Beyond I Do

by Jennifer Slattery

  “Hello?”

  Soft piano music drifted across the line. Apparently he was already at the restaurant, likely seated at his favorite table.

  “Hey, honey, I’m so sorry, but I’ve had an accident.” She eased onto Troost.

  “Accident? What kind of accident?”

  “No, nothing like that. I . . .” A giggle bubbled in her throat, gaining momentum with every word. “I’m covered in coffee.”

  He didn’t respond right away. “Coffee?”

  Between giggles, she explained her mishap. “So, as you can imagine, I’m not quite up for a five-star restaurant. I’m going home to change.”

  He sighed. “So lunch is off then?”

  “Not necessarily. Why don’t we stop by that little coffee place near my house? The crowd might be a bit . . . peculiar . . . but they serve an amazing turkey-avocado sandwich.”

  Another extended pause. “If you don’t want to come to Marlique’s, just tell me.” His voice took the tone of a father scolding a wayward child.

  “Are you serious? Great way to start forever, darling. Accuse your fiancée of lying over something as trivial as turkey.”

  Richard chuckled. “Of course not. I must be more tired than I’d thought. What time would you like me to meet you?”

  “Give me twenty minutes to get home and another fifteen to clean up.”

  “One thirty it is.”

  Once home, she traded her starchy dress suit for a softer variety, and headed to the coffee shop. Once again, Richard beat her there, his silver Lexus parked along the curb. She eased between his car and a red convertible, grabbed the coffee-splattered magazine, and got out.

  She entered through the back door and headed straight for Richard, sitting near the far wall. “Hi.”

  “Good to see you.” He stood and kissed her cheek.

  She smiled and dropped her magazine on the table. “So, what would you like? I’ll go place our order.”

  “I knew our time was short, so I already took the liberty.” Sitting, he leaned back, hands folded in front of him. “Two turkey-avocado sandwiches, fat-free mayo, extra sprouts; two salads, no dressing; and two decaf lattes with skim milk.”

  Ainsley raised an eyebrow. “Wow, thanks. I guess.”

  He picked up the coffee-splattered magazine with his thumb and index finger. “Evidence of your fiasco?”

  She settled into the chair across from him, unable to contain her smile. “Oh, Richard, I found the perfect place for our wedding.” She flipped the pages to the article about the Cabin in the Woods. “Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve had this dream—sort of like Snow White, I suppose, of getting married in a quaint little cabin tucked in the woods.”

  “You’ve never mentioned anything of the sort.”

  “I guess I never put much stock in it, until now. Until this.” She pushed the picture of the cabin toward him. “Isn’t this place beautiful?”

  He studied it. “A delightful place for an afternoon outing.”

  Not exactly the reaction she expected, but then again, it always took Richard a while to warm up to new ideas. “Or a wedding.”

  “Now, Ainsley, certainly you can see the difficulties in using such a facility.”

  “Actually, I don’t.” She crossed her arms. “Enlighten me.”

  “I agree with you, this little cabin is quaint. But you deserve more, my love. I already booked the most exquisite location for our wedding and reception.”

  Ainsley stared at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

  He shook his head and retrieved his briefcase.

  “And when were you planning on discussing this with me? Or are my opinions irrelevant?”

  “I thought I’d mentioned it.”

  “I bet.” She rolled her eyes. “From where I sit, it seems you are perfectly content to run the show. Is this how things are going to be for us? You calling the shots and me following like an obedient wife?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I was merely trying to treat you like the princess you are.” He produced a glossy brochure. On the front, a towering nineteenth-century cathedral with stained-glass windows stood in the center of a meticulous garden lined with symmetrical shrubs and spiral-trimmed bushes. “Only the best for my beautiful bride.”

  She studied him for a moment before allowing her tense shoulders to go slack. “This place looks enchanting, really. But I hoped for something a bit smaller, more low-key.”

