Willow stared at them and whispered through gritted teeth, “Georgie!”
“Sorry,” Georgia said, and not so softly. “Go ahead, uh, Reverend.”
Jacey stared at Colin the rest of the ceremony. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to throw her arms around him, punch him in the face, or take off running. One thing was for sure: This reception was going to be interesting.
CHAPTER TWO
Colin stood at the altar posing for pictures with the bride and groom. How long was this going to take? This was the first wedding he’d ever officiated. Was taking pictures with the minister normal? Why did they need a picture of him? For proof? They already had a license. What he wanted to do was run into the reception hall and find Jacey. He was just as stunned as she had been when she said his name in the middle of the ceremony. What was she doing here? Where had she been? And why hadn’t she contacted him after the flood?
He knew it sounded crazy—so crazy he’d never said it out loud—but he wondered if he had fallen in love with Jacey during those three days on a roof. At least, in deep like or maybe infatuation. Whatever it was, he’d wanted to explore it, and he thought she might have felt the same way. He knew what happened to them wasn’t ordinary, and maybe even quite extraordinary. He hadn’t talked about it with anyone because he didn’t want to defend it or debate it. He just accepted it.
Before they were separated, he’d made sure she had every contact number he had. When the men who rescued Jacey and the others got to them, the first thing Colin did was ask for the ink pen in the man’s pocket. Just holding the cheap ballpoint pen had made Colin feel like he’d won the lottery. Finally, a way to be sure she could find him again when the disaster was over. He wrote down his numbers and stuffed the paper into her pocket. So why hadn’t she ever called him? Not even once to see if he’d survived. He knew what had happened between them on the roof was . . . special. He’d been around the block enough times to recognize the look on her face and the promise in her eyes.
“Okay, Reverend, I think we have all we need. Thank you so much.” As soon as the photographer freed him, Colin bolted for the door in search of the fellowship hall where the reception was in full swing. He almost made it.
“Oh, Reverend,” Mrs. Perkins, the church pianist, called to him. “I need to send a book to Brother Wilson. I just hate that he is sick, and I’m hoping this book will make him feel better. It’s about orchids. He grows orchids. Did you know that?”
Colin shook his head. “No, ma’am, I didn’t,” he said. “I’ll be happy to take it to him for you.”
“Just follow me to my car, if you will,” she said.
Colin followed her toward the parking lot, matching her snail’s pace step for step.
“Folks say I’m crazy to park my car clear across the parking lot, but I think it’s good for my arthritis,” Mrs. Perkins said as she crept across the asphalt. “Don’t you think so?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Colin said. “I’m sure it’s good for you.” He wanted to snatch her up in his arms and run to her car, grab the orchid book, tuck her safely into her seat belt, and sprint to the reception before Jacey disappeared again. But he just kept moving . . . and envisioned turtles lapping him and Mrs. Perkins as she talked about her new-and-improved titanium hip.
He thought he was home free by the time he got back to the side entrance of the fellowship hall when he was stopped by a teenage boy with pimply cheeks and a frightened look on his face.
“Um,” the boy said. “Do you have time to talk to me for a minute?”
“Of course,” Colin said. The deck was stacking against him yet again. “How can I help you?”
“I can’t talk to Reverend Willis,” the boy said as tears filled his eyes. “I’m afraid he’ll tell my parents.”
Colin studied the boy for a moment. Whatever this boy’s problem was, it was real trouble. At least, in the boy’s mind it was. “Let’s go inside,” Colin said. “I’m sure we can find an empty room to talk in.”
The grateful and relieved teenager followed him back into the church. Colin glanced over his shoulder at the doors of the fellowship hall. Jacey would have to wait. At least he hoped she would.
Jacey sank down in her chair and was swallowed by the huge orange dress. She scanned the crowd. Where was he?
“Wow,” Georgia said. “Just wow . . . I can’t believe Lover Boy is a preacher.”
“Keep your voice down,” Jacey said.
