Mary Had a Little Problem

by Blaine, Destiny

“You’re his heart, Mary.”

  “He’s mine,” she assured her, picking up the hairbrush. “Now, sit down. I want to attempt to give you an up-do, too.”

  “So now I’m supposed to oblige the bride?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said, giving her a gentle hug. “We still have some time before Brock arrives. Let me make you beautiful.” A beat later she added, “Not that you need help. You’re still the loveliest lady in the land.”

  “Says you,” Anna said. “But look at you standing there in a wedding dress again. You’ve been down the aisle twice, and I’ve yet to make it the first time.”

  A soft sensation lapped at Mary’s ear, like a ghost whispering a reminder of lost time, taking her breath away. She swallowed hard, forced a smile, and looked in the mirror, staring into her sister’s eyes.

  “Mary, it’s okay to cry,” Anna told her. “You must have mixed emotions.”

  “I’ll go to my grave loving two men. I’ll never forget Luke or the love we shared, but I’ll always love Brock. Oddly enough, I believe Brock is my soul mate. Luke was the love of my life.”

  “Is there a difference?” Anna asked.

  “For me, yes,” she said, running the brush through Anna’s long hair.

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  Mary paused, and then tapping the brush against her open palm, attempted to explain. “Brock finishes my sentences, knows what I’m thinking before I say it, and is my true other half. Luke was my first love, and we had a whirlwind romance, the kind of love that was unshakeable, strong enough to move mountains.”

  “You don’t think you have that with Brock?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “Our love is different. That’s all. One isn’t, or wasn’t, better than the other.”

  When tears formed in her eyes, she quickly set to task working on styling her maid of honor’s hair. Glancing at the clock, she said, “He’ll be here, right?”

  “He’ll move the mountains out of his way to get to this wedding chapel, sweetie.”

  “You’re right,” she said, still curious as to why Brock chose a wedding chapel in the mountains for exchanging their vows. “Do you think he’s been working stateside or overseas?”

  “How would I know?” Anna asked. “I don’t know anything about the military or the tasks the men in uniform perform.”

  “You just like the men that wear those dress whites and tight pants, right?”

  “You got it,” Anna told her, grinning. “Now, hurry up and fix my hair. Otherwise, you’ll be late to your own wedding.”

  * * * *

  Brock wore his blue evening dress uniform at Mary’s request. Since she chose an ivory dress, she didn’t want him to wear the more appropriate summer whites. Then again, what he wore probably didn’t matter. If she’d missed him as he’d longed for her, after the ceremony and reception, clothing wouldn’t be required.

  After he arrived at the chapel, he was escorted to the groom’s dressing quarters. It had taken everything in him not to rush down the hall screaming Mary’s name. They’d been apart three months, and every agonizing hour they weren’t together was like a shot through his heart.

  “Knock, knock,” Anna said, entering without awaiting his permission. “Hey, look at you! I never knew you cleaned up so well.”

  “I do amazing things for that wife of mine,” Brock said, giving her a hug. “It’s good to see you, sister-in-law.”

  Anna pulled away and shook her head. “Boy, you have it bad for my little sister, don’t you? You’re already referring to me as an in-law and talking sweet about your wife.”

  He took a deep breath and shrugged. “In some ways, I believe Mary belonged to me from the time Luke told me about her. It was certainly a fated love. If you only knew how slim the likelihood was for Luke and me to work together, or for me to stop and help a damsel in distress on the side of the road without taking her home and banging her, then you’d understand.”

  “We’ve been over this,” Anna said. “We would’ve killed one another.”

  Brock winked. “I still like to tease you. Thank God, we hit it off as friends from the start. I would’ve hated to find out later that you were the sister of the gal I planned to marry.”

  “By the time you met me, you were already smitten, anyway.”

  “You’re right,” he agreed. “I’d listened to hours of Mary-stories. Luke believed she was the only topic worth discussing when we stood watch late at night.”

