Wedded Bliss

by Kathleen Y'Barbo

  “Thank you.” Bob shook his head. “You’ve only been on the clock a few minutes, and you’ve already accomplished more than the other temps combined.”

  Mrs. Denison flushed with the compliment. “I’m glad you’re pleased. I can call them, of course, but I thought you might want to do the calling yourself.”

  “Yes, I prefer to handle this myself.” He gave her a sideways look. “How did you know I was about to ask for the wedding planner information?”

  “I said to myself, ‘What’s the first thing that man’s going to want to get done this morning?’ After hearing you talk about your girl last night, I knew exactly what would be on your mind.”

  Bob didn’t correct her. Better she not know what had actually been on his mind.

  “Is there anything else you need right now?” she continued. “If not, I’m going to see if I can make heads or tails of the mess I found in the files. Would you believe some fool’s taken every piece of mail that came through since Yvonne left and filed it under M for mail?”

  Bob felt his brows raise as he shook his head. “No, that’s fine. You go right ahead. I’ve got plenty to do.”

  Bliss’s mother left, shaking her head and muttering something under her breath about careless young people and taking time to do things right.

  “Thank You, Lord,” he whispered as he poured a cup of coffee and doused it with cream, then sprinkled sugar in. “You did provide. I’m sorry I doubted.” He sighed. “I guess I can’t fire her, can I?”

  He knew the answer. If only he could figure out a permanent solution to the feelings he feared were growing for Bliss.

  The temporary solution was distraction, easily found by concentrating on the disaster of the day: Amy’s wedding. He started with the first planner on the stack, an outfit based in New Orleans.

  “Hello, Wedding Wonders,” the friendly female voice said.

  “Yes, my daughter’s getting married,” Bob said. “She’s out of the country right now, so I’m on my own here.”

  The person on the other end of the line chuckled. “I’m sure we can help. How many people will be invited?”

  “Around twelve hundred.”

  There was a long pause. “Did you say twelve hundred guests?”

  It was hard to miss the glee in the woman’s tone. “I did,” he responded.

  “If you’ll hold on a second, I’ll crunch some numbers and grab my calendar.” Two minutes of smooth jazz later, the woman was back. “All right, now, let’s talk details. When’s the big day?”

  “The last Saturday in March,” he said as he reached for his pen.

  “Wonderful. That gives us thirteen months to—”

  “No, ma’am,” Bob said. “That’s this March.”

  “What?” The woman’s tone seemed a bit icy. “Next month?”

  Bob leaned back in his chair and tossed the pen back onto the desk. “Yes.”

  “Any chance of moving that date back a bit? Say sometime this summer? With four months’ notice, I can create magic.”

  “Not a chance,” Bob said.

  “Sorry,” she said, “but we can’t help you.”

  He reached for the slip with Wedding Wonders written across the top and crumpled it. The next eight calls brought the same response. On the ninth try, he changed his tactics.

  “So,” he said casually to the proprietor of Weddings by Latrice, “how much will it cost to give my daughter the wedding of her dreams a month from now?”

  Click.

  “All right.” Bob tossed another slip into the trash. “So that didn’t work.”

  He thumbed through the remaining slips of paper and found three locations in Lafayette and two in New Iberia. Five choices remaining out of several dozen.

  “This is not looking good, Lord. Could You send me some help—and fast?”

  The intercom buzzed. “Excuse me, Mr. Tratelli. Yvonne is on line one.”

  His hopes rose. Never could he remember the Lord answering his prayers so quickly. “Thank you, Mrs. Denison.” Bob reached for the phone and pressed the blinking light. “Yvonne, it’s great to hear from you. Are you enjoying your vacation?”

  “I’m having a fine time, but there’s just one tiny problem I had to call and tell you about.”

  At the word problem, Bob’s heart sank. “What’s wrong, Yvonne?”

