A Reason to Stay (10 page)

F
aith had never considered herself the kind of woman who yearned for a knight in shining armor to ride into her life on a white horse.

She had her career. And that was certainly going well.

In just under a year, she'd gone from weekend anchor to also filling in on the morning show—
twice
. Her career at the station barreled along ahead of schedule and hinted at a bright future. Certainly, that alone was enough.

But there was something about Geary Marin that caused her to rethink everything—and especially her commitment to a solitary lifestyle.

Whenever a love song played on the radio, she'd taken to turning up the volume instead of switching to a news channel.

After running out of her favorite cologne, she used one of those paper samples tucked inside a magazine. When Geary told her she smelled nice, she frantically scanned the cosmetic counters of three stores until she found the brand and bought a large (and expensive) bottle.

She carried her phone into the bathroom so she could jump out of the shower if he called.

And every night, she drifted to sleep thinking about the times
they'd kissed—the way his lips felt against her own, soft at first and then more intense, the way his touch created a gentle need inside her soul.

So when Geary prodded her to go fishing with him and she reeled in her line to find a diamond ring secured at the end, she couldn't help but give in to Prince Charming and his promise to make her life a fairy tale.

Not wanting to wait, they scanned their busy calendars and found an open weekend in April. Geary's schedule allowed for a few weeks between tournaments. And the weather would be perfect, not too hot.

Both she and Geary agreed a small ceremony would be appropriate. She wanted an intimate gathering of family and friends held at one of the many elegant waterfront venues on Lake Conroe. Geary quickly reminded her how hurt his mom and dad would be if they didn't hold the ceremony at Lake Pine Community.

“I don't know, Geary. I don't want our special day to revolve around the church.” She didn't confide her real worry. People from the station would be there. Important people who had the power to shape her career. Wendell and Veta could come on a little bit strong. She didn't want a church service disguised as a wedding shoved down people's throats. She'd once attended a ceremony where the pastor officiating touted Scripture for over a half hour before ever turning attention to the couple and their vows.

“My family loves you, Faith. They're all thrilled we're getting married. They just want to share the day with the church family as well.”

He was probably right. The Marins had been nothing but gracious and welcoming. Still, she remained adamant she wanted a simple ceremony—something tasteful. She'd compromise to some extent, but she wanted the affair to center around the joining of their lives, not to be a reason for another sermon.

This was her wedding day. And she told Geary so. “There's no
question your dad will conduct the ceremony, but just tell him to make sure and tone it down. Okay?”

Geary frowned. “Well, sure. I understand what I think you're saying, but this is my family we're talking about. You have nothing to worry about. And it just wouldn't be right not holding our wedding at Lake Pine.”

She wasn't so sure the church members wouldn't push things over the top, but she hated seeing the concern on his face. “Look, you're right. Of course we should get married in your dad's church.”

When she folded, he looked relieved. “We'll hold the reception where you like,” he offered.

The compromise was one she could accept. No doubt this would be the first of many future times they'd have to meet somewhere in the middle, both giving up a little in order to preserve unity in their relationship. At least that was what many marriage experts touted on the morning news shows. That, and the stack of marriage books on her bedside table with titles like
You Can Be Right (or You Can
Be Married)
and
The Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work
.

Her only example, her parents' relationship, wasn't exactly marital bliss. In fact, the verbal assaults they hurled at each other on a regular basis could better be described as a marital war zone.

Her mother in particular sliced her father with emotional bayonets and threw histrionic verbal assaults like bombs. Theirs was a war to win and their tactics lethal, neither willing to make a truce, even when their hellish aggression left her and Teddy Jr. bloodied roadside victims.

She wasn't about to repeat that pillage. If she had to compromise here and there, so be it.

In the end, she was rewarded for making the compromise.

When Oliver Hildebrand got wind she was getting married, he showed up at the station, wanting to personally extend an offer to pay for the entire wedding affair. “And I'm sending you and
your guy on a two-week honeymoon. You'll stay in our grandest honeymoon suite at St. Viceroy Negril. My gift,” he said.

She'd argued, of course. The sentiment, while appreciated, was entirely too much.

He insisted, and in the end she finally accepted his generous offer.

