Her Best Friend’s Wedding

by Abby Gaines

  He let his spade drop to the ground. “That’s because I was closest in age to you.”

  She shook her head. “Logan was quieter, more considered. Strong in his way, the kind of oldest brother a girl wants. But not as much use in a fight.”

  She stared at him, chin in the air.

  Trey stared back. Then he picked up his spade. “Didn’t you have a phone call to make?”

  So much for that.

  Back in the house, Meg felt a distinct lack of enthusiasm as she picked up the cordless phone from the kitchen counter and dialed her mother. Nancy knew nothing about her breakup with Daniel.

  “Mom, it’s me. I have bad news.” Nancy’s instant concern brought on a new wave of self-pity. “The wedding’s off.” Meg told the story, pausing to blow her nose at regular intervals.

  “So—” she hiccuped “—I thought I’d come stay with you for a while. And if you could make some calls, cancel the wedding…maybe we can get our down payments back.” She knew that was highly unlikely.

  Silence down the phone.

  “Mom? You still there?”

  “I’m here,” Nancy said quietly. “This is your home, Meg. Of course you can come.”

  Relief rushed through her. It would be a longer commute to the airport, but that was fine. She pictured herself living with her mom for years to come, until Mom died—peacefully in her sleep, without going near a hospital—after which Meg would grow old alone in the family home, cultivating a fondness for cross-stitch and multiple cats.

  “But the calls to cancel the wedding,” Nancy continued, “you’ll need to do those.”

  Meg felt a small shock of panic. “Mom, no! People will get mad. It’s too upsetting. Besides, I’ll be flying.”

  “You have a cell phone,” her mom said. “Meg, from what you just told me, you’ve been using flying as an excuse. I can’t let you get away with that.”

  “It’s my job!”

  “I’m wondering now if you really did have to work so much right after I had my stroke,” Nancy said. “We all thought the airline was so hard-hearted, not giving you time off. But you didn’t ask for any, did you?”

  Meg swallowed. “Mom, that was years ago.”

  “Margaret Alexandra Kincaid, I’m ashamed of you.” No mistaking the hurt in her mom’s voice.

  Meg opened her mouth to protest, but Nancy continued to sear her with her words. “What’s worse, your father would be ashamed of you.”

  Then Meg’s mother hung up on her.

  DANIEL’S INVITATION TO dinner three days later took Sadie by surprise.

  She accepted—of course she did. Daniel picked her up from her place—with Meg gone to stay with her mom there was no potential for awkwardness—and took her to La Maison Jaune, sited as its name suggested in an old yellow house on the banks of the Mississippi River.

  Sadie had no idea if it was a date or not. It certainly wasn’t the ideal date. Daniel looked dapper, as always, in a striped shirt and dark pants. He even wore a tie, which Sadie felt flirted with date territory. But his eyes were heavy, his mouth tense above his smooth-shaven chin.

  He was perfect company—polite, interested in her work, full of respect for her achievements. Yet Sadie found herself wishing for Trey’s irreverent presence.

  “This wheat-protein project has so much potential,” Daniel said as they started on their entrées. “You must find it very rewarding.”

  Sadie sliced into her duck breast. “I guess.” On impulse, she said, “But there’s something I want to do more.” She told Daniel about the antioxidant project, amazed she hadn’t done so earlier, back when she’d first fallen in love with him.

  “Wow.” He savored her idea, along with a mouthful of blackened mahimahi. “Sadie, if you’re right…”

  “I know,” she said.

  “But if you’re wrong…”

  “I know,” she said.

  “Maybe you should run it by a peer review panel,” he said.

  “Maybe,” she said restlessly. She’d thought of that. It made sense. But she didn’t want a recommendation by committee. She wanted someone who knew her to believe in her, a hundred percent.

  Sadie couldn’t help remembering that Trey hadn’t questioned her ability to succeed. Trey doesn’t fully understand the science.

  But he did understand Sadie and what motivated her. Perhaps better than anyone.

  “Have you spoken to Meg recently?” Sadie asked.

