The Wedding Caper (16 page)

Funny.
When I’d placed him at the top of my suspect list, his disappearing act had
seemed strange. But now that I understood his situation, I’d almost come to
understand it.

I wanted
to tell him so, but didn’t dare. The lump in my throat wouldn’t allow it.

“I spend
so many hours at work already,” he explained. “And it’s such a drive back and
forth to Philadelphia to see her at the hospital. I just want to have every
possible minute with her.”

“That’s
understandable, Richard,” Warren said. “And I don’t think you need to worry
about what other people are thinking or saying. It’s irrelevant.”

I—”
Here Richard’s voice broke, “I don’t know how much longer she has.” At this
point, a lone tear slipped down his cheek. He didn’t even try to wipe it away.

Again, I
wanted to speak, but no words would come. But Richard seemed to have more on
his mind, so it was probably for the best.

“Judy and
I have been married nearly forty years,” he said. “None of the people at the
church knew us when we were newlyweds. We didn’t move to
Clarksborough
until after our son died.”

I tried
not to let my surprise show. In reality, I did not know Judy and Richard had
lost a son.

“He was
my namesake,” he explained. “Richard, Jr. The cutest thing you ever
saw—born about a year and a half after we married. Richey was a happy,
healthy boy for the first few years, but when he turned four—” Richard’s
voice broke again. “When he turned four, he was diagnosed with leukemia.”

My hand
went straight to my heart. “Oh, Richard, I’m so sorry.”

He forged
ahead, clearly on a mission. “See, I was a different man back then. Very
driven. My job meant everything to me. I guess it was my way of hiding from the
truth. Richey was in and out of the hospital and Judy stayed by his side every
minute.”

Oh, you
poor, poor man. You’ve already lost your son and now . . .

“I
should’ve been there more.” The tremor in his voice intensified. “But I
couldn’t face the pain of what was happening in that hospital room. I left it
to Judy—wrong as that was. Her faith was so much stronger than mine back
then. It still is.”

“You’re
stronger than you think, Richard.” I reached out to squeeze his hand. “You are.
Everyone sees that.”

He shook
his head. “I know the Bible inside and out—studied it for years. But that
doesn’t mean my faith is strong. In fact, I don’t know when I’ve ever felt
weaker.” Here he buckled, and the tears started. He dropped his head into his
hands and wept aloud.

My heart
twisted into knots. I wanted to tell him everything would be okay, but decided
against it. Oh, Lord, help him. Walk him through this.

Warren’s
steady voice brought a sense of calm to the room. “Then let us be strong for
you,” he said. “That’s what the body of Christ is for, to lift the arms of the ones
who are struggling. We want to be here for you, Richard. Everyone does.”

Richard
looked up at us with bloodshot eyes. “I don’t know the first thing about how to
let them. I just know that I have to be there for Judy. This time around, I’m
going to do right by her. I have to.” His voice broke again. “I–I have
to.”

He cried
again, this time huge, silent tears. But I heard them as loudly as any wailing
I’d ever witnessed in my life. They were the cries of a broken man, a man
afraid of losing the one human he cherished above all.

“We want
to help,” I added softly. “We care about you.
Both of you.
And we know this is a hard time for you.”

“I don’t
want anyone to feel sorry for me,” he interjected through the tears. “Being
there for Judy is a blessing, not a curse. It’s not that I have to care for
her.” He looked at us with imploring eyes. “I get to care for her. It’s a
privilege, and I don’t want to miss a minute of it.”

His
impassioned words rocked me to the core.

“And when
I’m not with her,” he continued, “I spend nearly every waking moment on the
Internet, searching for solutions the doctors might have missed. I’ve found out
a lot about the holistic approach to cancer. If all else fails—” His
voice trailed off, then picked back up again. “I’d have to get her to another
state, and I know insurance wouldn’t cover much of it. But I would do anything
for her. Anything. Even if it meant depleting every account we’ve got. And I
want her to know that.” Again, the tears flowed.

We spent
the next few minutes trying to assure him, and then Warren and I prayed with
Richard before he left. The pain in my chest was unbearable, but I couldn’t let
loose and cry with either of the men around.