  “And you had better women to talk about?” Anna asked, a smile tilting her lips.

  “I’m standing here today. What do you think?”

  “My sister missed you,” Anna said, changing the subject abruptly.

  “I hope so,” he said, digging in his pocket. Opening a ring box, he quickly added, “What do you think?”

  “Wow!” Anna said, leaning back as if the gleam from the ring would blind her. “That cost you a fortune.”

  He shrugged. “She’s worth all three carats.”

  Anna shook her head. “What the hell did you do? Rob a jewelry store?”

  “I’ve saved a lot of money. That’s the great thing about being a soldier—if you don’t want to spend a dime, you don’t have to. I waited a long time for the right lady to win my heart.”

  “She has that, too. Doesn’t she, Brock?” Anna asked, raising suspicion.

  “You have to ask?” A beat later, he felt the frown turning his smile upside down. “She’s having doubts, isn’t she?”

  “No. Are you kidding me? I don’t think she’s ever been more certain of anything in her life.”

  “I hope that’s right,” Brock said, working the kinks out of his neck. “There for a minute, you worried me.”

  “I just want you to tell me you love my sister.”

  Brock took hold of her wrists and said, “Mary is the only woman for me, Anna. If she walked out of this chapel today and decided she didn’t want to marry me, I would never propose to another woman. She’s the beat in my chest, the twinkle in my eye, the smile on my face. I will love her without reservations, without conditions, until the day I die.”

  Anna patted his cheek and backed away. “Thank you, Brock.”

  “You don’t have to thank me.”

  “Yes, I do. Thank you for assuring me of the love I’m certain Mary must feel from you.”

  She slipped out the same door she came in, and Brock stood at the window watching the sun as it started its descent behind the magnificent Smoky Mountains. He thought of the Afghanistan sunset he’d seen near the Pakistan border just the week before. In a country so filled with terrorist activity, Afghanistan still sported picturesque character, true natural beauty.

  Brock rubbed the side of his face as he thought of the reasons he’d been asked to return to Kabul. He considered his own decision for leaving on the special assignment. They were supposed to bring home several soldiers, men Brock knew well. He’d returned to Afghanistan against his better judgment and uncertain of what he might discover.

  Another Marine, a friend who’d fought with him when he and Luke were overseas together, turned up alive, swearing several men the government declared dead were in fact still breathing. Brock hadn’t mentioned anything to Mary, and now he questioned that decision and wondered what it was he’d been trying to hide.

  Had he kept the secret to stay true to his job, or to protect himself? Was he afraid Luke was alive or anxious to see an old friend? Was he secure in his love for Mary, and her love for him, that he never doubted for a minute whether or not she’d marry him, if in fact Luke returned, or was he afraid of a rejection if she discovered the main purpose for his return to Afghanistan?

  Pacing the room, he glanced out the window. A soldier in dress whites left the building with his head down, walking up a cobblestone pathway. Brock inched closer to the glass, studying the man as he walked away from the chapel. A knock fell against the door, and he turned away from the glass for a second. When he returned to the task of eyeing the man who looked
somewhat familiar, the man in uniform was gone.

  Brock greeted his guest and accepted a letter from a courier. He shut the door and took a seat on a nearby chair, fully expecting a letter from Mary. Instead, behind the flap, Brock discovered a note written in handwriting he recognized:

  Old Friend,

  I’ll be damned if you didn’t win again. Seems I’m always at the wrong place at the wrong time, and you’re always at the right place at the best time.

  I can’t ask you to stop a wedding you’ve obviously rushed, nor would I. As you’ve probably heard from the military intelligence briefings, there are several of us dead men walking, soldiers without a place, men without a home. And I don’t expect to come back into Mary’s life and take my place as her husband after she’s grieved me. I know of the heartache I caused her, and she’s better off without me, so long as she has you.

