Mr. Wrong

by Taryn A. Taylor

  Genova pulled away from the mirror. “Isn’t that how it is, you always want what you can’t have?”

  Sara moved beside her friend, and they both looked into the mirror. “I’m so happy for you, Gen.” And she was. Genova and Kevin were great together. And this is what she wanted—she was crazy about Kevin. Sara could picture them next semester hand in hand at the basketball games or walking around campus with their backpacks on.

  “Thanks.” Genova took her veil off. “But six hours. Six hours until it’s all done.”

  Sara pulled Genova into her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  Genova blinked back tears. “Oh, this is so stupid.”

  “Gen?” This display of emotion did not fit.

  Genova hid her face in Sara's shoulder. “Just nerves, right?” Her hands shook a little. “Tell me it's just nerves. And that I'm making the right decision."

  "You're making the right decision."

  Her head snapped up, and she took a step back. “I don’t know if I can do this, Sara. I mean, people act like getting married is so easy—but . . . people get divorced all the time. What if we don’t like each other? I mean, we’ve known each other for about a year—but that’s nothing in the long term.”

  Sara’s heart went out to her friend. “Gen, you’re okay. Kevin loves you so much. And you love him.”

  “But what if we fall out of love? What if I can’t stand the smell of his tennis shoes, and he hates the fact it takes me forty-five minutes to get ready every morning? People have divorced for a lot less—”

  “Gen—”

  “What if—.” She broke off and went into a full cry.

  Sara enfolded her in her arms. "Shh." She rubbed circles in her back. “Everything will be fine, Genova. It will. I know it. I've seen how much you guys love each other. It's . . . it's . . . kind of disgusting to tell you the truth."

  Genova laughed. "What?"

  "Yeah, I mean, you should see yourselves, all 'oh, honey, can I help you.' And 'oh, you're so funny, Kevin."

  Genova laughed, again. “Thanks.”

  Sara sighed. “That’s what maid of honors are here for."

  Genova moved to her bed and sat. “I have to tell you something, and I don't think you're going to like it.”

  The pit of her stomach tightened. “Okay.”

  “I saw Beau at the institute before I left town.”

  "Okay."

  Genova winced. “You still love him, don’t you?”

  Sara put her hands on her hips. “Genova, what did Beau say?”

  Her eyes were guilty. “I’m not supposed to tell you this.”

  With that introduction there was no way Sara would allow Genova not to tell her. She leveled her with a stare. “What?”

  Genova put her hand to her mouth. She bit her thumbnail. “I told him not to tell me anything he didn’t want you to know.”

  “Genova.”

  “It was all a lie.”

  Everything froze inside of her. “What?”

  “Well, that night in the parking lot, the thing with Marsal . . . he lied to you. He never got back together with Marsal.”

  Sara flinched. “Who?”

  “Valerie’s sister, the Italian girl. He only said they were together so you would choose Jonathon."

  Sara stumbled and put her hand on the dresser for support. “Come again?”

  Genova frowned. “He wants you to be with someone that hasn’t messed up. Someone that doesn’t have a past.”

  Anger surged through her. “Really?”

  “Sara, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you. I didn’t want to. It’s just . . . well, you should know. You should know everything before you go making decisions about who you’re going to marry. Shouldn’t you?”

  Sara took in a breath and tried to clear her mind.

  Genova stood. “What are you going to do?”

  Sara touched the ring on her finger. "Gen, I should have told you the truth, too."

  Chapter 43

  “I ended it with Jonathon.”

  Genova gasped in horror. “Oh my gosh.”

  Sara pressed the palm of her hand to her eyes. She couldn’t believe this. Beau had lied to her?

  Genova moved in front of her. “Have you talked to Beau?”

  “No.” She slid the ring off her finger and stuck in inside her purse. "Guess I don’t need to keep up the pretenses.”

  Genova whirled on her. “Seriously, when were you going to tell me?"

  Sara threw her hands into the air. “I didn’t want to ruin your big day. I thought I’d save the news until after you got home from swimming with the dolphins at Mazatlan.” “You’re killing me by not telling me what happened with Jonathon.”

