Lucky Girl

Page 4

CHAPTER THREE
“Time to throw your bouquet!” Carrie rushed up to the table carrying a smaller version of Aimee’s bouquet. Aimee’s was so big and full, sitting on the table in front of her, it looked like a showpiece. “I’m gonna catch it!”
“Oh no you’re not!” I bolted around the table, reaching for it, but Carrie held it out of my reach. She was five inches taller than me on a day when she wasn’t wearing four inch heels. All of the Green kids were tall.
“Okay, okay.” Aimee laughed, swishing around the end of the table. Her train was all bustled up but she swished when she walked because there was so much fabric. “Give it to me, you vultures, and line up with the rest of the girls!”
Carrie reluctantly handed over the flowers. The DJ was doing his thing, calling out, “All the single ladies onto the dance floor. It’s your chance to catch the bouquet and see if you’ll be the next lucky lady to catch her man!”
All the girls squealed and jostled for position. I reached down and pulled off my heels, standing there in my nylons, the floor cold, but I didn’t care. I tossed my shoes aside and saw Dale standing there with his dad. Dale had his arms crossed over his chest, a bemused look on his face as he watched all the drama. John just winked at me.
“Watch my shoes!” I pointed to them and John reached over and picked them up.
A few girls saw my strategy and started taking off their shoes too. Carrie was next to me and the taller girl didn’t unstrap her four-inch heels. Hers was clearly a treetop strategy. She could see over all their heads and her arm’s reach was freakishly long, probably twice mine.
“Are you ready?” the DJ called.
Girls screeched and elbowed each other in front of me. I went up on my tiptoes, trying to see and then saw my chance. I moved a little to the left, behind one of the junior bridesmaids—Aimee’s cousin, Lauren. She was just ten, but the important thing was, she was short and I could see over her head.
The DJ began the countdown.
“On three!” he said. Aimee gave him a nod, holding the bouquet over her head and glancing back over her shoulder, looking at the gaggle of girls waiting to jump for it.
One
My heart raced. It was stupid. Just a superstition. I didn’t even believe in superstitions.
Two
It didn’t mean anything if I didn’t catch it. It didn’t mean Dale wasn’t going to marry me. And even if I did catch it, that didn’t mean anything either.
Three
The bouquet sailed through the air, pink and white ribbons fluttering madly, and I could have sworn I had never wanted anything quite so badly in my life. The trajectory was skewed to my left, which was good—it was away from Carrie’s long arm, which stretched in front of me, barring my way. So I ducked under it, elbowing Lauren aside and grabbing the hanging ribbons, tugging the bouquet toward me.
I got it!
I had it, for a moment. The ribbons were clenched tightly in my fist and I yanked on them, realizing there was some resistance. It was Lauren. She had hold of the handle underneath. But I wasn’t going to let a ten year old who had at least another decade to wait before marriage win this little tug of war.
“Gimme it!” Lauren snarled.
“No way, kid!” I growled right back, grabbing the handle underneath, above the younger girl’s grip, and I yanked it free. “This is mine!”
I held it up in triumph and the crowd cheered. Lauren pouted, crossing her arms over her chest, but Aimee came over to put an arm around the girl.
“You’ve got a long way to go before you’re really ready to catch a bouquet,” Aimee said with a laugh, nudging her young cousin. The girl gave her a reluctant smile. “Besides, you know what happens next?”
The girl shook her head.
“Matt throws the garter and whoever catches it gets to put it on the girl who caught the bouquet.”
“What’s a garter?”
Aimee leaned down to whisper in her ear.
“Ewww!”
“See, aren’t you glad Sara caught it instead?”
It suddenly occurred to me that I was going to have to sit in the chair the DJ was unfolding in the middle of the dance floor.
Dale didn’t look very happy about me catching the bouquet when I joined them, taking my shoes back from John and slipping them on.
“I caught it.” I held it up, triumphant, although now I felt a little sheepish, seeing that look on Dale’s face. “What? What did I do?”
“No way.” Dale shook his head as the girls dispersed, laughing and talking. The DJ was calling for all the single men to come out onto the dance floor. “There is no way another guy is going to…”
He couldn’t even finish the sentence. His jaw clenched and unclenched as he looked out over the dance floor at the gathering of guys, like he was sizing them up, getting ready to do battle.
He looked down at his waist, reaching around and unhooking the pink cummerbund that had come with the tuxedo. All the guys in the wedding party were wearing them.
“Hold this.”
He handed the pink band of material to his father and John took it, shaking his head.
That was the first time I realized Dale was wearing a belt—his belt—under his cummerbund. It was black and studded and had belonged to his father. Not John, but Dale’s real father. I still couldn’t believe John didn’t know that Dale—and Dale’s sister Chrissy, who lived in Maine with her mother—wasn’t really his. I understood why Dale kept it a secret, but I didn’t like it. If it were me, I would want to know. Sometimes I wondered if Dale might harbor the belief that if John found out, he wouldn’t love his son anymore.
