Glory Road Page 32

  I cringed. “Sorry. I was just being polite though. We’d only just met.”

  He shrugged and paused at a bedroom door, then gestured into the room. “This is my room. I’ve moved everything I need into one of the guest rooms, so this is all yours. Bathroom is right through there, and towels are on the counter.”

  “Your room? Are you sure? I can use the guest room. I don’t mind.”

  “I know, but there’s more room here.” He reached for my hand. We both stood in the doorway, only inches separating us. Part of me wanted to take a step back to allow a little breathing room between us. “Thank you for coming today,” he said. “Aside from the flowers. Thank you for coming for me.”

  “I’m glad I’m here. Thanks for asking me.”

  “It’s a special day for sure. My little girl getting married. A lot of people are here to celebrate with us.” He smiled. “You being here makes it even more special.”

  He kissed me lightly on the cheek, near the edge of my mouth, then turned back down the hall and disappeared into one of the other bedrooms.

  I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, then exhaled. It was the first time I’d been upstairs in his house. Definitely the first time I’d seen his bedroom. Just like all the other spaces in his house, everything in this room was neat and polished. A long dresser was dust-free and empty of any personal belongings other than one framed photo of Olivia and a leather box holding a pair of cuff links and some spare change.

  His bed was smooth, with a dark-navy duvet and crisp navy-and-white pillows—sumptuous yet still masculine. The hardwood floor gleamed in the sunlight streaming in from a window, and a sisal rug covered the floor at the end of the bed. I slid off my shoes and set my bare feet on the rug. The fibers poked and pricked the bottoms of my feet. I smoothed my hand across the duvet. My own bed, covered in a vintage chenille spread and a patchwork quilt, seemed almost childish in comparison. But, oh, it was comfortable.

  I showered and dried my hair, then stepped into my dress. It was long and red—not flashy red, but more subdued, if a long red dress could be considered subdued. It had a halter top that tied behind my neck, the ties hanging down over the bare skin of my back. Delicate gold sandals and a thin gold-and-diamond bracelet of Mama’s completed my ensemble.

  The dress was left over from my days of galas and parties with Chris, the only dress I’d taken with me when I packed up my car and headed back to Perry. It was also the only dress in my closet even remotely appropriate for a seven o’clock wedding. It may have felt perfect for the occasion the week before when I’d tried it on, but today it felt too red, too tight. But there was nothing I could do about it now.

  I brushed my hair out and fanned it over my shoulders, trying to cover as much of my exposed skin as possible, then checked the clock on the bedside table—six fifteen. With my stomach full of jumpy nerves, I opened the door and forced myself to walk, one foot in front of the other, down the stairs and out onto the back porch.

  The bridal party was nowhere to be seen, likely whisked away into the cottage by the wedding planner. Guests milled around chatting and laughing on the porch and out in the yard. Someone had already lit the candles leading out to the dock, and it was a good thing, considering how many people were already there standing around with glasses in hand, apparently having started the reception early.

  I scanned the crowd until I saw Sumner standing with a small group of men. His face lit up when he saw me, and some of my nervousness subsided. I inhaled and walked out into the long, lazy rays of sun. He extended his elbow and walked me down the dock toward the chairs set up in the boathouse. My work had paid off—everything was lovely. The flowers and greenery were holding up well in the heat, and small flames lit the tiny jars hanging beneath the grapevine wreath.

  “I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful,” Sumner whispered as he walked me to my seat. “Other than my daughter, of course, but I have to say that.”

  I smiled. “I’d be concerned if you didn’t. And you don’t look too shabby yourself. Seersucker suits you.”

  “Olivia wanted Southern, and she said seersucker was the way to go. Here.” He pointed me to the row just behind the one reserved for family. “You can sit here. I’ll be just in front of you. I wish you could sit with me, but my brother and Elizabeth’s sisters will be up here with me.”

  “Of course. This is fine.” Next to me were three other women dressed in various shades of white and cream. They watched us as if we were the main attraction.

