Always the Wedding Planner, Never the Bride

by Sandra D. Bricker

  Once again, she had Emma to thank for finding herself immersed in that feeling of family. She'd lured Sherilyn to The Tanglewood with the dangling carrot of a tailor-made job; but looking around her now, she realized it was almost certain to become far more.

  Hidden inside the wooded acreage of the Henry Jones Park existed a smaller world about which Sherilyn knew nothing at all. Brook Run was just one of thousands of similar entities across America where dog owners came with their pets and released them into the wild.

  Well, maybe not into the wild exactly. But they did send them running leashless into a fenced area, dogs only, where the animals could frolic and bark and sniff one another's behinds. Sherilyn found the whole thing rather bizarre, and she wondered how she'd never known about such things.

  "One of the PTs at the center told me about this place," Andy explained as he stood at the fence, leash in hand. "He brings his dog here all the time."

  His dog. That implied that this very hairy creature leaning against the fence might be Andy's dog. Which would eventually make him Sherilyn's dog, and this realization fell upon her in about two and a half seconds.

  She placed her hand on Andy's arm. "I'm not really a dog person, Andy."

  "Oh, I know. But that's just because you've never had one."

  "No, I don't really think that's why. I've really just never been—"

  "Come on, boy," Andy interrupted, squatting down next to the animal, just the fence between them. "Go on in and make some friends. I know it's scary but, after what you've been through, I'm thinking you can conquer this. What do you think, huh?"

  The terrified dog cocked its head back and looked into Andy's eyes for support.

  "You can do it."

  He didn't seem convinced, and he pressed his entire furry body against the fence, leaning toward Andy. As he stared at Andy, he seemed to be asking, "Why??"

  Sherilyn had to admit that this looked like a very different dog than the one she'd first met in the backyard of the home she hoped to occupy one day. It turned out that its fur was white and gray, rather than the dark beige and brown that untold days out on his own had created. The veterinarian who checked him out found there was no microchip implant to tell Andy anything about his newfound friend also had a groomer on staff who took the dog's matted clumps of yuck and turned them into brushed, brightened fur. Three hundred dollars later, the dog came out of the clinic with an apparent new home, and looking a little like a glamorous character in a canine shampoo commercial.

  "Maybe if we don't watch him," Andy suggested as he stood up. Placing an arm around Sherilyn's shoulder, they turned their backs to the fence and stood there, waiting. For what, she wasn't entirely certain; a surge of doggie bravery perhaps or a shameful walk out into the yard in response to two grown humans ignoring him?

  An incessant yip-yip-yipping caused them both to turn around again to find a brazen little ball of brownish fluff jumping and poking the sheepdog with its teeny front paws. "C'mon," it seemed to be inciting. "You want a piece o'me?" To which the answer was a silent-yet-resounding, "Not at all."

  "Look, Henry," Andy pointed out. "A potential friend. Go on and run around with her."

  "Henry?" Sherilyn gawked at Andy, one hand raised as if she could pluck the word right out of the air. "You named him?"

  "Oh, yeah. I thought I'd call him Henry. What do you think?"

  "That depends. Why would you name him again? I mean, he probably already has a name."

  "But we don't know what it is."

  "He doesn't need another name, Andy. He needs to find his owners."

  "Everybody deserves a name," he replied. "What am I supposed to call him? 'Hey, you'?"

  "This would imply that you're planning on calling him often?"

  Andy angled his gaze away from Henry and grinned at her.

  "I think we should keep him, Sherilyn."

  She sighed. "Andy, I told you. I'm not—"

  "—a dog person," he finished for her. "I know. But he's a great dog. Can't you give it a try?"

  There was ten minutes of back and forth between them— running from how he probably belonged to someone in the

  neighborhood to how much work a dog of that size would be to a repeat of the "I'm just not a dog person" defense. Then Sherilyn watched Andy deliver his friend from the confines of the fence, and she silently followed them back toward the car.

  A dog? Really?

