Never the Bride

by Rene Gutteridge

  “Oh, right.” I wanted to add that’s only touching on crazy, but I’m more concerned about getting out of here. Garrety gives me my tire iron and keys back, and I sign a few papers. He nods to something behind me. I look around and it’s Blake, laughing it up with the female officer at the desk.

  “Now there’s a nice fellow,” Garrety says quietly. “Good looking. Comes to get you out of jail. Why not some guy like that?”

  “Yes. Why not?” I glance at the ceiling hoping God is eavesdropping on this conversation. Blake must have noticed us, because when I look back at him, he is watching me, grinning like he’s just been given the right to harass me for the rest of my life.

  Garrety reaches out to shake my hand. “Stay out of trouble, you hear?”

  I shake his hand. “Yes. Thank you, Officer.” I turn and walk toward Blake, who is chuckling. “Shut up,” I say as I walk through the front doors of the station. The morning light screams at me, and I block it with my hand. I really want to sleep.

  Blake scrambles behind me, laughing out loud now.

  I walk quickly toward the car, which is parked at the curb. “I said shut up! Thanks for coming to get me. But shut up.”

  He opens the car door for me and notices the tire iron. This causes even more laughter.

  I get in as quickly as I can. “‘Shut up’ includes insidious laughter over my most inconvenient predicament.”

  “Hey. I’m the one that came and bailed you out. And sorry, I just got your message. I was asleep.” He shuts my door, then goes around and gets in, the laughter cranking up again. Finally, his laughter settles. “Jessie, seriously, what were you doing?”

  I hold my hand up. “Talk to my Fifth Amendment.”

  “What were you doing?”

  I drop my hand into my lap. “Nothing. Now, can you take me back to my condo so I can change and come up with some clever excuse for being late to work?”

  He starts the car. “Nothing, huh? Excuse me for stating the obvious, but you don’t break into a church in the middle of the night for nothing.”

  “I’m a woman. In case you didn’t notice. I don’t have to make sense.”

  He grins. It’s so unfair when he does that. I can’t be mad at him when his dimples show. I cross my arms, though, and hunker down in my seat.

  Blake whistles for a few minutes and then says, “Wasn’t that your parents’ church?”

  “Yes.” I look out the window. I don’t want to talk about this.

  “So…what were you doing there?”

  I don’t answer.

  “The officer said you were rehearsing for a wedding or something.” A chuckle escapes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Da, dum, da, dum.”

  I try not to smile. “Do you have any idea how much I hate you right now?”

  “You love me. Admit it.” Dimples.

  I laugh—I can’t help it—and then notice we’re heading north. “Where are we going?”

  “Just settle down. I paid two hundred dollars to get you out of jail, and that means I choose where we go.”

  “I need to get my car back, get changed, and get to work.”

  “You’re going to be playing hooky for a while.”

  “I can’t play hooky! I have responsibilities, Blake. People are depending on my dependability.”

  “Yeah, well, you can explain to them how those wonderful character traits landed you in jail. Later. Right now, I’ve got something to show you.”

  “Another blondie?”

  He shoots me a look. “Careful. My shallow-itis is contagious.”

  Stung.

  “Besides, what are you cracking on me for?” he asks. “Clay Matthews was a blond.”

  “You know,” I say, rubbing my temples, “I’ve had a bad enough night without you bringing that jerk up.”

  “I’m just saying, Clay Matthews was a blond.”

  “Clay Matthews was the punk who left me for a blonde.”

  “Oh. Right. Well, I never did understand what you saw in that guy.”

  I close my eyes, my head resting against the seat. “His name was Clay. I thought he’d be more moldable.”

  Blake laughs. I love when he gets my jokes. “So, the perfect husband search—how’s that going for you?”

  “As a matter of fact, it’s going fab—” My ear is tickled, and I swipe at it. “Stop touching my ear!”

  “I’m not touching your ear.”

  I glance behind me. There He is, with my feather pen, about to tickle my ear again. He winks. “I am so not talking to You!” I say, giving Him a hard look.

