by Natasha Boyd
I lay down on my bed and closed my eyes, envisioning a stunning floral arrangement I’d seen in a magazine last time I was in London with Jack. “Yay,” I confirmed. “I saw the most beautiful bouquet a British floral designer made for a wedding with white roses and pheasant feathers. I looked it up again to show it to Nicole, but I’m in love with it myself. I say we go full throttle feathers and roses, maybe some bleached wood. Place settings, center pieces. Boutonnieres for the men. In fact they could even have oyster shells too. It’s not like I don’t have tons of those.”
“Great. I’ll put you in touch with the designer the florist works with to assemble everything.” Jazz laughed. “Any changes to the menu?”
“Nope, but one addition. I’d like to have a Digi cake made as the groom’s cake for the oyster roast evening. I’ll ask Charlotte if she’s got a good recipe.”
“Not even going to ask what that is, or why it has such a weird name.”
“Didjee,” I pronounced slowly. “Short for Digestive. It’s a brand of cookies.”
“Yeah, not improving my impression of it. It sounds weirdly gross.”
“It’s delicious I promise. It’s not about digestion.”
There was no answer.
“Prince William had it for his groom’s cake,” I said, exasperated.
“That was called a fridge cake.”
“Same thing, I swear.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll leave that to you and Charlotte. Music?”
I blew out a breath. “Wow. Now it’s getting overwhelming.”
“The bands I picked for Nicole to choose from are all available that day. I’ll email you a link to their stuff when we get off the phone. But what about a song for you and Jack? One you want playing during the ceremony or something to have your first dance to?”
I pursed my lips. This I was going to have to really think about. And ask Jack too. He may already have something in mind.
“There’s gotta be a song you hear and the words make you think of your relationship?” Jazz suggested.
“Actually, there is one. I don’t think it could be a first dance song, and honestly I love the words but—”
“Who sings it?”
I scrunched up my nose. “Beyonce?”
“Tell me you aren’t thinking “Halo.” You do realize that’s been everyone’s wedding song for the last five years.”
“I never said I was original.”
“Okay, how about I try and find a different arrangement of it. Something more ... soothing, perhaps it could play at some point during or after the ceremony.”
“Okay. Sounds good. I’m sorry, I’m not good at this stuff. I thought I’d have more time to make it perfect. Think of the right songs.”
“Marrying the love of your life is what makes it perfect. All the other stuff? No one will remember. So the other thing on my wedding planner list: wedding license.”
“Oh wow. Didn’t think of that. Is there a waiting period in South Carolina?” I thought about going to the courthouse and then waiting three days or more for it to come through. But by that point the whole world would have been informed of our impending nuptials. One thing I’d learned since dating a celebrity was no one was immune to fame, and almost everyone could be bought. I guessed that was why our preferred guest list would always be so small, even if we had months to plan.
“No, in South Carolina you can get the license the same day, but my suggestion is to go get it in some random rural inland county where no one will know you guys, and try and do it as last minute as you can while still allowing an extra day in case of unforeseen circumstances. Because if you get it around here, word will get out.”
“Okay.” I nodded.
“Why are we doing this on the phone, where I can’t tackle hug you because I’m so dang excited?” Jazz made an exasperated sound. “And finally. I have a selection of vows to choose from, including the standard religious ones or—”
“I’m pretty sure we’ll be writing our own. Oh hey - who’s officiating? Who was Nicole going to use? Because I defy Pastor McDaniel to preside over my wedding.”
“Well, Nicole was going to use him, even though I told her we could go farther afield than the local man of the cloth.”
“I’ll ask Jack what he thinks.”
“You do that.”
We talked a few more minutes about all the details.
Then Jazz squealed. “Okay, I’m going to get off the phone and call all the vendors back and also make sure and confirm candle delivery, table and chair rentals, and the linen, your beauty appointments for the day etc. You better call and tell your brother.”
I let out an excited giggle. This was really happening. “You are a brilliant wedding planner,” I said on a happy sigh and hung up the phone. Then I went downstairs to make plans with Charlotte. We were going to have to go dress shopping. How on earth I’d be able to shop for a wedding dress without alerting everyone to the fact I was getting married was beyond me.
Twenty-Three
The ocean waves softly lapped the beach in the evening light. It was unseasonably warm, so no one had to be bundled up for our oyster roast. The guests were all in casual clothes and bare feet.
The week had flown by.
Monica, and her similar body type to mine, had been the break we needed in finding a dress. She’d had three designers send dresses overnight delivery under the guise of needing them for a movie. And we’d had fittings with a local seamstress. The seamstress had been made by Jack to sign a non-disclosure agreement.
There’d been a million tiny decisions to make and a wedding band to find for Jack.
But somehow it had all seemed manageable, not stressful. Jack’s mother and I worked really smoothly together. I’d also gotten a handle on how to manage my nausea too, though I’d learned to only take the prenatal vitamins on a full stomach.
I was standing alone for the first time since we’d arrived at the party, just taking in the scene before me.
A live band called Lowcountry Boil set the fun, casual tone. Their songs swung between covers of folky classics and hilarious original songs that made people laugh.
