The Wedding Caper (19 page)

I snapped
the notebook closed and leaned my head against the back of the chair. For
whatever reason, I could just hear Sheila’s voice now. In her usual, motherly
way, she would lay it out straight for me:

“Annie,”
she would say, “some days you’re the bug. Other days you’re the windshield.”

Today
just hadn’t been a windshield kind of day.

Chapter Nineteen

Did you ever
stop to think and forget to start again? I guess you could say that’s what
happened to me on Saturday evening. I found myself completely distracted by the
complexities of the day.
So much so that I couldn’t sleep
that night.
How could I, with all of the guilt and anxiety eating me
alive?

That, and
the incredible belly ache from the ice cream.

A couple
of times I rose from the bed, which totally threw poor Sasha off. “No sweetie,”
I whispered. “It’s not morning yet.”

Both
times she settled down and dozed off again. On my second trip, I eased my way
into the bathroom, where I fished around inside the medicine chest for an
antacid tablet, which I promptly popped in my mouth. Afterwards, I paced the
bedroom, praying, thinking and clutching my tummy. Mental note: Next time
you’re stressed, head to the gym, not the freezer.

Thankfully,
Warren never budged, though I almost willed him to, at times. I was terrified
to stir up more trouble, yet I knew that one heartfelt conversation between the
two of us could fix everything. If he’d wake up, we could get to the bottom of
all of this. Afterwards, we could kiss and make up, then spend the rest of the
night wrapped in one another’s arms.

I gazed
over at him several times with a serious longing in my heart as I continued to
trudge back and forth, wearing a path in the carpet. The lines of gray in his
hair glistened against the glow of the tiny nightlight. Sure, his scalp was a bit
more apparent than when we were younger, but he was every bit the handsome
devil I’d fallen in love with.
Paunchy middle or not.
Raucous snore or not.

I reached
to brush a curl from his forehead and he stirred a bit. Yes, I loved this man
with every fiber of my being. Loved the way he laughed at my jokes, even when
they weren’t funny. Loved the way he danced with me when I felt like dancing.
Loved the way he cared for his family, through thick and thin. I pulled back my
hand and stared in silence, reality setting in.

But this
wasn’t about my love for him, was it? I couldn’t let my feelings run away with
me here. This was about not getting to the truth of the matter before we fell
asleep. What about that biblical principle of not letting the sun go down on
your anger? He’d quoted that line to me a million times over the years. So, why
had he gone to bed upset, without talking to me? Sure, the Word of God said
that love would cover a multitude of sins, but I had to wonder if we’d crossed
some sort of line here by “dozing before dealing.”

I finally
crawled back under the covers and leaned back against the propped up pillows,
attempting to pray. To be honest, I wasn’t sure where to start. My marriage?
The upcoming weddings?
The investigation? As I pondered these
things, the knots in my stomach grew. Finally, in spite of my anxiety, my
eyelids gave way to the sleepiness.

Things
didn’t get much better after the sun came up, though it wasn’t for lack of
effort on my part. In fact, I don’t recall ever trying harder. I dressed for
church, as always. Wore a dress I knew Warren loved. Put on the earrings he’d
bought me for Christmas. Sprayed on the perfume he’d given me for my birthday.
Fashioned my hair in a style I knew he liked.

In short,
I did everything I could to get him to look my way—and open up for a
heart-to-heart chat. Preferably, before we left for church.

For
whatever reason, he refused to budge. He moved from bathroom to bedroom to
closet in steady succession, readying himself for the day.
All
in stony silence.

Not a
word during breakfast.

Not a
word as he sat to read over the Sunday school lesson, which he’d agreed to
teach in Richard’s absence.

Not a
word as Devin joined us to leave.

We
climbed into the car for a very quiet, strained drive to church. Even Devin
took note of our silence.

“What’s
up with you two?” he asked.

I hoped
Warren would respond, but he kept his eyes focused on the road and his lips
glued shut.

