Fools Rush In

by Janice Thompson

  But, was I moving to the country? I closed my eyes and tried to envision myself living in Splendora. My flower garden filled with azaleas. My kitchen sink loaded with dirty dishes after feeding my man his daily portion of the fatted calf. My newer, simpler wardrobe and hairdo. My cowboy boots. My brood of children.

  Don’t get ahead of yourself, Bella.

  Knowing the workload that lay ahead, I spent a few minutes curled up in bed, praying. Then I reached for my Bible and allowed peace to flow over me as I read several comforting verses. I resolved myself to a new way of thinking. This wedding would be great. The food would be great. The reception would be great.

  But only if I crawled out of bed and got to work.

  After showering and dressing in a cute pair of jeans with a button-up yellow blouse, I telephoned Parma John’s to ask Uncle Laz a catering question. I was greeted with Jenna’s enthusiastic spiel about the Volare special. She quickly put my uncle on the phone.

  After Laz answered my questions about the southwestern beans—which he and Bubba were determined to cook outdoors over an actual chuck-wagon-style campfire—I headed down to the kitchen to find Aunt Rosa hard at work on the wedding cake. Sharlene and Cody had chosen Italian cream cake, my personal favorite. The cream cheese frosting made it a bit harder to decorate, but knowing Rosa, she didn’t mind a bit. She would pull off the most beautiful cake anyone had ever seen.

  “Come, Bella.” My aunt gestured for me to sit on a barstool as she pulled one of the larger layers of cake from the oven and tested it with the prongs of a fork. “Let’s talk.”

  “But I . . .” I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell her that I didn’t have time for a chat, that work beckoned. On the other hand, Rosa rarely asked for a private audience. So I took a seat and found myself telling her all about my adventures of Wednesday night. When I reached the part about the dancing sisters, she stopped her baking and looked at me, stunned.

  “Well, that’s different.”

  “That’s the thing, Rosa,” I explained. “There are so many things about D.J. and his family that are different. But different isn’t a bad thing. It’s just . . . different.”

  She smiled at me and took a few steps my way. As she gently laid a palm on my cheek, Rosa spoke in hushed Italian. “Go after your heart, Bella. Even if it takes you to new and different places.”

  A holy calm came over me at her words, and my eyes filled with tears. I’d never seen this side of Rosa before. Her tender words startled me. And to be totally honest with myself, I’d never truly followed my heart. Oh, I’d followed my mama’s advice and dated Tony. I’d listened to Pop and taken over the wedding facility. In fact, I’d pretty much always done what was expected of me. But I’d never really stepped out on my own. Never taken a chance like the one I was now taking with D.J. Never followed my heart into the vast unknown.

  Maybe that’s why I was so scared. I was facing something . . . different.

  My aunt’s eyes narrowed. “When I left my friends back in Napoli to come here, to America, I questioned my decision a hundred times,” she said. “But it was the right thing to do. After Mama died, my sisters were the only family I had left. And all of you children, of course. So I came here. And I’ve never regretted it. Oh, it was hard at first. I wanted to go back home half a dozen times. But I’ve been able to watch you and your brothers and sister grow into beautiful people, and now I’m here to see the little ones grow up too.” Her eyes filled with tears, and I realized for the first time what a sacrifice she’d made, leaving her homeland to come here. “You can trust God with the changes you go through, Bella,” she whispered.

  Mama chose that moment to walk into the kitchen and took Rosa’s tenderness for something more.

  “Are you all right, Bella?” She rushed to my side. “Has something gone wrong with the wedding?”

  “N-no.” I shook my head and embraced Rosa. “Not at all. In fact, everything is going according to schedule.”

  “Something else, then?” Mama looked back and forth between us. “Something to do with the neighbors?” She dove into a heated discussion about the letter she’d discovered on the door, and I sighed. So much for relaxing today.

  “What ever happened with that?” I asked. “Do you think they’re serious about filing a lawsuit?”

  Rosa scowled as she muttered, “Tutto fumo e niente arrosto.”

  “All smoke and no fire? What do you mean?” I stuck my finger in the bowl of cream cheese frosting, and she slapped it away. “You think they’re bluffing?”

