The Wedding Promise

by Thomas Kinkade

“You’re getting rave reviews all over town. You know Sylvia. She doesn’t hold back with her opinions.”

  “Good thing she was pleased with the results,” Liza said.

  “Better than good. It’s like Internet gossip going viral. I’ve already had two brides call and ask if they can move their wedding to the inn.”

  Liza felt her jaw drop but couldn’t help it. Was Molly teasing now?

  “You did . . . really?”

  “Really, I did. One family has signed a contract. But the other wedding is just in the early planning stage. Would you like to meet with them?”

  “Yes . . . yes, of course I would. I appreciate this, Molly. Not to mention all the help and coaching you gave me to pull together the Bennets’ reception.”

  “My pleasure. I think we make a good team,” Molly added. “And I love working at the inn. There’s something special about this place,” she added, gazing around.

  Liza couldn’t argue with that. She had always felt that way about the inn, coming here to visit her aunt and uncle. But now she saw it differently and knew it was even more unique than she’d fathomed as a child.

  After Molly left, Liza finally had time to call her brother, Peter, and give him a full report. She only hit the highlights, not wanting to worry him about the blown-down tent or other potential insurance liabilities. He was alarmed enough at the mention of a storm and the bride nearly left at the altar.

  “—but they finally came up from the beach when the rain stopped, and the ceremony and reception went on pretty smoothly after that,” Liza concluded.

  “I’m glad to hear the story has a happy ending. And the family was pleased?” he asked.

  “Very pleased. They’ve already recommended the inn to other brides. There could be a second wedding here very soon.”

  “That’s great news. Sounds like you’re building a nice extra stream of income for the inn, Liza. Good work,” he commended her.

  Peter liked to talk about streams of income, as if money flowed along on little pipes in some cosmic, financial plumbing system. Liza tried not to laugh.

  “Yes, weddings can be profitable, no question. But I was also really happy to see them finally get married and start their new life.”

  “Well, that’s good, too, I suppose. But maybe that was just because it was your first wedding. Maybe you won’t get that emotionally involved after this,” her brother suggested.

  “Maybe,” Liza replied. “But I hope I do.” Getting to know Jennifer and Kyle, and even Sylvia had been the best part of the experience, she realized.

  After talking to Peter, Liza realized she had checked in with just about everyone close to her with the post-wedding wrap-up. Everyone except Daniel.

  She hadn’t heard a word from him since the wedding and wondered now if she had merely imagined their romantic moment dancing together. Or was he in hiding again because of it? They were just friends, she reminded herself. He had made that very clear.

  But deep down, that was not what she really felt or wanted.

  She missed him and missed the feeling of falling in love with him. That part was real. Could they just wipe that all away, like chalk from a board, and start again? Liza didn’t think so.

  Perhaps it was best not to see him for a while. She couldn’t win either way. If he acted cool and distant, she would feel hurt, and if he acted interested and attracted . . . well, she would feel even more confused.

  She heard Claire come out on the porch and quickly turned to face her.

  “Mrs. Ripley just called to confirm her reservation for this weekend,” Claire reported. “I noticed there are several couples coming in.”

  “Yes, three couples coming on Friday,” Liza confirmed. “Time to get back to business,” she said, rising from her chair.

  “High time, I’d say. I just started some cooking,” Claire agreed with a smile.

  Liza never failed to marvel at Claire’s abundant energy and cheerful attitude. You would never know the older woman had worked so hard before, during, and after the wedding. Liza was in awe of her.

  “Do you need anything from the store?” Liza asked. “I can run up now, before it gets too warm for the bike.”

  “If you don’t mind, I do need a few things,” Claire replied. She slipped a folded sheet of paper from her apron pocket. Liza had to smile, noticing Claire was already prepared.

  Liza scanned the list. “Looks like some classic clam chowder is on the menu,” she remarked. “And some scones?”

  They had come to have a little game: Liza guessing the dishes Claire planned by the clues on the shopping list.

