Page 1 of Summer’s Echo

Summer

My childhood church, Holy Trinity, carried whispers of memories in its aged, sacred walls.

The countless Sundays I’d spent singing in the choir, watching my grandmother serve on the usher board and my mother work as the church secretary filled my heart with so much joy today.

The stained-glass windows etched with biblical scenes casted a colorful pattern of light throughout the sanctuary.

Today, it was classic yet romantically decorated for the wedding of my dreams. Guests would be greeted with a grand floral arch, large arrangements of roses, and pictures of the bride and groom scattered throughout the vestibule.

Vividly brilliant ruby-red and blush roses beautifully arranged in towering brass vases and ten-arm candelabras framing the altar exuded the perfect ember for an early evening wedding.

The stunning ten-foot columns cascading with greenery and sparkling string lights was the focal point where the bride and groom would stand in just a few hours.

My fiancé, Deshawn, and two hundred of our closest family and friends had packed the cathedral waiting for me to saunter down the matching sapphire aisle runner adorned with our initials, S&D, written in a fancy script.

The nerves, anticipation, and months of planning to become Mrs. Deshawn Micah Towns were finally over.

The wedding was absolutely beautiful. Or at least I contemplated that it was, since I—the bride—wasn’t in attendance.

That October day was perfect for a fall wedding, but just not perfect enough for me to marry Deshawn.

My eyes were clouded with tears as I drove down the familiar winding road then pulled my SUV into the mostly empty parking lot of Camp Summit Quest. Sliding the gear into park, I shook my head, dropping it to the steering wheel, stunned by the fact that my wedding was supposed to start in exactly ten minutes, and I was nowhere to be found.

Gazing down at the gorgeous handmade wedding invitation, I read the words: You are cordially invited to the wedding ceremony of Summer Sierra Knight and Deshawn Micah Towns on October 26, 2019, at 5 o’clock in the evening.

Yet here I was, sitting in my truck in a place I had frequented from the time I was ten years old until I was a teenager, pondering, Summer, what the hell are you doing, girl?

I peered in the rearview mirror and was disappointed in the reflection staring back at me.

Puffy, red eyes slightly concealed by dark-rimmed glasses.

Shoulder-length, wavy sewn-in hair I’d stressed over for months before the wedding was pulled into a messy bun.

I looked exactly like what I was going through.

The white sweatshirt with Bride bedazzled across the front and matching joggers clung to my curves—a far cry from the Casablanca Bridal gown I’d said yes to a few months ago.

The white A-line silhouette wedding gown embellished with delicately beaded lace appliques and Swarovski crystals should be draped over my body right now.

The dress was stunning…perfect even. I giggled to myself, considering the ooh s and aah s I’d anticipated from my wedding guests at the first sight of me walking down the aisle. I would’ve been a beguiling bride, but…

“Not today. Maybe one day, but not today,” I whispered, my throat tight as the afternoon sun glared through the car window.The constant blaring of my cell phone heightened my misery. Mama, Raqi, Trinity, Brooke. Everybody was calling me, worried, searching for the runaway bride.

Early this morning, the sun had poured through my bedroom window, brightening every corner, but I was already awake to greet it.

I couldn’t sleep… Actually, sleep had eluded me for weeks, leaving me restless and lost in my thoughts.

My phone had buzzed constantly on the nightstand, each text message delivering well wishes for the big day.

I’d let out a quiet sigh, wishing I shared in the merriment.

Melancholy was the best way to describe my mood.

Trying to cling to normalcy, I’d brewed my coffee and read my daily devotion just as I always did.

I was on autopilot, dressing and packing my bag with calculated movements.

Walking to my car, I’d waved at my neighbor across the street just like any other day.

I halted when she’d happily muttered, “See you in a few hours, the future Mrs. Towns.” I’d flashed her a closed-mouth fake smile.

Sliding into my car, nervous anxiety clawed at my core, sharp and relentless.

I was supposed to be nervous, right? Because it wasn’t just any other day—it was my wedding day.