  “Well, it’s the funniest thing. We were just sitting down to breakfast this morning, and Jack said, ‘Isn’t it a shame we have to leave soon?’ and I said, ‘Well, yes, I suppose it is.’ ” She paused. “I never expected he would do something about it.”

  Bob rose and walked to the window in time to see a Tratelli Aviation Embraer 110 take off on the eastbound runway. “Do something? Something like what?”

  “He, well. . . Jack bought me an early anniversary gift. How was I going to tell him no?”

  “Tell him no about what, Yvonne?”

  “Are you sitting down?”

  He sank into his chair. “I am now.”

  ❧

  Bliss closed her eyes and lifted her face toward the warmth of the February sun, her bare feet just inches from the black water of Bayou Nouvelle. The trickle of slow-moving currents combined with the call of a spoonbill and the sharp staccato rap of a distant woodpecker to form an unforgettable symphony.

  This had been the soundtrack of her childhood, the music to which most of her youthful memories had been set. Today it formed a hymn of praise to the Creator, a song of thanks for all that was good in Bliss’s world.

  Yesterday’s chill had given way to this morning’s warm spell, typical for weather in southern Louisiana. With her walking shoes cast off and her hooded sweatshirt forming the pillow under her head, Bliss laced her fingers together and let out a long, satisfied breath.

  The beauty of the moment was only enhanced by the fact that she could do this all day. She could actually lie in the sun and do nothing.

  Do nothing—a concept so foreign to her this time last year that she would have told anyone who would listen that it was impossible. No one could just sit. Just be.

  The partial truth in that was that no one in her old world, the world of the Bentley and its bustling kitchens and nonstop demands, could imagine lying beside a bayou on a Thursday morning in the middle of nowhere obeying nothing but the requirement that the next breath must be taken.

  Bliss smiled, then counted the movement as her first conscious effort in a full three minutes. She’d come a long way since the first time she slipped off to her old hiding place at Bayou Nouvelle. She’d done it to appease Mama. Mama who worried too much. Mama who shadowed Bliss like a hawk in those first weeks back in Latagnier.

  Something about Bliss’s trips to the bayou made Mama worry less. Bliss could now admit it was because she worried less. Now, instead of allowing the what-ifs and the why-mes to pile atop her shoulders, Bliss climbed into her car and drove to the bayou to forget her worries beside the chocolate waters of the Nouvelle.

  In place of her worries, a fullness that could only come from the Lord filled her heart. She called the spot where she now lay the Lazarus place: the place where her heart had been recalled from the dead.

  A place where her life had not just been saved but had been resurrected.

  Some would argue and say the emergency room at Austin’s Brackenridge Hospital was owed that honor. Or perhaps the kind EMT who prayed with her in the ambulance while keeping her alive. In the physical sense, both would be right.

  But this place, this secluded patch of soft ground, had kept her alive even after medical intervention had been exhausted. It was the place she went to remember why she wanted to live. And to learn all over again how to live.

  Bliss hated to think about the dark days after the accident, but sometimes she allowed the thoughts to return. The contrast between then and now served as a reminder of who and what mattered. It also kept her mindful of just Who remained in charge.

  There were no neat solutions, no pat answers to difficult ques
tions, and there certainly were no guarantees that the tiny time bomb the doctors had found wouldn’t be the end of her despite their best guesses to the contrary. This, Bliss now knew, was nothing she could change by fretting. It was the Lord’s to fix.

  Or not to fix.

  Even when she’d believed in her heart of hearts that she was completely in charge of her life, she hadn’t really been. Somehow the knowledge that the sure and steady hands of the Lord held the future, and not her own trembling fingers, made the uncertainty all right.

  Bliss exhaled again and studied the oranges and yellows that decorated the backs of her eyelids. The earthy scent of Louisiana mud floated past on a soft breeze. An egret called, and the pines swished in response.

  Just another Thursday morning in paradise.

