by Rachel Hauck
“It’s tradition, Emma. He can’t see you in your dress. It’s bad luck!” She holds up her hands. “Jake, close your eyes!”
Jake covers his eyes with his palms.
“Mom, this is silly.” Not to mention confusing. Jake isn’t supposed to be here. He’s supposed to be out on the golf course with Liam and Dad. I look around my mother. “Jake, you don’t have to cover your eyes.”
“Yes, he does!” She shoves me toward the changing room.
I go willingly and hurry out of the dress as fast as one can hurry out of a wedding gown. By the time I’m back in my jeans, hoodie, and cross trainers, I’ve had plenty of time to replay the look on Jake’s face—panicked before he saw me, stunned after. I’m not sure which one has me hurrying more. As soon as I step out of the dressing room, Jake takes my elbow. “Can I speak with you for a second?”
“Sure, of course.” I glance at Lily, then follow him outside. “What’s wrong?”
“Liam knows.”
“What?”
“Your brother. He knows.”
“How?”
“You know Liam. He was asking so many questions, and he wouldn’t let me get away with half answers. Finally, I had to pull him aside and tell him what was going on.”
The warmth drains from my face. “What did he say?”
“He laughed.”
“He laughed?”
Jake rubs the back of his neck and nods.
“Is he going to say anything?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You didn’t ask him?”
“We didn’t have much time.”
A groan slips past my lips. I do not want to talk to Liam about any of this. I especially don’t want to hear him express the same doubts Lily did.
“I’m sorry, Emma.”
“You have no reason to apologize. I’m the one who’s put you in such an awkward position.”
“Actually, I asked you, remember?”
I look down at the ground and cross my arms to ward off the chill in the air.
“That was a really pretty dress.”
When I look up, Jake stands closer than before. “Thanks.”
Mom pokes her head outside. “Hey you two, Lily had the most fabulous idea!”
Jake and I turn our heads toward her at the same time.
“I was telling her how your father and I are taking dance lessons tomorrow night. She thought you two should join us. Practice up for your first dance as a married couple.”
Another groan pushes up my throat, but I swallow it down.
“So . . .” Mom beams at us. “What do you say?”
I squint against the sun and start to shake my head, because I am not going to make Jake suffer through dance lessons. But he shifts behind me. “Sounds like fun.”
If only his voice didn’t drip with uncertainty.
Chapter 7
The fire crackles and pops and breathes smoke into the star-strewn sky, the gentlest of breezes carrying it slightly north, where the woods line the edge of my parents’ backyard. The smell of burning wood mingles with the crisp air as I pull my stocking cap more snuggly over my ears and lean forward in my chair, closer to the heat. Across the fire, Lily lets out a burst of laughter that echoes into the night. She stands beside Liam, who stabs marshmallow upon marshmallow onto a roasting fork.
Somehow I managed to thwart his attempt to accost me when I arrived fifteen minutes ago. Liam rarely listens to me, but my “Not now” came out so sharp and ominous, he actually backed off. I’m positive the reprieve will not last, but I’ll take it for now.
I look up the length of the long backyard. So far, no Jake. Dad pokes the pile of burning wood with a fire iron. Sparks of glowing embers jump from the flames, then slowly extinguish into black. He sets the iron stick aside, slides his hands inside the pockets of his Green Bay Packers fleece jacket, and sits down beside me with a groan. “Your old man’s getting old.”
The words hit me the wrong way, rupturing a pocket of fear I try to leave alone. Fifty-seven is not old. It is much, much too young. I gaze into the fire, praying that this fake wedding can be something we all laugh about together in ten years. Something crazy Emma did for Dad, who was miraculously healed.
“How’s your heart, Emma-girl?” Dad asks.
I look down at my shoes and smile a little. Cancer has zapped his patience for small talk. He has replaced the standard and largely accepted How are you doing? with this bad boy. And he will not let anyone get away with fine. He will poke and prod until something more substantial than smoke arises. “My heart is hoping God will heal you.”
Dad sets his hand on the armrest of his chair and seems to contemplate my answer.