“Oh, it’s
just been a stressful weekend,” I offered. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Is that
your final answer?”

Good
grief. My son should really consider a career in law.

I nodded,
but he refused to let it go. Devin, never one to worry till now, crossed his
arms and cast a pensive gaze my way. “Right. Whatever.”

I stared
out of the window as Warren made the familiar drive. The leaves had, for the
most part, fallen now. We would be heading into winter before you knew it.
Somehow, that thought depressed me, especially in light of the fact that my
oldest daughter would be married in the late winter. Lord, everything is
changing. Everything.

I
shivered as we exited the car at the church. Sometime in the night, the
temperature had dropped. Seemed to fit our mood, truth be told. I pulled my
jacket tight, but it did little to relieve the shivering. Am I really cold, or
have my nerves become an issue?

Devin ran
on ahead of us to meet up with some friends, which left Warren and me alone.
At last.
I turned to him for one last attempt at breaking
the ice before entering the church. “Warren, you have to talk to me. You have
to.”

“What
would you like me to say?” His rock jaw was tighter than a snare drum.

“I don’t
know,” I pleaded. “Something. Anything. Tell me I’m crazy. Tell me I haven’t
heard from the Lord. Tell me I’ve wasted your money. Tell me you know—”
My courage rose. “Tell me you know who took the money, and I’ll let this thing
go. I promise.”

“I can’t
tell you that.” He kept walking, never looking my way.

“You
can’t, or you won’t?” I spoke in a hoarse whisper.

He shook
his head. “I can’t tell you that.”

We paused
at the door of the church. Others walked around us to enter, but I refused to
go inside until I said one last thing.

“Warren,
I have to show you something.”

“Later,
Annie.”

“No, now.
This is important.” I pulled the folded-up note from my purse and shoved it
into his palm.

As he
read it, the color drained from his cheeks. “Where did you get this?”

“From
your pants pocket. I found it yesterday, just before you opened up the credit
card bill. I was headed in the office to ask you about it.”

He took
the note and ripped it in half.

I knew
it. There’s more to that note than meets the eye. He’s up to something and he
doesn’t want me to know what it is.

“Warren,
I wish you would—”

At that
moment, Candy and Garrett appeared at my side. “Hey, Mom. We’re going out to
eat after church today—that new buffet up on the highway. Would you and
Dad like to come with us? Garrett’s parents are coming.”

Great.
We’ll have to air our dirty laundry in front of our children and our good
friends, all at once.

“You’ll
have to ask your father.” I shrugged. “It’s up to him.” I shot another glance
Warren’s way. He discreetly crumpled the paper in his balled-up fist,
then
pressed it into his pants pocket. I guess this means
our conversation is over.

“Okay.”
Candy turned to face her dad. “What do you think, Dad? They’ve got the best
carrot cake in town. I know you love that.”

“Sounds
great.” Warren pulled open the front door of the church and we entered
together. I tried to catch his eye, but he refused to look my way. I couldn’t
tell if he was angry or worried, but something was wrong, very wrong.

Once
inside the vestibule, Brandi and Scott joined us.

“Hey,
Mom. How are you coming on the flower bouquets?” My daughter’s eyes sparkled as
she asked the all-important question.

“Making
progress. Nearly finished with them, in fact.”

I managed
a weak smile. She didn’t seem to notice my discomfort, as was evidenced by her
continued chattering.

We turned
our attentions to talking about floral arranging, and Warren slipped away to
talk with a friend. The look of sadness in his eyes alarmed me. I’d never seen
him hang on to a grudge this long. Or maybe it wasn’t a grudge. Maybe he felt
as confused as I did right now. Lord, You’re going to have to help us through
this. I don’t know what to do anymore. I really don’t.