  The snap of a twig brought her eyes wide open. There, on a limb not far from her, was the egret. Swishing about in a flurry of lacy white feathers, the long-legged creature aimed its orange beak in her direction, then showed its profile and the odd green smudge at the eyes that characterized the gangly swamp birds. The roar of an airplane sent the bird airborne, and Bliss watched it cross the bayou and disappear.

  She tracked the plane across the sky until it, too, was gone. The logo on the jet had been hard to miss.

  Tratelli Aviation.

  What a strange tangle of emotions thoughts of Bobby Tratelli brought. Bliss sighed. There were precious few old friends in her life, and welcoming a new one back should not have such mixed feelings attached to it.

  Bliss rose and slid into her shoes, then gathered her sweatshirt up and tied it around her waist. Testing the soundness of her knee, she was surprised to feel not even a twinge. After last night’s stroll, she figured to be paying for the exertion today.

  Looking to the left, she could almost make out the hood of her car peeking through the underbrush. She hadn’t dared park so far away that she couldn’t easily return. Now she turned to the right. From her childhood memories, she knew there was a clearly defined path along the bayou. It ran behind the Trahan place, wound past the schoolhouse, and ended just beyond the old church.

  It had been ages since Bliss followed that path. Perhaps today was the day to do just that.

  Eight

  Bob stared at the pieces of paper before him. He’d started with more than thirty wedding planners to contact. Now there were only five.

  Then there was the matter of contacting Amy. He hadn’t talked to her since Tuesday. Thankfully, that conversation hadn’t been marred by the knowledge that her wedding plans had fallen apart. The next one would, however, unless he managed to fix the problem today.

  She’d be home Sunday evening, so even if he managed to keep the topic of the wedding out of the conversation—which was doubtful at best—there’d be no missing the lack of a wedding planner come Monday morning. “This is a mess,” he whispered. “A huge mess.”

  Bob sighed and pushed away from his desk. So much for depending on Yvonne to help. Not that he could fault her for leaving him.

  “Who wouldn’t be thrilled with a condo on the beach in Waikiki with a balcony overlooking Diamond Head?” he said as he stood and stretched the kinks out of his neck.

  Not that Hawaii was his cup of tea. Too many people and you couldn’t even see the stars for all the lights in Honolulu. Now, put him on a horse somewhere with lots of land—that would be a vacation.

  Bob rolled his shoulders and felt the stiffness give a bit. He should call Amy. She needed to know. He leaned over and reached for the phone, then set it back down and sank onto the chair again.

  “I can’t let her down,” he said softly. “I just can’t. There are still five left. Surely one of them will take on the impossible.”

  He divided the stacks by city and tackled the two in New Iberia first. The first one hung up on him when he gave them the date, and the second tried to offer him half price for moving the wedding from Latagnier to a casino docked near Lake Charles. He politely declined.

  Bob tossed both slips of paper into the trash, then placed the last three pages in front of him. Three names, three more chances to make things right.

  He closed his eyes and prayed, then reached for the one in the middle: Divine Occasions. A recording told him to leave a message, so he did. The second one, a place called Exquisite Events, thought he was playing a practical joke on them, while the third, Acadian Wedding Planners, followed in the grand tradition of hanging up when he stated the urgency of the matter.

  “I’m in a fine fix now, Lord,” he said softly. “The only place that hasn’t turned me down is this one, and I’m sure it’s a matter of time before they do.”

  “Now, you don’t know that.” Mrs. Denison stood in the doorway, her fingers over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overhear. I saw the light go out on the phone and thought it would be a good time to deliver the mail.”

  “Yes, of course, come on in.”

  Bob walked over to the window and tried to make sense of the mess. He had one chance left to make Amy’s wedding the one she deserved. What were the odds that Divine Occasions would take on the project?

  “So,” Bliss’s mother said lightly, “did you have a chance to call the. . . Oh, I see you did.”

  He turned around to see her studying the wastebasket, now overflowing with crumpled pages. “It seems as though the consensus is that my timeline’s a bit too tight for them.” When she looked confused, he clarified. “Nowadays a wedding takes more than a month to pull off. I had no idea.”