  “What?” Blake says, glancing at me. “What did I say?”

  I turn and face forward, trying to calm myself. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t actually, um, talking to you. I mean…I was just letting off some steam.”

  My ear is tickled from the backseat again, and He says, “Don’t be mad. I’m gifted at turning bad into good.”

  “Whatever! What are you, um, going to show me, Blake?”

  Blake glances at me and shakes his head. “You’ll see.” Then he smiles. “So, back to the perfect husband hunt. You’re one and a half months into the new year. What are you waiting for?” Blake asks.

  “That, my friend, is a great question. What am I waiting for?” I nod toward Blake, hoping He’ll get a clue.

  Blake starts in on some diatribe about how women put too much pressure on men to be perfect, which gives me a chance to turn around in my seat.

  God smiles at me. “You left this at My house.” The purple pen is tucked in His pocket, barely showing out the top.

  My eyes narrow. He knows I can’t say anything with Blake in the car.

  “So,” He continues, “no filling up journals with your grand ideas about this story anymore. But, I do need you to start blogging online.”

  Blogging? I turn back around in my seat, facing forward—or, more accurately, away from Him. I detest bloggers. Blogging is like going to a party where everyone is that one guy who has an opinion about everything. Ugh. If I blog, I’m going to have to take back all those nasty things I’ve said about bloggers.

  Sigh. Well, at least I probably won’t get arrested for it.

  We’ve wound our way up the side of a mountain that overlooks Santa Barbara. This used to be where we’d hang out sometimes as teenagers. I try to admire the view, because it’s breathtaking, but I’m fighting the imaginary conversation I have going on in my head with Mr. Coston—while also fighting off the attention of the possibly nonimaginary friend in the backseat, who is now dangling my purple pen.

  “It’s just up there,” Blake says, pointing. We turn into a neighborhood filled with magnificent, never-in-my-lifetime homes.

  “This is the development our company has been working on for a year. They should be ready in about four months. Most of them are sold.”

  “What? Building shelves for Veronica lost its luster?”

  Blake’s smile fades. He actually looks a little wounded, and I regret my sharp tongue. “Yeah. That didn’t quite go over. She and her new husband are opening that shop. The one whose last name she hadn’t taken on yet. Oh, but she will. In case you were worried.”

  “I wasn’t. Sorry.”

  He shrugs. “Come on, I’ll show you around.” Blake hops out of the car.

  I quickly turn to the backseat. “The story that You’re writing for me—it could be a very short assignment for You, You know.” I nod toward Blake as he rounds the back of the car.

  God raises an eyebrow.

  I smile innocently as I open the door to the car. “Here’s what You need to write: Blake wakes up to Jessie’s irresistible charms. Does that sound easy? No rewrites necessary.”

  God smirks. “Charm. Yeah, you were really charming back there. As charming as an ulcer.”

  “Hey! I thought You were loving and all that.” I glance at Blake, who is already at the front door of the house.

  “I am. Now go.” God
shoos me out the door. “He’s here to show you something special. Maybe you should pay attention to that rather than hair color, which is really beginning to become an obsession with you.”

  “Jess, come on!” Blake yells.

  “Okay. I’m going. You stay in the car. You are very distracting!”

  I follow the stone driveway up to the house, which is nothing short of stunning. The scene takes my breath away. The house overlooks the water. The sun is shining straight through the unfinished walls.

  “What do you think?” Blake asks as he gestures toward the front.

  “Amazing. This is really great, Blake.”

  He grins. “I know! Come inside!”

  I shove my hands in my pockets, only to discover…my purple pen. Huh? “Um, yeah, I’ll be there in just a sec. I left something in the car.” I race back to the car, open the door, and slide in. I turn to the backseat, but it’s empty. “Are You here?”

  No answer. I look back to the house and gasp. There He is! Inside the unfinished house! I hurry back up the driveway only to run into Blake inside. “What do you think? This is where the living room is, with a double-sided fireplace. The other side is the kitchen. Want to see?”

