The Second Yes

by Amanda Tru

  “Yeah…?”

  “All circumstantial, of course, but I’d be watching him.”

  Thanks to a “surprise” bridal shower, Lara canceled that week’s counseling session. “I’m sorry, Ty, but they’ll be taking pictures, and my hair is a mess, and Ari was able to get me in today. I had to take it. I’d reschedule, but there’s only two weeks until the wedding, and I leave next Monday for the show. That really gives me just one week.”

  “I understand. Maybe we could talk on your drive to the trade show?”

  “Oh! Great idea.”

  He knew he shouldn’t ask, but Ty had to do it. “So, about the other night…”

  “I’m sorry, Ty. Really. It’s his grandmother. He’s so weird about her. I guess there’s some sort of dementia or something, so he doesn’t want her worked up.”

  Who has dementia? It was time to bring up Monica and the disparity of hers and Preston’s faiths, but just as Ty started to speak, Lara squealed, screeched out something about losing track of time, and disconnected.

  Ty sat himself down at his desktop and pulled up all the tabs about the Eddington case and read through them once more. If Preston didn’t do it, then who did?

  An article—one he’d only skimmed earlier—quoted a friend. Her “best” friend. “According to Jana Drevski, Ms. Eddington was looking forward to a new job in Italy. ‘Monica’s ex was in denial about the wedding being called off—he hadn’t even canceled the arrangements like he was supposed to—but I don’t think he did this. He loved her too much.’”

  A Facebook search found Jana Drevski of Westbury. Not only was she the only one in the Rockland area, but she was also the only one in the US. Ty sent a message and hoped she’d get some sort of notification. I am a local minister performing a wedding for someone you once knew. May I ask a few questions? They are loosely connected to your friend Monica.

  He’d only gone to buy himself a coffee, but in that short of time, she’d sent back several messages.

  Do you know who killed her?

  Are you a cop?

  Are you the killer? I’m dating a bodybuilder. Don’t mess with me.

  Ty stifled his laughter until he remembered she couldn’t hear him. Then, with chuckles punctuating his sentences, he sent back a reply. I don’t know, I’m not a cop, I didn’t kill her, and I wouldn’t dare mess with you.

  Right.

  That one-word response could be her shutting down or opening a door. He’d have to work fast—just in case. She was found with a purse full of cash. Refunds for canceled wedding services?

  The clock ticked—silent but sure as he breathed. A reply finally dinged when he’d consumed half his coffee. No. That was Preston’s job. He paid for them, so he was supposed to cancel. He never did. He thought he’d convince her to come back to him. Why? What’s this about?

  It wasn’t his place to do it, and yet it was. If a friend couldn’t try to help, who could? Minding one’s own business, while a virtue, can also aid others in making terrible mistakes. These and other thoughts zipped through Ty’s mind at the speed of light while he tapped out replies that he then deleted.

  A new idea formed, and before he could talk himself into circles about it, too, he shared the picture of Lara. Recognize her?

  Monica. I’ve never seen it before. A moment later, another reply dinged. No, it’s not. Her nose isn’t quite right. Hair’s too light. Who is she?

  “Here goes nothing.” His voice produced an eerie echo when it never had before. Preston St. James’ fiancée.

  Panic set in when a minute passed… two. Finally, another message popped up. What’s the name of your church?

  New Cheltenham Chapel.

  The next reply sent him flying out the door. Calling now. You’d better answer.

  Between stumbles down the hill and around the corner, Preston tried to type out a message. At home. Running. Gimme 2.

  Her reply didn’t offer much encouragement. You get 1.

  Ty heard the phone long before he slammed into the office door and fumbled for his key. Here. Unlocking

  Hanging up.

  “Don’t do that!” Ty didn’t bother typing it—didn’t have time. But he managed to snatch up the phone mid-ring. “Hello?”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Ty Jamison.”

  A second passed. “Who is your head elder?”

  “Elder Park—Jim Park.”