  “Well, in my day it surely didn’t.” She smiled. “Why, my dear husband, rest his soul, and I didn’t have all this fuss. He took a notion to ask me to marry him, and I said yes. Mama gathered flowers from the garden, and my papa drove me to New Iberia to buy a pretty new dress. We were married in my grandparents’ front parlor and had cake and coffee afterward right there in the dining room.” She paused as if remembering the day. “ ’Course we were more concerned with making our way in the world than the young folks nowadays. We couldn’t have afforded anything grand. Your Amy, now she’s already got her life arranged. It wasn’t like that for me. I had my sights set on a home and babies.”

  “She does have her life arranged, doesn’t she?”

  “Seems to.”

  Bob paused to think on that, and his hopes soared. Amy was a smart young woman. Surely she would see the wisdom in a small wedding.

  “You know, Mrs. Denison, I have to wonder if yours wasn’t the better way.” He paused to convince himself further. “I’ll bet Amy would be just as happy with a small gathering and just a few friends and family.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. She might. Although what bride wouldn’t want to feel like a princess on her big day?” Bliss’s mother giggled. “And since when does a member of the Breaux family have a small wedding?”

  He sighed. Mrs. Denison certainly spoke the truth. Even limiting the guest list to first cousins would make the numbers bulge well past what any local restaurant would hold.

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “About what?” She paused. “Oh, now don’t let me be putting ideas into your head. This isn’t my wedding or yours. It’s Amy’s. If I were you, I’d find out what Amy wants and stick to that.”

  He met her gaze. “But how am I going to do that? To find out, I’d have to tell her there’s a problem.”

  “You haven’t done that yet?” She planted her hands on her hips. “Bobby Tratelli, you have to tell her.” The moment the words were out, she looked as if she wanted to reel them back in. “I’m sorry. That was none of my business and certainly not something an employee—even a temporary one—should be saying.”

  “Uh, Mrs. Denison? About your employment.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “What about it?”

  He gestured to the chair on the opposite side of the desk. “Sit down. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

  “If it’s the coffeepot, that fancy new one’s not broken. I just set it und
er the sink, but I can get it out and use it again if you’d like. It’s just that I prefer the percolator. Gives a much better cup of coffee in my—”

  Bob sank down in his chair and held his hands up to silence her. “No, it’s not the coffee. In fact, the cup I had this morning’s the best I’ve ever tasted.” He grinned. “Although if you were to tell my mama that, I’d have to deny it.”

  “I’m pleased that you liked it. The trick is to mix just the right amount of chicory with the coffee. Once you get that figured out, the rest is easy.” She giggled. “And if it makes you feel any better, your mama was the one who showed me how to make it.”

  They shared a laugh; then Bob grew serious. “Mrs. Denison, something’s happened to change the situation here at Tratelli Aviation.”

  “Oh?” She fumbled with the brass buttons on her sleeve. “I hope it’s nothing serious. I know you’ve got a lot on your mind what with Amy’s wedding and all. Is it something I might be able to help with?”

  He exhaled slowly. “Yes, I believe it might be.”

  Mrs. Denison waited patiently while Bob chose his words. And, to her credit, she waited in silence. Bob had hired and fired a number of people in his day, and he’d learned that the good ones—the employees who stuck around and earned their keep—were the ones who could wait in silence.

  “As you know, Yvonne phoned this morning from Hawaii.” When she nodded, he continued. “Seems as though she won’t be returning to her job here.”

  “Oh?” She shifted positions and affected an innocent look. “What will you do?”

  Something in her manner gave Bob the impression that Mrs. Denison already knew there was an opening at Tratelli Aviation for an executive assistant. He also suspected Yvonne told her before she worked up the courage to tell him.

  “What will I do?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk as he steepled his hands. “What I thought I would do is offer the job to you. If you’d like it, that is.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “Well,” she said slowly, “my husband, rest his soul, always told me not to buy the horse till you’d inspected its teeth.”