

  “Are you kidding me? You’re getting married again. And I get to be in the wedding. Do you think I’m going to miss this? I can always ask my doctor to induce me early. And you’ve heard of Spanx, right? I’ll fit in whatever dress you pick out for me.”

  “You’re an amazing friend.” Vanessa pulled Mindy to her in a half hug, still cradling the now-sleeping puppy. “And you’re pregnant !”

  “I know . . . how crazy is that? Jett keeps telling me if we can manage puppies, we’ll do fine with a baby.”

  “You’re going to be a mom. I’m getting married again. Look at us—all sorts of dreams are coming true.”

  “So what do your parents think? They’re happy for you, right?”

  “Yes. Absolutely.” Vanessa released the squirming puppy and got comfortable on the couch again.

  “You have told them, right?”

  “Of course. There are no surprises with this wedding, believe me.”

  “So what did your mother say?”

  “She wanted to know why I wasn’t getting married in Montana—as if that was home or something. Just because my parents retired there doesn’t require me to have my wedding in Great Falls.”

  “True.” Mindy motioned to the dessert sitting on the coffee table. “Eat your cake, but keep talking. So what did she think of your Florida destination wedding?”

  Traces of their conversation the night before she left Montana intruded on the conversation.

  “You’re getting married again? In Destin?” Her mother paused, her hand suspended above the latest quilt she was working on. “Ted knows about your first . . . wedding?”

  “Well, we both know that wasn’t a real ceremony.” Vanessa would say it before her mother. Beat her to the verbal punch. “And Logan and I were married in Alabama, not Destin.”

  The past, which Vanessa tried so hard to keep behind her, hung between them.

  Her mother was the first to step away from the simmering tension. “Well, fine, then. Maybe you know what you’re doing.”

  Not exactly a vote of confidence. Was Vanessa going to be forever branded by what had happened ten years ago?

  “Hey, where’d you go?” Mindy snapped her fingers in front of Vanessa’s face.

  “What? Sorry . . . My mom’s a bit preoccupied with my dad’s recovery right now. I promised to keep her updated on the wedding details.”

  “Details—which brings us back to me being your matron of honor. Do we have time to go shopping for dresses while you’re here?”

  “You mean a dress for you? I guess so.”

  “For me—and you, too. What else are you doing?”

  “I have a list in my purse.”

  “Hand it over, girlfriend.” Vanessa giggled at Mindy’s elaborate hand gesture. Back in high school, Mindy’s friendliness had somehow slipped past Vanessa’s protective barrier. For some reason, the girl wanted to be her friend back then—and still wanted to be her friend now all these years later. “Your matron of honor needs to have a look-see.”

  • • •

  Mindy was the next-best thing to a fairy godmother stepping out of a children’s book and into her life.

  Now that Vanessa knew Mindy’s secret superpower was organization, Vanessa could have her talk to the hotel wedding coordinator and the florist. She’d nibbled on another sliver of carrot cake while her friend powered up her laptop and transferred the wedding to-do’s to an Excel spreadsheet, fine-tuning it with an online wedding checklist—and one for the matron of honor—creating a shared Dropbox folder labeled HOLLISTER-TOPLIFF WEDDING.

  They discussed flower options. Clothing options for Ted and his best man. Dress styles for her and Mindy, even pinning a few options on a Pinterest board. Decided on a late afternoon wedding—despite Mindy’s pleadings for a sunset ceremony on the beach. But no matter how much Mindy begged, Vanessa vetoed the idea of walking toward Ted as he stood against the backdrop of a brilliant sun setting into the horizon.

  She couldn’t bring herself to explain to Mindy that a decade ago, she and Logan had daydreamed about a second wedding ceremony—this time with family and friends celebrating with them—saying their vows on the beach just as the blaze of the sun seemed to extinguish itself in the Gulf.

  So even though Mindy had tempted her by showing her the Henderson Park Inn’s website, Vanessa resisted. Still, her newly appointed matron of honor scrolled through the different wedding packages, the photos, all the while suggesting Vanessa and Ted consider the Destin bed-and-breakfast for their wedding site. The thought of privacy—no medical colleagues, no conference sponsor booths—did appeal to Vanessa. All she had to do was convince her much-too-practical fiancé to change his mind about a two-for-the-price-of-one wedding venue.

  With yet another slice of carrot cake stored in a disposable container—and declining the offer of a puppy—Vanessa hugged Mindy goodbye and headed back toward Destin.

  It wasn’t until she turned the rental car off John Sims Parkway onto Edgewater Drive that Vanessa admitted she’d intended to drive past her old home all along.

  “Another way of saying goodbye.” She nodded at her reflection in the rearview mirror. “Drive by the house, see how it’s changed.”