  “And who is this girl?” When he didn’t answer, she sighed. “I can see her on your membership roster. You have five seconds—”

  “Lara Priest.” Why am I even—

  “Okay. Thanks.” He heard a quavering exhale. “Preston is really marrying this girl?”

  “In less than two weeks now.”

  “Why contact me?”

  That was just the problem. Ty didn’t know—not in ways he could explain to anyone else, much less himself. “I—”

  “You want to know if she’s safe.”

  Part of him protested and said he knew Preston would never hurt her, but the argument, his possessiveness, the expectations… “I think a more accurate way of putting it is if she’ll be herself at the end of three to five years. I don’t think he’d harm her physically.”

  “That’s why Monica broke it off. Mr. St. James warned her. He said she’d have to be strong and assert herself to maintain herself. He’d had to do that with his wife and son.”

  That fit with Lara’s initial impression of him. He disapproved—and yet he didn’t. Isn’t that what she said? Something like that.

  “You still there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do something for me—for Monica.”

  He knew what it would be without her saying it, but Ty suspected she needed to. “What’s that?”

  “Make sure she knows. Give her my name and tell her she can call. Is there caller ID on your church phone there?”

  “Yes.” A weight lifted off Ty’s chest. “I need to thank you.”

  “What for?”

  “Saying that. I’ve resisted for personal reasons, but I knew it needed to be done, too.” He took a deep breath and exhaled as if it would offer the clarity his own jumbled thoughts kept muddied. “I’ll give her your number. She’s going nuts so it might not be until the week of the wedding while she’s out of town.”

  Once he disconnected, Ty replayed the conversation in his mind. Maybe that’ll be best. She can just stay away, and I’ll do the explaining.

  Sunday night, after her car was packed and everything ready for her to go, Lara received a call from Preston. “Are you still leaving the week of our wedding?”

  Not for the first time in the last month or so, Lara almost said, “We need to postpone the wedding. We have too many issues to work through—the first being your lack of respect for my job.”

  But she didn’t. Her mouth opened, the words formed, but instead, Lara said, “Try to understand, Preston. If your job called you away this week, I would trust that Friday morning, when the photographer went to take you out for the reveal, you would be there, waiting to see how I look in your… however many great grandmothers it is… in that dress.”

  Though his tone screamed disapproval with its terse, cold words, Preston said the right ones. “What do I need to do while you’re gone?”

  “Relax. Pack for our honeymoon. I have my bags all packed and ready to go.”

  That caught his attention. “You do? Oh, for the show.”

  “No, Preston. For our honeymoon. I packed those bags, too. I’ll just keep my weekender with me and swap suitcases when I get into town on Friday morning. Everything is going to be okay.”

  “Thank you for that.”

  Lara couldn’t say how she knew he needed to tell her more, but she had no doubt. “What else is it, Preston?”

  “I called the caterer.”

  You did not change the menu. Tell me you did not change the menu.

  “I told him to rearrange tables based on menu preference, so the vegans are no
t subjected—”

  “Is that how you feel when you eat with me? When I go out of my way to try to eat the least offensive dish on the menu? You feel subjected to my choices?”

  “That’s not what I meant, Lara. I just don’t want my grandmother having to endure—”

  “Subject. Endure. Do you hear your words? So, what you are saying is that your family will not be subjected to the food choices of my family. So, our families won’t be getting to know each other because my family has the audacity to prefer fish to mushrooms.”

  She didn’t realize that she’d hung up on him until she reached the path that led to the parsonage. That is also when Lara realized that she’d left her house. The realization that she was crying came at the look of horror on Ty’s face when he opened the door and saw her standing there.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Preston.”

  Without a word, he stepped back and led her inside. A gentle shove at his couch, a box of tissue thrust into her hands, and an offer of tea or coffee followed. “Iced or hot?”

  “Sweet?”

  He shook his head. “More like semi-sweet.”

  “Perfect. I’ll take it. Thanks.” Lara punctuated her appreciation with a half-hiccoughed sob.