  Daniel shook his head. “That’s over.”

  “But you loved her.” Should a man give up on love that easily?

  “Of course I did. Do. Did.” Daniel’s dithering got on Sadie’s nerves. “At least, I loved the person I thought she was—fun and sweet and caring.”

  “She’s all those things. So I can’t imagine you’re over her yet,” Sadie said.

  “She can’t commit to the wedding vows,” Daniel said. “In sickness and in health. That’s more than a minor detail.”

  He had a point. As did Trey, saying his sister needed to grow up. Meg wasn’t perfect. But neither was Daniel, contrary to what she’d first thought.

  “Meg’s never been in love before,” Sadie said. “I think, for you, she could have been something she wasn’t for other people.”

  “You can’t be sure of that,” he said.

  “You know, Daniel, Meg might have struggled with the in sickness and in health part of the wedding vows, but maybe you would have found the for better or for worse a challenge.”

  He set down his wineglass. “Meaning what?”

  “You set high standards for yourself and others,” she said. “It’s one of the things I like about you. But it seems to me you dumped Meg the first time she didn’t measure up to your expectations.”

  His face turned white. A buzzing sound came from his jacket pocket.

  “Is that your phone?” Sadie asked, when he appeared too dazed to move.

  He reached for the phone, read the display. “It’s Trey.”

  “Uh, maybe you shouldn’t mention that you’re—”

  “Hi, Trey. I’m in the middle of dinner with Sadie,” Daniel said.

  Sadie sighed.

  He listened; his eyebrows rose. “Er, okay.” He hung up. “Trey will be here in five minutes. He has something to tell me.”

  Probably along the lines of Sadie will stop at nothing to get her hands on you.

  WHEN HE ARRIVED, Trey somehow managed to look better than Sadie remembered. At the same time, in his dark shirt and pants, he looked like the bad guy next to angelic Daniel. She shouldn’t find him so tempting.

  “You never give up, do you?” he asked Sadie as he sat down next to her in the booth.

  “Nope.” She thought about grabbing Daniel’s hand across the table, but she couldn’t be bothered. “Nor do you.”

  His eyes glimmered appreciation.

  Daniel was glancing around for their waiter. “Will you order some food, Trey?”

  “I only came to pass on some information,” Trey said. He eyed Sadie’s midnight-blue dress. “If I’m not too late.”

  “You’re not too late,” Sadie said, and meant it. Meant she wasn’t pursuing Daniel.

  He didn’t seem to get the significance. “One word,” he said. “Nosocomephobia.”

  “Noso— What’s that one? Staircases?” Daniel scratched his head.

  “I get it,” Sadie said, excited.

  Trey rolled his eyes. “No way do you know what it means.” But his mouth tugged in a resigned smile.

  “I have enough rudimentary Greek to figure it out.”

  “Geek,” he said appreciatively.

  “Well done,” she said. “What made you think of it?”

  “Is it elevators?” Daniel asked.

  “Meg reminded me how I used to be the best brother a girl could have—the kind you want on your side in a fight,” Trey said. “Used to be being the operative words. Thought I’d better rise to the challenge. I enlisted the help of the internet.”

 
; “So you’ve told Meg about noso-whatsit?” Sadie asked.

  He nodded. “I’m leaving it up to her now. Because she really does need to handle this herself.”

  “You did a good thing.” She patted his hand on the table.

  Trey’s gaze snapped to her. Then he slid his hand out from beneath hers and stood. “I’ll leave you guys to it.” He strode out of the restaurant.

  Sadie watched him go, watched how he commanded the attention of every woman in the place.

  “Farm animals?” Daniel suggested, his brow furrowed.

  “For goodness sake, Daniel,” Sadie snapped. “You need to decide how you feel about Meg, then get off your butt and do something.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  MEG PAID HER bill, took her receipt from the receptionist and walked outside. There were no cabs around, but over the past three days she’d discovered that this close to the airport it wouldn’t take long. She pulled out her cell phone.

  She gave the dispatcher details of where she was right now. And her destination. Then she waited.