  “Yes.” She gave a firm nod. “They’re all talk but no action. I don’t believe a word of it.”

  “What makes you think they’re not serious?” I asked.

  “What sort of people tape a letter to your door instead of sending it in the mail?” she asked. “Especially something as important as a lawsuit. I don’t believe a word of it.”

  “But it was on legal stationery.” Mama’s eyes reflected her concern. Of course, Mama was the sort to get overly concerned about most everything. She’d turned worrying into an art form.

  The more Rosa explained her bluffing theory, the more my mother relaxed. By the end of our discussion, I could almost feel the Spirit of God breathe peace over the room.

  Then Bubba and Jenna stopped by.

  I thought about asking my friend the obvious question—“So, how’s David, your soon-to-be-fiancé?”—but didn’t. No, looking into my best friend’s eyes, I was almost ready to forgive her for pretending to be sick this week.

  Then the coughing fit began. Her face turned pink, then red with embarrassment as she finally managed to catch her breath.

  “You really are sick!” I said.

  My face must’ve conveyed too much joy at this revelation because she looked at me, stunned. “Well, you don’t have to be so happy about it.” After blowing her nose, she added a stuffy, “I’m miserable. Summer colds are the worst. If Bubba hadn’t asked for my help with this campfire thing, I would’ve stayed at work. Or at home in bed, even. But I hate to say no to people. Always have.”

  “Aw, thanks.” Bubba shrugged as he turned to her with a loving glance. “I guess I could’ve done it without her, but . . .” He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. The boy was twitterpated.

  She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes and smiled. For a moment, time stood still. I half expected a Sinatra song to chime in overhead in perfect time. These two were hopelessly hooked on each other, whether they wanted to admit it or not. Jenna would have a lot of explaining to do when David arrived home.

  Bubba’s words jolted me back to attention. “I’m just here to get the campfire site started,” he explained. “Want to show me where you want it?”

  With Mama and Jenna tagging along, we made our way to the far side of the Club Wed property, which we’d deemed Bubba’s cooking station. I’d managed to get the city of Galveston to allow for the campfire, but not without some finagling on my part. I just prayed we wouldn’t burn the whole place to the ground in the process.

  Passing the gazebo and perfectly lined chairs, we located the ideal spot on the south lawn. “I thought I’d set my smoker up right here,” Bubba said. “And the campfire can go right there.” He pointed at a level spot without any grass. “It’s away from the trees, so there’s no real fire hazard.” I watched as Bubba made a U-shaped perimeter using large rocks, which he said he’d purchased at a local lawn and garden store. He placed a large, flat rock at the rear of the fire pit, explaining, “This one will act like a chimney, pushing the smoke up and away from the guests.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “Now, for the kindling.” Bubba filled the area inside the rocks with bits of wood and crumpled paper, layer upon layer. Then he stepped back and examined his work. “After tonight’s rehearsal, I’ll set up the pot and get the beans to soaking. Then I’ll be back first thing in the morning to get the smoker fired up and the briskets to cooking.”

  “What time in the morning?” Mama a
sked. “We could help you, if you like.”

  “Oh, five-ish.”

  “Five-ish?” we all repeated.

  “Well, sure.” He slapped his thigh and laughed. “Takes all day to smoke the briskets and cook the beans. You want this to taste good, right?”

  “Sure. Of course.” I wanted it to taste good, but I’d never pondered the fact that the neighbors might awaken to the tantalizing smell of barbecue.

  Not that it really mattered. Folks along Broadway were accustomed to merging business with personal life. Our home sat in the shadow of the historic Moody Mansion and the Aston Villa, after all—two of the top tourist sites in the city. Our neighborhood boasted the perfect blend of business life and residential life merged into one. Still, a five a.m. barbecue might be a bit over the top.

  “Bubba knows what he’s doing, Bella.” Jenna sneezed and went into another coughing fit before adding, “He’s done this for years.”

  “At the rodeo cook-off, I hear.” I smiled his direction, hoping to bring encouragement.

  “Yep. A couple of friends usually help me. We make a nice team. And my dad’s shop, Shade Tree Mechanics, is our sponsor. We call ourselves the Shade Tree Cookers.”

