Crazy Little Thing Called Love Page 9

  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.” Mi
ndy 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.”

  EIGHT

  Life is a challenge. Meet it.

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

  The 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.”

  “It’ll be fine. We’re probably looking at some wind and rain, but we’ll be out of here before anything serious happens—if it does.” Logan moved back up onto the beach, the salt-scented air cooling his sunburned neck. “Yeah, they’ve upgraded the storm to a weak hurricane, but it’s not supposed to make landfall until the day after tomorrow—maybe as a Category 1. By then we’ll be back in Oklahoma. I’m not worried.”

  “Just keeping you posted, boss. It’s what I do.”

  “Thanks.”

  • • •

  She had not requested a wake-up call.

  Vanessa lifted her head off the pillow, shoving her hair out of her face, squinting into the darkness of the hotel room. The second sharp ring of the bedside phone had her grabbing for the receiver. Who was calling this early in the morning?

  “Hello?” Her tone of voice should broadcast how little she appreciated this unplanned phone call.

  “Ms. Hollister, this is the front desk. I’m sorry to disturb you, but we’re evacuating the hotel—”

  Vanessa scrambled upright, pulling the phone off the bedside table with a crash. “What?”

  “We’re evacuating the hotel. Hurricane Cressida increased speed overnight and is now expected to make landfall later today. Destin is under mandatory evacuation.”

  “Thank you.” She hung up, stumbling to her feet, turning on the lamp, and righting the phone.

  Mandatory evacuation. She needed to pack. To leave. But where was she supposed to go?

  She found the remote control and hit on, clicking the channel selector and surfing for the local news station. When she pulled back the blinds shielding the sliding glass door to the balcony, the scene on the beach matched the ones on the TV. Winds whipped the Gulf into a frenzy, the sky dark, rain pummeling the sands of the deserted beach. In the background, a newscaster reiterated what the front desk person had already told her.

  “. . . Cressida gained strength overnight and is expected to make landfall as a Category 3 hurricane . . .”

  No, she wasn’t having a bad dream—she was wide awake in the middle of one.

  She needed to stop alternating between staring at the TV and the view outside her hotel room. She needed to pack. But first she was going to shower—even if she only got two minutes of hot water, she was going to wash her hair and put on clean clothes. After she figured out where she was going, she didn’t know how long she’d be there and when she’d have access to hot water again.

  Once in the shower, Vanessa resisted the temptation to close her eyes and savor the steamy water sluicing over her skin. Pretend everything was calm outside. Two minutes, that was it. As she toweled off, her cell phone rang. Mindy started talking even as Vanessa said hello.

  “Vanessa, are you okay? Are you off the island?”

  “I’m not even dressed yet. The front desk guy woke me up ten minutes ago to tell me that they’re evacuating the hotel.”

  “The hotel? The entire island is evacuating. This hurricane caught everyone off guard!”

  “I don’t have any intention of staying here, Mindy.”

  “Come to my house. Jett’s been boarding up windows since yesterday when they declared a voluntary evacuation.”

  Somehow she had missed that information. “Why don’t you go to the shelter?”

  “Well, we could—the shelters take animals—dogs and cats. But six not-quite-housebroken puppies in an arena with two thousand people? We’re just going to ride it out here. We’ll be fine. Jett bought a generator a few years ago.”

  “Okay, let me pack. I’ll call you when I’m on my way. Or text. The phone lines are going to be a mess.”

  “The phone lines? Have you seen the roads?”

  Vanessa could imagine what Highway 85, the main road heading out of Niceville, looked like. “I’m hanging up now. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Of course I’ll worry—but only until you get here. Then we’ll play board games.”

  “I’ll be fine. See you soon.”

  Vanessa started a small pot of coffee in the hotel pot. It wouldn’t be a perfect cup of coffee—but it would be caffeine. She surveyed the leftover seafood scampi in the hotel fridge. Nope. That wasn’t going with her. Two cans of Coke. A couple of slices of lemon. Those were a yes.

  She hauled her suitcase onto the bed and opened all the dresser drawers, first selecting a pair of jeans and a sleeveless top to wear, along with her burnished leather boots with harness-ring accents—sturdy and casual. She needed to get dressed first, and then finish packing.

  The strong aroma of coffee fill
ed the room, and the ongoing commentary of the TV news the background music as she transitioned her clothes from the dresser to her suitcase, hiding her journal under a mound of clothes. She tossed her bottles of shampoo and conditioner and face wash into her kit, not even taking the time to dry them off from the shower.

  “Go to Florida, he says.” She checked the drawers one more time. The shower. Underneath the bed. The closet. “Have fun planning our destination wedding, he says. Relax, he says.”

  What part of going to Destin to plan their destination wedding, running into her ex-husband, and then having to evacuate because of a hurricane would Ted consider relaxing ?

  She did a quick three-sixty of the room. All ready to go. It was too early to call her parents to tell them she was fine. She would call Ted later, too, but for now she’d just text her parents and her fiancé.

  Evacuating because of hurricane. I’m fine. Going to stay with Mindy. Will call soon. Love you.

  It was only once she was checked out of the hotel, on her way toward the bridge, a bitter cup of hot coffee in the car’s cup holder, that she thought of the Wrights. Were they okay? Surely they wouldn’t stay in their house—not with a Category 3 hurricane headed for the Panhandle. What did Cat 3 winds max out at? Somewhere around 125 miles per hour.

  But Cressida had surprised everyone—coming in faster and stronger than expected.

  Most likely the Wrights were sound asleep, unaware of what was happening—just like she’d been an hour ago.

  NINE

  God does not remove us from all harm; He uses harm to move us close to Him.

  —DILLON BURROUGHS (1967– ), AUTHOR

  Thank God they were going back to Oklahoma later today.

  Logan rolled over on his side, twisting the rumpled sheets and the dark geometric-design bedcover even more, and checked the time on the bedside clock. Four-twenty. Still too early to get up.

  He shoved aside the blankets, sitting up against the pillows. Who was he kidding? A nightmare had awoken him hours ago, and when he’d fallen back asleep, it had started again, right where it had left off.