She couldn't wait to break the news to Geary. They were to spend the evening with his parents out to dinner, with the intention of discussing wedding plans.

She wrapped up at the news desk early and filed the proposed copy for her weekend segment on the opening of a new pet shelter. After leaving the station, she headed out of the city and made the forty-minute drive north.

At Geary's place, she learned they'd be meeting his folks at Wheelers, a little mom-and-pop-type place on the outskirts of town. His dad's favorite, Geary told her.

“I'm starved,” Wendell announced as they moved inside the restaurant.

A waitress led them to a table topped with a green-checkered wax cloth and bottles of Heinz ketchup and Tabasco. Geary pulled out one of the mismatched chairs and she took a seat.

“Y'all want menus? Or our buffet?”

Wendell's eyebrows lifted. “What y'all serving tonight, Agnes?”

She pulled the pencil from behind her ear and placed the tip on a tablet she retrieved from her shirt pocket. “Meat loaf and chicken spaghetti.”

Geary's dad gave their waitress a wide smile. “We'll all have the buffet,” he replied without checking with any of the rest of them.

The waitress slid her tablet back in place. “Alrighty. Plates are over there. Help yourself. Drinks come with—Dr Pepper or sweet tea. Your choice.”

Geary must've noted her sour expression. “You want me to get you a plate?”

She shook her head. “No, that's okay.”

They stood and moved to take their place in a line of people. Wendell winked at Geary. “This is going to be good. Ben Wheeler makes the best chicken spaghetti.” He turned to Veta. “No offense, dear.”

When they returned to the table and started eating, Faith decided it was time to tell them the good news. She cleared her throat of the rubbery green beans she'd just sampled. “Uh, I have some great news.”

Wendell looked up from his bowl of iceberg lettuce blanketed in thick Thousand Island dressing. “Yeah? What's that?”

She placed her fork on a folded paper napkin. “Well, you remember last year about the same time I met Geary, I was called to the field and reported from the Fred Hartman Bridge.”

Veta nodded. “Oh yes. You talked that young man out of jumping. On live television.” She nudged her husband. “We still have people in our congregation who mention that. We're so proud of you, honey.”

“You did a fine job that day,” Wendell added.

She smiled. “Well, when the boy's father, Oliver Hildebrand, heard of our pending nuptials, he offered to pay for our entire wedding.” She turned to Geary. “He said the sky is the limit. And he's giving us a complimentary two-week honeymoon at St. Viceroy Negril, his resort in Jamaica. Airfare included.”

She paused to let the news sink in. This was like a thousand Christmas presents all rolled into one big package, and she watched Geary's face closely for his reaction.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Jamaica?”

She brushed past his lack of enthusiasm and clasped her hands. “Yes, in a beautiful honeymoon suite overlooking a bay of turquoise saltwater.” She looked over at Veta. “With palm trees and white sand, dolphins, and frozen drinks with little umbrellas!” Faith could barely contain her excitement as she went on. “He
offered to pay for a fancy reception and catered sit-down dinner. I thought the clubhouse at the Bentwater Country Club would be perfect.”

Veta looked across the table at her son. “But what about the big dinner the Women's Auxiliary had planned?”

Geary shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, about that . . .”

Faith lifted her eyebrows as understanding dawned, squelching her delight. “You haven't told them about our compromise? About what we decided?”

“Told us what?” his mother queried. Her expression looked none too delighted as well.

Wendell quietly laid his fork across his still full plate. “Honey, let's go get some of that lemon meringue pie I'm so fond of.”

Veta lifted her chin, thought a minute, then nodded. “Did you see if they have some chocolate cream?”

“I think they do. And if not, Ben usually has cherry pie. You like that.”

Geary's parents left the table, leaving their son to face her not-so-hidden ire.

“Okay, what's going on?” she demanded. “You haven't told your parents about what we talked over and decided? That we'll marry at Lake Pine but the reception won't be at the church?”

He rubbed at his stubbled chin. “No. No, I told them we wouldn't be at the church. But I didn't think you meant the women couldn't provide the meal, even if we hold the reception off-site.”

She closed her eyes in frustration, trying to collect herself before responding. Finally, she looked back at him. “So let me understand this correctly. We're going to have an elegant sit-down dinner in a country club overlooking the lake and serve—what? Green Jell-O salad and—” She pointed to her plate, her voice rising. “Chicken spaghetti?”