  “You got the chowder, but that one is easy. I wasn’t planning on scones. I was thinking of popovers, but maybe scones would be a good idea.”

  “Whatever you make will be delicious.” Liza knew that for a fact. She tucked the list in the front pocket of her jeans and headed inside to get her cell phone, wallet, and a knapsack to carry the groceries. The bike had a basket, but it filled quickly.

  A few minutes later, Liza was pedaling along toward the town center, the inn disappearing around the first bend in the main road. She passed the Gilroy Goat Farm and other neighbors. It was not even noon but already hot and sticky. Summer was here, no doubt about it. About halfway to the village center, she decided to take a break, maneuvering her bike into the shade of a large tree on the side of the road.

  She took out her water bottle and took a long drink, her attention drawn by the brightly colored wildflowers that bloomed in the tall grass all around her.

  She suddenly heard the smooth whiz of bikes far fancier—and more efficient—than her own and turned to see a group of cyclists flying up the hill she had just crawled along. They were soon swooping past her, like a flock of birds flying in formation, their legs pumping rhythmically at top speed.

  One of the riders waved to her as he pedaled past. Liza smiled and waved back.

  A cloud of sandy dust rose in their wake, and Liza watched it settle back to the road in the shimmering heat.

  She wiped her mouth on the back of her arm, stored her water bottle, then took her bike up on the road again. She didn’t mind traveling at her own pace, especially in this weather, and was glad she hadn’t been on the road when that group passed. They were taking no prisoners.

  Liza reached the island’s little cluster of shops a short time later. She saw a bunch of sleek new bicycles parked in front of the General Store and realized that the cyclists who had passed her on the road had arrived—some time ago, by the looks of it. Several had come out of the store, toting snacks and cold drinks, and were ready to go again.

  Liza found a space for her own bike and went inside. Marion Doyle spotted her quickly and trotted the length of the deli counter. “Hello there, Liza. We hear you had quite a shindig at the inn on Sunday.”

  Shindig? Liza wasn’t sure when she had last heard that word. She struggled to hide her amusement. “It was a very nice party. We had a few challenges with the weather. But it turned out fine.”

  “I’ll bet it was.” Marion drew closer, practically whispering. “But I heard the groom went AWOL, and Frank Bennet had to chase him down the beach almost a mile in the rain . . . in a dune buggy,” Marion concluded. She looked at Liza expectantly, waiting for her to confirm or deny the information.

  A dune buggy? How did people come up with these embellishments?

  “Oh, no, it was nothing like that.”

  Of course, there was gossip about the wedding. Especially on the island. It hadn’t been the typical ceremony, that was for sure, and people were bound to tell stories. But this one seemed totally beyond belief.

  “There was a delay,” Liza confirmed, “but the couple was thrilled to be married. Happiest I’ve ever seen,” she stated sincerely.

  Marion leaned back and stuck her hands in her apron pockets. “That’s very nice to hear. I knew that story couldn’t possibly be true.”

  Though that hadn’t stopped her from repeating it, Liza thought with
an inward sigh. “It was a very happy day,” she assured Marion, “happy for everyone.” Liza picked up a basket to collect her groceries, then took out the list, written in Claire’s neat, even handwriting. “Do you have any littlenecks today?”

  “Sure do. How many are you looking for?”

  “Let’s see. The list says five dozen,” Liza told her.

  “Sounds like Claire’s cooking a batch of chowder,” Marion remarked. She headed toward the back of the store, where the fish was stored in a walk-in refrigerator.

  Liza heard the shop door open and turned at the sound. A cyclist entered, still wearing his helmet. He was red-faced and sweating, his eyes bulging.

  Liza stared at him curiously. “Is something wrong?”

  “There’s been an accident. Up the road, at the turn. Just as we were leaving town . . . ” He was breathless and could hardly speak.

  Marion came forward. “What happened? Do you need an ambulance?”

  The young man nodded, unable to speak.

