Page 204 of Love in Riverbend
An old maid. The comment is on the tip of my tongue. Instead, I say, “I don’t believe in superstitions.”
Despite my objections, a few minutes later, Jill and I are watching the dance floor as Justin lifts the skirt of Devan’s dress. The room erupts in laughter as he ducks beneath the layers of material, emerging with her garter between his teeth. The single men shout as they bounce off one another’s shoulders. Ricky isn’t the only male in this group who is still single. I spot men I’ve known since I was a child, ones I’ve seen more recently because of Devan and Justin. There’s Galvin Mills. He’s close to Ricky and Justin’s age and a chef at Bynard’s, one of the fanciest restaurants in the area. I also spot Harvey Russel and Nick Dancy. There are also younger men, all the way down in age to boys.
Justin turns around and stretches the garter like a rubber band. While most of the men reach for it, it lands solidly on the chest of a boy about three and a half feet tall. His round cheeks fill with color as the other men razz him about his plans to marry.
“Single ladies,” the MC announces, “up to the dance floor.”
When I don’t move, Jill reaches for my arm. “Go on. You promised Devan you’d go out there after you bailed at my wedding.”
I turn to see Devan’s questioning stare on me.
“Fine, but I’m not catching it. Molly would be better for the little guy who caught the garter.” Slowly, I make my way to the dance floor. Unlike the number of single men in Riverbend, the majority of the female population has either married or moved away. Lucky me, I’m back.
Devan’s eyes twinkle as she scans the girls and a few ladies. As soon as she turns away, I hurry to the other side of the grouping, near the back, and away from where she saw me standing.
“One, two, three,” Devan shouts. She flings the bouquet over her shoulder.
I blame it on years of softball. With no intention of catching the stupid flowers, as they came barreling at my face, I find my hands take on a life of their own. “Shit,” I mutter under my breath.
Devan turns, her eyes wide as she sees me with the bouquet. Her fingertips go to her lips as her cheeks rise. “Marilyn, I thought you were the other way.”
I lift the bouquet in the air. “I guess it’s my lucky day.”
“Will the catcher of the garter and the catcher of the bouquet please make their way to the dance floor?” the MC asks.
Inhaling, I look for my dance partner. With a shy grin, he comes my way. I scrunch down to his height. “Hi, I’m Marilyn.”
“I’m Cole. You don’t have to dance with me if you don’t want to.”
Despite the number of eyes upon us, I can’t help but feel sorry for Cole. My smile grows. “I’d love to dance with you.”
His smile widens. “I’m not very good at it.”
“It’s okay. We’ll just hold hands and sway.”
As the music starts, Cole’s eyes meet my breasts. With pink in his cheeks, he looks up, having more courtesy than men twice or three times his age. In a nervous fit of him talking, I learn that Cole is nine years old, and his dad and Justin are friends. He is going into the fourth grade and can’t wait to have Miss Dunn—he corrects himself to say Mrs. Sheers—as a teacher. He also confesses that he thinks Molly is cute, but she talks too much. I’m genuinely enjoying the mostly one-sided conversation when I feel a tap on my shoulder. Turning, I catch Ricky’s gaze. Justin’s niece Molly is at his side.
“We were wondering if we could cut in?” Ricky says with a grin.
I turn to Cole. “Would you be all right with switching partners?”
Cole swallows and nods.
Molly steps toward Cole, and they take each other’s hands, swaying like he and I were moments ago.
In seconds, I’m back in Ricky’s arms. His steady, strong grasp of my hand and the warmth of his palm on my lower back direct our steps as he leads me over the dance floor. Ricky’s gaze skirts my breasts as he pulls me against him.
“If you’re waiting for a thank-you, I think Cole was a better partner.”
Ricky flinches as if I’ve slapped him. “I’m not happy with him cutting in. Officially, you’re my partner for the night.” Before I can say anything, he goes on, “I should have told you years ago, I’m sorry.”
Inhaling, I lift my chin. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“Have I done that many things requiring forgiveness?”
“I don’t have the list in front of me, but I’d venture to say it’s longer than I can recount in one dance.”
He shakes his head. “No, Marilyn. It’s official wedding rules. All your dances are mine.”
