Fools Rush In

by Janice Thompson

  “Oh?” I noticed the hesitancy in his voice, like he knew what was coming.

  “The opera is holding open auditions for The Marriage of Figaro in a few weeks. You’ve got to audition. You have the most beautiful voice.”

  “But I only sing country-western songs,” he said. “Don’t know nothin’ about opera.”

  “For now. But your pitch and tone are excellent, and I feel sure you could be trained to sing opera.” I could hear the intensity in her voice as she said, “Besides, it’s a comedy, so you would have so much fun doing it. Would you . . . would you at least promise to pray about it?”

  After a moment’s pause, he responded, “Well, sure. I guess it won’t hurt to pray.”

  “Never does,” Earline said with a hint of laughter in her voice. “Never does.”

  After that, we all grew silent. I pondered Bubba singing on the stage at the historic opera house. Though I never would have considered it until now, I had to admit the idea held considerable appeal. Hopefully to Bubba as well.

  Dwayne Sr. finally announced the time had come for fireworks, and the crowd shifted back to the lawn, where we watched the men at work.

  “Boys and their toys,” Earline whispered in my ear. She slipped an arm over my shoulder as we watched them together. I leaned against her, and a feeling of warmth settled in my heart—one that had nothing to do with the weather—until the first loud boom rang out. Earline must’ve felt my shudder, because she looked at me and laughed. “Scared of the fireworks?”

  “A little.” Mostly, though, I just worried that someone might get hurt. I watched as the older kids played with sparklers. Round and round the sizzling, crackling lights spun, dancing against the night sky. The smaller children put their fingers in their ears as the firecrackers began to pop in rapid succession.

  When Earline released me from her embrace, I settled into a lawn chair between my mother and my aunt, who’d finally changed out of her costume and into a skirt and blouse. I couldn’t help but notice Laz as he kept a watchful eye on Rosa, particularly when there were other men around. The strangest curiosity rose up inside me as I observed him. One minute he acted like he couldn’t stand her, the next he guarded her like the Secret Service.

  Hmm. I wonder.

  A bottle rocket blazed across the sky, interrupting my ponderings. It provided just the right splattering of light to watch as my man—my bona fide man—lit another one and pointed it heavenward. Pride tingled through me—the good kind, not the bad. Leaning back against the lawn chair, I closed my eyes to dream a little dream about D.J. Neeley.

  Before long, the words to a country song found their way to my lips. And funnier still, against the sound of laughter, fireworks, and sparklers, I was pretty sure I heard the angels chiming in.

  26

  Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime

  The two weeks after the Fourth of July passed like a whirlwind. D.J. and I settled into a comfortable but happy routine, one that gave us plenty of time together in the evenings after a hard day’s work. He loved Aunt Rosa’s cooking, sure, but he enjoyed spending time with the entire Rossi family even more. Go figure. Before long, he became a permanent fixture around our dinner table. With each passing day, my heart grew all that much more attached to his. Unlike my relationship with Tony, I didn’t even have to try. No, the feelings I had for D.J. Neeley were bigger than anything I could’ve conjured up. Only the Lord could have done something this remarkable.

  Those same two weeks brought other changes to the household. Uncle Lazarro and Aunt Rosa actually held a couple of civil conversations with each other. In fact, I was pretty sure I caught Rosa blushing when Laz looked at her once. As for 26 the others . . . Nick and Marcella headed off on vacation to the Texas Hill Country with the boys, Sophia informed me she’d given up on her infatuation with Tony DeLuca, and Armando moved back to Houston because he’d fallen for his ex’s cousin. Bada-bing, bada-boom. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

  Not that I wanted things to stay the same. Oh, no. I’d almost grown accustomed to the shifting of sands, the turning of the hands on the clock. In fact, I rather liked the fact that I seemed to have passed from one stage of my life to another. What was it Earline had said the day of the wedding? “Trust God for a new season.” And that Scripture passage she’d given me—the one from Song of Solomon—ran through my mind each morning as a new day appeared. “The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come.”