  The guys and me…we can’t return home. Most of us have nothing waiting for us now. I’m sure that’s why you came to Afghanistan asking your questions, digging for information. You probably suspected I was still alive when no one else believed it was possible. I want to thank you for that. I know in my heart, at some point you were my friend, and even though you now lay down next to my wife, I know too that you wouldn’t have been a soldier to leave a good man behind, a man you considered a fellow friend, like a brother.

  Still, that doesn’t make this letter any easier to write.

  Mary is happy with you. I’ve watched her as she’s planned for this day, this big day that never should’ve been, and she has that glow about her. You make her happy. I should know. She had that same spectacular smile when she was with me.

  Rather than find the anger that will certainly surface at some point, I’ve chosen to be glad for you and for her. At the same time, I think it’s important that you know…I’m alive. What you do with that knowledge is your business.

  As your friend, I’ll wish you well. Today is a special day for you and Mary. I don’t want to cause her pain. She’s your woman. She’s different now. I’ve seen significant changes as I’ve watched her. And while I’ve longed to go to her and tell her I didn’t die, I’m not sure that’s my place. Honestly, after what I heard about how she coped with losing me, I’m not sure she could take losing one of us all over again, and we both know that’s what would happen.

  I don’t know how Mary would respond to the news that I’m alive. You know her better than I do. She’s fragile, and I don’t want to hurt her by reentering her life when the time isn’t right, and obviously, the date of her wedding isn’t the best day to resurface.

  I remember one time you asked me to share her, and I immediately turned you down. It’s only fair that I ask the same, but I know what your answer will be. I also understand what you must’ve gone through all those months ago when you were the man on the outside, the man at the gates, awaiting an entry you never expected to be granted.

  I miss you, friend. I do. I love you, too. You were like a brother to me. I choose to believe that’s why you’re with Mary now. I sort of think you were looking out for me by looking out for Mary.

  Be the kind of man she deserves, Brock. Stay at her side and love her. Love her for both of us.

  Luke

  Brock crumpled the note in his hand and stared across the room through moist eyes fiercely burning. A mix of emotions spun through his veins—anger above all else.

  Luke was indeed alive, but he hadn’t told them? He’d been watching Mary, knew of their engagement, but rather than approach them in Beaufort, or show his face in Afghanistan where he may have been when Brock was there searching for him, he decided to what? Reappear on his wedding day and expect Brock to make a choice in how to handle breaking the news to Mary?

  He read the letter again. This time, when he finished reading Luke’s words, his heart threatened to stop. Luke wanted Mary to know he was alive. He hoped Brock would tell her the truth. And if he didn’t?

  Then Brock would marry a woman who already had a husband.

  Chapter Ten

  Mary was jittery. She couldn’t stand still. She wasn’t sure why she was so nervous. When Brock first proposed, he’d assured her he would take care of everything. He’d also agreed to keep their ceremony brief and invited guests to a minimum. Mary didn’t want to look out over a crowded church and see the faces of strangers. Brock promised an intimate setting with a few close friends, somewhere quiet so afterward, they could spend some time together before Brock left again.

  He’d taken care of everything, from hiring a minister to planning their honeymoon. A friend of his, someone Mary didn’t know, met him at Knoxville’s McGhee Tyson Airport, a short distance away, and drove him to Gatlinburg. After they were married, they’d honeymoon a few days in the mountains. Brock would leave for another month then rejoin her in Beaufort where they’d start their lives together.

  Mary swallowed hard. She looked down at her trembling hands then wondered how much time she and Brock had been allotted. Would she know the heartache of losing the man she believed was her second chance at love? Or would they have the luxury of growing old together, of sitting side by side in rocking chairs as they listened to one another grumble about what to fix for dinner or what to watch on television?

  Anna straightened Mary’s veil then smoothed her palm over her short train. She slid a kiss on her cheek and squeezed her hand. “Are you ready, lady?”

  “I can’t wait,” Mary told her, walking toward the chapel entrance.

  “I know that’s true,” Anna said, swinging open the double doors leading to the sanctuary.