I knew that was impossible. John loved me, and I wasn’t his real daughter. If he ever discovered the truth, I knew he would still love Dale and think of him as he always had—as his son.
“Dale.” I leaned in closer, touching his forearm. “It’s okay, really. I—”
He turned and kissed me, crushing his lips against mine. He had me by the upper arms, holding my whole body against him and then just as quickly as it had happened, he let me go. I almost stumbled, but John was there to catch my arm.
“You’re mine.” That’s all he said before he turned and stalked over to the laughing, joking group of guys who were, I had just noticed, all fixated on me. Of course, because I was going to be the one sitting in that folding chair, pulling up the hemline of my dress, so one lucky gentleman could slide the white garter with the blue bow up, up, up, my leg, until…
“He’s just Fred Flintstone to your Wilma, isn’t he?” Aimee laughed, joining them.
She’d overheard Dale’s emphatic you’re mine. Aimee liked to joke that Dale would drag me around by the hair like a Neanderthal if he had his way. It wasn’t like that, but it was hard to explain.
Matt and Aimee loved each other, but I’d watched them as a couple for two years and realized it was different than what I had with Dale. They joked and teased each other, they held hands and Matt always kissed her goodbye and said I love you, but their energy wasn’t the same as ours. Aimee and Matt’s love was the tropical beach kind with sunshine and palm trees and white sand—not unlike the place they’d decided to honeymoon together.
Our love was more like a hurricane. Category five.
“You probably should have let the ten year old have it.” John shook his head again, wearing the same bemused smile I’d seen on Dale when I rushed off into trouble to catch the bouquet. “They would have cancelled the garter toss.”
“Probably,” I agreed with perfect 20/20 hindsight vision.
The DJ was getting to the counting stage. Dale was waiting. I could almost see how tense his limbs were under that tux, like he was ready to burst through the material itself. He was like a cat waiting to pounce, focused on his target but still paying full attention to his periphery—and his competition.
I closed my eyes and sent up a little prayer to… whoever…
If you’re up there, or out there, or wherever, whatever you are, will you please just let him catch it because… because he loves me… and he wants to protect me… and he’s right, I am his. I belong, heart and soul, to Dale Diamond, for better or worse, richer or poorer, sickness and health, all those things they said in the vows today. Even if I never get to say them in a church, they’re all true. I’ve said them all in my heart. I am his and I don’t want any other man to ever come between us again.
I opened my eyes, whispering a little, “Amen,” as the DJ started to count to three.
One
Dale’s eyes widened, focused on the garter. Matt was very tall—he played basketball in high school, all the Green boys did—so it was easy to see the target.
Two
Matt waved the garter back and forth and Dale’s eyes followed it like a big cat watching its prey zig zag in hopes of getting away.
Three
A sea of black suits and tuxes fell onto each other reaching for one little bit of white satin.
“I can’t look.” I turned and buried my head against John’s shoulder. “Tell me when it’s over.”
Please, please, please, just let it be him, let it be Dale, please…
“I got it!”
That wasn’t Dale’s voice.
My eyes flew open and I saw Steven, one of Matt’s brothers, holding his fist up high in the air—and he was tall, like Matt, so that fist was really high in the air. And still Dale stayed focused on his target. He jostled guys aside to get to Steven.
“We have a winner!” the DJ announced. “If the little lady and the lucky man would step over to the chair please.”
The chair. I looked at it, sitting alone in the middle of the dance floor as the guys started to disperse, slapping Steven on the back and making wisecracks about copping a feel and how high could he go? I took a step toward the chair, glancing over at Dale, and then looked back to the chair. It stood waiting. I felt like I was walking to the electric chair, not a little metal fold-up from the hall’s basement.
“Come on, don’t be shy!” the DJ called. Other girls pressed around me, the ones who hadn’t caught the bouquet, urging me toward the chair. I took another step, looking over at Dale. He was saying something to Steven, who was so tall Steven had to lean down to hear him. Music played. Keep Your Hands to Yourself by the Georgia Satellites was apparently the song choice for copping a feel. Ironic.
“You don’t have to.” Aimee’s voice, behind me. “Really, you don’t.”
But the crowd was gathering, this time near the chair. Everyone wanted to see the show and I was the star.
“Dale,” I called, but it only came out as a squeak. The crowd pushed and pulled me, getting its way. I couldn’t fight the momentum. I managed another, “Dale!” louder this time, but I’d lost sight of him, somewhere behind me.
Then I was sitting on the folding chair, everyone looking at me.
This isn’t happening.
I closed my eyes, wishing it away. How many times had I done that? Sometimes it even worked. My mind flashed back to the last time a man touched me when I hadn’t wanted him to. I had willed it away. Granted, Steven was harmless and I knew he wouldn’t overstep his bounds. He was certainly nothing compared to the stepbeast. I shivered, remembering, trying to unremember everything with my words.