  He laughed and bopped her on the nose. “You are simply adorable, my dear, but we both know you deserve much better. Still,” he shrugged, “Perhaps we can go to that cabin for a second honeymoon. Or our first anniversary.”

  Adorable? Like a puppy? “How about we check the cabin out this weekend, then if you still don’t like it, we can discuss other options.”

  “I appreciate your intentions, but I worry a cabin this small will never accommodate our guest list.”

  “What guest list? I thought we decided to keep things small and intimate.”

  Richard focused on his BlackBerry. “And I thought we were still discussing the guest list. There are obligations to consider, you know. Certain personalities I need to include, especially considering my upcoming book launch.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Richard lifted his gaze, his lips pressing into a firm line. She turned to see her neighbor, Chris Langley, standing behind them, laden food tray in his hand, apron tied around his waist.

  “Ainsley, Richard, good to see you both again.” The corners of his eyes crinkled into a genuine smile.

  Warmth crept up Ainsley’s neck and face. How long had he been standing there? “Chris, I didn’t know you worked here.”

  “As of today.” He arranged the food and coffee on the table then widened his stance, tray dangling at his side, free hand tucked under a muscular bicep.

  She cleared her throat, pretending the guy hadn’t just caught her and her fiancé on the verge of a squabble. “So, are you settled? At the house, I mean.”

  “Not by any means. But you know, little by little, right?”

  “Well, if you need any help . . .”

  “I’m good, but thanks.”

  An awkward silence ensued.

  Richard cleared his throat. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. . . . ?”

  “Langley.”

  “Langley. We have everything we need.”

  Chris’s eyebrows shot up, his mouth going slack. But then a hint of a smile emerged. “Right. Enjoy your lunch.”

  Ainsley waited for him to move out of hearing then glared at Richard. “That was rude.”

  “What?”

  “We have what we need? As if he were intruding.”

  “Well, he was.” Richard crossed his arms. “There’s something unsettling about that man.”

  “Like what?” She picked up her latte, inhaling the rich aroma.

  He shrugged. “I can’t say for certain, but he appears too . . . happy.”

  “As if that’s a bad thing.”

  He glanced at his watch. “I need to go.” Rising, he gave her hand a squeeze then grabbed his food and coffee. “In regard to our wedding location—let’s discuss that in more detail over dinner.”

  With that, he left, leaving Ainsley to reconcile her dreams of the perfect ceremony with what, quite likely, would be a series of mutual compromises. And maybe even a few tears.

  Why did weddings have to become so complicated?

  Studying her engagement ring, she rubbed the diamond with her thumb. Lord, am I doing the right thing here?

  Chris tucked his dishrag into his apron and leaned against the counter. Across the café, Ainsley sat with shoulders hunched forward, eyelids blinking so rapidly they looked ready to take flight. She was obviously worried about something. Poor girl. Not that it was any of his business.

  He grabbed a dish tub and headed toward a dirty table.

  A large crash sounded behind him. He dropped his tub on a nearby table and turned to see an old w
oman reaching for a shattered mug. Coffee and salad pieces littered the floor, covered in sticky cream.

  “No, please, allow me.” He hurried to her side, grabbed her elbow, and led her to a nearby table. She trembled, likely with the onset of Parkinson’s. An image of his mother, face contorted with the fear of dementia, came to mind. He shook it away. “I’ll clean this up then we’ll get you another salad and coffee.”

  He made eye contact with Lawrence then gave a jerk of his head. The man nodded and disappeared around the corner, returning with a mop and bucket. Offering a smile, Chris began picking up the broken glass. He glanced up to find Ainsley watching him. Once again, he felt a tug to reach out to her, make sure she was OK. But another crash, louder this time and followed by a slew of curse words hurled by one of his employees, stole the opportunity. Suppressing a moan, he wondered for the hundredth time since selling his law practice if he’d done the right thing.

