The Wedding Dress(81)

“Don’t dump your attitude on me.” She went to the table and snatched up her coffee. “I mean, what’s going on with you and me? This? Us?”

“I think I still love her.” Tim tugged open the fridge and reached for the milk, pouring it over his cereal.

“You think?”

“Know. I know.” When he turned, Kim was slinging her handbag over her shoulder. “I never stopped,” he said.

“Then go get her.” Kindness undergirded the sadness in her voice.

“She doesn’t want me. And I don’t blame her.”

“So what was this with me? Rebound?”

“You came back to town, gave me a call, we started going to dinner.” He peered at her. “Kim, I’m sorry. I never meant for us to be more than friends, but I’ve led you on. I should’ve . . .” He gazed at the milk, twisting on the cap. “I should’ve been up-front.”

“You sure should’ve, bucko.” Kim’s heels resounded across the kitchen tile. “So don’t be stupid with her, Tim.” The door closed softly as she left.

Tim opened the silverware drawer and took out a spoon, scooping the first sweet bite into his mouth, a sad wash of emotion for Kim skimming his heart.

Lord, forgive me.

But joy. He was still in love with Charlotte.



Charlotte

Through June, Charlotte occupied her Saturdays with weddings. Just not her own. She and Dix prepared no fewer than twenty-five brides.

The best part of it all was Hillary. She came to the shop almost every day. Volunteered to run errands or help with inventory. Refusing all pay or reward. She brought in lunch dishes made in her own kitchen and bonded with Dixie over Dirty Jobs and Mike Rowe.

“Did you see what he did last night?”

“You know I did. Right when I was taking a bite of my dinner. I’ll never look at spaghetti the same.”

On Sundays, she saw Tim from a distance, arriving for the late service as he left the early. She’d park on the opposite side of the parking lot from his truck and scoot into the sanctuary’s side door, but three out of four June Sundays she ran smack into him.

Hundreds of congregants, and she had to bump into Tim Rose. Usually one or two of the other Roses as well. She’d made every effort—short of being late for church—to miss them.

Yet, that’s exactly what she did. Missed them.

Today, the Sunday after her supposed wedding day, Charlotte hurried toward the sanctuary, bleary-eyed, bone weary from wedding month, but grateful to be on her feet and moving.

She’d dressed seven brides yesterday, June 23rd, burying any threat of her soul remembering it was supposed to be her wedding day.

The ten a.m. sun burned high and hot from a wispy blue sky. Summer was sitting down hard on its first Sunday, stirring up the crickets’ mournful serenade about the humidity.

Charlotte skipped up the portico steps when a familiar voice caused her to pause. “Where to for breakfast?” She looked back to see David passing by on the sidewalk, leaving the first service, with Jack and younger brothers Chase and Rudy. The rest of the Roses, Katherine with their two children and Mr. and Mrs. Rose, huddled in the middle of the parking lot.

Charlotte leaned against the guardrail. What did she want for breakfast? That. To stand in the middle of a family huddle. Or to walk up to the family, stick her head in the middle, and ask, “What’s the plan?” No invitation required. No rejection expected.

Tim crossed the parking lot in a light, limping jog, his shirttail flapping over his jeans, his hair breezing past his jaw and shining in the sun.

A Rose by any other name . . .

He stopped just shy of the huddle and turned toward the church, squinting toward her. Her middle fluttered with the swirl of summer leaves.

“Hey.” He stepped over to her. “How are you?”

“Tired . . . tired but good. You?” She smiled because he carried this aura of it’s all okay about him. He was both confident and vulnerable. A combo she wasn’t sure her heart could endure. “You look healthier than the last time I saw you.”

“I feel better than the last time you saw me.” He stopped at the bottom of the steps, hands at his waist. “So, yesterday was—”

“Busy-busy. Dix and I had seven weddings. Didn’t get home until midnight. I fell asleep in my clothes.” Don’t give him a chance to say it. That today she would’ve been his wife.

“You look good.” His intonation made her feel warm and admired.

“I don’t have big bags under my eyes?”

“Not at all. Charlotte, I’m sorry about the hospital.”

“What about the hospital? You mean Kim?”

“The kiss. And yeah, Kim.”

The kiss? He was sorry about the sweet, tender, passionate kiss? The one that sashayed across her mind without permission whenever her day found a moment of silence?

“Listen, I’d better get inside. I can hear the music.” Charlotte backed up the steps toward the sanctuary.

“You want to come to breakfast with us?” He motioned over his shoulder at the clan.

More than anything. “No, no, I can’t. Better go hang out with Jesus and His friends for a bit.”

“You sure?” He squinted at her, his brow in a deep furrow. “We can wait until your service is out.”