“Nope,” she declined, flopping down from the incessant bouncing to run her fingers along a pillow’s line of tassel trim. “I’m fine.”
“Well, then, let’s go exploring for animal tracks in the woods. You can wear your new boots.”
Carly rolled over onto her back. “It’s cold outside.” She wiggled her fingers up in the air. “My fingers’ll get all numbly.”
Numbly. Back in Sandy’s last days, Bruce remembered praying for numb. Pleading for God to make the pain to stop so that each breath wouldn’t feel like swallowing fire. Now, he wasn’t sure his ever-present “numbly” was any gift at all. These days, the only things he could honestly say he felt were instantaneous pangs of fear and loss. Pangs that kept poking up in his life like trip wires, driving a need to stay busy that bordered on compulsion.
Action was the only defense he had. Motion was his best protection against the niggling sensation that one of these days he’d stop feeling altogether. Except for Carly. Sweet, precious Carly. There were stretches where the fierce love he bore her felt like the only fixed thing keeping him upright. The only feeling he still possessed. And yet, even that came with the suffocating ache that his grief kept him from loving Carly well. Or right. Or enough. Losing Sandy had hollowed him out inside. Raising Carly seemed to require so much more from him than he had to give.
“Dad,” Carly moaned, her blond head surfacing from behind a tidal wave of ruffled pillows.
“What?”
“You went away again.”
How poor was a father’s lack of focus if even a five-year-old could pick up on it? No matter how he tried to hide it behind a busy day of activities, Carly still knew when his thoughts of Sandy’s absence pulled him under.
It was so much easier to hide at work. The precise demands of helicopter piloting were almost a release from the fog of daily interaction. In the air for the Forest Service, Bruce could be engrossed, analytical, responsive, almost mechanical. On the ground, where he had to be human, everything stymied him. He couldn’t hope to be happy, so he settled for busy.
But busy wasn’t happy. He had to start finding his way toward happy, or at least away from numb. This trip was supposed to help do that, but they’d been here one hour and already he felt as if he was just spinning wheels.
“Well,” he said to Carly, hoping he masked his sense of emptiness, “we can’t just sit around. You were sitting in the car all the way here.” He’d tried to make the drive an event in itself, taking Carly up North Carolina’s scenic Blue Ridge Parkway on the way to Matrimony Valley. The plan was that the route would launch the whole trip in a special way. Be more fun than slogging down the highway from their home in Kinston, right?
Wrong. He’d messed that up, as well. It had been a stupid, misguided idea to give Carly hints that there might be unicorns in the vast forest.
Carly’s unicorns. If there was anything that stymied him more than his fog, it was his daughter’s imaginary unicorns. She seemed to deal with Sandy’s loss by imagining unicorn sightings. Mom sends them, she’d explained to Bruce when he had asked, breaking the last pieces of his heart into bits.
Sandy had sent him no such signs of comfort. Or symbols that he was doing okay. In fact, an accurate description of his life would be that it was one big, messy glob of anything but okay. Maybe he’d gain some sign of approval when he did something to actually deserve it. The trouble was coming up with what that might be.
So, he’d chosen to give Carly more unicorns. He took them on the scenic mountain highway and stopped dozens of times along the way to take in the sights and allow lots of unicorns to make their appearance.
It hadn’t worked. At. All.
Instead, Carly grew increasingly disappointed that no unicorns had appeared. How had that happened? How could a little girl’s own imagination disappoint her? What did the sightings—or lack of them—mean? He had no idea, but it could hardly be a good thing that Carly had somehow chosen for her imaginary unicorns to stay in hiding today.
He’d failed her, and he couldn’t even say how. Way to be Dad of the Year—I’ve already botched the first hours of vacation. Not hard to see why Sandy never let you plan outings, is it?
And there it was, one more item for the long list of things Sandy did better than he could ever hope to. Sandy could plan one activity and make it a golden, memorable moment. Bruce could plan six and not get a single one to “stick.” How fair was it that Carly—who had already lost so much—now paid the price for his mountain of deficiencies?