“He’s a preacher,” she said again. “Yikes . . . that’s gotta sting.”
“It’s not like I knew that,” Jacey said. “He wasn’t wearing a name tag that said ‘Brother Colin.’ He was wearing jeans . . . and flip-flops! Is that the regular reverend uniform?”
Georgia took a sip of her wedding punch. “You’re going to hell.”
Jacey slapped at her arm. “Georgie!”
“Well, let’s recap, shall we? You spent three nights on the roof. Two of those were wrapped up with a man you’d known for exactly that long—and he’s a preacher. Somehow you went all gaga over him, then never saw or heard from him until a year later, when he shows up to conduct the marriage ceremony for your best friend.” Georgia paused and took a deep breath. “In the meantime, you spent the last eight months or so going out with anybody that has a pulse in some sort of misguided effort to forget this man whom you’ve decided isn’t worthy of your affection because he’s a man of God. Is that about right?”
“Do you know how messed up that sounds?” Jacey asked.
“I know exactly how messed up that sounds,” Georgia said. “That’s why I said you were going to hell.”
“I don’t care if he’s a . . . ,” Jacey began. “What I mean is, it isn’t that . . . I was on a roof. In a storm and a flood. There was no feather bed, wine, or roses. It wasn’t a seduction. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Still . . . there was some kissy-kissy smooch-smooch, and you came back in L-O-V-E. You’ve been ruined ever since. And now . . . you find out he’s a preacher and you’re hiding from him.” She looked squarely at Jacey. “You couldn’t hide from Helen Keller in that dress, by the way.”
Jacey cringed.
Georgia scanned the crowd. “If he’s a preacher, where are his big-haired wife and eight tiny children?”
Jacey winced. Oh no. What if he had a wife? And a kid?
“Of course, that would be fast work, but still,” Georgia said. “It’s possible. The man apparently moves fast.”
“You’re so funny,” Jacey said.
“Oh, I know, right?” Georgia shrugged. “But we aren’t talking about me. So, what’s your deal? You’ve been pining away for him all this time. Why are you hiding? Why?”
Jacey didn’t answer right away and finally shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Is he not the way you remember him?” she asked.
Jacey shook her head. “No, he’s exactly the way I remember him.”
“I was wondering, because he is delicious!” she said. “All that dark hair and those velvety brown eyes . . . Delicious!”
“Stop,” Jacey said. “Isn’t that like . . . sacrilegious? Can you say that about a preacher?”
“I can,” Georgia said. “I’m not the one who sucked face with him.”
“Ugh,” Jacey said. “I’m mortified.”
“Because he’s a minister?” Georgia asked.
“No, of course not,” Jacey said. “That would make me an awful, horrible person, wouldn’t it? But . . . okay, yes. It’s exactly why. I can’t hook up with a preacher.”
“He’s still a guy,” Georgia said. “He’s just a guy who prays.”
“I pray too, Georgie,” Jacey said. “But I’m no preacher.”
“You certainly aren’t,” Georgia agreed.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re a serial dater,” Georgia said and laughed.
“A what?” Jacey asked.
“Don’t get all bent out of shape at me,” Georgia said. “Wi
llow’s the one who came up with that.”
“A serial dater? Explain that, please,” Jacey said. “What does that even mean? Is that a thing? That’s not a thing.”
“Well,” Georgia began, “you go out with a guy once or twice. Then you never see him again. Especially this past year. It’s almost pathological. After you got well, you turned into a man-eater. You were never like that before.”
“I acknowledge I have been on several dates this year. But I was just—”
“Several dates?” Georgia interrupted. “You went out with three different guys last week.”
Jacey snapped her mouth shut. Georgia was right. She realized that. She’d dated a lot this year, but she was just trying to shake the memory of Colin. She thought if she dated enough men, surely one of them would make her forget those velvety brown eyes and strong arms. Not that it had worked, but she had given herself an A for effort. She’d managed to make a couple of new friends in the process, so it wasn’t a total wash . . . but there certainly hadn’t been any sparks flying around. Besides, it wasn’t just her dating habits that had changed. It was everything. There was Jacey Before the Flood and Jacey After the Flood—the version who didn’t want to continue watching life from the sidelines, who didn’t want to be afraid to try new things, new food, new places. New Jacey took risks she’d never taken in the past and didn’t want to waste a single day of her life. Jacey Squared, as Georgia called her.