Jazz had set up tiki torches all around our area as well as candles on the long wooden oyster shucking tables so there was a beautiful glow to the entire affair. Between shucking and eating oysters, and drinking beer, everyone was laughing and dancing.
My brother chatted with our friend Colt, laughing at something Colt said, but with one eye on Jazz as she flitted about between the caterer and the bar table making sure everything was stocked. She was in her element, not stressed, just very, very capable.
Almost everyone we had invited was able to make it. And best of all, Jack had discovered his friend, Nick, who ran a tattoo parlor in California had gotten himself ordained. Consequently, he’d be performing the ceremony tomorrow. We’d rehearsed briefly in the garden of the Butler house earlier this evening, and then all headed down to the beach for tonight’s festivities while a crew at the inn put up the final finishing touches for tomorrow.
Our friend and journalist Shannon had arrived in town with her photographer and was recording the occasion for us.
I swung my eyes back toward Jack, where he was standing with his parents near one of the long wooden tables, only to find him already gazing at me. The low cast of flame-lit night made his eyes dark and glittery. My breath caught at the simple, sensual beauty of him. The breeze ruffled his hair, and his mouth hitched up on one side in a slow grin before he brought a bottle of beer to his lips. Then he winked and leaned down to say something else to his mom.
He’d been trying to get his mother to try an oyster all evening.
“Aren’t you two just adorable,” Katie, Jack’s assistant, said joining me. “Even separated across a stretch of beach, you two are loving on each other.”
“Hi.” I beamed at her, and we hugged. “I’m so thrilled you were able to make it on such short notice. I haven’t even had a chance to catch up with you.”
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“Firstly, wouldn’t miss it. Been rooting for you guys from day one, and secondly, any excuse to leave my dysfunctional family Thanksgiving weekend early was a Godsend. Trust me.”
I winced. “Sorry. Well, Thanksgiving was never a big deal for Joey and me the last few years, and Jack doesn’t really celebrate it, so we didn’t do much of anything yesterday apart from rest up for today and tomorrow.”
“Any sign of Max showing up yet?” Katie asked.
“Jack’s childhood friend?” I confirmed, wondering how Katie knew him.
She nodded.
“I have no idea. Jack was really hoping he’d make it, but I think his plane was delayed or something, or he couldn’t get a flight. We’re waiting to hear back.”
Katie looked disappointed but quickly recovered. “So? Are you ready for tomorrow?” She grinned widely at me.
“I am,” I said honestly. “I really, really am. Even though the last few days have been a bit busy, it feels like the most perfect thing in the whole world for us to be taking this step.”
Katie sighed, happily, laying a hand on her chest. “Well, I couldn’t be happier. Jack has wanted this for so long. I know you know I’ve worked with him from when he started out in this business, and I can honestly say, he’s become a better man because of you. And you two together are what I’m aspiring to if I ever find someone.”
I opened my arms and gave Katie another hug. “You will. I’m sure of it. And thanks, that’s sweet.”
I saw Nicole heading our way. She’d decided not to go back to New York, especially when her mother refused to pay back the money owed. She was now “working off her debt” as she called it by helping Jazz out. I’d yet to get the full story from Jazz.
“Katie, have you met Nicole?” I introduced them briefly. I didn’t want to ask how Nicole was handling this, the eve of her would-be wedding, at the party that had originally been for her. But she seemed happy.
We all chatted for a few minutes before I felt Jack’s eyes on me and the heart-call to get back to his side.
I excused myself and left Katie and Nicole getting to know each other.
“Come on, Mum,” Jack urged as I approached. “Just try one.” Jack was leaning on his elbow against a newly vacated side on one of the chucking tables. The caterer had just brought over a wire-mesh basket full of a newly steamed bushel of oysters in their shells and dumped them with a loud clatter on the wooden surface.
“I just can’t do oysters. You know this. They are so slimy.”
“Not after they’ve been steamed, they’re not.” I grabbed a shell, using a towel so I didn’t cut my fingers, and a shucking knife. I slipped the blunt blade between the cracked opening and twisted it sideways until the shell popped open to reveal the soft white cooked oyster nestled on the pearly surface.
“Still not looking any better,” Charlotte grumbled.
I laughed. “And after you dunk them in the delicious cocktail sauce with horseradish, you won’t be able to stop. I promise.” I picked the small oyster up out of its shell with my forefingers and dipped it into the sauce before putting the tangy sensation in my mouth. I shrugged. “See?”
Jack scowled. “Are you allowed oysters?” he asked so only his mother and I could hear.
“I have no idea. I’m not allowed raw stuff, but that wasn’t raw so ...”
“Fine,” muttered Charlotte. “Hand me one of those shucking me-thinger-me-jiggers, I’ll have a go.”
“Woo hoo,” Jack yowled.
“You better watch how many beers you drink tonight,” Charlotte admonished him. “You don’t want to be hung over for the wedding.”
Jack rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Can’t stop with the motherly advice, can you? Now hurry up and try an oyster.”
Charlotte copied what I’d shown her and then with a deep breath and eyes closed she put an oyster dipped in sauce in her mouth. Initially her nose scrunched up and she gave a shiver, then as she chewed her features relaxed and she blinked open her eyes. “Goodness,” she said.