  “Did you try the medical center? It’s just a few doors down,” Liza added. She dropped her basket and headed for the door. “Come with me, I’ll show you. . . . ”

  The cyclist followed as Liza ran across the small square toward the storefront marked by a red first-aid cross.

  Luckily, other riders in the group had noticed the sign and were already coming out the door.

  “He’s just down the road, not too far,” she heard one of the cyclists say.

  Liza stopped in her tracks when she saw who followed them.

  It was Daniel. He ran out of the clinic behind the bikers. He suddenly glanced over at her and met her gaze for an instant. Then he turned and ran after the cyclists again.

  Marion came out of the store and called to Liza. “An ambulance is coming. From Cape Light.”

  “Thank you,” called back the young man who had come into the store. Then he turned to Liza. “I don’t know why I missed that clinic. I ran right past it.”

  “You were upset. It’s understandable.”

  “I guess. I’m going to follow them, see if I can help.”

  “Me, too,” she said suddenly, and began to run alongside him.

  It had turned into a hot day. The sun beat down mightily as they ran. But Liza soon spotted the cluster of cyclists gathered at the edge of the road, just past a sharp turn.

  Daniel was crouched down beside the fallen rider. When he saw Liza approach, he glanced up and said, “Liza, I need your help.”

  Daniel looked so serious, she knew at once the man was badly hurt.

  “My truck is parked in front of Daisy Winkler’s shop. Here, take the keys. You’ll find a black medical bag on the floor, behind the driver’s seat. Bring it back as quickly as you can.”

  Liza nodded. She knew this could be a life-or-death matter and she ran off at full speed, back up the hill to the town center.

  Marion was still in the doorway of her store and called out to her. “How bad is it, Liza? Is he conscious?”

  “I’m not sure. Tell the ambulance where we are,” Liza called back without stopping.

  She pulled open the passenger side door of the truck and grabbed the bag. Then she slammed the door shut and ran back down the hill.

  The bikers were so quiet when she approached that Liza feared the worst. Please let him be all right, she found herself silently praying.

  Daniel was kneeling beside the injured rider, who was stretched out on his back. Someone had removed his helmet and Liza saw his eyes were closed. He looked bruised and limp, and his breathing was labored. Liza wondered if he was even conscious.

  She quickly handed Daniel the medical bag.

  He grabbed it and yanked open the zipper without even looking at her.

  “What’s wrong with him? Can you tell?” she asked quietly.

  “He said his chest hit that rock.” Daniel nodded toward the large boulder next to them. He looked down at the injured man and spoke in a quiet, steady tone. “It’s hard to tell without an X-ray, but it looks like your trachea is pushed to one side and your lung has collapsed,” he explained. “We need to release the pressure right away or you’ll go downhill fast.”

  “D-do it,” the man struggled to say.

  Daniel had already taken a long needle from the medical bag. He wiped down the cyclist’s collarbone area with alcohol. The injured man seemed to be fighting for every breath now, and he looked agitated.

  Daniel glanced up at the other riders. “Can I get someone to hold him steady?”

  The biker who had run into the store quickly knelt down next to his friend, on the same side as Daniel. Liza was on the other side.

  Liza glanced down at the man. His face was pale and drenched with sweat.

  “Ready?” Daniel asked. Liza and the other helper nodded. The injured man closed his eyes.

  With a quick, sure movement Daniel inserted the long needle just below the man’s collarbone. Liza felt the man flinch and in the same second she heard a rush of air quickly come out. The man’s body sagged with relief, even before Daniel withdrew the needle.

  Everyone turned at the sound of the ambulance siren getting louder and louder. Daniel wiped the man’s forehead with a clean, damp cloth. “The ambulance is here. You’re going to be all right,” he assured him.

  His patient nodded and closed his eyes again. “Thanks . . . thanks a lot . . . I think you saved my life.”

  Daniel shook his head, but Liza could see he was moved by the man’s gratitude.

  The ambulance pulled up and the emergency medical technicians jumped out. One of the technicians took Daniel aside and spoke to him about the man’s condition, while the other checked the man’s vital signs.