“Hey,” she said, as something caught her eye. She rolled off the bed and bounded beyond him to the window, pressing her nose against the lowest pane and peering down at the row of shops along “Aisle Avenue,” the town’s main street. “Look,” she said as he walked up behind her. Carly pointed to a sign hanging from a shop across from them with a picture of a huge ice-cream cone painted on it.
“What does that sign say?” she asked coyly.
It says, “Dad, can we have ice cream?” That’s what it says. “It says Marvin’s Sweet Hearts Ice Cream Shop.”
She turned to him. “Ice cream?” Her words were as sweet as any dessert this guy Marvin could hope to serve up. “We could have some, couldn’t we?”
Bruce teased her by faking a yawn. “I don’t know. Seems like you’d rather nap in all those pillows. I know I could use a few winks.”
“Napping’s for babies,” Carly declared quickly. “You said we were gonna do lots of fun things on this vacation. So...eating ice cream is fun, right?” She returned to the window and let out a squeal. “Look! There’s a little girl like me going inside.”
As far as Bruce knew, Carly was the only girl her age invited to the wedding. Her role as flower girl was part of what would hopefully make this trip so special. Of course, Matrimony Valley was an actual town, not a resort, so it stood to reason that children and families lived here. They’d driven past a school on their way into town. And Carly was right in one respect: eating ice cream was a fun thing to do. None of his earlier suggestions lit up her face like it was now, that was certain.
“I don’t see why we can’t.” He took Carly’s hand. “Maybe all the little girls in Matrimony Valley like ice cream.”
“Everyone everywhere likes ice cream.” Carly laughed. The sound eased the tightness of Bruce’s chest. As they made their way down the staircase to the inn’s lobby, Carly chatted on about how any girl who liked ice cream must be nice. Kids made friends like that all the time, didn’t they? Sandy’s gift for friendship was so evident in Carly—every stranger was someone wonderful Carly just hadn’t met yet.
Go eat ice cream. Go be friendly, he told himself as they crossed Aisle Avenue. Shove yourself back into life this week, for Carly’s sake if for nothing else.
Chapter Two
No sooner had Kelly settled on a flavor than the door of Marvin’s pushed open and a little girl skipped in. Behind her came a tall and tired-looking man. He carried himself with the air of someone who did physical work, with a walk that spoke of strength and power. But his face and shoulders lacked the same energy.
He looked like the kind of man who had been striking once, but any vibrancy had been replaced by weary resignation that he tried to hide behind a practiced facade. It wasn’t hard to recognize the familiar duality of someone pretending at life, the too-wide smile and the fast-but-weary strides. Single parent, she assessed perhaps too quickly. Dad who has to try hard.
Without any ceremony whatsoever, the little girl climbed up onto the red vinyl counter stool next to Lulu and said, “Hi, I’m Carly. We just got here.”
“I’m Lulu,” Lulu replied. “I live here.”
“Lulu,” repeated Carly with admiration. “That’s a great name.”
“Thanks,” replied Lulu with a grin. “I like it.”
“She also likes strawberry ice cream. What do you like, Carly?�
�� offered Marvin in a congenial tone. Next to Mayor Jean, Marvin was the unofficial ambassador for Matrimony Valley. Everybody loved Marvin, and not just because he served up delicious ice cream. Whenever she felt blue or insufficient or just plain tired, Marvin’s compassion and his ice cream were always ready with a spoon and a smile.
“I like chocolate and vanilla and strawberry. In stripes,” the little girl replied. “You got any spumoni?” She put an adorable effort into the difficult word.
“Carly’s mom was Italian,” the man said. Kelly noticed he said “was,” not “is,” because like most widows, she always noticed when people spoke about their spouses in the past tense. Especially someone her own age. So maybe more than just a single parent. Maybe a sole surviving parent. Her heart pinched at the unfair snap judgment she’d made upon his entrance.
“Spumoni, huh?” Marvin bunched his eyebrows as if this required deep concentration. “Can’t say I’ve got anything that fancy. How about I scoop a little bit of each into one dish and you pretend it’s spumoni?”
“Oh, I’m great at pretending.”