  Sara didn’t know how to explain it all to Genova. “Well, I finally asked the Lord if it was right to marry Jonathon.”

  Genova didn’t move, waiting for the rest of the story. “And he said no . . .”

  “No, he didn’t say no.” Sara shook out her hands. “I think my life would have been all right if I would have married him.”

  Genova hung her head dramatically. “Okay.”

  “But I realized we didn’t have that zing, ya know. I wasn’t excited to see how the rest of my life would work out with him. I wasn’t wondering what extraordinary thing would happen the next minute, hour, day. And . . .” She whispered it. “I couldn’t do it.”

  Genova’s face lit up. “Kevin and I have that. We have that zing.”

  Sara smiled. “Yes you do.”

  Genova hugged her. “I love you.”

  Sara hugged her back. A sense of urgency came over her. “Is Beau coming for the luncheon?”

  “Sara?”

  Previously, she'd planned on ignoring Beau at the wedding, but now she knew she had to talk to him.

  “When?”

  "He's not coming."

  Her heart sank. "Why?"

  She gestured to the large gift basket on her vanity. “That was delivered from him yesterday. He has to catch a flight this afternoon."

  Sara inspected the gift basket.

  Genova stomped her foot. "Tell me what you're thinking."

  Sara fingered the wrap around the basket. “Do you know what time he leaves?”

  Genova rolled her eyes. “I think it’s soon.”

  Sara whipped out her phone. "I gotta go.”

  “Why don’t you just call him?” Genova followed after her.

  Sara picked up her purse and gave Gen a hug. “I’ll be back for the wedding.”

  Sara scrolled through departures on her phone. She had to do this. She had to see him.

  Genova pushed her out of the room. “Then go! And get back soon!”

  **

  Denver International airport was crowded. Sara thought it was amusing when she’d flown in yesterday that the large, white circus-looking tents were used as a permanent structure for keeping snow off of the buildings. But the rapid snow falling made the tents look like something out of an Alaskan survival movie.

  Sara parked and fumbled out of the car. Everything spilled from her purse. “Crap.”

  “Do you need some help?”

  Her heart stopped. She looked up. A man in a business suit leaned down to help her.

  “No. Thank you.” She pushed it all back in and took off at breakneck speed into the airport. She surveyed the departures. Johanesburg, terminal C gate 12. She ran to go through the security check station.

  “You have to have a ticket.” The dark-headed man pointed to a sign. “The policy is stated right here and, if you didn’t notice the automated voice, it is repeating it over and over.”

  Sara knew this, but she couldn’t afford a ticket. “Look, I know it’s dramatic, but the guy that I love is going to board a plane to Africa in less than fifteen minutes, and I can’t afford a ticket to Africa.”

  The security guy frowned but leaned forward and whispered, “Ms. you don’t need a ticket to Africa, you just need a ticket to get through security.” He w
aved her away. “Now run back to the ticket counter and ask for the cheapest ticket.”

  Sara clambered for the ticket counter. People were everywhere. The lines were three and four rows. She turned to the guy next to her. “What is happening?”

  He pulled his eyes from the paperback he was reading and frowned. “It’s an airport.”

  He said it like she was stupid.

  She sighed. “I mean, why is there so many people waiting?”

  The guy shrugged and gestured to the floor to ceiling window with his book. “The snow. A lot of flights are cancelled.”

  Sara rubbed her forehead. “I need to purchase a ticket now.” She felt the anxiety burning inside of her chest.

  The guy rolled his eyes and went back to his book. “Why don’t you head to customer service, the line is shorter.”

  Sara bolted for customer service. “Thank you,” she said over her shoulder.

  The line was shorter. A short man with a brown mustache yelled at one of the service people. “I can’t miss my connection. My wife will kill me; it’s our anniversary.”

  The lady, with a tight bun and tired eyes that said she’d been through this routine one too many times smiled flatly. “I’m sorry, sir. That flight is cancelled. The storm is coming from the north and flights from Canada aren’t taking off right now.”