I bite my lip, trying to keep it together, but I don’t deal well with unknowns. Not when I was a child and not as an adult either. I attempt to loosen the growing tightness in my throat. I attempt to be strong. But the words swell until I can’t hold them back any longer. “You can’t die.”
“We all die, Emma.”
“You know what I mean.” I shake my head, unable to fathom a world without my father. “I don’t think I can handle it.”
“God’s not asking you to handle it right now. Right now, I’m here.” He pats my knee, as if I need the extra reassurance. “And when the day comes and I’m no longer here, God will equip you with what you need to handle it then.”
This is another thing cancer has done—taught my father the art of living in each moment. He doesn’t look ahead. He doesn’t let himself spiral into a storm of what-ifs. He relies on God’s strength for today and trusts him with tomorrow. For me, it’s a constant struggle. I let out a puff of breath. “You make it sound so simple.”
“Trust is simple.” He holds up his pointer finger. “Not easy, but simple.”
The sound of a car door slamming and more of Lily’s laughter cuts our conversation short. I look toward the house and spot Mom, closing the distance between us. She skirts around the fire and offers us a bowl of candy corn—my long-standing favorite. Dad’s too. I take a few pieces and pop one into my mouth.
“I do believe your fiancé just pulled up in his truck,” Mom says.
“Speaking of your fiancé . . .” Dad takes a handful for himself.
Something about the serious set of his brow makes me stop chewing. “Yeah?”
“My heart is heavy, Emma.”
My muscles tense. Does Dad suspect something? And if he does, would he run with it anyway? Like the surprise party on my twenty-first birthday. I knew about the party, and I’m almost positive my parents knew I knew, but when I walked into the restaurant, I did my best rendition of shocked and neither called my bluff.
“As your father, I feel it’s my responsibility to tell you”—he sets his hand over his chest and shakes his head—“That he is truly an awful golfer.”
I roll my eyes, trying not to give away my relief. “Har, har.”
“But I guess there are worse things.” He finishes off the rest of his candy corn as Jake appears around the corner of the house. He strides toward us, something strapped around his chest. Dad pats my knee again and stands, because the lawn chairs are doubled up—three sets of two around the fire pit—and apparently, the chair closest to mine belongs to my fiancé. When Jake approaches, Dad slaps him on the arm. “I was just telling my daughter about your golfing skills.”
Jake chuckles, the glow from the fire flickering along his jawline.
“You brought your guitar,” I say, sitting up straighter.
He runs his thumb beneath the strap. “Figured some music might be fun.”
“Of course it will.” Mom gives Jake a hug, then she and Dad sit in the pair of chairs to our left.
“Sorry I’m late.” Jake pulls the strap of his guitar case over his head and sits beside me. “I was working in my shed and lost track of time.”
I stick my hands beneath my knees. “What were you working on?”
“A gift.”
“Care t
o be less vague, Mr. Nonspecific?” I ask, raising my eyebrow.
He raises one of his eyebrows back at me, leaving it at that, then leans forward and bumps his knee against mine. “Hanging in there, kiddo?”
The nickname and the gesture trigger a major bout of déjà vu. All of a sudden, I am eighteen again, sitting next to this same fire pit and this same boy, only it’s the night of my graduation party. I had been warming my hands by the fire, the temperature much lower than it should have been for late May, when Jake sat beside me and bumped his knee against mine. “Doing all right there, kiddo?”
I wasn’t going to let him get away with it. “You aren’t allowed to call me that.”
“No?”
“I am officially a high school graduate. I’m not a kid anymore, Jake.”
“So I’ve noticed.” I’m not sure what warmed my skin more—the fire or the words or the long look we shared after them. All day, there had been a palpable chemistry between us. I was sure he could feel it too. There had even been flirting.
He popped a few knuckles, a nervous habit. “So . . . there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.”
My heart rate picked up speed, growing faster and faster the longer Jake delayed saying whatever he wanted to say. Maybe if I helped him along, encouraged him a little. I leaned forward. “Jake, I—”
“Chase.”