  She slipped behind the wheel and turned over the ignition as Andy and Henry got comfortable in the back seat behind her. She pulled the gear into reverse, stepped on the gas and—

  "Ohh, Hen-ry," Andy said with a groan. "Sherilyn, will you hand me the paper towels?"

  "Are you joking? We haven't even left the parking lot!"

  "Honey. The paper towels?"

  She picked up the roll they'd tossed to the passenger seat in preparation for just such an event and handed it over her shoulder to Andy. Once he engaged in the cleanup process, Sherilyn tugged at the front of her blouse, pulled it up over her nose, and shifted into drive.

  Spinach & Gorgonzola Sausage Pies

  1 bag fresh spinach (about three bunches)

  3 to 4 tablespoons butter (melted)

  1 teaspoon olive oil

  1 chopped onion

  ½ pound ground sausage (browned, finely crumbled, and drained)

  5 ounces gorgonzola cheese (crumbled)

  3 ounces ricotta cheese

  ¼ cup grated Parmesan cheese

  ½ teaspoon basil

  ¼ teaspoon oregano

  Salt and pepper to taste

  12 sheets of phyllo pastry

  Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

  Trim the stems from the spinach. Wash in cold water and drain.

  Chop spinach into very small pieces and steam for about six minutes until leaves wilt.

  Drain again, squeezing out all of the excess water from the spinach.

  In a skillet, heat the butter and olive oil until melted, and sauté the onion until tender.

  Remove from heat and add spinach, sausage, cheeses, and seasonings.

  Place three sheets of phyllo at a time (keeping the others covered to avoid drying).

  Brush each sheet with butter/olive oil mixture and layer.

  Cut into thirds, lengthwise.

  Spoon small dollop of filling on an angle at the end of each strip. Avoid overstuffing.

  Fold the pastry to enclose, making a triangle. Fold again, upward to make another triangle. Repeat until reaching the end of the strip.

  Use the butter mixture to seal the end, and brush the top lightly with the butter.

  Grease two baking sheets and place triangles on them.

  Bake for 20 to 25 minutes or until golden brown.

  7

  Yeah, I'm pretty sure he belonged to the Stettwallers."

  The red-haired boy was no more than ten years old, and he pointed down the street as he balanced aboard a polished green and silver bike.

  "They owned the house that the Millers moved into, right over there. The big brick one."

  "Do you know what his name is?" Andy asked the boy.

  "Nah," he replied, scratching his freckled face. "You live here, too?"

  "We're going to," Andy said, shooting a smile at Sherilyn.

  "We just bought the Bender house."

  "That's two houses away from me!" he exclaimed.

  "What's your name?" Sherilyn asked him.

  "Aaron Boyett. When you movin' in?"

  "Won't be long now," Andy told him. "Maybe a week or so."

  Sherilyn could hardly believe Earl and Rita Bender had accepted their first offer, and Lola said they were ecstatic about the request for an immediate closing date.

  "You got any kids?"

  "Not yet."

  "Just you two?"

  The look of disappointment on his face made Sherilyn want to apologize.

  "Yeah, sorry," she said.

  "It's okay," Aaron said with a shrug, but she didn't entirely b
elieve him. "I gotta go." And without so much as a quick wave in their direction, he pedaled down the street away from them.

  "Well, I don't think flyers are going to do much good, do you?" Andy asked her. "They obviously dumped him when they moved."

  "We don't know that for sure," she offered. "He said he wasn't certain."

  "He sounded pretty certain to me, Sherilyn."

  She deflated. "You're going to keep that dog, aren't you?"

  "I really want to. The only thing is . . . my mother isn't too excited about the arrangement."

  "I can imagine."

  "I was thinking, since you'll be living in the house until after the wedding, maybe he could live here once we get you moved in."

  "What, with me?" She hadn't meant to blurt it out like that, but the thought of it! "Andy, that dog wants nothing to do with me. He's attached to your heel. You think he's going to make life easy on me when it's just me and him?"

  "Honey, he's a sweet dog. You just have to spend a little time with him."

  "And what happens when I leave for work? He just stays there . . . in our new house . . . by himself?"