Weren’t all little girls? “I’m guessing you’re Bruce,” Kelly said, rising up off her stool. When his eyebrows rose, she explained. “A tiny town like this can’t hold too many unfamiliar fathers with daughters named Carly. I’m Kelly Nelson, the florist for the wedding. Tina asked me to work with you on the boutonnieres for the groomsmen while you were here.”
The slightly suspicious look on his face turned into a sort of bafflement. “Oh, yeah. She said something about that, now I remember.”
“I have to say,” Kelly went on, “you’re the first best man who I’ve ever had get assigned to pick those out.”
Bruce shrugged. “Well, this wedding’s unusual in a lot of ways if you ask me. Darren’s like a brother to me, but the guy is...weird.”
“You’re the reindeer wedding!” Lulu exclaimed to her new companions.
“Um, elk, yes,” Bruce replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“An elk-themed wedding is an especially...unique choice.” Glad she’d happened to bring her tote bag along that had her tablet inside, Kelly grabbed it and nodded toward the small table a few feet away. “Pick out a flavor from Marvin, and why don’t we get those boutonnieres picked out right now while the girls are getting friendly?”
As Bruce ordered his sundae from Marvin and made a fuss over his daughter’s improvised “spumoni,” Kelly began pulling up the photos and notes for the upcoming wedding.
“Tina certainly does believe in group efforts,” she said as Bruce sat down. “I’ve dealt with her for her bouquet, the maid of honor for the attendants’ bouquets, Darren’s mother for the church decorations and Tina’s mom for the reception centerpieces. This is ‘wedding by committee’ if ever I’ve seen it.”
“That’s a nice way to put it,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’d categorize it closer to cat-herding myself. Or is that elk-herding?”
Kelly smiled. “The man clearly loves his work. And I shouldn’t laugh. It might be our first elk-themed wedding, but that doesn’t mean it’ll be the last. We get a lot of tourists up here interested in the elk herd. We owe a lot to our Forest Service guys.” After a moment’s thought, she added, “Are you one of them?” He had a ranger look about him—rugged and intense—and somewhere in the back of her mind she thought she’d heard Tina mention that all the groomsmen were Darren’s Forest Service buddies.
“North Carolina Forest Service helicopter pilot. Based in Kinston. But Carly and I are here early making a vacation out of it.”
Kelly tamped down the reaction that still came with the word pilot. It wasn’t such a tidal wave anymore, mostly just a sharp surge, a “shiver of the soul,” as Pastor Mitchell put it. “Fire service?”
“Some,” he said. “Mostly support, transportation, supply, that sort of thing. But we do our fair share of fires. Sounds like you’ve got someone in the service?”
“No,” she replied. “My husband was a commercial pilot.” Was, not is. Did he notice her use of the past tense the way she’d noticed his? It always amazed her how such ordinary words held enough weight to grow a lump in her throat. “But he had friends in the service in Georgia,” she added, feeling the past tense of that sentence stick in her throat with the same weight.
The look in his eyes and the pause before his next question told her he had indeed noticed which tense she’d used. “Retired?” He said it with the low and careful tone of someone who knew there was another possible answer.
Kelly lowered her voice. “Fatal crash. Lightning strike. A few years ago.”
He looked down at the table and dragged the next words out in a low voice. “I’m sorry. We...um...we lost Carly’s mom Christmas before last. Cancer.”
Christmas without the one you love. Was there a bigger hole in the world than trying to survive a child’s mourning at Christmastime with your heart in splinters? “I’m so sorry.” Funny how they instinctively traded those words that never, ever felt like enough to contain the mountain of pain.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. They both sat up a bit as Marvin set a sizable sundae down next to the peach milkshake she’d brought over from the counter. “Enjoy,” Marvin said with his congenial smile. “Welcome to Matrimony Valley.”
“Thanks,” Bruce replied, looking up with an expertly applied smile Kelly knew all too well. The smile left as Marvin turned away, and for a moment or two Bruce swirled his spoon in the sundae’s whipped cream. “It’s hard,” he said softly, his voice catching a bit on the words. He nodded back in the direction of his daughter. “But I try, you know?”