  Richard paused in the parking lot of his office complex to read through the Holy Trinity Cathedral brochure again. He really should have spoken to Ainsley before booking it, but he thought she’d welcome the surprise. Wasn’t that what women longed for? To be swept off their feet with the unexpected? True, she’d mentioned her desire for a small wedding, but that was her past talking. He’d seen it in countless patients raised in similar circumstances. A life of disappointments made it difficult to dream.

  That was why the cathedral was so important. It’d make her feel like a radiant princess, and would go a long way toward replacing that negative self-talk that likely dominated her thinking. She’d thank him for it later.

  His cell phone rang, and his publicist’s number lit the screen. “Eric, you must have good news for me.”

  “I . . . well, yes and no.”

  He stepped onto the pavement, hit the door lock button twice, then strolled across the lot. “I’m listening.”

  “I haven’t had much luck with those television stations we mentioned, but I did manage to secure an interview with a local radio station.”

  “Which one?”

  “KCGW.”

  “Never heard of them.”

  “They’re an AM talk show.”

  “What kind of talk—academic or Jerry Springer?”

  “Well . . . I wouldn’t call them academic. More entertaining, in a rural sort of way.”

  “How rural?”

  “I believe the station is located in Holt. Maybe Kearney.”

  Richard snorted. “You can’t be serious.” The glass doors opened in front of him.

  “I know they’re not your first choice—”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “And yet, it’s a start.”

  This wouldn’t do. This wouldn’t do at all. Certainly Eric could do better than a small-town, no-name radio talk show. “I’ll call you back.” He ended the call and tucked his phone into his front pocket.

  Inside his office lobby, his secretary sat hunched over her desk, pen in hand, phone tucked between her ear and shoulder. She glanced up and raised a hand as if beckoning him to wait. He paused, shifted; checked his watch.

  She hung up. “Heather McGahana called three times already. I told her you’re not taking any additional appointments this month, but she says it’s urgent.”

  Richard frowned. There was nothing more he could do for that woman, except perhaps prescribe her new meds. Not that she’d take them.

  Candace tore a sheet of paper off a yellow notepad and handed it over.

  “Thank you. I’ll call her.” And suggest she find a new therapist.

  Chapter 8

  insley sat with her knees pressed together, spine straight. A thick manila file lay on her lap. Plaques and motivational sayings lined her boss’s walls, and thick books filled the mahogany shelves. A large, obviously plastic tree stood cockeyed in a ceramic pot, and a novelty plasma ball like those seen in high school science classes, stood on an accent table next to a portable putting green.

  Mr. Holloway leaned forward and propped his elbows on his desk. His bushy eyebrows cast dark shadows over his amber eyes. “Tessa told me you haven’t made a sale this week. And that you declined the Psychiatrics Mental Health Awareness dinner.” He pushed his glasses back with his index finger. “Low sales and declining potentially profitable functions do not go hand in hand. Is there a problem I should be aware of?”

  Ainsley glanced at her file lying like a chunk of rock in her lap. Inhaling, she looked up, focusing on Mr. Holloway’s receding hairline. “As to the function, sir . . . No, that wasn’t the place to start. He wouldn’t care about all the hours she’d put in nor all the details she needed to take care of before her upcoming wedding. She cleared her throat. “In regard to my low sales, Voltex appears to have . . .” Careful, girl. You need this job. “The psychiatrists I met with prefer a different medication, sir. One they felt carried less risk with more manageable side effects. At a lower cost.”

  Mr. Holloway’s eyebrows pinched together, forming a deep crevice between them. “Did you show them the literature?”

  “I did. They felt . . .” She swallowed and spread her hands, palms down, on her thighs. “They felt the study conducted by Hausenburg University was biased.”

  “Ridiculous.” He tapped his pencil on his desk with enough force and speed to snap it in two. “Apparently you are not presenting the study nor its findings effectively.” He pushed away from his desk, the wheels of his chair squeaking, and opened a tan filing cabinet to his right. After thumbing through various files, he pulled out a stack of stapled paper. “I thought we went over this in our last sales meeting, but . . .” His voice turned cold. “In case you have forgotten, here are some techniques you should find helpful, the first of which begins with a thorough understanding of the product; something you clearly lack. Take the rest of the day to read this material, and report back to me tomorrow.”