  “Ladies.” Sumner held up a hand in greeting.

  “You’re looking well, Sum,” the woman next to me said. “I saw your new course in Charleston last month. It’s beautiful. You outdid yourself.”

  He grinned. “I aim to please.” He turned to me and winked. “I’ll find you after the ceremony.”

  Once he walked away, the women leaned into one another and whispered. I read through the program, trying to ignore their furtive glances that felt like daggers. I smoothed my hair over my shoulders again, feeling overexposed. And the high-heeled sandals I wore were already pinching my feet.

  “Oh, fine, I’ll ask her,” came a whisper from the group. Then louder, “Honey, are you here with Sumner?”

  “Yes, I’m his . . .” His what? We’d never talked about it. “I’m here with him.”

  She raised her eyebrows to the woman next to her. Then she turned back to me with a sweet smile. “And how old are you?”

  One of the other women laughed while another gasped. “You can’t ask that, Lily.”

  “Sure I can. I can ask anything I want, and she can decide what to tell me.”

  Three pairs of eyes settled on me, expertly arched eyebrows raised, foreheads smooth as a baby’s. Before I could answer, I was saved by the first strains of Canon in D as Jared led his mother down the aisle.

  “Get a look at those sequins,” Lily muttered, shaking her head. “Bless her heart, she’s sure not from around here.”

  The reception was a party unlike any I had seen since my wedding to Chris. Plates of food, swishes of silk and organza, clinking wineglasses, and swells of laughter and conversation surged around Sumner’s beautiful backyard like waves. Cameras flashed as Olivia and Jared cut their cake and danced to an Ed Sheeran love song.

  Sumner was as in demand as Olivia was, moving confidently from group to group, holding everyone’s attention, delivering laughs and handshakes. Sometimes he’d take my elbow and lead me through the crowd to another group of people he wanted to introduce me to, but other times someone would pull him away without me, and I hung back alone, which was okay with me. After a while, I camped out by the fruit and cheese table and slipped my sandals off one by one to squeeze my heels. As I reached down to rub the top of one foot, he caught my eye from across the lawn. He smiled, then winked.

  Just then, an older woman paused next to me. She wore cream silk pants and a blousy sleeveless top, her neck adorned with several long necklaces. Her blonde hair was piled high on her head, showing off large diamond earrings. She followed my gaze to where Sumner was laughing with a group of men.

  “So you’re the one who’s captured Sumner’s attention.” Her bracelets jangled as she reached across the table to dip a thin apple slice in the baked Brie.

  “I suppose so.” I’d grown tired of the quick glances and bold stares, the women talking down to me like I was a teenager out past my curfew.

  “Well, best of luck to the two of you.” Her smile appeared genuine enough until her gaze slid down to my dress. One eyebrow arched up, and before I knew what was happening, she reached around and pulled the back of my dress out to check the label. She clicked her tongue. “Such a cute dress.” Leaving only a whisper of Chanel perfume behind, she sauntered off and grabbed the arm of a woman standing at the cake table.

  The feeling started in my stomach and gradually made its way up into my chest, squeezing tight. I kept my face calm, not giving away the fact that all the air in my body had seemingly leaked ou
t, leaving me gasping. I looked around at the sparkling evening, the lights, the beautiful dresses and people. Though I’d spent so many hours preparing for this night—the tips of my fingers were blistered from tying twine and wrapping florist wire—I had no connection to anything here. No attachment at all. I didn’t fit with the place or the people, but instead of wishing I did, all I felt was a ripple of relief.

  Olivia and Jared left the reception in a blaze of sparklers held by guests standing on the steps of Sumner’s house and down the driveway. Sumner had tried to pull me to the end of the line next to the limo with the rest of the family members, but in the crush of people grabbing sparklers and jostling to get into position, I waved him off and found a spot by the house. My stomach was a ball of nerves, and I yearned for a moment of solitude.