“I do know. And then there are happy things like Darren and Tina’s wedding.” She hoped he caught the brightness in her voice. Weddings could be both lovely and excruciating from the viewpoint of a surviving spouse. Watching someone else’s heart find happiness always proved a mixed sort of joy.
“Weird, happy things,” he amended, a bit of a smile returning to his face. “Tell me you’ve got some idea for whatever it is I’m supposed to pick, because I sure don’t know. Couldn’t they have stuck me with just planning the bachelor night like a normal best man?”
“We’ll get you through this.” Kelly turned the tablet to face him. “Since the groomsmen are all wearing red plaid shirts and gray vests, I thought we’d go with pine and ferns.”
He clearly had no preferences. “Looks fine to me. Just nothing fussy.”
“Naturally. We’ll add a bit of red fabric to match your shirts and the women’s boleros.”
“Their whats?”
“Boleros,” she repeated. “The short jackets made from the same flannel as your shirts that the bridesmaids are wearing over their dresses.”
“Boleros, boutonnieres... Why can’t they just call them jackets and flowers? Come to think of it, why do the guys even need flowers anyway?”
So he was going to be one of those, was he? Someone who thought of flowers as expensive and frivolous incidentals, useless details that wilted days after the ceremony? “Every wedding should have beauty and traditions. Since the times of the Greeks and Romans, brides and grooms have worn flowers to symbolize hope and new life.”
“Fine, if you say so. I just don’t get why I’m stuck with choosing this. I mean, Carly could do a better job at this than I could.”
Grant me patience, Lord. “Well, then, let’s ask her. Carly, Lulu, come tell us what you think.”
They gushed over the images on the tablet, of course, because the designs Kelly had created for this event were unique, just like the wedding itself. Samantha Douglas would gush, too, if Kelly had her way. With the girls’ help, the boutonnieres were quickly selected.
“All that matters here is that Darren and Tina love the way the ceremony looks and feels,” Kelly explained, directing her words at Lulu and Carly since Bruce clearly couldn’t care less. “Ev
ery detail is a part of that, even the boutonnieres.” She turned off the tablet. “That’s how Matrimony Valley works. It’s why we do what we do.”
* * *
Bruce looked at the florist with a foggy sort of awe. How did this Kelly woman pull it off? Here he was, two years out from losing his wife, and he still couldn’t manage to feel like much more than the walking wounded. A man in some sort of invisible zombie state, lurching through life, looking alive but feeling half-dead and irreparably damaged every waking moment.
He did want to heal. The desire to come back to life still existed somewhere under the mountain of grief. He just didn’t know how to crawl his way out of this thing that only looked like living. The whole point of taking this time before Darren’s wedding was to find a way to snap himself out of this hamster wheel of busy emptiness.
But how? He wanted to be there, really be there for Carly, not just running through the parenting paces. He wanted to enjoy this wedding, to be happy for his friend and relish Carly’s role in it. Only, in lots of ways he could never admit, the whole thing just bugged him. It hurt. It reminded him of everything he no longer had. Made him so bristly that he took it out on innocent people like this florist, who was only trying to do her job well.
And just to make things worse, this woman seemed to sense the storm of thoughts that had pulled him away from the conversation. “Hey,” she said softly. “It gets better.”
He merely grunted in reply.
“Not right away,” Kelly went on, “and not nearly fast enough, but one day you wake up and you don’t feel quite so much like the walking wounded anymore.”
It was a shocking sort of comfort that she’d used the very same words that were in his head. “Yeah, everyone keeps saying that.”
“Because it’s true,” she replied. “But you do have to choose it, you know. Walk toward it. Crawl, if you have to.”
He ran a hand over his chin. “Not doing so good at that, actually.” He wasn’t so sure he liked how this woman he didn’t really know pulled such huge things out of him. She was prying open boxes. Private boxes he didn’t want to open for a very long time, if ever. She looked pushy, too, like the kind of woman who didn’t stop when she met resistance.
Snowbound with the Best Man Page 2