“Faith, don't be mad—”

“Are you kidding me?” She forced her voice lower and urged him to understand. “Listen, Geary, I make my living on television in front of thousands of viewers. My image matters.”

His jaw sharpened. “You make us all out to be rednecks.”

“I didn't say that. What I meant was—”

He dropped his fork to the table. “Okay, I'm listening.”

“Last week, your brother-in-law let loose and passed gas.” She paused for emphasis. “At the dinner table.”

“Well, yeah—that. But—”

“And he grinned at his children and said, ‘Boy, now, that's gonna itch when it dries.'”

He nodded then. “Look, babe, I know my family can be a handful. But they mean well. And they love us and only want to help.” Geary reached for her hand. “Please, Faith. Try to understand the position I'm in. Surely we can find a way to—”

Wendell and Veta showed back up at the table then, their hands loaded with plates filled with enormous slices of pie.

Wendell's eyes narrowed. “Everything okay?”

Veta assessed the situation as well. “Look,” she said. “Wendell and I think we've come up with a perfect solution. One that will work for everyone. Let's move the wedding ceremony up and hold it at eleven in the morning.” She slid back into her chair. Wendell also sat. “We'll let the ladies put on their luncheon immediately after, in the church basement.”

Veta glanced at Wendell and he encouraged her on with a nod.

“Then that evening we'll have the grand reception you'd hoped for, dear. An affair done up right with all your friends from the studio. The Marin family cleans up pretty well. You'll see. We'll have that party and do it up big, all paid for by that wealthy fan of yours.” Geary's mother looked across the table and gave them a hopeful smile.

Faith took a deep breath. Slowly, she nodded. “Yes, okay. That'll work.”

Under the table, Geary pulled her hand into his own. “Yeah, that's a great solution.”

Veta beamed. “Then we're all set. Now all I have left to know is your wedding colors.”

“My colors?” Faith asked.

Her future mother-in-law picked up her fork and scooped a large piece of chocolate pie, leaving it suspended in the air. “Uh-huh. I'm making the deviled eggs for the luncheon and I want to dye the yolk filling to match.”

O
n the morning of her wedding, Faith panicked.

Not just a little, but one of those full-blown panic attacks where your heart pounds, sweat sprouts across your forehead, and you can't catch your breath.

What was she thinking?

Faith sat alone in a tiny room in the church, temporarily designated the “bride's room.” Her reflection in the mirror confirmed that even the limited amount of time she'd spent shopping for a wedding dress had paid off. The gown, a simple A-line cut in ivory lace with crystal appliqué over a satin sash and an empire waist, created the perfect effect. She wore her hair knotted at the nape of her neck, with an ornament that matched the appliqué. The ivory pearls at her neckline had been her mother's, the only thing she had left of the woman who had raised her.

For years now, she'd successfully deflected questions about her family, or lack of, but regardless, she couldn't look in the mirror on the morning of this special day without a lump in her throat. While she'd never exactly envisioned her mother by her side on her wedding day, and an accident had robbed her of a father who would walk her down the aisle, she'd also never contemplated
spending the morning of what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life feeling this . . .
alone
.

Not to say she actually was alone. Geary's family offered more than ample help with nearly every decision, leaving her feeling a bit cloistered in that regard.

After they'd all ironed out the venue predicament, Geary's mom and sister continued to weigh in on every decision. Dilly leaned toward chocolate wedding cake. Veta said white cake looked prettier when cut. Dilly thought they should include satin ribbons on the pew decorations. Veta agreed.

“We could use the bows left over from the Torgeson ceremony, if we steam them. They're in a box in the church attic. Bobby Lee could carry them down,” Dilly offered. “The color of the ribbon is really close.”

Dilly also brought an entire scrapbook over to dinner after church one evening filled with wedding magazine photos she'd cut and pasted inside. Veta and Dilly both had very definite ideas on dresses. Dilly liked large-hooped Scarlett O'Hara–style gowns. The flouncier, the better.

Veta liked long trains. “Nothing prettier in wedding portraits,” she pointed out. “What do you think, Faith?”