  The world didn’t look any different than it had when she’d arrived here for the first time three days ago. Could the treatment really have worked? So fast? She’d been told determination to succeed was a big factor, and maybe she’d come here desperate enough to do whatever it took…but the thought that she could have achieved this earlier made her feel stupid. And ashamed.

  The cab arrived after ten minutes. Meg didn’t talk during the ride—normally, she’d have started talking to the driver about the weather and moved on from there. But her adviser had suggested she was ready to put what she’d learned into practice and Meg was too nervous to make small talk.

  She concentrated on her breathing, on a rational inner dialogue. On ignoring the buildup of sweat in her armpits, on her palms, down her back. On the warm feeling she got when she remembered the text message Trey had sent, which she hoped had literally changed her life. One word—nosocomephobia—had told her he was still on her side, even if she had to do some of her own fighting.

  It was past noon when they reached Memphis St. Ignatius Hospital.

  So far, so good. She was hot, but not dizzy. Her mind was relaxed. Relatively. Her breathing was almost regular.

  She paid the driver and walked up to the main doors. Where she came to a total stop, causing someone behind her to nudge her, then veer around her with a muttered curse.

  No stopping now.

  She put one foot in front of the other, did the same thing again, then again, and suddenly she was inside the automatic doors.

  The smell. Ugh, the smell. Disinfectant and sick people and floor wax and latex. Meg breathed through her mouth, minimizing the odors.

  Ahead of her, a receptionist looked up and smiled, and Meg followed that smile.

  “Mrs. Angela Wilson,” she said. “I’m here to visit.”

  She made it to the elevator and all the way to the fifteenth floor. Then she ran to the bathroom and threw up.

  She’d been neglecting her script, she realized.

  Hospitals are filled with doctors and nurses who care, who help sick people get better. People come to a hospital so they can be made well.

  It was actually working. Meg’s nausea receded and she left the bathroom.

  What if Daniel was here? He might be mad at her for visiting his mom now they were unengaged.

  She reminded herself she’d chosen this time because he and his dad would be at work. This visit wasn’t about impressing Daniel. She’d realized she could never measure up on the Wilson scale.

  Outside the ICU was the small office she remembered from nearly twelve years ago. Visitors needed to be buzzed in individually. Meg approached the desk.

  “I’m here to visit Logan Kincaid.” She cringed. “Angela Wilson,” she amended quickly. “Here to visit Angela Wilson.”

  What an idiot. She was going crazy.

  The nurse gave her an odd look. “Are you family?”

  “I’m her daughter-in-law.” Meg kept her ringless left hand in the pocket of her jacket. She’d returned her engagement ring at the same time as she canceled the hotel, the flowers, the church. Her beautiful dress.

  “Room four, on the left.” The nurse buzzed her in.

  Meg evened her breathing as she entered, trailing one hand lightly against the wall. Though it turned out she didn’t need it. She felt quite steady.

  With any luck, Mrs. Wilson would be asleep. A picture of Logan, deep in a sleep from which he would never wake, flashed through her mind. Instead of pushing it away, she looked, lingered, as she’d done earlier in the hypnotic trance. His young man’s face, soft in the cheeks still, but with the clearly defined nose and chin. Poor, dear Logan.

  Room four, here she was.

  Meg slipped through the door, which was ajar.

  Daniel’s mother lay on her back, the top half of the bed levered up. Weren’t people supposed to look smaller, less intimidating when they were ill? Angela Wilson looked every bit as ferocious as she did in the full bloom of health. Thankfully, she was asleep.

  Meg sank silently onto the visitor chair. She froze, then after a moment of no movement from Angela, risked putting her purse on the floor.

  Angela’s eyes snapped open.

  “Ah,” she said, and her voice at least was smaller, “the waitress in the sky.”

  Meg had figured from the start that Daniel’s parents didn’t respect any job that didn’t require at least an honors degree.

  “Hello, Angela,” she said, pleased her voice was steady. “How are you feeling?” She wondered how up-to-date Angela was, if Meg would have to pretend she was still engaged.