  I truly felt like singing now. The Lord had unlocked the key to my cage—symbolically speaking—and with wings unclipped, I soared free. I spread them wide and flew to places I’d never gone before. My heart, now no longer bound by fears and frustrations, was finally ready to love. Finally ready to move forward.

  God had done such a work—not just in my heart but at the wedding facility as well. Club Wed saw an influx of customers after the Boot-Scootin’ extravaganza. Turned out Sharlene and Cody had done more than sing the wedding facility’s praises. After returning from their honeymoon, they actually sent a handful of new clients my way. Between that and our latest ad in the Houston Chronicle, I began to see a steady climb in business. With my nerves now behind me, I settled into my position as manager, paying particular attention to the upcoming medieval wedding. I dreamed of ladies-in-waiting and knights in shining armor. Funny how each dream morphed into one about D.J.

  On a Thursday afternoon in mid-July, I arrived home exhausted from the heat and a hard day’s work. The steady stream of calls and visits from new customers kept me hopping, and I ached to crawl in bed for a nap before dinner. Convinced no one would care, I decided to do just that. Less than ten minutes after falling asleep, however, my cell phone rang. Groaning, I grabbed it to check the number. A 406 area code? Where in the world was that?

  I answered tentatively, wondering if perhaps word about the wedding facility had spread that far. I recognized Patti-Lou’s voice at once.

  “Bella? Can you hear me?”

  “Barely.” I did my best not to yawn, though everything within me longed to.

  Her voice cut in and out. “I’m at . . . sister’s . . . mountains . . . reception . . . bad.”

  “Um, okay.” I forced myself awake and tried to play along. “When are you coming home?” Surely by now she’d had her Montana adventure and was ready to hit the beach again.

  “Oh, Bella! I met . . . man . . . handsome cowboy . . . married.”

  “W-wait!” I couldn’t stand this! What did she just say? “You met a man?”

  “Yes.”

  “A married man?” Surely not. I forced my sleepy brain to engage, wondering if I might be dreaming this. I’d had stranger dreams in recent weeks, no doubt about that.

  “I’m . . . married.”

  “You’re married?” I could hardly believe it.

  “Getting married.” She giggled.

  “B-but, you’ve only been there two weeks. How could you . . . ?”

  “Such . . . God-thing.”

  I sighed, then made up my mind not to ask another question. She proceeded to tell me—in fragmented sentences—about the man of her dreams. How she’d flown all the way to Montana to meet him. How their eyes had met across a crowded room, just like in the old song “Some Enchanted Evening.” How he played the drums at her sister’s church. How he owned a strip mall in Missoula and had the perfect space for her new flower shop once they returned from their honeymoon cruise to Alaska.

  I listened closely, not wanting to miss any more than necessary. At the first lull in the conversation, I asked, “But, what about the shop here?”

  “That’s why . . . calling,” she said. “Want to give your family . . . dibs.”

  “Wait. Dibs? As in first dibs? You want us to buy the flower shop?”

  “Yes.” She went on to explain that it was the perfect solution. That Galveston needed the florist business to continue.

  “I’ll talk to my parents about it,” I promised. “But I hav
e no idea what they’ll say.”

  When I ended the call, I leaned back against the headboard, enthralled. Patti-Lou’s found someone. She’s getting married. And she’s living . . . in Montana. My mind could hardly take it in. I would miss her terribly. And, man! Losing the florist shop. What a blow to the business. Would my family really be interested in taking it over?

  I leaned my head back against the pile of plush pillows, determined to sleep a few more minutes before approaching Mama with the idea. After a while, I finally gave up. Might as well get this over with.

  As I swung my legs over the side of the bed, I heard someone singing. Sounded like a worship song of some sort. Kicking off the covers, I padded barefoot to Uncle Lazarro’s bedroom door and knocked. After giving it a minute, I realized he must be gone, so I inched the door open. I found Guido in his cage, warbling a pitchy song. The minute he laid eyes on me, he shifted gears and spouted, “May the words of my mouth be acceptable. May the words of my mouth be acceptable.” Over and over again he repeated the same verse.

