Page 4

Four

I hustled into the house in search of a charger. Gertie met me at the door. Her red hair was twisted into a perfect bun and she wore a cute flirty dress with kitten heels.

“Hallelujah! You’re home and already dressed for the wedding.” She took a minute to examine my dress. “That dress reminds me of my mee-maw.”

My shoulders slumped. “It has pockets.”

“No matter. We’ll be walkin’ down the aisle after the bride if we don’t leave right now.” She gathered her purse and phone from the kitchen table.

“I need to get my?—”

“You need nothin’ but this.” She shoved a box wrapped in silver sparkling paper into my hands. “I wrapped the gift and put both our names on it.”

“I have to?—”

She pushed me outside and whipped a set of keys out of her purse. “Get in the car. I’ll drive.”

“Wait. I need a charger. My phone’s dead.”

“I’ve got one in the car.”

I sighed, slipped into her red BMW convertible, and snapped on my seatbelt.

She jerked the gear shift into R, did a spectacular head-slamming-into-the-headrest reverse out of the carport, and peeled rubber out of the alley.

“Charger?” I held up my dead phone.

“Glove compartment.”

I pulled out three expired insurance cards, a small umbrella, a roll of mints, six pizza coupons, and a wad of restaurant napkins before staring at a 357 Magnum. “Gertie, there’s a gun in here.”

“A girl’s got to be prepared.”

“I don’t see the charger.”

“Did you look under the gun?”

I held the gun between my thumb and index finger. I should feel more at home holding a gun. I’d had many, many lessons in the gun range at headquarters, but I was somewhat skittish about leaving my prints on Gertie’s gun.

“Gertie, there’s no charger.”

“Huh?” She glanced over at the empty glove compartment. “I swear. Cousin Darryl borrowed it the other day. Guess he didn’t put it back.”

I gently returned the gun, then shoved everything else back into the small space. “Can I borrow your phone?”

“Sure.” Her large Consuela bag took up the smidge of space between the seats. I dug around inside it. Hairspray, wallet, cosmetic bag, hand sanitizer, pack of gum, notebook, pen, Skittles, multi-phase taser, movie ticket, package of Kleenex and thirty-five cents in loose change.

“Gertie, your phone isn’t in here.”

She glanced over at the purse and wrinkled her freckled nose. “Are you sure?”

“Your purse is the size of the Grand Canyon, but I can’t find it.”

“Dammit. I must have set it down when I picked up the gift.”

“Crap on a Keebler!” I rubbed at the twitch in my left eye. “I’m screwed. Caiyan is coming to the wedding.”

“Isn’t that what you want?” Gertie sped up, trying to make the yellow light, then reconsidered and braked hard enough to rattle my teeth. She looked over at me. “Don’t you want him to get wedding fever?”

“Wedding fever?” Now I sounded like the gypsy parrot.

“Yeah, all those lovey-dovey feelings that fill the air at weddings, little dandelion seeds of love floating and landing on Caiyan. Hopefully, encouraging a proposal.”

“He won’t be able to propose because Jake’s also coming. When he sees Caiyan, he’s going to arrest him.”

“Heavens to Cousin Betsy, that is a problem.” The light turned green, and Gertie pressed on the gas. “Maybe we can keep them apart.”

“The seating arrangements have been made for weeks. My mom’s been helping Aint Loretta with it. You know she put Jake at our table.” My voice skipped up an octave.

Gertie gave me a stay calm sideways glance. “You find Jake’s card and swap it with a guest at another table when we arrive. I’ll distract your ma.”

“Don’t you think Jake’s going to see Caiyan sitting next to me in the church? Or maybe filling his plate in the buffet line?” I hugged Gertie’s Consuela to my chest and huffed. “Jake’s going to make a scene.”

“We’ll keep them apart. And if they do meet up, Jake’s a Southern boy. He won’t make a scene at the wedding. It’d get back to his momma. He’ll wait until after they cut the cake, then clamp the cuffs on Caiyan.”

“Cuffs?” Surely Jake wouldn’t have a pair handy. How would he even capture Caiyan?

Gertie hit a pothole. The car jolted, and the glove compartment flipped open. The gun bounced into my lap.

Of course. Jake carried concealed.

“Sorry. My car needs a new pair of shocks. I wouldn’t have to rush if we’d been on time.” She sent me a scowl. “After the bride and groom say their vows, you can tell Caiyan to get the hell outta Dodge.”

Gertie caught the next red light. I stuffed the gun back into the glove compartment. Shoved her Consuela bag onto the floorboard.

“It might work.” I didn’t sound very optimistic about our plan, but what choice did I have?

“Of course, it’ll work. There’s no grass growing up here.” She tapped her temple. The light turned green. Gertie put the pedal to the floor and hauled ass toward Mount Vernon.

An hour and a half later, we exited the highway. We took the corner at the light by the gas station, passed a Dairy Queen and what I thought used to be a Long John Silver’s seafood restaurant, but the sign had a new pirate on it who looked an awful lot like Marco.

“Gertie, did you see the sign on that Long John Silvers?”

“What about it?” Gertie craned her neck to see the sign.

“It looks like Marco.”

“Huh, I guess it does look a little like him.” She bumped the curb and turned her attention back toward the road. “I never noticed that before.”

“It used to be an old pirate with a red beard, wooden leg, and a parrot.”

“No, it’s always been the picture of Long John Silver. The notorious pirate who found the lost Spanish treasure.”

“No. Long John Silver is a fictional character from the book Treasure Island .” I’d seen the movie.

“Uhm, Jen. Have you been drinking?” She sent me a long, checking-my-temperature look. “Long John Silver was a real pirate. You’re thinking of Captain Hook.”