“Look,” Georgia said. “You’ve just been different this year. That’s all. That’s not a bad thing. You’ve done a ton of things that were very atypical for you. Zip-lining, that whole Mardi Gras spectacle, riding on the back of a Harley with that guy . . . Python or Cobra or Garter Snake, whatever his name was. I get it. You almost died. It was a wake-up call. You’ve been through a lot and you want to embrace life. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Thank you for approving,” Jacey said, chuckling.
“That’s precisely why you need to give this guy a look. And you really are a serial dater. Willow banged that nail on the head.” Georgia stood up and gave Jacey her cup of punch. “Here,” she said. “Hold this. And writhe in your man-eating shame. I’m off to make someone dance with me in the Baptist church. So, will they send the dance police or just deacons with pitchforks or something? How does that work?”
Jacey watched her walk away in a puff of orange and laughed in spite of her torment. She had no doubt Georgia would find somebody who would be happy to oblige.
Jacey didn’t know if she qualified as a serial dater, but Georgia was right about one thing: She really was a different person after the flood. But it wasn’t just because of Colin. She was running from something and she knew it. Somewhere in the mysterious shadows of her brain, where memories hovered just out of reach, there was something she didn’t want to recall. When a sight or sound or smell threatened to retrieve one of those memories, she ran. But she always remembered Colin, quite vividly and frequently. He was the first thing she thought of in the morning and the last thing she thought of at night.
When she was still in the hospital after the flood, she tried to find Colin, but to no avail. She asked nurses and doctors and janitors to find the shorts she was wearing on that roof, the same ones she’d worn during the accident. Each of them said they’d been cut from her when she came in and certainly were thrown away. In those first days, the answer always made her cry. She could remember him shoving the wet, soggy scrap of paper into the pocket of those shorts, and she remembered him telling her not to lose it. She had wanted to tear the paper in half and write down her own number, but the pen had fallen from her shaky hands into the water. After that . . . nothing. It was as if someone had reached inside her head and physically removed the memories. Her next recollection was of waking up in a hospital bed surrounded by tubes and monitors and hushed tones.
Willow and Georgia couldn’t believe Jacey had no more information about Colin than she did. But while you’re sitting on top of a house in a storm of epic proportion, you don’t chat about jobs and favorite restaurants and movies. It wasn’t exactly a typical first date. They had been in survival mode. They talked about repairing a boat, about the lightning that popped around them. They soothed a near hysterical mother and her horrified children. Yes, there were sweet moments, stolen kisses shared and promises made, but very little background information exchanged.
She knew he liked The Eagles because she’d heard him humming “Hotel California” one night as they tried to sleep, during one of those hallowed moments when the rain had let up and the panic had dissipated. She began to sing softly while he hummed the notes. Then he began to sing with her. Even Lillie had joined in. It was a sweet little memory she clung to. A minute and a half or so of happiness, brought to them courtesy of Glenn Frey and his tribe. She thought of that moment often after the flood, but it didn’t do much in the way of helping her find Colin. She tried in vain to remember anything else that might give her a clue about who or where he was. But it just wasn’t there.
Her doctor said some of the memory loss may have been due to the concussion, or her mind’s way of blocking out many of the things she’d seen during those three days. Horrific things. He said the memories could eventually come back, or be lost forever. Whatever the reason for the patchy amnesia, it frustrated Jacey daily. A sound, a smell, anything could bring a fleeting picture of those days to her mind, but only briefly. It was both exasperating and comforting. But what she remembered with clarity were strong arms around her during those horrifying nights, the muffled sobs from the children, the awful sound of animals in obvious distress, thunder that never seemed to stop, and her own frightening thoughts. She still suffered from nightmares now and then and the occasional panic attack, provoked by memories she couldn’t find.