The name drew me back. “Chase?”
Jake wiped his hands along the thighs of his jeans and nodded.
I glanced past the fire, where Chase stood chatting with my brother. “What about him?”
“He likes you.”
“Oh.” My hopes plummeted so hard and fast I could do nothing but blink. Jake wasn’t going to profess his feelings for me, because Jake didn’t have any feelings for me. He was checking to see how I felt about his friend. I felt like an idiot.
“Nothing to say?” he asked.
Trying my best to hide my disappointment, I smiled too brightly. “I think Chase is really great.”
“So you like him too?”
“Let’s just say that if Chase asked me out, I wouldn’t say no.”
Jake leaned back in his seat, his expression hidden by the night. “Okay, then.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Why didn’t Chase just tell me himself?”
“Because he’s a chicken.”
The fire lets out a pop, pulling me back into the present, away from the memory. But not the lesson I learned from it. Jake has only ever had platonic feelings toward me. I am the queen at misreading him. Still, the feelings I put to death back then are doing their best to resurrect themselves now, and I’m not sure I have the strength to fight them.
“Anybody want one?” Liam holds up his roasting fork, which bows toward the ground with the weight of what appears to be an entire bag of jumbo marshmallows.
We all laugh.
The fire crackles as we enjoy our s’mores, and conversation gives way to reminiscing, and reminiscing gives way to Jake and his guitar. As he strums the chords, I close my eyes and relish this moment, right now. With a fire and music and all the people I love most.
Chapter 8
My lofty goal for the evening? Do not look like an idiot in front of Jake. Which may sound simple enough, unless you’ve seen me dance. I had a few words with Lily over her idea on Saturday. She laughed, until I suggested that the maid of honor and best man should join us. I wish I hadn’t, because now the maid of honor sits shotgun in my Honda and the best man sits in the middle of the backseat, grinning as I recite the complete story of my engagement with as much matter-of-factness as possible.
When I finish, Liam lets out a whistle. “Wow.”
I grip the steering wheel tighter and turn onto the gravel road leading toward our destination.
“That’s a pretty big offer for Jake to make.”
“That’s what I said,” Lily mumbles.
I ignore her. “You know what happened with Ben. He doesn’t want me to feel the same regret that he feels.”
Liam doesn’t look convinced.
“Please, Liam. I know you probably think this is the dumbest idea in the world, but can you please not say anything to anyone?”
“I never said it was a dumb idea.”
Lily whips her head around. “What?”
My grip loosens on the wheel. “Really?”
“It’ll be like one last hurrah for Dad. Family will be there. Friends too.” He leans forward between my seat and Lily’s and props his elbows on our armrests. “Mom and Dad are both thrilled about it.”
“But it’s not real,” Lily says.
“Neither is Santa, but you don’t hear kids complaining.”
Lily makes a face. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I’m just saying that, sometimes, reality is overrated.”
Sitting up straighter, I make eye contact with Liam in the rearview mirror. “So does that mean you’ll behave?”
“Don’t I always?”
It’ll have to be good enough, because we have arrived. I pull up behind Jake’s Chevy and park. Edna Pearl gives dance lessons in her husband’s old barn, everything from your basic box step to the Viennese Waltz, all beneath the watchful eye and occasional commentary of her parrot, Polly. Edna and her husband never had any children of their own, but they did inherit her grandfather’s bird after he passed twenty years ago.
The waning daylight fades in the west as we climb out of my car. Jake’s truck door slams shut. Gravel crunches beneath his feet as he walks over, making our threesome into a familiar foursome. All of us seem to inhale at the same time, creating an awkward pause that has my insides doing some impressive acrobatics.
Liam chuckles, then offers his hand with a bow to Lily. “May I have this dance?”
With a rosy hue blossoming in her cheeks, she slips her hand into his and the two disappear inside the barn, leaving Jake and me alone, at dusk, surrounded by plowed fields and milk cows lowing in the distance.
I fiddle with the hem of my shirt. “Jake, thanks for doing this.” It seems that’s all I can say to him these days—thank you.