I pulled out of my driveway and stopped at the red light heading out of my subdivision.

My phone chimed again with a special tone—Deshawn’s tone.

Shawn : Good morning, babe. You up? Is that attitude any better?

I’d stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the keyboard,the frustration from last night still lingering like a dull ache behind my ribs.

Instead of actuallylisteningwhen I’d told him how I was feeling—my worries, my fears, the uncertainty sitting like a stone in my chest, he’d dismissed it all asme just having an attitude.

Like I was being dramatic. Like my feelings didn’t matter.

I rolled my eyes and tapped out thebare minimum response.

Me:

That was petty of me, but right now, I didn’t care. A few seconds later, his reply popped up.

Shawn: Good. I’ll see you soon.

No I love you . No Are you okay ?Not even ahint of concern about why I might have felt off in the first place.

Not even, I can’t wait to see you at the altar .

Just Good. Our wedding was in just a few hours.

This should’ve been the time where I feltexcited, giddy, and in love, but instead, all I felt wasa growing knot in my stomach.

And I couldn’t tell if it was justpre-wedding nerves… or something deeper.

I staredblankly, replaying our simple exchange in my mind, stuck in the momentuntil the sharp honk of a horn behind me jolted me back to reality.

I blinked, shaking off the haze, and pressed the gas,making a left out of my neighborhood onto the main street.

The plan was simple: Head across town for my early morning wedding day hair appointment, stick to my schedule, keep the day moving forward.

That was the plan. But somewhere along the way,my SUV veered in the opposite direction.

I wasn’t even sure when I made the choice—or if it was ever really a choice at all.

The voice ofKoryn Hawthornespilled through the speakers, her soulful melody a quiet guide as I drove directionless in thought but instinctively following a road I knew by heart.

Her words about falling, about grace, about God loving us even when we stumbled cut straight through me.

My hands tightened on the wheel astears pooled in my eyes.

The lyrics didn’t justtouch me. They pierced withfear and a peculiar sense offreedom.

And I wasn’t sure which one scared me more.

My phone rang, shattering the moment and bringing me back to reality.

Glancing at the clock, I saw it was three-ten—ten minutes past when I was supposed to arrive at the church.

A wave of nausea rolled through me as a storm of nerves raged in my gut.

Every second that passed was another reminder of what I was about to do— or not do .

I couldn’t get dolled up for him, couldn’t fake the joy or force the smiles.

I couldn’t walk down that aisle pretending that our relationship was something that it was not.

A hallow pain stretched through me as I whispered the truth aloud to no one but myself.

“I can’t marry him.”

Ignoring the constant phone calls, I stepped out of my SUV, checking the surroundings.

I seamlessly navigated through the overgrown brush to get to my favorite spot at Camp Summit Quest. The pathway was hidden, tucked just beyond a curtain of overgrown oak trees.

Most people would pass it by without a second glance, but not me.

It had been my sanctuary every summer as a kid—a place where I could let my imagination run free.

But today, it was my escape. My solace from the noise of the world, the pressure of expectations.

It was deep into the campgrounds, not frequented by many on a cool fall day.

The old hollowed tree near the end of the path came into view.

It hadn’t changed much—moss covered and weathered but still sturdy, and the keeper of so many of my secrets.

It offered the ideal place to think, to breathe, to mourn what I’d left behind.

Who was I kidding? This was a place for me to hide.

I treaded through the tangled brush until I reached the hidden hilltop—a secret haven overlooking a man-made creek.

With every step, my heart sagged a little more, burdened by the thoughts I carried.

I inhaled deeply, and without meaning to, the corners of my mouth curved into something resembling a smile.

The air up here always smelled like clean, fresh linen and sweet blossoms, lightening my burden, if only for a moment.

I dusted off the stump, taking in my surroundings, gazing at the old tree as if it might remember me after all these years.

It held pieces of my younger self, sacred stories that disappeared with the whisper of the wind.