  Andy laughed and took Sherilyn's hand between both of his. Raising it to his lips, he placed a firm kiss on her knuckles.

  "We'll figure it out."

  She didn't want to believe him. She wanted to put her foot down and tell him she wasn't ready to plan a wedding and

  become a wife, put together a new home and become, of all things, a dog owner. Especially to a ginormous motion-sick dog that wanted nothing to do with her without Andy in the immediate vicinity.

  But she made the mistake of looking into Andy's steel-blue eyes. To make matters worse, the breeze picked up his wavy dark hair and tossed it across his brow. And as a final coup de grace, Andy grinned at her. She adored the tiny lines that formed parentheses around those spectacular eyes of his, and the larger matching ones that framed his smile. From the time that they met, all the way until that very moment, Andy's smile did her in.

  "I'll tell you what," he said, kissing her hand again. "You spend a little time with Henry. And if you feel like he's too much for you, we'll find him a new home. Okay?"

  Sherilyn nodded, despite the fact that there wasn't a splinter of a doubt in her mind. She had just gained ninety-some unwanted pounds in the quick flash of Andy's smile.

  Four orthopedic physicians, six physical therapists, eight nursing assistants, two radiologists, and five administrative clerks made up the staff of the impressive Atlanta Sports Injury Center. For the most part, their clientele seemed to consist of athletes and the very physically fit, but Andy had been particularly interested in the overweight girl in the denim overalls out on the floor that morning. She'd come for her second physical therapy session after sustaining injuries while working out with an ill-equipped trainer at her local gym.

  His first week at the center had been filled largely with administrative tasks, Andy's least favorite thing right next to his mother's garden parties and rush-hour traffic in downtown Atlanta. He'd also set up his office, taken his new admin to

  lunch, shadowed three colleagues, and observed half a dozen physical therapy sessions.

  The center teemed with patients every day from 8 a.m. when it opened its doors until 6 p.m. when it closed them, but he wasn't set to see his first patient until the following Monday, so Jackson's invitation came as a welcome distraction. While Emma and Sherilyn indulged in an evening of wedding planning, Andy would join Jackson and a couple of his buddies at the hockey game. What a stroke of fortune that the Atlanta Thrashers were set to match up against his beloved Chicago Blackhawks!

  Andy wondered if wearing his Chicago jersey would be worth the risk when walking into the Atlanta arena. He opted for a gray Henley over a black T-shirt and jeans instead. No need to alienate a whole group of people on his first night out with them.

  "Emma said you're a Blackhawks fan," Jackson declared just moments after the four of them settled into their seats at Philips Arena.

  "Hold on. You invited a Blackhawks fan?" Decker Stanton asked, leaning around Jackson and bracing himself on the seat in front of him. With a glare at Jackson, he asked, "You allowed this blatant infiltration?"

  Joe Ridgeway reached over from his aisle seat to Andy's left, and he snatched the giant cup of soda straight from Andy's hand. "You should have told me that before I bought you a soda, man. Blackhawks?"

  "Gimme a break," Andy told them with a laugh. "I'm from Chicago."

  "But you grew up here in Atlanta!" Jackson exclaimed with a serious attempt at hiding the grin. "You're a traitor, plain and simple. I can't protect you."

  "Nah," Andy replied. "I'd be a traitor if they weren't Cup champions. But they are, so that just makes me a genius."

  The three of them howled and groaned.

  Joe smacked Andy on the back and returned his soda. "You better hope they lose, man."

  "Not possible."

  "Confidence." Joe grinned at Jackson and nodded. "I like this guy."

  Decker settled down into his seat, shaking his head. "I reserve judgment."

  "Don't mind him," Jackson reassured him with a chuckle.

  "Andy?"

  In that moment, Andy's heart slowed a little. He hadn't heard his name spoken in that exact pitch, with that exact rhythm in—

  "It is you. Andy, how are you?"

  His heart stopped beating for several seconds. He cleared his throat as he rose to his feet.

  "Maya."

  The last time he'd seen Maya, she looked exactly like this; oh, except for her lips being attached to someone else's, as he recalled. Some total stranger who had the fingers of one hand threaded through her long dark hair, and the other mauling her like an overzealous lion at the zoo.

