Page 5 of The Wedding Run
“Bailey has to stay inside,” Charlie says, clearly unhappy with the arrangement because she takes Bailey with her everywhere. “Is this the wedding you had?—”
“Yes!” I interrupt Charlie before she can say the wrong thing. “Derek and I are in Marianne’s wedding. Won’t that be fun since we’ll be newlyweds?”
Elle and Charlie nod like I’ve lost my mind. They know we had to cut our honeymoon short to return in time. I’m an attendant at her wedding only because Trevor is making a business deal with Derek.
“Trevor and I wanted to get here early,” Marianne says. “In case you needed help with anything. He’s checking on Derek now.”
“We have everything under control,” Elle says.
Charlie’s look says,How can we get rid of her?Then she glances at Bailey, and I suspect she’s about to tell the big shaggy beast to ‘sic ‘em!’
“You could check on Delia,” I offer. “Make sure she’s ready for the reception.”
“I’d be happy to!” But Marianne doesn’t move. “I know how difficult the help can be.”
A knock on the door precedes the doorknob twisting as Dad’s voice squeezes through the crack. “Everyone decent?”
Bailey barks and rushes forward.
“Come on in!” I call, grateful for the interruption. “It’s my Dad.”
“I’ll just slip out.” Marianne touches my arm. “I’ll go check on… Debbie?”
“Yeah, Debbie,” Charlie says, rolling her eyes.
Marianne offers her hand to my dad. “Hi, Mr. Peterson, I’m Marianne McGovern, soon-to-be Wexler. Congratulations, sir. You must be so proud today.”
“I am.” Dad looks confused, which is not far from his usual look. “Thank you.”
Bailey moves between them, wagging his tail at his grandpa, who pats him warmly.
Elle shuts the door firmly behind all that fuchsia. We all breathe a sigh of relief.
Then Charlie steps out of the way to reveal the bride… me. “Ta-da!”
My dad places a hand over his heart. Big, fat tears well in his eyes. “My goodness. You look lovely.” His gaze drifts to each of his daughters, dressed in their bridesmaid finery. “How did I get so blessed? Your mother would be so proud.”
I offer a watery smile. “You’re looking spiffy in that tux.”
And he does. I forget sometimes that he’s in his early sixties, healthy and strong, with thick, wavy hair that turned silver long ago and an eye-crinkling smile. To me, he’s simply my dad and my lifeline.
He hugs me carefully as if my dress might wrinkle and kisses my cheek. Elle and Charlie close ranks to complete the family circle.
When he pulls back, unabashed tears glisten in his eyes. “Your mother and I talked about this day… Oh dear.” He pats his pockets. “Where did I put…?”
“Need a hankie?” Charlie asks.
Elle indicates the top of his head. “Your glasses, Dad.”
“Right, okay.” From inside his jacket, he pulls a pale pink envelope.
My breath snags on the sorrow that lurks around my heart.
“Another letter?” I whisper.I can’t believe it.
I hadn’t allowed myself to hope for another letter from my mother. Before she passed away, our mother wrote letters to each of us for our birthdays, first dates, graduations, and, apparently, for our wedding days.
Only the corners are slightly bent on the mostly pristine envelope. Across the front, my mother’s delicate handwriting scrawls:To my darling girls.
