Page 27 of Betsy
She blew out a breath. “Fine. Hi.” She waved one hand and then immediately waved the other. “Bye.”
“Betsy!” a small blonde, the only other woman not in a wedding dress, exclaimed.
“What?”
“You’re being rude,” she said out of the side of her mouth while maintaining her pleasant expression and soft smile.
“So?” Betsy responded to her friend but hadn’t taken her eyes off me, the same challenge she always directed my way deep within her caramel-colored irises.
I broke eye contact and turned my focus to the trio of friends and the preteen girl. “I’m sorry if I intruded on your special day. May I say, though, that you ladies look ravishing in those gowns. Be careful. Walking down the aisle looking as breathtaking as you two do may be liable to make the grooms so tongue-tied that they forget how to even say I do.”
The young girl giggled. “We have to be careful with him, right, Mom? That’s what you said about sweet talkers.”
The first bride’s grin grew like a crescendo. “And look at her now, marrying her very own.” She stepped off the platform she’d been on and offered me her hand to shake. “I’m Amanda, by the way. This is Molly.” She pointed to the blonde. “Sierra.” The girl waved shyly. “And Nicole.” The second woman in a wedding dress acknowledged me with a head tilt.
“Betsy may not be showing it, but she’s relieved you’re here.” Amanda had mischief written all over her face.
I whipped my gaze back to Betsy. She’d adopted a bored expression. If she was feeling anything, relief or otherwise, she hid it well.
“See, she thinks she’s gotten out of answering my question. Thinks I’ve forgotten about it entirely, but I haven’t. Not the question nor the intervention she participated in on my behalf not that long ago.”
Betsy pressed her lips together. “You were hiding something, and it was for your own good. Because we care about you.”
Amanda didn’t back down. “So are you and so is this. We love you, Bets. Tell us why you won’t sing when your voice is better than most of the people we hear on the radio.”
“It really is,” Molly whispered her agreement.
I nodded my head, almost afraid to remind them I was there. The same question I’d asked myself since the moment I’d heard her unique, soulful voice released into the atmosphere. I held my breath, almost as if the answer meant something to me personally—more than what her singing could bring to the band. I couldn’t explain it. Why whatever would come out of her mouth next meant so much. But I felt as if I stood on a precipice and my fate rested on what Betsy would say.
Silly. Emotional. Overreactive. All things artistic types were accused of being. But I couldn’t help it. How did one make themselves feel things less? And did I really want to?
Betsy swung her gaze to me, an internal argument warring behind her eyes.
If I weren’t here, would she open up to her friends? Obviously, whatever her reasoning for keeping her gift to herself, it was something difficult for her to talk about. Why else would these ladies who clearly knew and loved her so well not be privy to the root of her logic?
No matter how curious I was…
No, that wasn’t right. It was more than curiosity. A need, really. But how could that be?
Even so, no matter how much I thought I needed to know, I’d step aside if it meant Betsy would share her heart or fear or whatever it was with someone. Especially people who were safe and cared for her.
“I’ve clearly intruded,” I said, taking a backward step. “It was nice to meet you all. I hope to see you again sometime.”
Betsy rolled her eyes and sighed. “Stop acting like I’m the Grinch and just stole all your Christmas presents, Cindy Lou Who.” She lowered her voice and muttered. “Maybe if you learn the truth, you’ll finally stop pestering me and leave me alone.”
“What truth, Bets?” Nicole asked.
“It’s no big deal, really.” Betsy shifted her weight over her feet and gave a small laugh meant to dispel the seriousness that had begun to collect on the air like morning dew on a pre-dawn lawn.
Her efforts were in vain. If anything, her friends’ focus zeroed in on her even further, her humorless chuckle more a flag saying to dig deeper than a red herring likely to get them off the scent.
“If it’s no big deal, then why haven’t you ever told us before? Is it why you have that silly rule against dating musicians?” Molly asked.
“It’s not a silly rule.” Betsy sniffed. “But yes, if you must know.”
“How’s everything going over here?” The sales clerk chose that moment to make an appearance. “Can I help you out of those dresses or make another gown selection for you?”
“No!”