  With drinks in hand, he sat beside her and did what Ty always did best. He listened. If he’d attacked Preston, she wouldn’t have listened. Instead, he tried to help her see the other side, praised her for standing up to an injustice she felt, and offered to pray.

  He started to say something at the close of that prayer, but Lara preempted him. “Do you give talking and listening lessons?” Her head dropped to his shoulder. “I just wish I could talk to him like I do you. He has his ideas of what is right, and anything less isn’t enough.”

  That was enough to silence both of them. She sat there, reveling in the comfort of Ty’s arms—of a man who never looked for faults in her.

  He probably finds them, but he doesn’t go looking for them at least.

  They sat there, not speaking—just being—until Lara’s phone alarm told her it was time to go. “I have to be up at five.” She sat another ten minutes, not wanting that moment to end. Who knew that when I asked Ty to perform our wedding, he’d become one of my best friends? Who knew he was so understanding and kind?

  Ty poked her. “Come on. Get up. You need to get your sleep. I’m supposed to be doing a wedding on Friday—not a funeral.”

  At the door, unexpected and inexplicable tears formed. “I—”

  Ty wiped each one away as it escaped. “Sleep. We’ll talk in the morning. I’ll call around six?”

  “Sounds good. I’ll be awake and coherent by then.”

  Something in his gaze stole her breath. Lara’s lungs screamed for air, but she couldn’t inhale for anything. Ty leaned closer, and just as she felt certain he’d kiss her, he wiped away another tear.

  “Everything will be perfect in God’s time, Lara. Everything.” With a gentle nudge, he sent her on her way. “Sleep well.”

  It was the last thing on his mind when he fell asleep and the first as he awoke. I almost kissed her. I swear she knew it. She wasn’t going to stop me.

  At five-thirty, he made coffee. At five thirty-five, he sipped and recalled every private or intimate moment they’d shared. At a quarter-to-six, Ty realized something. Our connection is stronger than hers with Preston—and healthier. Whatever made her agree to marry him?

  That was the problem, of course. She’d agreed to marry Preston. Women like Lara didn’t do that lightly. She’s engaged, and I’m in love with her. Ty’s gut roiled. I’m in love with an engaged woman.

  Had he confused her? Tempted her? Was he more like Preston than he realized? Did he see interest because he wanted to?

  Five fifty-five.

  His phone rang. “Hey, Ty!”

  At least she’s not awkward after last night. It was probably all in my head.

  “Can you do me a crazy favor?”

  “Sure.”

  “I forgot to take out my new purse, and if I don’t have it with me on the honeymoon, Preston will flip. Can you ask Brenna to get that for me and put it with my suitcase? I’ll just dump everything in when I pick it all up. I’d call her, but I need something else, too.”

  Flip over a purse. If I had any doubts…

  That was the problem. He didn’t. “Sure. What else can I do?”

  “Take the key from Brenna and meet my parents at the airport? They need help getting to town. Dad refuses to use GPS. He’s got everything printed out, but Mom’s already confused with the loop and everything. Can you lead them into town?”

  “Of course. Anything else? Pick up a few prime rib roasts and get them going first thing Friday morning?”

  Her giggle shot warm arrows through his heart, but her, “That’s why I love you. You’re awesome,” nearly did him in. “Actually, would you? I just realized that they could have it after we leave. Dad’ll want ‘real food.’”

  “Consider it done. I’ll get Mama to do it, so it’s done right. That woman knows her beef.”

  The time had come. However, just in time, he realized she might get emotional—cry. Can’t have her crashing because of tears or something… “Hey, Lara, are you where you can pull over for a minute?”

  “Well, if I need to. The highway is empty. It’s amazing. I think I want to drive late at night or super early in the morning from now on.”

  Okay… that’s reasonable. If she sounds upset, I’ll ask her to pull over then.

  “Ty? Why?”