A short
time after Richard left, I climbed into a bubble bath with tears streaming. The
whole course of the weekend ran through my mind: the party foods, the silk
flowers, and the dance with Warren—all of it. In one instance, I saw the
devastating losses Richard Blevins had faced, starting with the death of his
son. I thought again of the prodigal son’s father—how he’d welcomed that
young son back home into his arms once again. Richard would never know the joy
of sweeping his son into his arms. And, on top of that, he might soon have to
release his wife into the arms of her heavenly Father.

“Come
home, come ho-o-
ome
.
. .” Sheila’s words played over and over in my mind as I
sat in the now-cold water. They became a multi-layered mantra, driving me away
from the events of the past few weeks and into a deeper place with my Lord.

I prayed
for Richard Blevins as I’d never prayed before. Oh, Father, how can one man
bear so much?

From
outside the bathroom door, I heard the sound of Devin’s laughter and realized
he’d returned home, safe and sound. My heart twisted as I thought about all of
those aggravating snack foods I’d grumbled over. I would gladly put together a
hundred parties for my son, now that I saw it all in perspective.

I fought
to keep my emotions in check, then closed my eyes and leaned back against the
edge of the tub. In my mind’s eye, I replayed my “rose in the teeth” dance with
Warren. Tears tumbled once again. I wept for Richard, and for all of those who
had no one to dance with. I cried myself completely dry. Then, just about the
time I’d totally given myself over to emotion, the Lord reminded me once again
of Judy’s comment about dancing across the living room as a little girl, and
His promise that she would soon dance again—with Him.

In an
instant, God gave me His perspective. This time around, I got it. I truly got
it.

Chapter Sixteen

I remember,
years ago, reading a sign that said Reality is a nice place to visit, but I
wouldn’t want to live there. I’ve thought about those words hundreds of times
since, but never so much as in the week that followed Sheila’s infamous solo.

The
trouble really started on Friday morning—the morning of the homecoming
game—when the man from the electric company came to shut off our power.

For one
thing, Sasha’s incessant barking set my nerves on edge right away. She carried
on so loudly, in fact, that I could scarcely make out a word the poor guy was
saying. I finally caught the gist of it.

“Sorry,
ma’am,” he shouted for the umpteenth time, “but I have no choice. You didn’t
pay your October bill.”

I reached
down to pick up my little guard dog as I responded. “What do you mean? Of
course we paid it.” Warren never forgot to pay bills. Ever.

He even
went so far as to say they had mailed a disconnect notice. No way. Warren
would’ve seen that, for sure.

The trembling
in my hands must’ve convinced Sasha we were dealing with a perpetrator, because
she attempted to leap from my arms in the young man’s direction, growling all
the way.

“I’ll
just find your meter.” He backed up and acted as if he might turn to leave,
right there on the spot.

“No,
please don’t go yet. I can give you the confirmation number. Hang on.”

“Mm-hmm.”

He stood
at a safe distance, and Sasha and I scurried into the house to set things
straight. Warren always got a confirmation number when he paid by phone with
the credit card. I fished around the top of my desk but found nothing. Then I
opened the drawer where he usually kept the bills and found the hard truth. Way
down in the stack sat two unopened envelopes from the electric company. Horrified,
I tore open the top one, the disconnect notice the man had mentioned. My
husband had indeed forgotten to pay the Clark County Lighting and Power
Company, just as he’d said.

I
returned to the door and pleaded with the fellow to give me an hour or so, but
he informed me that company policy must be strictly adhered to.

These
guys from the electric company must take special courses in how to deal with
hysterical menopausal women. He handled me with grace, charm, and finesse.
Almost an art form on his part.
How he did it, I’ll never
know, but this tough guy managed to see past my tears and the check I quickly
presented.

“Sorry,
but you’ll have to take that to one of our payment centers,” he explained. “I’m
not authorized to accept past-due payments at the door.” He handed me a notice
with a list of local payment centers on it, our local grocery store making the
top of the list. I looked over it as he disappeared around the side of the
house.

And with
that, our house went black.

Okay, a
slight exaggeration, perhaps. Morning sunshine streamed in through the windows,
but my world, as I knew it, ceased to exist the minute the hum of electricity
faded.

No
computer, which being interpreted, meant I could not work. Mental note:
Remember to keep laptop battery charged at all times, just in case.