  “Don’t tell me the engagement’s back on,” Angela said, a little breathless.

  Apparently not.

  “I’m going to assume it’s the medication making you rude,” Meg said. She had nothing to lose with this woman. “Don’t worry, the engagement’s still off and it’ll stay that way.”

  “Then why…?” Angela lifted her hand off the blanket to convey the rest of her question.

  “Not for you,” Meg said. “For my mother. And my brother.”

  Angela’s forehead creased. “They’re in the hospital?”

  “No, thank God.” Meg pulled her chair closer to the bed. “I guess Daniel told you I’m squeamish. That I don’t like hospitals?”

  A snort from the woman.

  “Turns out it’s a bit more than that,” Meg said. “When my mom had a stroke a few years back, I didn’t visit. I left everything to my brother.” She shivered with the shame. How could she have thought she could absolve herself of responsibility to that extent? “Trey, my brother, just figured out I have nosocomephobia—I’m not even sure if I’m saying that right.”

  “You are,” Angela said, surprising Meg.

  “You’ve heard of it?”

  “I am a psychologist,” Angela reminded her. “So now you have something to blame for your immature behavior.”

  “I’m glad I’m not one of your patients,” Meg said.

  Angela’s eyes widened. “You managed to overcome your problem enough to come here today,” she said skeptically.

  “I spent the past three mornings at the Phobic Disorder Center.”

  “Those quacks.”

  “I figured you’d turn your nose up,” Meg said. “But I’m here now, with my symptoms under control.”

  Angela pressed down on the blanket with both hands and attempted to move herself up the bed. Instinctively Meg went to help. It took half a minute of careful maneuvering, but eventually the woman was propped higher.

  “Thank you,” she grunted. “So what were these purported symptoms of yours?”

  “They were real,” Meg said. “Nausea, dizziness, tunnel vision, heart palpitations…”

  “And these phobic-center people, what, hypnotized you?”

  Meg nodded. “They back it up with cognitive behavior therapy. I’ll be going back every morning the next few days—I’m on
short-haul afternoon and evening flights this week—then visiting the hospital after each session to put what I’ve learned into practice. I want to be sure that if my mom ever gets sick again, I can be the daughter she needs.”

  “How noble,” Angela said drily.

  “Better late than never.” Meg glanced at her watch. “The nurse told me fifteen minutes maximum. I’d better leave.” She picked up her purse.

  Angela’s fingers pleated the pale blue hospital blanket. “You can come again tomorrow, for your practice visit.”

  “Oh.” Meg wasn’t sure she wanted to. Visiting Daniel’s mom had been a symbolic milestone, but the woman was nothing to her now. She’d thought she might visit a pediatric ward next, provide company for a lonely child.

  “It’s very dull here.” Angela fixed her gaze over Meg’s shoulder.

  “Okay,” Meg said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Assuming the heart palpitations don’t overcome you first.”

  SADIE WAS IN THE MIDDLE of the complex task of getting her coffee just right when her cell phone rang. It was Meg’s mom.

  “Sorry to interrupt your work.” Nancy had been conditioned by Mary-Beth to think of Sadie’s job as second only in importance to running the United States of America.

  “No problem. I’m just having a coffee.”

  “That daughter of mine hasn’t answered her phone to me in three days.” Nancy sounded exasperated. “I figured you can tell me—is she genuinely upset, or just having a temper tantrum?”

  Sadie stopped stirring her coffee. “I don’t understand. Isn’t Meg staying with you?” Silence.

  “She said she might come, but we argued on the phone,” Nancy said slowly. “When I didn’t hear from her, I thought she’d changed her mind.”

  Tension clogged the line. Sadie struggled to breathe. “Her stuff is gone from her room.” Uh-oh, dumb thing to say to Meg’s mother. “At least, some of it is.” She thought fast. “Maybe she flew somewhere nice and decided to take a vacation.” Without telling anyone. “Her roster is on the fridge at home. I’ll go now to check. I’m sure she’s on a beach somewhere, working on a tan.”