  "It's really good to see you," she told him. "I heard you were living in Chicago."

  Andy assessed the chipped paint on the concrete floor between them as he drew in a deep breath. "Yeah, I just moved back recently."

  "You're living here then?"

  "Yes."

  "That's . . . great."

  Andy nodded.

  She'd been frozen in time. Elbow-length silky black hair, dark chocolate eyes, and full red lips, now liberated from those of a blond guy with massive hands.

  When he glanced back at her, he noticed Maya smiling at Joe. "Oh, sorry. Joe Ridgeway . . ."

  The three of them scrambled to their feet as if the floor was made of marbles.

  "Jackson Drake and Decker . . . uh . . ."

  "Stanton!" he shouted, and he took Maya's hand between his and locked in on her eyes. "Decker Stanton."

  "Pleased to meet you," she said, grinning as she pulled her hand back. "Andy, what are you doing now? Are you back at Grady Memorial?"

  "No. I'm, uh . . ." Making a conscious decision not to provide too much information, he smiled. "I'm specializing at a sports clinic."

  "Of course. Sports medicine was always your—"

  Booming applause drowned her out as the Thrashers took the ice.

  Maya leaned in toward him and placed her hand on Andy's shoulder. "Good to see you, Andy," she shouted.

  He nodded and turned his attention momentarily toward the ice. When he looked back at her, the smile had melted from her perfect suntanned face, and her chocolate eyes brimmed with emotion.

  "Take care, Maya," he said, and she took the hint.

  "Goodbye then."

  "Bye."

  Andy missed the first few minutes of the game, despite the fact that he was fixed on the ice, and a clear and coherent thought couldn't be found anywhere in his head. He felt numb.

  "You all right?" Jackson asked after a while, and Andy looked over to find him leaning toward him.

  "Huh? Yeah. Fine."

  The two of them turned their attention back toward the game for a time before Jackson asked, "Old flame?"

  Andy nodded without flinching.

  "Let me guess. She stomped all over you."

  "Oh yeah."

&
nbsp; "Cheated on you?"

  Andy ran a hand through his hair and lowered his eyes toward the floor. "With the guy who put the stereo in her car, as it turned out."

  "No."

  "Yep. My birthday gift to her."

  "The stereo."

  "Right."

  "Not the guy."

  "No. That was her gift back to me."

  "I strongly dislike wedding dresses."

  "You do not hate wedding dresses."

  "I didn't say hate. But . . . yes, I do."

  "A wedding planner who dislikes wedding dresses? I think not."

  Sherilyn gave Emma The Look—the one long forgotten. She hadn't used it since graduation, but it was kind of funny how there it was! Right out of nowhere.

  "Don't revert back to the Stare-down/Smack-down with me!" Emma warned with a wiggling finger and a grin. "What you dislike is trying to decide on a wedding dress."

  "I already had my dress, Em," she said, and with two clicks a photograph of the dress appeared on the screen of her pink laptop.

  "Beautiful."

  "Isn't it? . . . Wasn't it? And it disappeared into the mist! And not one of the stupid dresses I've looked at since has fit like that or makes me look magical!" Sherilyn exclaimed, pushing the laptop away from her. "And if I'm not going to look magical on my wedding day, then . . . then . . ."

  "Then what's the use of getting married at all."

  "Exactly!"

  Emma popped with laughter at Sherilyn's blind agreement. "You don't mean that," she told her. "You and Andy are right together, Sher."

  "I know."

  "It's not like before."

  "Emma. I told you before. I do not want to bring up the past."

  "I'm sorry. I just—"

  "Please?"

  Her heart began to thud against her chest as Emma looked at her. "Have you talked to Andy about it?"

  "No!" she exclaimed, and she heaved in a deep breath. "Stop it, Em."

  "Don't you think you should?"

  "No. Why? What purpose would it serve?" She clicked her fingernails on the laptop and sighed. "Can we please just drop it?"

  "Yes."

  "You're making me very uncomfortable and anxious."