No
lights. Only a problem in a couple of rooms, to be noted, but a serious
challenge, should this situation last very
long.

Perhaps
the worst of all: No power in the refrigerator. This could have devastating
consequences if I didn’t get the electricity turned on right away.

And so,
off to the grocery store I went to pay my bill. I stood in a lengthy line at
the customer service booth until I reached the counter. Bob
Lemuel
,
our beloved praise and worship leader, greeted me from the other side. Yikes.
It would have to be someone I knew.

“Hi,
Annie. Can I help you?”

“Um,
yes—” I went on to explain our predicament and he helped me through the
process with a smile. “Happens all the time,” he explained.

Not to me
it doesn’t.

“Yep, it
could’ve happened to anyone.” He dove into a story about his wife Nita, and her
inability to keep up with the family’s bills, and I felt my cheeks warm. I
hoped he didn’t feel as free to share our story with others.

Bob
handed me my receipt and I glanced at my watch. Ten fifteen. “How long will it
take before the lights come back on?” I asked.

“You got
this payment in before noon.” He gave a little shrug. “I’d say
they’ll
be on by mid-afternoon, early evening at the latest.
But you’ll have to call and give the fine folks at Clark County Lighting and
Power the receipt number first.”

“Terrific.”

I pulled
my cell phone from my purse to call the electric company, but opted to call
Warren first. No point in beating around the bush. He apologized profusely,
blaming the oversight on his hectic work schedule. We somehow managed to make
it through the conversation with good moods intact, though I secretly wondered
at this mistake on his part. He’d never forgotten to pay a bill before. Why
now? Distracted, perhaps?

I punched
in the number to the power company and was greeted by a recording. While
waiting for an operator, I decided to pick up a few grocery items. I also
purchased a few more last-minute items for Devin’s post-homecoming party
tonight. Mental note: As soon as the power comes on, start working on those
sausage and cheese puffs.

As I hit
the checkout line another call came through. I’d been on hold for over ten
minutes at this point. The way things were going, I’d switch to the other line
and the operator would choose that very moment to take my call. Regardless, the
other phone line continued to beckon. I opted to take it. I couldn’t help but
notice the emotion in Candy’s voice as she spoke.
Candy, the
unemotional one.

“M–Mom.”

“What,
honey?”

“Mom,
you’ve got to stop Brandi. She’s driving me crazy.”

Candy
went on to explain her latest dilemma as I inched my way up through the line.
Once I reached the conveyer belt, I unloaded the milk and eggs. In the process,
the phone slipped from my ear, nearly falling. I caught it on the way down. The
clerk gave me a “down the nose” stare and shook her head. Apparently she’d seen
one-too-many customers with a cell phone incident in her line. I gave her my
best “I’m so sorry” look.

“Mom, are
you there?”

“I’m
here.” I pressed the cell phone between my shoulder and my ear as I continued
to unload the basket.

Candy
forged ahead. “She’s using silk flowers at her wedding. Silk flowers.”

“Yes, I
know. I—”

“The
problem is,” she interrupted, “she’s absolutely insistent I do the same thing.
But I don’t want silk flowers. I want real flowers. I think silk flowers are
tacky.”

“Well
then, use real flowers.” I reached for my purse to pull out my debit card so
the clerk could see I was paying attention to the task at hand.

“I wish
it was that easy.” On and on she went, telling me all of the details of why
this silk versus real dilemma had grown to such proportions. I tried to take it
all in, but the glare from the clerk made it difficult.

I swiped
my debit card through the little machine and punched in my password. For
whatever reason, distraction, probably, my card was rejected.  Panic set
in immediately. No money in our account?  Has Warren been wrestling with
insufficient funds, on top of everything else?

Thankfully,
the clerk, whose name I not duly noted as
Jeanene
,
pinpointed the problem. “Wrong password.”

“Ah.” I
tried again, taking great care to enter the right number.

This time
everything went through properly, and
Jeanene
handed
me the receipt with a brusque “thank you.” I nodded in her direction and kept
talking on the phone as I pushed the basket from the store.

“I need
to know what you think,” Candy implored. “It means so much to me. Tell me.”