  The man pounded his fist on the counter.

  “Next in line, please.” The bun lady turned to the next customer, clearly excusing the man.

  He pulled his phone out of his pocket and rolled his bag next to a few seats against the wall. He slumped into one of the seats.

  Sara felt bad for him. His anniversary.

  “Next.” The bun lady excused another victim, who turned away rather upset-looking, too.

  “Next.”

  Her heart pounded and she felt like she could hardly speak. “I need your cheapest ticket.”

  “To where?”

  “Anywhere.”

  The lady pushed her gold-framed glasses down on her nose. “You have to know where you’re going.”

  “I don’t know where I’m going . . . I mean . . . I don’t know. I just need to talk to someone that is leaving, and I need a ticket to get through security.”

  The moment it was out of her mouth she knew it sounded slightly stalkerish.

  Bun lady raised one eyebrow. “Really?”

  Sara envisioned her pushing a panic button under the counter that would send airport security descending upon her like vultures to prey.

  “Look. I l-love this guy who is leaving for Africa. And I just want to tell him how I feel.”

  “Why don’t you just call him?” The lady’s voice was louder now, laced with irritation.

  Sara felt her cheeks redden. “There are some things that can’t be said over a phone call.”

  Her nostrils grew to a larger size. She clicked the buttons on the computer. “This late the cheapest flight is $150.00.”

  Sara tugged at her duffel bag. She didn’t have that much in her account. “Can I have you help me activate a credit card?” She mentally kicked herself for not ever doing this before.

  Her mouth went into an even thinner line. “I’m not here to help you with your financial needs. I am here to help customers buy tickets.” The lady took a breath, and Sara realized that she was in for one of those lengthy speeches that this lady clearly wanted to give to someone. Probably years of discontent with her job was about to come out all over Sara.

  The mustached man from a few minutes ago stepped in front of Sara. “I want to transfer my ticket to this girl.”

  Stunned, Sara didn’t know what to say. Her eyes fluttered to hold back the tears.

  “Why would you do that?” The bun lady was clearly displeased at being cut off.

  His eyes crinkled into a smile. “Because someone should have the opportunity to tell the person they love—that they love them—in person.”

  Emotion bubbled up from her chest. She hugged him. “Thank you.”

  The short man laughed. “You’re welcome.”

  “Well.” The bun lady exhaled dramatically and pushed her glasses back. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. “Let’s get your ticket.”

  Chapter 44

  Sara ran from the security checkpoint, carrying her shoes in her hands. She bolted down terminal C like a track star at the last winning race of the season. Nothing else mattered at this last race. All other races before right now meant nothing.

  Worry entered her mind. What if he didn’t want to talk to her? What if he missed his flight to talk to her and he didn’t care about anything she told him?

  She pulled out her phone and pressed Beau’s number. At least this way she could find out if he even wanted to see her. It rang four times and went to his voicemail. She hung up, sweat ran down her back. Maybe she should walk away? Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea.

  She could see gate twelve, and she pressed harder. She muttered a prayer that if this was right—it would work out.

  She hopped on a walking escalator and pushed herself through the standing people. “Excuse me. Excuse me.”

  “Watch yourself,” an older gentleman called out to her. “You’re going to hurt someone.”

  “Sorry.” Sara gave him a weak smile. She leapt over a large stack of suitcases at the end of the escalator. And pain jarred into her ankle. She fell to the floor.

  “See.” The old man helped her up. “You’re running through here like a crazy woman.”

  Sara steadied herself and held back the tears. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to find someone.” She stared up at gate 12.

  To her relief, she could still walk on her ankle. She hobbled over to the lady manning the gate. “Are you still boarding for Johannesburg?”

  Annoyed the lady turned to her. “The flight to Johannesburg just got cleared for takeoff.” She looked at her computer. “You’re five minutes too late. Do you have a ticket?”

  Sara pressed her hands down on the counter and tried to alleviate the pressure from her ankle. “No. I don’t have a ticket.” Tears burned into her eyes. She’d missed him.

  The lady stared at her. “Well, then how can I help you?”