“Oh, yes. Those are, uh, nice,” she agreed, while trying to figure out how to extricate herself from these unpalatable options without hurting anyone's feelings.

Veta asked to do the flowers and had her heart set on brightly colored gerbera daisies. “Maybe you can place a bright pink one with some baby's breath in your hair.” She turned to her daughter. “You know, like your friend Betsy did in her hair. That was so pretty.”

Their chatter buzzed in the air, like bees too busy to land.

Finally, Faith spoke up, interrupting the planning. “I was thinking more in the line of white hydrangeas and ivory tea roses.”

The two women glanced at each other. Dilly cringed. “No color?”

Veta looked confused. She shrugged. “Well, of course, dear. If that's what you want, we'll certainly make that happen.”

Twice, Faith had to go to Geary quietly and ask him to intercept and tone down their “help.”

She wasn't the kind to get all overworked about these kinds of things. She simply wanted a quiet, elegant affair fitting of the love she and Geary felt for one another and the commitment they were entering into.

Period—end of story.

The final straw was when they all showed up one evening over at Geary's place, when she'd wanted to have a quiet dinner with her fiancé, a task that seemed nearly impossible as of late.

Both of them had been so busy. The news director had pulled her in to help with a broadcast series on the abysmal literacy rates in Houston. Of the most populous cities in the United States, Houston was recently ranked #60, with #75 being the least literate.

Likewise, after the extended break to care for his grandfather, Geary found himself needing to pack his schedule with smaller tournaments he might have passed over just a year earlier. The divisional qualifying process remained a mystery to her, but she knew he had a lot of work to do to rebuild his standing.

After weeks of this, they'd made plans to meet up at his condo to spend some much needed time together and to finalize a few wedding plans. She'd stopped for takeout, Asian dim sum, making sure to include the steamed dumplings she thought he might like.

But when she pulled into the crowded parking lot outside his condo, the second row of vehicles included his dad's Chevy pickup, his mom's little blue Toyota, and her future brother- and sister-in-law's new Buick Enclave, a purchase right in line with Bobby Lee's propensity toward impulse buying.

She had a complete meltdown that night. In retrospect, she should have seen it coming—her inability to cope. Their constant
suggestions, opinions, and ideas made her feel like they were blasting right over top of her life.

She'd survived her own destructive family—barely.

In the years that followed, she'd suffered lonely holidays and birthdays, graduation ceremonies with no one there to applaud. Hard as it was, she'd adjusted.

She was one to go with the flow in most things. But there was no easy way to conform to the Marin bunch.

First, Veta was already in Geary's kitchen, dishing up her homemade tuna casserole, a sticky concoction Faith had already had to gag down twice before. She hated canned tuna—actually, any canned fish or meat, including those little Vienna sausages that smelled the same as an open can of dog food. Not surprisingly, those were Wendell's favorite snack. He ate them while watching television, even if others sitting next to him on the sofa had to enjoy the aroma.

Then, she'd only just stepped inside the door of Geary's condo and been smothered with hugs and kisses, when little five-year-old Gabby came marching down the hallway singing “Onward, Christian Soldiers” at the top of her lungs, wearing Faith's Stuart Weitzmans, the bridal pumps that cost her over five hundred dollars. She'd accidently left them the other day after showing them to Geary.

“Gabby, get my shoes off your feet!”

Faith knew she sounded sharp but couldn't seem to help it. One more wobbly stomp and the delicate heels would snap.

Even Geary looked taken aback by the way she barked at his niece.

Dilly immediately defended her daughter, whose eyes were already puddling. “Hey, don't yell. She doesn't mean anything by playing in your shoes.”

Faith knew they all thought she was overreacting. She should apologize, she supposed. But she was bone-tired and disappointed
she couldn't have even one stinking night alone with her fiancé before the wedding.

And she wanted cashew chicken. And steamed dumplings!

She took a deep breath, trying to collect herself. “Look . . .” She glanced around the room, hoping his family might understand.

Someone did immediately clue in to her emotional state. The little curly-haired darling scrunched her face and made everything worse. “You're mean!” She sobbed like Faith had just run over her pet kitten.

Her twin brother, Gunner, joined the fray from behind a chair where no one else could see. He scrunched his eyes tightly closed and stuck his tongue out at her.