“Honey,
it’s your wedding.” I stated my opinion on the matter. “You’re the bride. You
should do what you want.”

Here, my
normally unemotional daughter erupted in tears. “I d–didn’t know it was
going to be this c–complicated. Sometimes I wish we could j–just
elope.”

Tell me
about it.

Just as I
reached the car, a beep on the phone let me know I had another call. “Honey, I
have to go. I’m getting another call. Stay strong—and get your fresh
flowers. Any kind and any color you like. This is your wedding.”

“I love
you, Mom.” And with a sigh, the call ended.

I clicked
to the other line, and couldn’t help but groan as I heard Brandi’s voice. “Mom,
we’ve got a problem.”

We?
What’s
up with this we business?

“Candy is
driving me absolutely crazy. I don’t think I can go on living with her.”

“Oh?” I
opened the backseat door to unload the groceries. “Tell Mama all about it.”

She dove
in, in typical Brandi fashion. “She’s such a snob. She doesn’t like any of my
ideas, thinks everything I’m doing is tacky. Tacky, Mom. She actually said
tacky.”

Lord, if
we live through these next few months, it’s going to be a miracle.

“I need
your opinion, Mom,” Brandi spoke with great passion. “It means so much to me.
Tell me what you think.”

I
encouraged her with the same words I’d just used with her sister. “It’s your
wedding, honey. You should do what you want.”

She
eventually calmed down and we had a few non-emotional words before ending the
conversation. I climbed into the driver’s seat and leaned my head back against
the headrest. Lord, I know
You
said You wouldn’t give
me more than I could bear. All I can say is,
You
must
trust me a lot.

I started
the car and reached to put it into reverse. At that very moment, reality hit.
The electric company.
I still had to call them with the
receipt number.

I punched
in their number with great speed, and breathed a sigh of relief when I actually
reached a human. The woman on the other end of the phone assured me my lights
would be back on by 3:00.
Just enough time to put together
the foods for tonight’s party.
Thank You, Lord.

At this
point, it took everything in me just to get the car from Point A to Point
B—Point A being the grocery store, Point B being the house. All along the
way, my mind flooded with a hundred things.

Janetta
Mullins,
seated
in the pew behind me last Sunday morning. Judy Blevins, lying alone in a
hospital room. Nikki Rogers, caring for her daughter alone.
The
tears in Warren’s eyes as he talked with me on the way home from church.

Lord,
help me. In spite of my heart-felt compassion, I couldn’t get past the fact
that someone had stolen the money from the bank. 
But,
who?

All of my
ponderings now melded together with today’s daughter encounters. For a minute
or two, I could scarcely separate out one thing from another. How could I, with
so much going on at once?

In that
same moment, I remembered my heart-felt prayer in the bathtub last Sunday
night. I could hardly justify complaining about being overwhelmed with a
houseful of healthy family members. And besides, most of these messes were of
my own making.

I arrived
home with groceries in hand and entered my still-near-dark house. I could hear
Sasha barking in the back yard, where I’d left her nearly an hour ago. I set
the grocery bags down on the kitchen table and then started the task of putting
them away. Afterwards, I swung wide the back door to greet my adorable pup.

For a
second, I thought perhaps I’d landed in the wrong house, was looking at the
wrong yard. Then, after a second glance,
realized.
. .
Nope. It’s my yard, all right. At least it was.

Off to my
right, where the flowerbeds used to be, I found a chaotic scene. All of my
marigolds had been ripped up and gathered into messy clumps. To my left, my
evergreen bushes had been pulled up as well.
And in the
middle of the yard—holes.
Probably five or six.
Not itsy-bitsy tiny holes, but great big, halfway-to-China holes.

I stared
in disbelief at Sasha, wondering how in the world one tiny dachshund could have
accomplished such a feat. Had she cloned herself while I was away?

Nope.
There she sat, tail wagging, completely alone.

Well, not
really sat, exactly. She sprang up and down in an attempt to get my full
attention, the mud and twigs flying everywhere. Oh, you want to be held, do
you?

“No way,”
I said with a shudder. “I’m not holding you. And when Daddy sees this—”

A very
real shiver went down my spine as I thought about what Warren would do when he
saw on the back yard. What if he asks me to get rid of my beloved puppy? What
will I do?