Groom in Training

“I don’t feel like it. I’m getting nervous.”

“All brides feel that way.” Her mind flew back, reliving her rankled nerves as she approached her wedding day, but using herself as an example wouldn’t soothe Molly’s tension. “When you walk down the aisle and look into Brent’s face, your anxiety will be gone.”

“I know, but I want everything to be perfect.”

“There you go, Moll. Still looking for perfection.”

Molly shrugged, and they both laughed.

Steph had never known anyone besides Molly who wanted her life to be flawless. Life did have imperfections. She closed her mouth, unwilling to muffle Molly’s happiness. “Being a bride is like falling in love. You feel giddy one minute and question yourself the next. Your pulse throbs, and your chest presses against your heart, and you—”

“Hold it.” Molly lifted the hem of her gown and rushed to her side, letting the lacy hem fall to the carpet.

Steph tried to read her mind. “What?”

Molly narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tell me. I can’t believe it.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you.” She had no idea what Molly was talking about.

“You’re in love.”

A grasp escaped her. “In love?” Steph nearly choked on the word. She couldn’t be in love. In like, maybe, or infatuated. That was different than real love.

“It’s that guy you told me about. Your new neighbor.” She moved closer, her eyes wide. “You haven’t told me a thing.”

“Nothing to tell.” Her heart sang as images of Nick swept through her mind, but saying it aloud made it too real. “You have romance on your mind. Let’s get these dresses off and have lunch like we planned.”

Molly rested her fingers against her cheeks. “Steph, I miss our talks.”

So did Steph. Since Brent had come into Molly’s life, her life had changed, too. Between the shelter and Brent, Steph had taken a backseat. Resentment didn’t enter into it, only disappointment. And only for herself. Steph’s chest weighed with selfish thoughts until she cast them away, wanting only the best for Molly. “We see each other at work. We still talk.” But they both knew it wasn’t the same.

Color pooled on Molly’s face. “It’s hard to believe the date is almost here. I’d been certain for so long that I would never marry.”

“That’s something we used to have in common.” Steph tried to sound lighthearted, but she feared she failed.

“I know.” Molly’s excitement faded.

Steph wished she’d kept her mouth shut. “Don’t feel bad.

I’m happy for you, Molly, and I’ve never seen you happier.” She’d finally spoken the truth, and the tension lifted.

Molly eased to Steph’s side. “It just goes to prove that what we think and what God has in store don’t always go hand in hand.” She squeezed Steph’s arm. “You don’t know what He has planned for you.”

Molly and God. Steph wished she had the kind of confidence that Molly had.

A grin grew on Molly’s face. “Now, lest you think I’ve forgotten what we were talking about, I’m not moving until you tell me everything.”

“I have nothing to tell even if we can stay here all day.” Steph glanced toward the doorway, hoping the tailor would return to break into their conversation. “It’s a standoff. I’m hungry, and you promised me lunch, but I’m not going with you in that gown.” Gooseflesh rose on her arms. Talk to her. Don’t be stupid. But Steph couldn’t open her mouth. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing.” Her chest squeezed.

“Let me be the judge.” Molly folded her arms across her chest, resembling a bailiff in a wedding dress.

The picture made Steph laugh. “Okay, but let’s get our clothes on so we can leave. The dresses fit.”

“What’s his name? You never told me.”

“Nick. Nick Davis.”

Molly’s forehead wrinkled. “Nick Davis.” She pressed her index finger to her lips, then shook her head. “I’ve heard his name somewhere. Maybe Brent knows him.” She reached back for the zipper.

“Let me help you.” Steph turned her around, hoping the zipper would bring an end to the conversation.

But Molly twisted her neck and spoke over her shoulder. “Have you been on a date with him?”

A date? Steph was glad Molly couldn’t see her face. “If you call walking the dogs a date, yes.”

Molly slipped her arms from the gown. “Does he like you?”

“Yes, as a friend, but that’s fine. I’m not ready for anything serious.” Her mind flooded with dark thoughts. “First I have to learn to be more attentive to—”

“Stop blaming yourself, Steph.” The gown slipped from Molly’s body and pooled on the white cloth beneath her feet as she spun to face her. “Suicide is a selfish act. It leaves people asking themselves forever what they did wrong and what they might have done to make it better. Doug wanted to die for his own reason. You didn’t. You want to live, and it’s about time you did.”

Steph pressed the phone against her ear. Her fingers knotted around the receiver, and she forced her voice to sound normal, but tension had risen like a tsunami. “Why are you still living with Dad anyway, Hal? You two never got along.”

“That was before. We’ve been getting along until recently.”

She heard something in her brother’s voice that didn’t connect. Hal and her dad had a different set of ethics and values. They never were compatible. “What’s happened now?”

He didn’t respond.

“Are you working?” Steph pursed her lips, waiting to see how he’d wiggle out of that question.

“Why does everything revolve around that?”

A deep breath rattled through her lungs. “Answer me. Are you living off Dad again?”

“I don’t like your attitude, Steph. We haven’t talked in a long time. You’re my sister. I just called to see how you’re doing. I miss you.”

Since when? “I’m okay.”

“I thought maybe I’d come your way. You know, give Dad a few days’ break. Maybe then we’ll see eye to eye when I get back.”

She doubted that. Forget seeing eye to eye; her father probably preferred to see Hal’s hand with a paycheck. “Hal, I think before you visit anyone, you should spend time looking for work.”

“You don’t sound very—”

She lost the end of his sentence when the doorbell rang. Fred let out a yip as he scrambled to the door, flipping a scatter rug across the kitchen floor. “Hal, someone’s at the door. Hang on.”

Steph set the phone on the counter, wishing she’d said she was hanging up. As she approached the door, Fred tripped her, and she shot across the entry, one foot splaying on the hardwood and the other lifting in the air like a hornpiper’s jig. She whacked against the door, cringed and flung it open.