  Finally, after a few false starts, the photographer got into position and the new couple descended the steps. Amid the cheers and laughter and catcalls, Olivia found me and hugged me tight.

  “Thank you so much for everything. It was all so beautiful.” Her skin was dewy in the humid air, and her hair had sprung from its clips and fell down her shoulders in waves. As Jared continued down the tunnel of people, Olivia leaned in toward me. “You were right. What you said at the spa? Jared matters more than everything else.”

  Her words—my own words—were still running through my mind a few minutes later as the limo pulled away and Sumner turned back toward the house. When he saw me, his shoulders sagged and he smiled. “Hi,” he said when he reached me. “I’m exhausted. Happy, but exhausted.”

  “I bet you are. It’s hard work being the father of the bride.”

  “You’re not kidding. My feet are killing me.” He glanced at my feet. “Yours must be too.”

  My heels dangled from one hand, and I curled my toes in the soft moss covering the ground under the trees.

  He gestured to the path that led around the side of the house. “I had them box up a couple slices of cake for me in the back. I’d consider parting with one if you’re hungry.”

  “You know . . .” I looked over my shoulder to where my car sat under the magnolia. “I’m pretty beat. I think I’m going to head on out.”

  “Really?” He was disappointed, I could tell, but it was time for me to leave.

  I nodded. “Thanks for—”

  “Mr. Tate?” We turned to see the wedding planner hovering near the side fence. “I need you for a few moments. If you could just . . .” She pointed to the backyard.

  He exhaled and turned back to me. “I’m sorry.”

  “Really, it’s fine. Go ahead. I need to get on home anyway.”

  He took a step closer to me. “I can’t thank you enough for being here tonight. And not just for the flowers, though they were perfect.”

  I reached up and touched the blush rose on his lapel. It had only just started to droop.

  He took my hand and leaned down. As his lips brushed mine, the wedding planner cleared her throat. “The photographer from Bay magazine is here for just a few more minutes. He’d like to get a shot of you on your back porch, if that’s okay.”

  “You’d better go.”

  “Good night, Jessie.”

  He let the planner lead him away, and I watched until they disappeared around the side of the house. Then, lifting the hem of my dress with my free hand, I carefully stepped across the brick driveway to my car. Inside, I pulled my hair up into a knot and exhaled.

  I let the night air swim through my car on the way home, chipping away at the stress of the evening. Of the last few months, really. When I turned into my driveway nearly an hour later, I sat with the car off, the windows still down. It had rained at home sometime during the evening, and the scent of fresh dirt and damp grass floated through the car.

  In the glow of the moon, Twig sat empty but peaceful, the old window boxes spilling over with late-summer begonias, coleus, and sweet potato vine. In my house a single light was on in the kitchen, illuminating Evan’s face as she drank a glass of orange juice in front of the refrigerator.

  As I peeked in on my life from the dark night outside, contentment bloomed in my chest. I had my present, which was good. More than I deserved. And I had my future, whatever that looked like. My life was right in front of me.

  CHAPTER 37

  Many say the echeveria laui is the loveliest of all the succulents, with soft, powdery blue-gray leaves and small bursts of peachy-pink blooms at the top. The most fascinating aspect of the plant is that it is very slow growing. It can take years to reach a height of only about six inches, proving the old adage that good things come to those who wait.

  —WENDELL BANCROFT SR., LATE BLOOMERS

  JESSIE

  Mama, I can’t make you a bouquet of just succulents. It’ll look dry and . . . hot.”

  “Well, I’m too old and experienced for pink and frilly. You can save that for the young’uns.”

  I stifled a smile as she picked up her sun hat—white, not pink, and no frills to be seen—from Twig’s front counter and plopped it on her head. “I know that’s not your taste. Can you just let me work on it? I promise I’ll make a bouquet you love that fits you. I need you to trust me.”

  She eyed me, then threw her hands up. “You’re right, you’re right. Flowers are your thing. You have three weeks—let’s see what you can do.” When I opened my mouth, she spoke over me. “And I do trust you.”