Faith's palms clenched in frustration.

“Hey now, there's no need for all this drama,” Wendell said, intercepting the emotional volleyball game being played out in Geary's living room, with most of the action spiked in her direction. “Let's all take a deep breath and calm down.” He looked at her when he said this.

On the converse, her future mother-in-law didn't look at her at all. Instead Veta bent and smoothed her granddaughter's hair off her tear-moistened cheeks. “There, there—no more tears. That's enough. There, now.”

Faith looked at Geary. His hand rifled through his thick, dark hair. “Anyone want sweet tea?” he asked before he quickly turned to the refrigerator and buried his head—in more ways than one.

She'd had enough.

“Will you all excuse me, please?” She swallowed hard to fight the tears that threatened to expose her sudden feeling of vulnerability.

In the bathroom, she closed and locked the door against voices coming from the other end of the hall. Everyone was no doubt talking about her, about how she didn't fit in.

And she didn't. Not really.

That was what she tried to explain to Geary when he came for her.

She heard a light rap on the bathroom door. “Faith? Honey, let me in.”

From her perch on the toilet seat, she sniffled and rubbed her wrist against her nose. “I'll be out. Just a minute.”

She grabbed the toilet paper roll and wadded some, pressing it against her nose. She blew.

“Faith, c'mon. Open the door, please.”

She sniffed. “I will. Just give me a minute.”

She stood and moved to the sink, where she ran cold water into a washcloth and held it for several seconds against her puffy eyelids, aware Geary stood outside the door waiting.

Finally, she took a deep breath and unlocked the door, then slowly pulled it open.

He gathered her in his arms and lightly kissed the top of her head. “They're gone.”

She leaned back and glanced over his shoulder to confirm the truth of his statement. Down the hallway, a quiet living room.

She buried her head against his chest. Her eyes burned again, simmering with emotion. “I'm sorry, Geary. I don't know what got into me. I just—”

“No. I'm sorry. My family can be pretty intense sometimes.” His thumb lightly rubbed the side of her face. “I should've stepped in, and didn't. Forgive me?”

His apology was sincere, his regret apparent. Unfortunately, it changed nothing about how low she felt about her own behavior. She'd acted ugly in front of people who had done nothing but open their homes and heart to her.

Sure, they had annoying ways. Certainly, those children needed some—uh, guidance. But she hated that she'd caved in to her emotions, let them whisk her into a situation where she felt out of control.

She hated how her voice had sounded dangerously close to her own mother's when she was angry.

Faith felt weary, like her bones might crumple and she'd fold to the floor if he wasn't holding her. “Geary, I—”

As if sensing the sick feeling working its way through her gut, he stroked the back of her head and whispered, “Don't worry. This whole wedding thing is a lot of pressure. They understand.”

She nodded, wondering what he must think of her now. “It's just—I'm not sure how to deal with your family,” she tried to explain. “Most of the time, I don't feel like I fit in.” Silently, she added to herself,
Or maybe I don
't want to.

“There's no question I love my family,” he said. “But they're the crankbait. You and me? We're the rod and reel.” He looked at her with a funny grin, clearly hoping she'd appreciate his stab at lightening the moment with some fishing humor.

She couldn't help herself. She laughed and patted his chest. “Don't quit your day job, mister. You'll never make it as a comedian.”

Later, between bites of pork dumplings, Geary sat cross-legged on the floor with her and told how after she left the room, his dad had quickly sent everyone packing. Wendell lingered for a few minutes.

“Dad told me there was something very important he wanted to share with me.” Geary gave her a sheepish smile. He reached across and took her hand. “Among other things, he said I am your protector. You need to be able to count on me to be there, no matter what.” He leaned forward and cupped her chin. “I want you to know, Faith. I'm not a perfect man. But with everything in me, I want to be that for you.”

Now, here in the bride's room, Faith let those words seep into her soul again, let his assurance lift her panic.

Outside the church window, a yellow-breasted warbler caught her attention from a nearby crepe myrtle, the bird's feathers out of place among the mass of white blooms.

She fastened her veil in place, then turned and faced the mirror, admiring the stunning reflection of a bride about to join her groom at the altar.

I'm counting on that.

Then she took a deep breath and headed out the door.