  Sara shook her head. The tears finally won. “No, you can’t help me.”

  The annoyed lady suddenly softened. “Are you okay?”

  Sara laughed sadly. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

  “What can I do?” She touched Sara’s arm gently.

  Sara snorted. “Unless you can stop the plane, there is nothing you can do for me.” She smiled her best fake smile. “It’s okay. I should have told him. I should have called him sooner and told him I wanted to talk to him. But,” she said and waved her hand in the air, “now he’s gone. And I’m here.” Sara pushed away from the counter. She had to find a place to sit for a while.

  “What would you have told this guy, if you’d had the chance to tell him?”

  No. No. No.

  Butterflies thrummed into her chest.

  There he was— jeans, white shirt, cowboy boots. His coat and computer bag draped over his arm. His blue eyes were red around the edges.

  “I thought you were gone.”

  Beau narrowed his eyes and took the sight of her in. He let out a breath. “Shouldn’t you be at a wedding?”

  Sara unwillingly touched her left finger with her thumb. He was really asking, shouldn’t you be marrying Jonathon?

  Her throat instantly went dry, and she felt like she couldn’t talk. “Beau . . .” Knowing her eyes were red, her hair was sweaty, she held her shoes in one hand, and she could hardly walk, she gulped back emotion.

  “Sara, are you okay?” He reached for her.

  She stopped him. She looked up into those blue, perfect eyes. “Beau—I love you. I’ve loved you since . . .” Her mind flashed to so many scenes with him in them. “Since that day in the grove, after you’d stood next to me at my father’s funeral. But I didn’t know it yet.” She bit the emotion back and thought of that d
ay. “I’ve tried to get you out of my head. I’ve tried to be angry with you. I’ve tried to picture you and . . . and her together.”

  Beau took a step back. His eyes intent on hers.

  “But when Genova told me you lied to me.” She let the words stand for a second, demanding an answer.

  But Beau didn’t answer.

  “I was ticked at you for lying to me.” She added as a side note but waved her hand in dismissal in the air. “But I knew you thought you were doing the gentlemanly thing. I knew you thought you were giving me to Jonathon or something because you thought I’d be better off.”

  He dropped his coat and computer bag roughly to the floor and spread his hands wide in the air in question. “Why are you here, Sara? You don’t want me.” Anger steeled the edges of his words.

  She blinked and couldn’t believe he wasn’t getting it. “Yes, I do.”

  He grabbed her shoulders. “I’m arrogant and I usually say what’s on my mind.”

  She smiled. “Maybe that’s what I like about you.”

  He shook her, again. “No you don’t. You hate that about me. In fact, you want someone predictable . . . someone that has a five-year plan. You want someone that doesn’t challenge you or question your plans for the future.”

  She bit her lip. “No. I don’t.”

  His eyebrows went up. “You don’t?”

  Sara took a deep breath. “I’ve told you before that the best part of life is the unwritten part.” Chills ran through her, and she knew that was the truth.

  He stepped closer, his voice a whisper. “I’m not right for you.”

  Sara smiled and felt herself blush. “If you’re not Mr. Right, then I guess the only thing I want—is Mr. Wrong.”

  Beau closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. He flashed them open. “You want someone that can take you to the temple.”

  Any previous anger, dissipated. And she suddenly understood. “Of course I want someone who can take me to the temple. I want a God-fearing man that wants to follow the Lord’s commandments. I want a man that takes on life like he’s not afraid of anything. I want this same man to love his mother and care about her welfare. And to sit in on discussions with people that want to learn the gospel. And be concerned with people that need his help, go visit them at the hospital, take them little treats when Martha’s not watching—yeah, Larry told me about that. And I want this very same man to help me every time I ask for it.” Tears burned in her eyes. “Even when I don’t ask for it. And always stand beside me.” She could feel herself shaking with passion. “I want you, Beau. I want you no matter what your past looks like. I just want a future with you. With the good man I know you to be. And, I’m willing to wait until you can take me to the temple.” She nodded forcefully. Then added, “If you want me?”