  As soon as the doors parted, Mary’s breath drifted away. There, at the end of the aisle, stood quite possibly the most handsome man in the world. Dressed in his elegant navy blue suit, Brock looked like he’d just stepped away from a formal inspection. The dark material was trimmed in red, and large gold buttons lined the front. He wore the white hat with blue brim and his coat was decorated in ribbons and marksmanship badges in lieu of medals.

  She noticed everything about him as she walked down the aisle, quickly separating the distance between them. His eyes met and held hers before she ever started strolling across the white runner rolled down the chapel’s center.

  Carrying a small bouquet of assorted spring flowers, Mary couldn’t help but catch an occasional hint of the fresh fragrance as she slowly approached the man she’d marry, the one she’d grown to adore.

  The music began to play. Three or four steps into the wedding march, she noticed a true sadness in Brock’s eyes, something she’d never seen before. Brock was distraught, deeply troubled by something.

  Reaching him, she took his hand and he slid a quick peck on her lips. “I missed you,” he said, though he didn’t smile. He squeezed her fingers, and together they walked toward the minister who stood in front of the small altar.

  Facing one another then, Brock cupped her cheek and dropped a kiss on her lips again. “I will always love you. Never doubt that, okay?”

  “You know I won’t,” Mary assured him, wondering why he was acting so strange.

  The minister then turned to Brock. “Mary tells me you’ve written your own vows.”

  Brock took a deep breath, and with a slight nod to indicate that was accurate, he waited for the minister to greet their guests.

  “We are gathered here today…” the minister began.

  Mary zoned out then. She studied Brock’s worrisome expression and wondered if their time apart had been a blessing or a curse. Had he decided, after he proposed, that he didn’t love her? Or did the look on his face have absolutely nothing to do with her? Had he been on a tour that he wouldn’t soon forget? Had he drawn his gun, killed for his country, and ultimately taken the lives of strangers because it was his job, his duty?

  Before Mary’s angst took hold and apprehension gained the best of her, the minister said, “Mary? Do you have something you’d like to share with Brock today?”

  Mary smiled, handed off her bouquet to Ann
a, and slid her hands in Brock’s, prepared to recite her vows. “I love you,” she began.

  “I know,” he rasped, leaning forward and grinning this time.

  Finally, the Brock she knew and loved resurfaced. She could do this now. She was reassured of his love, and the fact that he must’ve wanted to marry her. After all, she reminded herself, he’d proposed on the phone in order for them to make plans to wed as soon as he secured a granted leave.

  Glancing down at their adjoined hands, she noticed the way the tremors suddenly subsided. And that’s when she changed her mind about the vows she’d written and decided to speak from the heart. “Your hand steadies me. Your voice calms me. Your touch grounds me. Your kiss soothes me. Your body feeds me. Your love makes me whole.” A beat later she added, “I’m proud to take you as my husband. I’m proud to say you chose me as your wife.”

  She took her time describing precisely how she felt about the man who’d stormed into her life without warning, without regard for the grief he refused to let her face alone. Brock was her rock. He was her foundation. He was destined to become her husband.

  She smiled at him then, tilted her head to indicate that’s all she wanted to say, and he recited his vows. “Your eyes seduce me. Your beauty intoxicates me. Your kiss invigorates me. You have captured my mind, my body, my heart, and my soul. You make me the man I’ve always wanted to be. I will love you more than you ever thought you could be loved. This is my promise, forever.”

  About that time, Brock pursed his lips and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were full of tears, but the tears threatening to spill were not joyous or sentiments held for a special celebration. Something had changed between them.

  Before Mary could ask him what was wrong, he answered all her questions. “As much as I can promise to forever love you, I cannot marry you.”

  Anna gasped behind her. Mary stared at him blankly. Her heart threatened to collapse right there as she awaited an explanation. “Brock?” She finally managed to say his name as her pulse quickened and her nerves shattered around her. “Why are you doing this?”