I stared at her. I knew when things changed in the past that, sometimes, travelers fell into a time loop and remembered facts from the original timeline before the past changed the present. A part of me had a gut feeling something was wrong. Very wrong.

She pulled to the shoulder and put the car in park. “Is this one of them things that changed in the past and now we think it’s the real thing?”

I nodded, pausing a minute to calm the hysterics that threatened. “Gert, Marco stayed in the past. He could be Long John Silver.”

She sucked in air, then regained her composure. “Good choice. Silver’s always been a favorite.”

“He’s searching for Sasha. He promised to come home next moon cycle.” I looked over my shoulder at the fast-food sign. “Maybe things aren’t going as planned.”

“Marco may be big, blond, and beautiful, but he’s not stupid.” Gertie put the car back into gear and pulled away from the shoulder. “You can’t do anything about it until the next moon cycle anyway, so we might as well enjoy the wedding, especially the free buffet. I hope they have those little wieners wrapped in a biscuit.”

I hoped Gertie was right and Marco wasn’t stupid.

* * *

I’d been to many weddings at my Aint Elma’s house in the country. It now belonged to my cousin Trish, Gertie’s mom. She met us at the screen door, bottle-blond hair done up into a fancy twist, diamonds hanging at her ears, circling her wrists, and sparkling on her fingers. Her spray tan gave her an I-just-left-the-tropics glow, and her low-cut dress revealed the tail end of a new tattoo on the swell of her right boob. “Gertie, honey, you almost missed the wedding.”

Gertie shot me an evil you-made-us-late look. “Mom, we have lives, you know.”

Cousin Trish gave Gertie a hug and a few smacking kisses on her cheeks. She pulled me in for a hug. “Why Jennifer, I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Your dress is amazing, Trish.” And it was. Since Trish married money, otherwise known as Vinnie the Fish, her clothing had gone from Walmart to Wang.

“Thanks.” She shooed us with her fingers. “Now, y’all get on out to the backyard. There aren’t any ushers, so seat yourselves. I’ll fetch the bride from the bedroom.”

A step, clunk, step, clunk came from behind me. An older woman in a white satin dress, orthopedic shoes, a spiffy pillbox hat, and a bouquet of roses tied to her walker step-clunked toward me. She stopped and lifted her head to stare at us.

“Am I late?” she croaked.

“You’re right on time. The last guests are heading to their seats.” Trish gave us the stink eye.

“You look pretty, Mrs. Johnson.” Gertie smiled at her.

“It’s Miss Johnson until I get hitched, so you gals get outta my way. It’s gonna take a minute to walk that aisle, and Durr’s an impatient man. Took me years to snag ’im.”

I followed Gertie into the garden. The guests were seated under the old oak tree. A plump man dressed in a black suit stood under a rose-covered arbor at the head of a makeshift path between the two sides of seated guests.

The first four rows on the groom’s side were reserved for family. Mamma Bea, Durr’s sister Mable. Her husband Earl. My cousins Loretta Lynn, Buster Keaton, and Hildy. Several nieces and nephews. My mom and dad, Eli, my sister Melody, her husband Pete and Cousin Darryl sat on the third row.

Jake and Angel waved at me from the fourth row. Just perfect. My mother had included Jake with the family.

I scanned the crowd for Caiyan and locked eyes with a man in the back row. I’d never seen him before and the way he stared made me uncomfortable. I didn’t see Caiyan, so maybe the Scot wasn’t keeping his promise to be my plus one. Gertie dragged me toward the last two open seats in the family section.

* * *

After the wedding, Uncle Durr escorted his new bride to the old red barn decorated for the reception. A dance floor held center stage under the giant antler chandelier. A dozen or so round tables covered with white linen tablecloths wreathed the dance floor.

Uncle Durr looked handsome in his dark suit and signature purple cape. He’d worn the cape for as long as I could remember.

“Jen, how could you be late?” My mom’s nasal tone, the one she used when I was in trouble, sounded behind me. I turned to find Mom and Eli staring like I’d violated curfew. Mom to discipline, and Eli to relish in my demise.

“I was here before the wedding started,” I threw out, but knew by the look on Mom’s face that it wasn’t enough.

“We always arrive at least twenty minutes before the wedding.” Mom fingered her pearls.

“It wouldn’t have mattered.” Eli chuckled beside Mom. “You could have lapped the bride and been in your seat by the time she made it to the preacher.”

“Eli, don’t be crass.” Mom swatted his arm. “I’ve raised you better.”

“Have you seen Caiyan?” I steered the conversation toward Eli and away from my perfectly put-together and punctual mother.

Eli shook his head and glanced around at the crowd waiting to enter the reception.

Mom looked down at the Chanel wristwatch Dad had given her for their twenty-fifth anniversary. “He’s going to be late.”

My eyebrows shot up with curiosity. “And you know this how?”

“We’ve been texting for, gosh, a few months now. He wanted to know your favorite foods, and it took off from there.”

“Foods?” I was back to the repeating parrot. “A few months?”

“Well, yes. We’ve been exchanging recipes. This morning I sent him my recipe for popovers and asked if he was coming with you to the wedding. He texted he had a work conflict and didn’t think he could get here in time. I told him it wasn’t a problem, and he should come on to the reception. Durr won’t mind.” My mom clenched her jaw and spoke in a low tone. “He won’t even know. He has a touch of dementia.”

“That’s an understatement.” Eli grinned wide, and the dimple in his left cheek dented inward. “He forgot he was getting married today, and I had to go retrieve him from the local pub.”

“Anyhoo…” Mom sent Eli a cautious glare, then turned toward the reception. “Caiyan asked me to tell you he’d see you at the reception.”

Oh brother. It was A-OK for Caiyan to be late, but heaven forbid I should skedaddle in right before the bride.