  “Definitely. For sure. Just give me a sec to, um, you know, look around. I want to get the big picture.”

  Blake smiles proudly and nods. I hurry off. Man, this house must be, like, three thousand square feet or something. “Wow!” I yell. “Man, this is enormous! Love the layout!” I hurry through the rooms, glancing into closets and bathrooms. I turn and nearly run into Him.

  “Hi,” He smiles. “Looking for someone?”

  “Funny. I thought I told You to stay in the car.”

  “Yes, well, I’m working on your bossy side. You probably won’t believe this, but not once in the history of the world have I actually taken orders from a human.”

  I bite my lip. “Sorry. I see your point. I just forget because You look…well, You know.”

  “Cute?”

  “Um. Yes. That’s the word I wasn’t looking for.”

  He gestures to Himself. “It’s just something I borrowed for the occasion.”

  I laugh. “You’re funny.” I take the pen out of my pocket. “I got arrested trying to give this to You. You can’t give it right back.”

  He doesn’t reach for the pen but instead gestures around Him. “So, what do you think of this house? Needs a few more walls, some paint. You like chartreuse?”

  “Okay, let’s stay on point here. I am being abundantly cooperative. Time to do Your part. Write, write, write.”

  “Wouldn’t take much to make it a home. It’s missing your veranda, though.”

  I relent and glance around a little, taking in the fresh sawdust smell, which I actually love. “And double front doors, chandelier in the foyer, an office overlooking the water, and a porch swing.” I wave my hands. “You’re getting me off track here.”

  He’s looking at me in a way that makes me think I should, perhaps, do some internal searching.

  I sigh. “Okay. So I made a light suggestion to You. Sorry. But don’t You agree? Wouldn’t Blake be the perfect match? Just picture our photo albums.”

  “I am not accepting nominations.”

  I can hear Blake walking around the front of the house. I lower my voice. “I’ve cared about him forever. If I’m hoping for something that won’t happen, would You just tell me so I can get over it?”

  “Jessie, you need to learn to trust Me. If you do, the next man you kiss could be the one.”

  I get slightly caught up in the moment but snap out of it. “No offense here, but You’re not exactly what I’d called an expert in romance.”

  He looks amused. “Really?”

  “Parting the Red Sea: majestic and very powerful—but not, You know, romantic.”

  “Have you read Song of Solomon?”

  “Is that in the Old Testament?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then no.”

  “You might start there. And you’d be surprised how into brides and grooms I am. One Bride in particular.” He plucks the purple pen out of my hand and drops it in His shirt pocket. “I created romance, and I don’t want to see you in any relationships off script. My script. The one I’m writing.”

  “Okay, so I’m off script duty. But what am I blogging about?”

  “You’ll figure it out.”

  “See? That’s what I mean. Sometimes You’re very nonspecific, and for an organized person, I just need a little more—”

  “Jessie?”

  I whirl around. “Need a little more, um, crown molding.”

  Blake grins. “Oh, that’s coming. Believe me. What do you think?” He gestures around him. Pride beams from his face.

  “It’s great, Blake. Really. Very, very nice.”

  “This one’s still available. You in the market?”

  This makes me smile. “Soon. Very soon. Okay, not very. And maybe not soon.” I sigh. I really wish God could at least give me a hint or a timeline or something. Maybe I should buy Him a BlackBerry.

  nine

  I was born with a guilty conscience that to this day can’t be explained. It’s one of many odd parts of my personality. I think it’s a mutated gene or something, probably from my mother’s side. Brooklyn does not have this gene and doesn’t feel the slightest bit of guilt over things she really should feel guilty about.

  That is why I think it is terribly odd that I am feeling not one ounce of guilt at this moment.

  My slacks are wrinkled, my hair is in desperate need of product. Normally I’d be standing in the bathroom with hot water steaming out of the faucet, trying to force the wrinkles out. Or furiously combing/cursing my hair to get it just right.