  I could scarcely believe my eyes or my ears. Laz had done it! He’d actually made some progress in reforming the bird. Guido looked up at me, and I could almost sense him smiling. Wow! Looked like God had really done a work on the bird. He’d had his “come to Jesus” meeting, just like Laz.

  Suddenly I could hardly wait to talk to Mama. Between Patti-Lou’s happy news and the bird’s encounter with the Lord, we had some partying to do!

  Minutes later, fully dressed, I located my mother in the living room, reading her Bible. I hated to interrupt her but couldn’t resist the temptation. I decided to start with Guido and shift to Patti-Lou afterward.

  “Can I ask you a question about the bird?”

  “Sure.” She looked over with a wrinkled brow. “Wait. What’s the deal with the cowboy boots and jeans? This is the third time this week.”

  “Oh, I dunno . . .” I stared down at my feet. “They’re really comfortable. Don’t know how I lived without them for so long.”

  “Mm-hmm.” She grinned, then asked, “What about Guido?”

  “Did you know that he’s—”

  “Singing praise songs?” She smiled. “Yes, I heard him attempt ‘Amazing Grace’ this morning. Not bad, but he changed keys a couple of times.”

  “Actually, I was referring to the Scripture I just heard him quote.”

  “Ah.” She nodded. “You can thank Earline Neeley for that. And your uncle, of course. He jumped right on board with her plan. He played those ‘Taming the Tongue’ CDs nonstop, you know, starting the day of the wedding. And now he’s making Guido listen to the Bible on CD.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, but we almost lost him in Leviticus and Numbers. Laz ended up skipping right through to Deuteronomy, I think.”

  After a chuckle, I admitted something that had been weighing on me. “You know, Mama, I had my doubts about that bird. I’m ashamed to admit it now.”

  Mama rested her Bible in her lap, then looked at me, her eyes narrowing. “Why are you so surprised, Bella? You’ve seen God do some pretty amazing things over the years.”

  After a shrug, I decided to come clean. “I think I’m just trying to figure out how he works—God, not the bird.”

  My mother laughed, then looked at me with a twinkle in her eye. “If you get that figured out, let me know. In the meantime, just trust him. He’s got things under control, even the things we can’t see. Or maybe I should say especially the things we can’t see. Oh, and speaking of miracles . . . you might want to take a peek inside the kitchen.”

  “Oh?” I shuffled my way into the kitchen, the pointed toes of my boots leading the way. I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw the Burton kid eating one of Rosa’s homemade garlic twists. She stood next to him, reading something from a piece of paper. To her left, Pop’s basketball sat on the countertop, with the skateboard nearby.

  At first I pretended to go about my business. I snagged a soda from the fridge. Popped it open and poured it over a glass of ice. Grabbed a cookie. Settled onto a barstool. Watched Rosa and the boy, hoping one of them would eventually offer up an explanation. Instead, the kid kept chomping, pausing only to mutter an occasional “This is really good,” at which point Rosa would hand him another twist and smile.

  Finally, I could take it no more. “So, what happened?” I stared them both down. “The lawsuit’s off?”

  “Lawsuit?” Rosa laughed and clasped her hands together at her chest. “There was never a lawsuit. Right, Dakota?”

  Ah. So he has a name. He’s not just “the Burton kid” after all.

  I looked at the kid for his response. He shrugged, then spoke with a full mouth. “I thought my letter sounded pretty good, though, didn’t you?”

  She nodded, then handed him another chunk of bread.

  “Wait a minute.” I felt my blood begin to boil. “You wrote that letter?”

  He shrugged and muttered a hesitant “Yeah.”

  “Your dad didn’t write it?”

  Dakota flashed an impish grin. “Nah. He doesn’t even know about it.”

  I stared him down, my temper rising. “You’re telling me your parents aren’t mad at us?”

  “Nope.” He took another bite. “In fact, I heard my mom say she was wondering why none of the neighbors had stopped by to welcome us to the neighborhood.” He flashed a sly smile. “Maybe you should do that. I feel kind of sorry for her. She’s looking a little lonely.”