  Cruising along the quiet street, she slowed the car to almost a complete stop but allowed it to roll past the long driveway leading to th
e house, which was hidden by a tangle of old magnolia trees and wild underbrush. Putting the car in park, Vanessa stared straight ahead.

  What was she going to do? Trespass?

  Maybe no one was home. She could walk part of the way up the driveway—far enough to see the house. And then she’d leave. One more door closed on that part of her life. It wasn’t as if the house were significant to her. She’d lived in it less than a year. And with all the moves her family had made, she wasn’t one to return to those places in her past for any reason, much less sentimental ones.

  Even with the cooler fall weather, humidity still crowded the air, accompanied by the familiar ongoing hum of insects. A smile curved her lips. How Rylan used to love to capture the green lizards that lived outside their house—much to their mother’s horror. And when one managed to find its way into the shower, they all came running at their mother’s screams, only to stop outside her locked bedroom door. And laugh.

  Vanessa took the driveway as if security cameras were wired in every tree branch. She was being ridiculous. She wasn’t stealing anything—except a look at the house she’d lived in when she was eighteen.

  In the distance, a boat roared across the bayou, probably towing a die-hard water-skier. The scent of grilled fish floated on the breeze. Good. Maybe the home owners were out back, enjoying an early dinner on the porch that ran the length of the house, not sitting in the living room, watching for someone to come skulking up the driveway.

  A few more steps and the house came into view, now painted a soft moss-green so that it blended into the surroundings, off-white shutters bracketing the windows, the front porch painted white with coordinating green trim.

  See? The house didn’t even look the same anymore.

  But if she stood still for just a moment or two and closed her eyes, inhaled the moist air laden with the scent of grass and grilled fish and the faint sounds of someone laughing . . .

  She remembered all the times Logan had brought her home from school . . . sitting on the porch, her daddy in one of the rockers, while she chose the other, and her father talking about the latest history book he’d read . . . how her mother would come to the door and say dinner was ready, sometimes inviting Logan to join them . . . and after dinner Rylan would ask Logan for a ride on his motorcycle . . .

  And then all of that was ruined.

  “Worst mistake you ever made.”

  All these years later, the echo of her mother’s words could still reduce Vanessa to an uncertain eighteen-year-old newlywed.

  Fine. After all this time, she was not going to change her mother’s mind about what had happened. But she’d made her choice for a reason . . . for reasons. Good ones.

  Even if in the end she’d had to agree with her mother that she’d made a mistake.

  Enough of this. She was ruining a good day by standing here staring at a house that meant nothing, nothing at all, to her. She returned to the car without a single backward glance, her half boots scuffing on the cement.

  But once she was at the car, her hand stayed on the door handle.

  Was she really going to be this close—and drive off without saying hello to the two people who had made Niceville seem a little like home?

  The Wrights had lived two houses down from her parents and had become adopted grandparents to Vanessa and Rylan. Between glasses of lemonade and homemade cookies—and Mr. Wright’s outrageous white cockatiel named Mr. Chips—her parents had a challenge keeping Vanessa and Rylan from dumping their schoolbooks and heading straight for the Wrights’ every day—and Logan liked to join them, too.

  Leaving the rental car, Vanessa walked the short distance to the Wrights’ home, listening for the familiar barks of Mrs. Wright’s two beloved papillons. Only the peal of the doorbell broke the silence.

  Was she being foolish? Most likely the couple who had provided just a bit of what she’d longed for—lemonade on their back porch and the welcoming love of proxy-grandparents—never even thought of her anymore. Or maybe they’d moved.

  But when the door swung open, Mrs. Wright stood before her—older, of course, her white hair a mere wisp of a cloud framing her face, her once-sparkling gray eyes dimmed.

  “Yes?”

  “Mrs. Wright? It’s me, Vanessa Hollister—from down the street?”

  “Who?”

  “Vanessa?” See—this was what happened when you moved away—people forgot you. How could Vanessa jog Mrs. Wright’s memory? “I used to walk Mollie and Maggie for you.”

  “Vanessa!” Mrs. Wright pulled the door wide open, her eyes lighting. “Well, my word! Look at you! Come in, girl. Come in!”

  As Vanessa stepped over the threshold into the dark foyer, Mrs. Wright hugged her, thin arms pulling her close. Within seconds the fragrance of rose and orange blossom wrapped around her, the elderly woman’s signature scent. Vanessa had begged her mother to help her buy Mrs. Wright a small bottle of Red Door perfume for Christmas, promising to clean the minivan every month for a year to pay her back.

  “How are you, Mrs. Wright?”

  “I’m just fine. Come on in here and say hello to Mr. Wright. We were just finishing up a late lunch.” The woman’s white slippers scuffed along the wood floor. “You want some lemonade?”