  “They’ve won lots of blue ribbons,” Jenna said with pride. “I’ve seen the pictures.” She proceeded to tell a rip-roaring story of Bubba’s adventures at the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo, but she lost me somewhere between the ribs and the brisket.

  Since when did Jenna care about the rodeo? Or meat, for that matter. The girl could barely tolerate tiny pieces of pepperoni on a pizza, let alone hefty slabs of beef and pork, which she now described in detail with a broad smile and enthusiastic ring to her voice. Surely someone had cast a spell on her. Maybe David would have the magic potion necessary to awaken her . . . when he returned home from his ventures offshore.

  Bubba interrupted my ponderings. “I’ll be staying at D.J.’s place tonight,” he explained. “He’ll come with me in the morning to get things started. And just so you know, he’ll be around most of the day keeping an eye on things while I head up to Parma John’s to see if Jenna and Laz need my help with the side dishes. Hope that’s okay.”

  “Oh, sure.” I felt my cheeks warm and saw the look of understanding in Jenna’s eyes. She knew me well. I couldn’t hide my crush on D.J. any more than she could hide hers on Bubba. Our shared glance spoke a thousand words. I could almost hear “Finché c’è vita c’è speranza” now—“where there is life, there is hope.”

  Hope. Funny how my life had been infused with it over the past week and a half. And now, standing here with my soul sister, I knew she sensed it too.

  Not that I had time to be standing around. Glancing down at my watch, I gasped. Eleven thirty? Where had the morning gone? I had a thousand things to do between now and this evening’s rehearsal.

  With my nerves twisting themselves into a bundle, I headed inside the wedding facility to tie up all the loose ends.

  17

  Memories Are Made of This

  Later that afternoon, about two hours before the wedding rehearsal, I walked through every room of the wedding facility one last time, just to make sure I hadn’t overlooked anything. After seeing to the details in the reception hall, I turned my attention to the garden, specifically the gazebo where the wedding ceremony would take place.

  If it didn’t rain.

  Yikes. Reality hit head-on. Glancing up at the skies, I pondered the fact that I’d forgotten to worry about the weather. Forgetting to worry was a novelty in our family, something that happened rarely. Despite Uncle Laz’s constant quoting of “Be anxious for nothing,” I often found myself fretting over this or that. And this afternoon was no different. While I hadn’t given any thought to the weather, today’s anxieties were focused on the inevitable meeting of the Rossis and the Neeleys, which was set to take place at 5:30 p.m. Visions of the Hatfields and the McCoys danced around in my head.

  At 5:07 the doorbell rang, and I braced myself.

  Pop answered the door, this time wearing a pair of slacks and a proper shirt. Mama had dressed him for the occasion. She stood behind him, a bright smile on her face. As the door opened, I could see her mentally taking in Earline, who wore a floral skirt, button-up blouse, and white sandals. Dwayne Sr. looked pretty spiffy in a pair of crisply ironed blue jeans and freshly pressed Western shirt. And boots. Of course. And D.J. had never looked finer. His beautiful eyes twinkled as he glanced my way.

  Somehow I doubted Earline paid much attention to my wardrobe, though I’d paid particular attention to my attire this evening. She took one look at me and swept me into the folds of her abundant chest. “Oh, Bay-luh, it’s so wonderful to see you again!” She finally loosened her embrace and turned to my mother. “And you must be Mrs. Rossi. We just love your daughter. And I’m sure we’re going to love the rest of you too!”

  “Well, thank you.” My mother had just offered up a nod when Earline grabbed her for a powerful hug. “Oh my. Well, I . . .” Her voice drifted off as Earline’s overwhelming bosom swallowed her up.

  I saw the fear register in Uncle Laz’s eyes as he watched this interaction. He took several steps backward, away from potential harm. Couldn’t say I blamed him.

  After a few seconds of chatter, I ushered everyone inside to the living room. Before taking a seat on the sofa, Dwayne Sr. approached Pop with a broad smile. He extended his hand. “Duh-wayne Neeley. Nice to meet you.”