  Instead I’m skipping up the front steps to the office building. The day is glorious at sixty-five degrees, sunshine spilling out of the sky in abundance. I look up and grin, opening my arms like I’m Mary Pop-pins or something.

  I fling open the front door of Coston Real Estate. I wave at my desk as I pass by. I start to wave at Nicole, but as she sees me she gasps so loudly I clutch my heart and wonder if I’m about to die in some freak office accident. Racing out of her cubicle with wide eyes, she hurries up to me and clasps my shoulders. “Are you okay? Are you okay?”

  I step back. “Nicole, I’m fine. Why?”

  “Why? Do you know what time it is?”

  “Afternoon-ish.”

  She gasps again. “Something is very wrong. You always know what time it is.”

  “Nicole, I’m fine.” Whisking her back into her cubicle, I say, “Really.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  I sit in her seat. “Didn’t you just hear me?”

  She walks around her cube like a squawking chicken. “Jessie, you’re the type of person who would miss work without calling in only because you were murdered. Do you know what I mean?”

  I grin. “I know. I know! I feel so liberated.”

  “You’re late on purpose?” Her gaze stops on my clothes. “Isn’t that what you were wearing yesterday?”

  I put my elbows on her desk and lower my voice. “I was in jail.”

  “What?”

  “I know. Crazy, isn’t it? But yeah, in jail. Me!”

  Nicole stands absolutely still. “For what?”

  “Nothing. It was really a misunderstanding. I broke into a church. But not to steal anything. I was leaving something there for God and—”

  Nicole grabs her purse and digs through it. Her hand emerges with a pill bottle. “Look, I want you to take these. Take two now and one tonight. They’re my hormone pills, and it’s the next best thing to an antidepressant—”

  “Nicole, look at me.” I stand up and throw open my arms. “Do I look like I’m depressed?”

  “Isn’t the first sign of depression that you stop taking care of yourself—like showering and changing clothes?”

  I laugh her off as I take a seat in the small chair next to her desk and gesture her
toward her own. She looks like she needs it. “Look, Blake bailed me out of jail, then I went with him to look at some houses he’s building. That’s all.”

  Nicole sits. “That’s all? But what about work? I mean, Mr. Coston was about to have a heart attack this morning.”

  “Because he had to go get his own coffee?”

  Nicole’s eyes narrow. “No. I had to, actually, but that’s not the point. Jess, you’re a normal, dependable employee. You don’t just not show up.”

  “I’m quitting.”

  Nicole stares at me for a moment, then opens her pills and pops two, swallowing without water. She looks at me again. “What is happening to you?”

  I smile. “I’m starting my own business.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Don’t be sorry.” I laugh at my own joke. “It’s going to be wonderful.”

  Nicole reaches for her phone and then pulls her hand back again. She looks at me carefully, as if trying to decide which of us needs to be hospitalized. “Why would you start your own business? Don’t you know how risky that is?”

  I stand up. This is too exciting to stay in one place. “Yeah, I know. And I’m the least likely person to take a risk, aren’t I?” I pace two or three steps inside the cubicle.

  “You can’t even open the bathroom door without a using a paper towel.”

  I step closer to her. “I know this is hard to understand, Nic. It’s hard for me too. I mean, this isn’t like me at all.” I stop and turn to her. “But I’ve had a kind of…spiritual awakening.”

  Nicole looks desperate. “That’s how cults start.”

  I laugh and reach to grab her hand. “Look at me. Don’t I look happy?”

  She nods, tears forming in her eyes. “Yeah, you really do.”

  “It’s time for me to move on, you know? Brooklyn is old enough to support herself now. And you know, I don’t even like real estate. If I hadn’t inherited the condo, I’d probably be renting.”

  Nicole shakes her head, but then she smiles. “I still can’t believe it.” She laughs, stands, and hugs me. “I’m actually really proud of you. I don’t know how I’ll make it through the day without you, but I’m happy for you.”

  I hug her back. “Hey, our friendship goes well beyond the walls of this place. You know that.”