  She accepted the papers, adding them to the already thick file on her lap. Reason number 578 she had yet to register for pharmaceutical school classes. How could she ever move forward toward a stable career when her boss kept her loaded down? “Thank you, sir. I’ll look over these right away.” She jumped to her feet.

  “Good, because in today’s economy, our company must focus on the strongest links in the chain. You know what they say, Miss Meadows.”

  “Yes, sir. A company’s only as strong—”

  “We need to weed out the liabilities to make room for the strong.” He snipped the air with two fingers. “You are dismissed.”

  With a final nod, Ainsley dashed out and closed the door behind her. She didn’t slow until she’d reached her car.

  Oh, Lord Jesus, why must everything be so hard? Maybe I’m not cut out for this job.

  Getting in, she checked her phone messages then scrolled through her alerts. Five missed calls from her mom. Lovely. Ainsley hadn’t heard from her in nearly two years, and now the woman was blowing up her voice mail. So, what tragedy had hit now? Boyfriend number 365 turn toad quicker than expected? When would her mom learn—you can’t find marriage material at the local pub? Nor the Quick-N-Go.

  She played the first message.

  “Hey, sugar drop, I know it’s been a while since I called.” Her mother’s voice exploded across the line. “But you know how it is. Things have been craaaazzzy! I can’t believe my baby girl’s getting married.” She gave a high-pitched squeal. Wincing, Ainsley pulled the phone away and switched ears. “I signed up for a cake decorating class. I saw the most beautiful cake on the Lisa and Jenny show this morning. I bet I can make it as easy as . . . well, as easy as a piece of cake.” She ended with a high-pitched giggle.

  Ainsley skipped to the second message.

  “On second thought, what if we had chocolate frosting covered with a variety of rock candy, like they sell in those underground cave stores.”

  She skipped to the third message, left twenty minutes after the previous.

  “On second thought, I might need to take a rain
check on that. Like I said, things have been craaaaazzzzy.” Must she draw out every syllable like that? “But we’ll get together soon, I promise. Oh, by the way, some folks might call looking for me. Do me a favor, muffin, and tell them you haven’t heard from me.”

  What in the world was her mother involved in now? Honestly, Ainsley didn’t want to know. With a hefty sigh, she tossed her phone on the passenger seat, ignoring the last two messages. They’d only make her angrier, potentially lose all self-control angry. In the meantime, she planned to turn her phone off and spend the evening sipping peppermint tea while soaking in a hot bubble bath.

  She glanced at her work files and sighed.

  Reading first; then bath.

  She pulled into her cul-de-sac with a contented smile. Home. Oh, how she’d love to hide away in her bedroom with a good book and cup of that tea. Indefinitely. After gathering her mail, she pulled into her garage and collected her things, intentionally leaving her work material behind. She’d catch up on it later, but for one night, just one, she planned to take time to herself.

  She flipped through the mail, then stopped.

  She’d received a letter from UMKC. This reminded her of upcoming scholarship application deadlines. Applications she’d barely had time to look at. Not that she held much hope in being awarded anything; and even if she was, the monies would only cover a portion of her fees, leaving her to scrimp for the rest.

  That meant she’d have to continue working while attempting to complete an insanely difficult coarse load. A fact that made the scholarship application requirements all the more daunting.

  Why did it feel like she was boxed in behind a bunch of closed doors? And those that were opened even a smidgeon contained insurmountable hurdles to climb over.

  Chris watched Ainsley pull into her garage. He offered a wave but either she ignored him or was too caught up in whatever was causing her deep scowl to notice.

  Not that it was any of his business, except for the fact that he wanted to be a good neighbor.

  He turned back to his house. Rusty lay on the bottom step, paws extended. His tail flickered as Chris approached.