  Pop shook the man’s hand and grinned. “Cosmo Rossi. Nice to meet you too.” He gestured for Mr. Neeley to sit, which he did with a smile. Within seconds they were best friends, talking about everything from cars to motorcycles to gas prices.

  The initial “getting to know you” went better than expected, especially when Rosa offered to show Earline her state-of-the-art kitchen. I’d never seen two happier women. Even Mama joined in, chatting leisurely about recipes. Since when did my mother care about cooking?

  Shortly thereafter Pop initiated a tour of our hundred-year-old home. Earline oohed and aahed over the various decorating choices, which brought a huge smile to my mother’s face. And Dwayne Sr. admired the house’s intricate Victorian woodwork. When they reached the master bedroom, Earline practically swooned. “This bed is divine.”

  Mama grinned. “It was my parents’ in Italy. There’s quite a story as to how we got it here.” She began to tell said story, and before long, all of the women were sitting on the bed, gabbing like girlfriends. Then Rosa and Mama decided it was time to show off the paintings in the hallway, which their father had done.

  D.J. and I lagged behind, holding hands as we walked together from room to room. “They seem to be getting along pretty well,” he whispered at one point.

  “Yes, so far so good.” Still, I did have to wonder when the dam would break. When Aunt Rosa would dive into an argument with Uncle Laz, scaring everyone to death. Or when Pop would insist they head outdoors for an impromptu basketball tournament.

  At quarter to six we all headed next door to the wedding facility, and I took a final look around the outdoor area where tonight’s wedding rehearsal—and tomorrow’s actual ceremony—would take place. The white wood-slatted chairs would look beautiful decked out in covers and sashes, but that was a job for tomorrow. Tonight we just had to get through a makeshift ceremony.

  I’d taken the time to write everything down. The order of service. The special music Earline would play as the bride and groom lit the unity candle. The vows. Everything.

  I watched in awe as Bubba and Jenna showed off the fire pit. My best friend couldn’t seem to focus on anything but Bubba, but who could blame her? He was tall, rugged, and handsome, wasn’t he? And I’d never met anyone kinder than the Neeley boys. They certainly put most of the guys I’d known to shame. Yes, these cowboys were getting harder to resist by the minute.

  Glancing over at D.J., I smiled. He offered up a wink, then helped Bubba unload the smoker from the back of their flatbed trailer.

  Yes, th
ings were really going well. I could finally start to relax.

  Sharlene and Cody arrived promptly at six, along with the others in the wedding party. The bride-to-be radiated joy, but the poor groom-to-be looked like he might be sick at any moment. I whispered quietly in his ear, “You’re going to do fine. Take a deep breath.”

  For the first time, I met Sharlene’s father face-to-face. The handsome south Texas oilman had that “this is my only daughter and she’s got me wrapped around her little finger” look on his face from the get-go. Not that I minded. Neither did Patti, who arrived at ten after six to finalize her floral plans. Though she’d spent the better part of the last few days whining about her singleness, Patti-Lou shifted gears the moment she realized Sharlene’s father wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. She found an excuse to gravitate to his side and never left.

  At 6:30, under skies as clear as cut glass, I gathered the troops for the rehearsal. The groom and groomsmen were lined up inside the gazebo, along with Pastor Higley. D.J.’s mom sat at the electric keyboard, playing Pachelbel’s “Canon in D.” I marveled at her skill as her fingertips danced across the keys. At my cue, the five bridesmaids sashayed down the aisle. Off in the distance, I made eye contact with Sharlene, who gave me a confident wave before she slipped an arm through her daddy’s for their walk down the aisle.

  Just then I heard a gasp from Patti-Lou, who stood at my side. The music came to a grinding halt as she cried out, “Wait! The bride isn’t supposed to participate in her own rehearsal! That’s a Southern tradition!”

  “She’s right!” Earline called out. “What if the pastor accidentally marries them tonight? It’ll put a damper on tomorrow’s ceremony.”

  Everyone chuckled, and I thought about her words. Some Southern women still followed this old tradition of replacing the bride for the rehearsal, so I looked at Sharlene, curious as to her reaction. “What do you think?”

  She offered a shrug in response. “That’s fine. I’m a true Southern belle, so I don’t mind abiding by tradition.”