  “I’ll do that.” After I strangle you!

  “Her name is Phoebe, by the way. And my dad’s name is Bart.”

  “But, what about the police?” I asked. “Who called them the night of the wedding?”

  Dakota raised his hand, then turned back to his food, not even flinching.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. You led us to believe—”

  “Yeah, I know, I know.” He looked up at me with a broad grin, likely meant to win me over.

  “He wrote the most wonderful apology letter.” Rosa shoved the piece of paper my way, and I stared in awe when I saw he’d written it in both English and Italian, just as she’d demanded.

  “How in the world did you . . . ?”

  He shrugged and took another bite, then spoke around the mouthful of food. “I went to one of those translator sites online. It’s pretty cool what you can do on the Internet.”

  “Yeah, like figure out how to word a lawsuit letter.”

  “Oh, I didn’t get that from the Web.” He grabbed a glass of tea and took a swallow. After wiping his mouth, he explained, “I just borrowed one from my dad’s office. He’s a lawyer, you know.”

  I counted to ten silently before responding. “Yes, I know. Apparently you’ll make a good one too. Someday.”

  Shrugging, he said, “Maybe,” then shoveled another piece of bread into his mouth.

  “So, um . . . what won you over?” I asked. “Did Rosa wear you down?”

  “Yeah, but not like you’re thinking.” He paused, and I could read the embarrassment in his eyes.

  “Oh?” I turned to my aunt.

  “It was the bread,” she explained.

  “I just couldn’t take it anymore.” Dakota sighed. “It almost killed me. Every day I’d smell that garlic bread baking, and before long . . . I cracked.”

  “Aha.”

  “Couldn’t take it anymore. Had to get some or die trying.”

  “That explains what happened the other morning.”

  “Hey, I can’t be blamed for that,” he said. “She left the back door unlocked when she took the trash out. I was just following my nose.”

  Rosa patted him on the back. “I forgive you for everything, Dakota. On one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Tell your parents they’re invited to our house for dinner tomorrow night. I’m making manicotti.”

  When he nodded, she turned to me and whispered, “Cane che abbaia non morde.”

  Dakota looked up at me, a worried
look on his face. “What does that mean?”

  “She says ‘the dog that barks doesn’t bite.’”

  “Huh?” His face contorted.

  “Basically, your bark is worse than your bite,” I explained. “She’s saying you’re a pushover. She thinks she had you the whole time.”

  “Ah.” He nodded and tore off another piece of bread, shoveled it in his mouth, and said, “Maybe she did.”

  “Would you like to help me cook dinner, Dakota?” Rosa asked. “We’re having chicken parmesan and fettuccini tonight. I can teach you how to make the Alfredo sauce from scratch if you like.”

  His eyes widened, and he nodded. “Sure. Why not.”

  I left the kitchen with my drink in hand, marveling at what the Lord had done in such a short period of time. He’d saved the bird, restored Rosa’s relationship with the neighbors, and found Patti-Lou a mate. And a cowboy, no less!

  If God could do all of that in an afternoon, I could only imagine what adventures the evening would hold!

  27

  You’re Nobody Till Somebody Loves You

  Later that night, Rosa served dinner—not in the kitchen as usual, but in the dining room. With Deany-boy and Frankie at church camp, this was an adults-only night. And we were an even-numbered group, what with Sophia being away on a mystery date. She’d had a couple of those lately but wouldn’t spill the beans about who she was seeing. I secretly wondered if she hesitated to introduce him because her heart was still given over to Tony. Only time would tell.

  Pop took up residence at the head of the big table with Mama to his right. Laz sat at the other end. D.J. and I took our places to Mama’s right. Joey and his new girlfriend, Norah, sat across from us, their faces beaming. They had that “we’re just so happy we found each other” look. I understood all too well. Likely D.J. and I still had the same look on our faces. Down a little farther, Marcella’s face also glowed as Nick—in an uncharacteristic way—pulled out a chair for her. Something about that just felt . . . fishy.