  “Well, I have some concerns about the wedding—”

  Her laughter—just a tad high-pitched. “Um, the wedding’s in four days. You couldn’t have said something sooner?” Before he could respond, she said, “Oh, hey. There’s the tunnel ahead. If I cut out, I’ll call back as soon as I can. I think I remember cell service being spotty for like twenty miles on the other side of it. I’ll call you when I stop to eat or something.”

  “I’ve seen a few things with Preston—”

  He knew the moment she entered the tunnel. Her absence screamed in his ear. “Lord!”

  There was only one thing to do. Wait.

  An enormous box arrived at ten-thirty. Return address—London Hutchins, Crossroads. “The dress…”

  Without hesitation, he called the store and asked for London. Ten minutes later, he had the garment bag hanging in his closet and orders on how to let the wrinkles hang out overnight before the wedding.

  Lara still hadn’t returned his calls. He’d tried a dozen times but nothing. Concerned that she might be avoiding bad news, he called Brenna and begged for help. Brenna’s calls went to voice mail, too.

  That left one option—the last one he wanted to employ but the best. Mama. With every petition he could shoot heavenward winging its way, Ty called home and waited for his mother to answer. “What’s up, son?”

  “How’d you know it was me?”

  “Got that Caller ID now—it’s in my package. See. Don’t need one of those fancy phones you are all after me to get. I’ve got all the perks with my don’t-need-to-charge-it phone.”

  He’d convince her someday, but today wasn’t the day. “How do you feel about cooking a couple of prime rib roasts on Friday afternoon?”

  “Do I get some?”

  “Of course.”

  “Happy to. What’s the occasion?”

  The idea had been percolating since before he’d even called about the dress, but now it solidified. “I’m hoping my wedding.”

  “Lara?”

  He swallowed at the bite in her tone. If Mama doesn’t approve…

  “Son, I asked you a question. Are you marrying Lara Priest?”

  “If she says yes… yes.”

  Laughter filled the phone. “Boy, you’ve got faith and a whole lot of something else.”

  I think I’ll abstain from the temptation to ask what that might be. “Do you like her?”

  “She’s perfect for you, but last I knew
, she’s already getting married on Friday—to someone else.”

  The story came out—all about Preston, his controlling ways, the fact that she was likely a replacement for a beloved woman who died, that he’d tried to ignore his feelings, about the dress, about the flowers, and that he was about to call Tom Allen from Fairbury about performing the ceremony—just in case.

  “Back up. Did you just tell me that you’ve not counseled this young woman about the inadvisability of marrying someone whose faith you don’t share?”

  Uh, oh. When she throws around words like “inadvisability,” I’m in trouble. He tried agreement. “I know it was wrong, M—”

  “At best. I taught you better than that. The Bible teaches you better. She can’t marry someone who doesn’t believe—”

  “He believes, Mama. I spoke to their pastor about salvation, faith—it’s all in the shed blood of Jesus.”

  A rare, “Mmm… hmmm…” hinted at what would come next. “Tell me how that makes a bit of difference when one parent goes to church one day, and the other goes the next? How is that not going to teach the child that the Bible can’t be trusted? They’re both wrong to do it, and you and that other pastor are wrong to allow it.”

  He’d just started to explain Lara’s explanation of working for unity of faith when his mother broke in again. “And you have seen this man compromise at all, have you?” A second later, she added, “What do your elders say about this whole fiasco?”

  Ty’s throat went dry. Jim Park would blast him—and rightly so. I used my position to ignore my responsibility. He coughed. “Mama, I have to go. I need to call Elder Park.”

  “Second-best news I’ve heard all day.”

  “Second-best?”

  Her tone said she wasn’t angry. The lack of laughter said she still wasn’t content. “My son found a noble daughter to call wife.”

  “She hasn’t said yes, Mama.”

  “I’m off to pray. Until she says, ‘I do,’ to that stuffy guy if I have to. Keep me updated. Love you. Bye.”

  It took twenty minutes to work up the courage to call Elder Park and an hour to get off the phone again. His ears rang. His heart sat heavy in his chest. Time to pray myself… but first, I’ll try Lara once more. At least he didn’t tell me I couldn’t ask her.