“You know, I’m not too bad of a dancer.”
“Liar.” I smile up at him. “I’ve danced with you before, Sawyer.” Back in high school gym class, when I was the quiet, artsy sophomore and Jake was the cute, athletic senior. When the dreaded four-square unit came up, he offered to be my partner. Even then, he cared about my feelings. Didn’t want me to be partnerless. Or maybe he wasn’t willing to make a fool out of himself in front of any of the other girls. He couldn’t have known, as we laughed and fumbled, that I lived for those ridiculous four-square lessons.
“Gym class was a long time ago, Tate.” There’s a teasing twinkle in his eye, one that makes them look extra blue. “A lot’s changed since then.”
So much, and yet nothing at all. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
The familiar melody and crooning of Elvis Presley’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love” emanates from the barn. The lyrics have my insides resuming their circus act.
“Looks like they’re starting without us.” Jake holds out his arm, motioning for me to go ahead. As soon as we step inside, I spot Dad waltzing Mom around the floor while Liam engages Lily in a spastic polka, hopping her across the barn in complete disregard of the music’s beat. They swoop past Polly, who squawks from her bird stand.
The music stops.
Liam does too. “Hey, I was just getting the hang of it.”
Lily looks flushed. I can see the grin itching to take full shape.
“We were doing the box step, dear.” Edna lets out a long-suffering sigh, then spots Jake and me standing in the barn door. “The bride and groom are here!”
Dad turns around and smiles at me. There’s a glow to his cheeks. “Hey, sweetheart.”
“Hi, Dad.”
Edna claps her hands, gathering our attention. “You, my lovelies, are late.”
“Sorry,” Jake says.
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I nod toward the parrot, who shuffles along her perch. “How’s Polly?”
“As fit as a fiddle. Now, Mr. Sawyer, do you know the basic box step, or would you like me to lead you through it?”
“I think I’m good.”
“Okay, then! Let’s start again. Remember your carriage, men. And ladies, you follow their lead.” Edna flips on the stereo. “Take your women, gentlemen.”
Jake presses his warm palm against the small of my back and takes my hand, his grip firm and confident as he moves us in perfect synchronization to Elvis’s crooning and Edna’s counting above the music.
I narrow my eyes up at him. “Jacob Elliott Sawyer.”
His cheeks dimple. “I’m just getting warmed up.”
Elvis turns into Vince Gill who turns into Harry Connick Jr. And just like that, my worry dissolves. It’s impossible to look like an idiot with Jake leading me around the dance floor. Edna focuses most of her attention on Dad, because Liam is hopeless and Jake doesn’t need instruction. Jake has the box step mastered. We laugh and we tease and we dance until Edna turns off the music and teaches us the basic step for swing dancing. Jake wasn’t kidding about getting warmed up. He already knows the basics, and then some, delighting Edna so much that she steals my partner, calling out instructions to Liam and Dad while Jake twirls and flings her around. He keeps catching my eye as he does so, smiling smugly. I smile back, arms crossed, shaking my head, because this is most definitely not the same Jake who stepped on my toes during four-square.
When Edna finally lets him go, he helps me figure out the steps to Sammy Davis Jr.’s “Love Me or Leave Me,” and then “Jump, Jive an’ Wail” comes on, and we’re off. I don’t even have to think. Not about my steps, or Dad’s cancer, or even what will happen after the wedding.
“Where in the world did you learn how to dance?”
“In college.” He twirls me around. “I had to take some sort of fitness elective, and my roommate convinced me dance would be fun.”
I let him fling me out and pull me in. “Remind me to thank your roommate someday.”
“Will do.”
I look over at Dad, flirting with Mom, his rhythm nowhere near as good as Jake’s but much better than Liam’s, and I decide that my brother is right. Reality is overrated. This wedding has made my parents happy. And honestly? It’s made me happy too. Maybe swapping out my present reality for this shinier, happier version—where Jake is my fiancé and Dad is healthy—wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Like the make-believe games Liam and I used to play when we were little kids. They were only really fun when we fully committed.