  Moments later, the injured rider was loaded into the ambulance, which quickly drove off, headed for Southport Hospital.

  The rest of the cyclists seemed stunned. Gradually, they picked up their bikes and rode off—at a much slower pace than the speed at which they’d come, Liza noticed.

  Daniel and Liza walked back up to the General Store.

  “Will he be all right?” Liza asked.

  “Yes, I think so,” Daniel said.

  “That’s good. It all happened so fast. It was pretty exhausting,” Liza admitted.

  They had reached the benches where Liza had left her bike.

  “Want a lift back to the inn?” Daniel offered. “I could toss your bike in the back of the truck.”

  “Thanks, that would be great,” Liza said. She steered her bike over to the truck, and Daniel lifted it into the bed and closed the gate. Then they both climbed in, and he started the engine.

  They drove along in silence for a while, both lost in their own thoughts. Liza felt shaken by the event but she guessed that Daniel was even more shaken, taking charge in such a stressful, traumatic emergency.

  “So . . . what was wrong with the guy again? You said it so quickly, I didn’t really understand,” Liza admitted.

  “When he was thrown off his bike, his chest hit that big rock. You’d call that blunt trauma. Like being struck with a heavy object. That caused his lung to collapse, but more importantly, air was coming into the lung space from a small leak in his chest with each breath, which it normally shouldn’t do. That caused his trachea, his windpipe,” Daniel translated, “to shift to one side. When that happens the extra pressure on the lung doesn’t let the body get enough oxygen, and you asphyxiate. And very quickly, too,” he added.

  “He would have died right there,” Liza said, understanding. “Which is why you had to treat him so quickly.”

  “Exactly. Pneumothorax will sometimes be very minor and resolve itself spontaneously, but a tension pneumothorax needs immediate care. Needle aspiration, or aspiration with a tube inserted into the chest. Sometimes surgery,” he added.

  He spoke in an automatic tone, sounding as if he were reading out of a textbook he had memorized. A medical textbook, she realized.

  “Do all EMTs know how to do what you just did?” she
asked, turning to look at him. “I mean, diagnose that man on the spot like that and then treat him so quickly—for something that seems pretty rare, too.”

  “Probably not,” he said quietly. “I guess it was just lucky I was at the clinic.”

  She could tell he was trying to sound offhand about the matter. But Liza wasn’t ready to let it go. They were nearly at the Gilroy farm and would soon be at the inn, she knew, and it might be a long time before she would have another chance to talk to him.

  “He was lucky,” Liza agreed, “lucky that you’re not the typical volunteer EMT. You’re a doctor, Daniel, aren’t you?”

  Liza saw Daniel’s entire body tense at her question. For several long moments he didn’t answer. He just drove, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. Liza was beginning to wonder if he’d heard her when he said, “Yes, I have a degree in medicine.”

  Liza waited for him to say more, but he didn’t.

  “That’s all right. You don’t have to tell me anything more if you don’t want to. I’ve had time to think about things, Daniel. I’ve decided that I don’t want to lose your friendship over this. If that’s all it can ever be, then so be it. I’d rather be friends with you than not have you in my life at all. So if you need to keep your privacy about certain parts of your life, that’s just how it has to be,” she said finally.

  Daniel turned to her. “Oh, Liza . . . ” He swallowed hard and looked back at the road. “I’ve been thinking, too . . . and I’ve been an idiot. About a lot of things.”

  He pulled the truck over to the side of the road and turned to her. “I don’t want to lose you from my life either. The last few weeks, trying to stay away from you, has taught me that,” he admitted. “And when I saw you today, when I came out of the clinic, it seemed like more than a coincidence. It felt like you’d been sent there to help. You, out of everyone I know,” he said quietly. “The procedure I did wasn’t easy—the needle has to go in at exactly the right place, and I haven’t done it in a long time and didn’t know if I could. But having you there helped,” he admitted. “It probably helped me save that guy’s life. And since you were there, you figured out what I couldn’t tell you. Well, at least part of it.”