Jack and I waited for her to elaborate.
“Delicious,” she said as if she was mad about it. “And if you say I told you so, I won’t ever touch an oyster again. It’ll be like this never happened.”
Jack’s mouth snapped closed.
I raised my eyebrows, trying to hold back a laugh. “I’ll go tell your husband you’ve joined him on the dark side. He’s eaten so many oysters he may not be able to walk himself off the beach.” I also needed to go visit the fancy port-a-potty’s Jazz had organized. The baby was so small there was no way he or she was pressing on my bladder, but in the last few days I swore I needed to go to the bathroom every five minutes.
Jack pulled me in for a quick kiss, his lips cold from icy beer. “Hey, come back as soon as you can, I’ve got something I want to show you.”
“Okay ...” I said questioningly.
“I’m not telling you now, just go on, and hurry back.”
“Fine,” I huffed. “Well, I’ve got something up my sleeve for you too.”
“Fine.” He smirked, then smacked my butt lightly as I walked away.
After going to the bathroom, I managed to get back to Jack after about two minutes of chatting to various friends of his, including his new manager, whom he’d hired after firing slime-ball Andy. My friend, Cooper, had brought a couple of friends along who were doubling as security just in case anyone did find out what we were up to, but so far it was only invited guests who had any idea what was happening tomorrow.
“Hurry,” said Jack as I got to him. He grabbed my hand.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” He was grinning so wide he looked like a maniac.
I shook my head, letting him lead me away from the party and up the beach.
“Can you run?” he asked.
“Um, ok.”
But he was already jogging, tugging me along. Up ahead in the darkness I saw tiny specks of light. Either they were really far away or people were using tiny pen lights.
“Up there,” he said. We jogged a bit farther then slowed to a fast walk. In the darkness I saw figures, definitely holding pen lights, hunched over and looking at something.
And suddenly I knew. I slapped a hand across my mouth.
“Turtles?” I asked.
“Yep, probably the last Loggerhead nest of the season. In fact, it’s so late in the year, the group told me they didn’t think this nest had made it.” Jack had become a donor to the local turtle rescue group a few years prior, but we’d never managed to be in Butler Cove on a night when a nest hatched.
We crept up quietly.
“Hey guys,” Jack greeted on a whisper. “Thanks for the heads up.”
“No problem,” an older gray-haired man said over his shoulder. He was wearing a white shirt that read Turtle Rescue of the Lowcountry across the back. “And you don’t have to be quiet, they don’t fear sound. It’s just bright lights that get them all screwed up.”
We squeezed into the group of about five people closely gathered. I knew of these volunteers that took turns patrolling the beaches during nesting season. They were a hands-off group that tried not to interfere too much or handle the turtles unnecessarily.
Jack’s hand snaked around my waist holding me close.
As I looked down to the spot where everyone was focused, I gasped.
I wanted to look everywhere at once. The moving sand with little creatures climbing out. The small little turtles that had already made it to the surface and were now scooting themselves on tiny fins toward the ocean. “Go on, little buddy,” I said as one started veering off diagonally. “Follow your brothers.”
“As long as he gets there eventually,” another female volunteer said. “We’re watching for ones who head the wrong way and any that are buried so deep they might not make it without a little help. Though we have to wait on those until all their brothers and sisters are out.”
I watched in awe, even though I�
�d been lucky enough to see this once before when I was a child. My memories were so vague. Looking at Jack, I saw he was as moved as I was. So few Loggerheads made it these days. They were definitely a threatened species.
After about a half hour, hundreds of tiny little baby turtles had hauled their way out of the sand and headed toward the ocean. The magnificent significance of being able to witness this with Jack the night before our wedding wasn’t lost on me. And almost choked me up.
“Can you just take them to the ocean?” Jack asked a volunteer who’d stopped a little guy who was heading to the dunes and gently changed his direction.
“It’s better if they get there themselves, we think. It’s hard to know why turtles always return to nest on the same beach, how they get to know it so well, but maybe this trek is part of it. We don’t know.”
Finally, it seemed as if no more turtles were coming up. “Time to dig. Gently. You guys want to try?”
“Sure,” I answered with excitement and dropped to my knees. The volunteers showed Jack and me how to slide our hands in and gently scoop. Before long I came across something wiggling. I gasped. “Found one.”
“Okay, gently curl your hand around him and we’ll dig the sand out from around you, then let him climb out.”
Jack scooped the sand away from around my hand, and soon the small creature spotlighted by a volunteer’s soft glowing penlight, peeked out from the sand and blinked.
“Oh my God, he’s so cute!”
There was another wriggle against the back of my hand.
“Oh there’s another down here.”
Before long we’d helped the last two little turtles get free of the nest of sand and broken shells. For them it must be like climbing over boulders. They made it to the top and the two of them started scooting to the ocean.
I smacked the sand off my hands as I got to my feet. Jack put an arm around me and pulled me close as we watched the two little things no longer than my thumb head into the great big world.
Jack’s finger swiped at my cheek, brushing off a tear.
“That was amazing,” I whispered.