Brandi
continued to chatter away and I tried to listen, I really did. But I couldn’t
stay focused. I could feel my hands shaking, and knew that tears would soon
come, so I dismissed myself to the ladies room. She gave me the oddest look as
I turned away, but I couldn’t pause long enough to worry about it. I felt the
sting of tears and knew I must make my escape as smoothly as possible.

Once
inside the restroom, I fought the line of familiar women to get to a stall.
Most everyone was so busy touching up lipstick, fussing with hair or chatting
to notice my misty eyes. Once inside the safety of the tiny stall, I pulled the
lid down on the toilet and took a seat, fully dressed. At that point, I allowed
the tears to tumble.
In silence, naturally.

I stayed
in there so long a couple of the ladies must’ve felt the need to check on me.

“Annie,
you okay in there?” Nita
Lemuel
called out.

This was
followed by a chuckle and a quip from an elderly woman named Margie. “You
didn’t fall in, did you?”

“I’m
fine,” I assured them, trying to make my voice sound normal. “Just need a few
minutes to myself.”

They went
back to chatting, their voices eventually fading away as they disappeared out
the door. With the restroom now emptied out, I could hear the music begin in
the sanctuary on the opposite side of the wall. I continued my emotional
breakdown on the toilet with my head in my hands, my chin quivering like a bowl
of gelatin. I cried over the look I’d put on Warren’s face yesterday afternoon.
I cried over the look that must’ve been on my own face when I’d found the note
in his pocket.

As I
heard the door to the restroom open, I quickly dried my tears. The pointed toes
of a pair of deep green pumps appeared just under my door.

“Annie, I
know you’re in there.”

Sheila.
Naturally.

“You
can’t stay locked up in that stall forever,” she said. “Might as well come on
out and let me know what’s going on. Everyone is getting worried.”

“Everyone?”
I choked back the lump in my throat. “Did Warren send you in here?”

“No.” She
hesitated. “Your girls did. They think you’re sick. You’re not, are you?”

Leave it
to Sheila to know the difference between physical sickness and sickness of the soul,
even without laying eyes on me.

I sat in
my confession booth a bit longer, unwilling to move. She could coax all she
wanted. I wasn’t coming out and she couldn’t make me.

“Annie,
did you get that e-mail I sent?” Her voice softened in
an
un-Sheila-like way.

I nodded,
then
realized she couldn’t see me. “I got it.”

“I was
right about the stressing thing, wasn’t I? You’re overtaxed. Too much going on
at once?”

“Yes. You
were right.” At this point, I raced forward, telling her everything—right
down to the note in my husband’s pocket. Her exaggerated silence went on for so
long, I suspected she’d left the building.

Finally,
when I could take it no longer, I cracked the door and peeked out of the stall.

“Aren’t
you going to say anything?” I queried.

She shrugged.
“I’m thinking. Sometimes I speak too fast. Didn’t want to do that this time
around. Besides,” here she smiled, “I kind of figured you just needed to get
all of that off your chest. Didn’t really figure you needed anyone to tell you
what to do.”

Her face
lit into a broad smile and I couldn’t help but notice she’d styled her hair
differently.

“You look
great,” I commented. Her dark brown and green sweater caught my eye right away.
“Is that new?”

“Mm-hmm.”
She turned in a circle and the rich brown broomstick skirt made her look like a
little girl spinning around the living room to impress her parents. “You like
it?”

“Yeah.”

“Bought
it at the mall on clearance.”

The woman
had an uncanny way of lifting me from my woes, even through her wardrobe. 

I let out
an exaggerated sigh,
then
gazed in the mirror at the
bags under my eyes.

“How do
you do it, Sheila?” I queried. “How do you stay in such an upbeat mood all the
time?” I knew she’d been through her own personal tragedies: an unexpected
hysterectomy, her husband’s bout with prostate cancer, and watching her grown
children marry and move away to other states.

She
shrugged. “I get down, just like everyone. I really do. And I find myself in
predicaments that get me stressed out, just like you. If anyone knows how to
get into hot water, it’s me.”