Spare Change (Wyattsville #1)(5)

Olivia had always been a person given to superstition; and by the time she turned twelve she had learned to understand omens—both good and bad. She avoided stepping on sidewalk cracks, covered her eyes if she saw a black cat and never, ever, planned anything important on the eleventh day of the month. Experience had taught her that if anything bad was going to happen, it was going to happen on the eleventh; and, she’d kept that in mind when they selected a date for the wedding. Now, on this most glorious of all mornings, she had not a care in the world—the eleventh of October had already come and gone and it would be almost a full month before she’d have to face another one.

While the coffee perked, she hummed Here Comes the Bride and painted her toenails pink. They’d be honeymooning in Miami Beach and as she frolicked barefoot in the sand, Charlie, she hoped, would take notice. Once they were back in their bedroom suite overlooking the ocean, she could imagine him kissing her toes one by one. “My bride,” he’d whisper, “angel of my dreams.” A shiver ran along her spine as Olivia thought back on how she’d foolishly wasted all those years avoiding marriage; in actuality it was something that made a person feel truly wonderful. Thank goodness I’ve come to my senses, she told herself.

As Olivia sat before the mirror and applied her make-up, she could swear years had disappeared from her face. The wrinkles which had come to be all too familiar were strangely enough missing; likewise the droop of her cheeks and a few dark splotches. Her eyes were greener than she had ever known them to be, blazingly brilliant, the color of a blade of grass on the first day of spring. Quite obviously marriage was something which agreed with a woman of any age.

When the knock she had been waiting for came, Olivia whooshed open the door with such enthusiasm that she toppled over the potted philodendron which had been standing in the very same spot for almost twenty years. “Hi,” she whispered breathlessly. She then slipped her hand into the crook of Charlie’s arm and strolled out the door, leaving the shattered pot and a pile of dirt strewn across the floor.

At Christ the Lord Church, there were throngs of well-wishers filling the pews and spilling out into the vestibule. Francine Burnam, who had arrived late due to a babysitting problem, was standing outside the door dressed in a flowered hat and billowing voile dress. “Warm, isn’t it,” she commented as the man alongside of her mopped his brow. Inside the church, ladies were fanning themselves and men were discretely loosening their ties. The day had been forecasted to be in the mid-seventies, but before noon the temperature soared to eighty-six degrees. Olivia hardly noticed the heat, she felt the beads of perspiration settling on the back of her neck but attributed it to the anxiety of a first time bride; as other women blew tiny puffs of breath downward to cool their bosoms, she clasped a bouquet of scarlet roses and marched down the aisle alongside Charlie.

The first clattering boom came just as Pastor Perkins asked if anyone knew of a reason why these two people should not be joined in holy matrimony. Oh dear, Olivia thought, I hope it’s not going to rain. Any other time she might have considered it an omen, but on this particular day, with nothing but thoughts of love floating through her head, such a notion was nonexistent. “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Pastor Perkins said, and a second roll of thunder erupted; this one so loud it rattled the church windows and set the steeple bell to chiming. “You may now kiss the bride,” the Pastor told Charlie, but before the couple could lock themselves into an embrace a barrage of hail began pelting the building. As the scattering of people who’d been standing outside to escape the heat pushed into the vestibule, a ball of ice came barreling through the stained glass window and shattered a scene depicting the birth of Baby Jesus.

“You don’t suppose…” a wide-eyed Olivia asked. Charlie smiled, shook his head then went right ahead and kissed her.

“Hail’s caused by hot air rising up and colliding with cold air,” he whispered as they turned and walked back down the aisle. “It’s a natural phenomenon, nothing to worry about.” He gave a reassuring smile and tightened his hand around hers.

Despite Charlie’s seemingly logical explanation, Olivia checked both their wristwatches to make certain the window hadn’t shattered during some lingering minute of the eleventh hour; luckily, it was twenty-five minutes past twelve. She breathed a sigh of relief and slipped back into the euphoric feeling of a woman in love.

After a reception of champagne and wedding cake, they went back to Olivia’s apartment, loaded the last few cartons of her belongings into the back seat of the blue convertible and headed for Wyattsville.





Olivia Ann Doyle

When people start prattling on about how marrying a man with Charlie Doyle’s reputation is opening myself up to heartache, I feel like laughing in their face. Heartache? A lot they know! Heartache would be seeing him walk away. I don’t give a navy bean about the fact that he’s had dozens of other women—all that’s done with now.

I’ve done my own share of dating; but let me tell you, there’s never been a man who makes me feel the way Charlie does. I can say flat out, I am crazy in love with him. Charlie heats up such a fire in me, I get red-cheeked just thinking how he stretches a line of kisses down the back of my neck.

Still, such talk can make any woman wonder whether or not she’s doing the right thing—so, two weeks before the wedding I went and had my fortune told.