“That sounds perfect.”
“Um, let me grab my phone and purse.”
When I come back, Mom and Marcy are deep in conversation. Call me paranoid, but I believe it’s about me.
Is it about the cancelled wedding, Jack, or Marshal?
That’s the million-dollar question. “Ready?”
Warm air blows my hair as we step onto the sidewalk. As we walk, we chat about nothing in particular. I ask her why she’s in Grand Rapids, and she asks me about work. It isn’t until we’re seated and waiting for our order that her expression changes.
The woman across the table isn’t a stranger. I know her better than most, and I can tell that our chance lunch isn’t by chance and our conversation is going to get more serious.
“I wanted to talk to you without your dad.”
“Why?” My heart beats faster. “Is something wrong? Are you sick? Is it Dad?”
Mom’s lips come together in a grin. “No, honey. Nothing like that.”
Honey.
I have a flash of memory but push it away. “What did you want to talk about?”
“I’ve sent all the regrets for the wedding.”
The guilt is back, pushing on my chest, making it difficult to breathe. “Mom, I have savings. I make good money. Please let me pay for whatever you can’t get back. After all, this is my fault.”
She shakes her head and reaches for her purse. At the same time, our number is called from the counter. I don’t move, waiting for whatever she is about to show me. “Mom, what is it?”
“Go get our food, and I’ll show you.”
Each step to and from the counter feels like I’m dredging through quicksand. I don’t know what to expect, but I know it’s not good.
When I set our plates on the table, I see a folded piece of paper under her hand.
Mom swallows and nods. “I told you we planned for weddings, for all three of you girls. We did. Yours was going a bit above—”
“Mom, let me pay.”
She shakes her head. “The caterer was fantastic. We lost our ten percent deposit, but that’s all. And the reception hall had a waiting list. It seems you made another couple very happy.”
I sigh with relief, thinking this is better news than I anticipated.
“The dress,” she goes on, “can’t be returned. You could always choose to wear it...you know, when...”
“I’ll pay you for the dress and we can burn it in Dad’s firepit.”
“Samantha Ann, it’s a beautiful dress. Sharon, you know from the Moose Lodge, well, she said you could sell it online. She mentioned eBay and Facebook Marketplace.”
I scrunch my nose. “It feels wrong, like I’d be selling my bad choices to some unsuspecting bride-to-be.”
Mom nods. “Really, it was all going well until—” She slides the piece of paper my way.
Neither of us has touched our lunch except for a few sips I’ve taken of my sweet tea and the few Mom has taken of her lemonade. I look down at the paper and back up.
“Whatever this is, you’re saying Dad doesn’t know?”
“Not yet. I was...” She nods toward the paper. “Please take a look and we can talk about it.”