“Enough of that,” she mumbled and drank the rest of Georgia’s punch. Maybe she could find somebody to dance with too. She felt the slight stinging on her lips and knew in an instant she’d just made a mistake. There was pineapple in the punch. Thank God they had already taken pictures.
“Georgie!” she shouted across the room.
Georgia stopped in her tracks—as she danced with an obviously enamored groomsman—and shushed her. “You’re so loud,” she mouthed.
Jacey pointed at the cup. “There is pineapple in the punch,” she said.
“Uh-oh,” Georgia said, pushing the groomsman. He stumbled away but then hurried to her side. “Where’s your EpiPen?”
“In my purth? I don’t know,” Jacey said. Great. Already. “Juth need benadwill.”
“What?” Georgia said.
“Ben-a-dwill.”
“I knew what you meant. I just wanted to hear you say Benadryl again.” Georgia smiled.
Jacey swung at her but missed.
Georgia started to laugh. “Could this day get any funnier?”
Jacey tried to say, “Georgie” but it came out, “Thorthie!”
Georgia really started to laugh then. “I’m just sorry Willow and Colby already left. This is classic.”
“Huwee!”
“Calm down,” Georgia said. “It’s just gonna make you talk funny for a while. Sit still and I’ll go get the car. I’ll be right back.”
“Huwee!” she said again.
“I’ll huwee. I pwa-mise,” Georgia said over her shoulder.
Jacey rolled her eyes.
Georgia was, indeed, back quickly. “Come on. I found us a ride.”
Jacey followed her through the crowd and into the parking lot, where a car sat waiting with the passenger door open.
“Get in,” Georgia said.
“Whoth cah?” Jacey asked.
“Your car was blocked in,” Georgia said. “I had to go with plan B.”
“What pwan B?” Jacey got in the front and slammed the door as Georgia climbed into the back. Colin was in the driver’s seat.
Jacey sucked in her breath and her mouth flew open.
“Thorthie!” she said and turned around.
“What?” Georgia said. “We need some benadwill. His car was available.”
“Hello, Jacey,” he said, smiling.
Jacey stared ahead. “Hewoe, Cowin.”
Georgia cackled in the backseat.
“Jacey,” Colin said, staring at her. “I . . . I don’t know what to say.”
“Me eva,” Jacey said, finally looking at him.
“I’ve searched for you for months,” he continued. “I’ve been all over Biloxi and half of Mississippi asking questions about you.”
“I wiv in Baton Wooge,” Jacey said.
“Here?” he said. “In Baton Rouge?”
“Uh, I hate to interrupt this little reunion,” Georgia said from the backseat. “But in about five or ten minutes, her lips stop looking like a supermodel’s and just get really gross. We might need to move this along a little. We need some benadwill. Pretty fast.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Colin said and sped out of the parking lot. “To the . . . hospital?”
“No,” Jacey said. “Thorthie’s a nurth.”
“What?” he asked.
“She said ‘Georgie’s a nurse,’ but isn’t that hysterical?” Georgia said. “No hospital. Go to the dollar store about a mile straight ahead. We need benadwill. She’s only had a reaction to pineapple. Strawberries, however, will kill her—which is why she is supposed to keep her EpiPen and benadwill with her, but she never does.”
Jacey shrugged. “I neva weememba.”
“You need to weememba,” Georgia said.
They pulled up to the store, and Georgia ran inside.
“Jacey . . . ,” Colin said. “I . . . am . . . It’s so good to see you. I thought I’d never see you again. I was so surprised today. I almost . . . I just can’t believe it. Are you really all right? You sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?”
“No,” Jacey said. “No hothpital.”
“I just can’t believe it’s you,” he said again. He tried to take her hand, but she pulled it away.
“You can’t beeweeve it?” Jacey said.
The Sweet Smell of Magnolias and Memories Page 2