  “Good.”

  “Although I have to say, three weeks is not a long time. The last time you did flowers for a wedding, you had three months.”

  Mama always loved to get the last word. “Thanks for the reminder. I can handle it.”

  Elma Dean pulled up in front of Twig and Mama ambled to the front porch. “How you doin’, Elma?”

  “Do I hear you’re getting married?” Elma chirped.

  “I don’t know what you hear, but it does seem that I am getting married.” Mama did her best to hide it, but I could hear the pleasure in her voice. The pride.

  “Are you going to have bridesmaids?”

  “I am. My granddaughter, Evan, is going to be my bridesmaid and Jessie is going to walk me down the aisle.”

  “Well, that’s just perfect. Birdie Davis and I have been talking. We can’t use rice anymore—somehow it’s bad for the birds—so what do you think about bubbles? Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  “What on earth are you talking about?” Mama asked.

  “What we’re going to throw at your wedding, of course. You do intend to invite the rest of us, don’t you? Marilyn Rickers would have an absolute come-apart if you don’t.”

  “Of course you’re invited, Elma,” I called out. “You’re all invited.”

  Mama was right about Harvis intending to make her his bride. He’d approached me on a hot afternoon in late September and asked if I had any objection to them getting married.

  “Harvis, I appreciate you asking me, but I hope you know you don’t need my permission. You might need Mama’s, but you don’t need mine.”

  He chuckled and rubbed the whiskers on his cheek.

  “I’d love to have you be a part of our family. An even bigger part.” I reached out and pulled him into a hug.

  “Oh, what’s all this?” he asked, caught off guard. But then he patted my back. “Your mother is an exceptional woman. And I knew your daddy. He was a good man. I don’t intend to try to replace him.”

  “I know you don’t.”

  “All I want to do is keep Gus happy and thriving as long as I can.” His eyes pooled and I squeezed his arm.

  “I know you do. And you will. And she’ll keep you on your toes. You know that, right?”

  He laughed again and wiped at his eyes. “I do. Lord help me, I do.”

  The ceremony was planned for 4:00 p.m. on the last Saturday in October. Mama wore a dress she’d had for years, and she loved the bouquet I made for her filled with all her favorites—dahlias, garden roses, and green-and-pink succulents. Because the wedding was so simple—in her backya
rd, only twenty guests, and easy lemon pound cake with whipped cream and strawberries for the “after-party,” as she called it—the hours just before the wedding were calm and unhurried. She and I and Evan spent most of the day together at her house, flipping through old photos and making sure her panty hose was free of holes and her shoes were buffed to a shine.

  Finally Evan headed back to our house to get ready, and Mama and I had some time alone. While she touched up her makeup, I slipped my dress on, then pulled my hair up on one side and clipped it with one of her rhinestone hairpins.

  When I finished, I sat on her bed and watched her. “How do you feel?”

  “My mind is clear as a bell.”

  “I don’t mean that. I mean about the wedding. About today.”

  “I feel good. I’m ready.”

  As she leaned in close to the mirror, I thought about how strong my mother was. She’d been married once, and so happily, but it ended in such a horrible way. And here she was doing it again. She had reserves of strength and grit I couldn’t imagine ever pulling from. Her own reserves seemed bottomless.

  “Do you still think of Daddy sometimes?”

  She turned to me and set down her mascara. “I think of him every day. Every single day.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Why do you ask?”

  I shrugged. “I just . . . He died. You put your whole heart into your marriage with him and it ended. But you’re trying it again.”

  She nodded. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about this. Your daddy had a jealous streak when it came to me—never took too kindly to any other man giving me a second glance or sounding a little too friendly toward me—but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’d tell me to marry Harvis. And you know what else? I did put all I had into my marriage with him, but it turns out I still have some of myself to give away.”

  A tear slipped down my cheek and I touched it with my fingertip. Mama grabbed a tissue and sat on the bed next to me. “Tell me what’s wrong. Is it just Daddy? Or is it something else?”