  Vanessa had grown up learning just how quickly things could change. But Mrs. Wright’s offer of lemonade brought an unexpected rush of tears to her eyes. How many glasses of the tart, cold drink had she consumed on their back porch? “Yes, please. That sounds delicious.”

  Mrs. Wright’s oil paintings still decorated the walls leading to the kitchen. It, too, was unchanged, decorated in cheery yellow, the windows hung with blue and white gingham curtains.

  “We’re out on the enclosed porch today. Mr. Wright likes it out there.”

  Out of habit, Vanessa braced herself for the yips of two little dogs as they came bounding to greet her, but only Mr. Wright was in the screened-in room.

  His tall, lanky frame sat slumped in a chair, a wooden TV tray to one side, a plate of food left untouched, the chicken patty and green beans cut into pieces. A Miami Dolphins ball cap covered his head, and he wore his slippers in a one-on, one-off fashion.

  “Sweetheart, look who came to visit—Vanessa from up the street.”

  “Who?” The elderly man lifted his chin, his gaze fixed on his wife’s face.

  “Vanessa. You know, the girl who used to walk Maggie and Mollie.”

  Mr. Wright tilted his head back, struggling to find Vanessa, and then a grin lit up his face. “Vanessa-girl! Where you been?”

  Vanessa grasped his hand, the skin dry and cracked. “I’m sorry it’s been so long. I’ve been busy—”

  “Is Logan with you? I want him to give me a ride on that snazzy motorcycle of his while you walk those puppies!”

  Vanessa’s grip tightened around his thin hand. “What?”

  “Is he mowing lawns today?”

  Mrs. Wright, who was clearing up the lunch dishes, just nodded, offering a small smile.

  “Y-yes, Logan’s working today.” Vanessa blinked away the moisture blurring her vision. “I’m sorry. Maybe he’ll come by tomorrow.”

  “Well, I hope so. I’m going to convince that boy to let me on that motorcycle one of these days.”

  “Vanessa, will you grab those glasses for me?” Mrs. Wright motioned toward the kitchen, then turned back to her husband. “Now you just rest, and I’ll bring you some cookies.”

  “Not the sugar-free ones. I don’t like ’em.”

  “Of course not, dear.”

  Once in the kitchen, Mrs. Wright stored the leftover food in a plastic container. “He might want it later. I’m so glad you came by, Vanessa. He’s having a good day. He even let Christina, the home health care woman, dress him and bring him downstairs.”

  This was a good day?

  “Has he been sick, Mrs. Wright?”

  “Well, he hasn’t really been sick, but his memory isn’t what it used to be.”

  “Are you
okay? You know the news is talking about a hurricane watch, right? I could get you some groceries if you need anything.”

  “Yes, dear. I watch the news in the morning and at night, too. It’s nice to have the TV on. I like to watch the old movies, you know—although Mr. Wright doesn’t care for the musicals.” The older woman closed the fridge, finished storing the leftovers. “And our daughter, Ruth, in Tuscaloosa checks on us. It’s just a little rain and wind. No need to get upset. We’ll be fine.”

  Vanessa knew the answer to her next question, but she had to ask. “And the dogs . . . ?”

  “I lost the girls a few years ago now. And it’s for the best. I spend all my time taking care of Mr. Wright.”

  No Maggie, no Mollie—and in a sense, no husband. How did Mrs. Wright stand it, day in and day out?

  Plates clinked against the dishwasher spokes. “So, what brings you to town?”

  “I’m here to plan my wedding.” Vanessa filled the glasses halfway with lemonade. “I’m . . . well, I’m getting married again.”

  “You and Logan are getting remarried?” Mrs. Wright closed the dishwasher with a soft click. “But why would you do that?”

  Yellow liquid sloshed over the edge of the pitcher and onto the countertop. “No, no—not me and Logan. We divorced eight years ago.” Vanessa searched the kitchen for a roll of paper towels. “I’m living in Denver now. I’m a paramedic, and I’ve been dating an ER doctor. We’re getting married—having a destination wedding in Destin.”

  “Really?” Mrs. Wright opened a package of molasses cookies. “Does Logan know?”

  “No.” A jerk of her hand caused Vanessa to pull too many paper towels off the roll she found hanging on the side of the fridge. “Why would Logan need to know?”

  “Because he’s your husband. What if he wants to do the I object! part?”

  Maybe Mrs. Wright wasn’t as alert as Vanessa first thought.

  “Logan is my ex-husband. That’s not going to happen.” Vanessa mopped up the spill with the wad of paper towels. “Our relationship ended years ago.”

  Mrs. Wright stopped arranging cookies on a small plate decorated with blue flowers, reaching over to pat Vanessa’s hand. “Just because you and Logan divorced, that doesn’t mean you and he are over.”