Wind Chime Wedding (A Wind Chime Novel Book 2) Page 20

  Annie shrugged, as if it weren’t that big of a deal. “To be honest, I would be perfectly happy to go to the courthouse. We almost did back in February, over Valentine’s Day, when Will was home visiting. But when we told Della, she burst into tears.”

  Becca took another sip of iced tea, relieved that the discussion about weddings had shifted to Annie and Will and away from her and Tom. “I can imagine.”

  “She said she’d been dreaming about our wedding ever since we got engaged, that she’d pictured a beautiful sunset ceremony at the inn and a big party afterwards with everyone on the island. She said she’d already planned out the whole menu and had over a dozen cake recipes picked out for me to taste.” Annie shook her head, blowing out a breath. “I understand where she’s coming from, but a big wedding just feels like taking on a whole lot of work for everyone else.” Her eyes widened when she realized what she’d said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

  “It’s okay,” Becca said, her gaze drifting down to her engagement ring. She knew exactly how Annie felt. She had never wanted a big wedding either. She had never wanted all this stress. But, at the same time, she agreed with Della. The thought of Will and Annie going to the courthouse seemed so unromantic. Didn’t they want a different memory to hold onto, if not for themselves, at least for Taylor? “Wouldn’t you rather do something small on the island? Even if it was just here, in the backyard of the café, with a few close friends?”

  “Of course,” Annie said, a little wistfully, as she walked back over to the spot across from Becca at the counter. “But how would I decide who to invite? If Will and I got married on the island, everyone would want to come. We wouldn’t be able to do something small.”

  Taking the dishrag off her shoulder, Annie draped it over the faucet. “I’m not going to pretend that I haven’t had a vision of what my dream wedding would be like since I was a little girl. But I guess I have a more realistic view of what really matters now, as opposed to what society expects me to do. I’m not a traditionalist. I got pregnant at seventeen. I’ve done everything backwards. Before Will came along, it was just me and Taylor for a long time, and I was okay with that.”

  Leaning her forearms on the counter, Annie gazed back out the window. “What matters now is that Taylor is taken care of. Since the day she was born, I have worried about what would happen to her if something happened to me. I know I don’t have to worry about that anymore. I have Will now. I have Della. I have Joe. I have the Hadleys. But I want to make it official. Taylor belongs on this island and she belongs with Will. I want to make sure she would be able to stay here, with him, if anything ever happened to me.”

  Becca took in the circles under Annie’s eyes, the already pale complexion that had lost even more color from worrying about Taylor’s school situation this week. Becca had wanted to be a mother her whole life, but she had never really known the kind of worry Annie lived with every day—the constant worry every mother lived with. She wished she hadn’t added to it this week. She wished she could do something to lift a little of the burden. “Maybe when Will gets back and you’re both settled, we could plan a little ceremony with a few people and a dinner back here where Della can cook as much as she wants and everyone’s invited. I’d be happy to help. I’m sure we could come up with a way to give you what you want without breaking your budget.”

  “I’d like that,” Annie said, smiling. “But right now, let’s focus on yours. What’s the final count on the guest list.”

  “One hundred and seventy three.”

  Annie gaped at her. “I thought you were capping it at a hundred and fifty?”

  “I was,” Becca said, rubbing a hand over her eyes. “It’s gotten completely out of control.”

  “Where are they all staying?”

  “I rented houses for a lot of them on the island. Some of them are staying in hotels or B&Bs in St. Michaels.”

  “How many are staying at the inn?”

  “Twenty,” Becca said. “As long as it’s ready by then. If not, I’ll have to figure something else out.”

  “Are all three guest cottages booked?”

  Becca nodded.

  “Even the one Colin’s been staying in?”

  “No,” Becca said. “I mean, I saved that one for Colin…and whoever he’s bringing.”

  Annie looked up. “Colin’s coming?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he’s bringing someone?”

  Becca nodded. “That’s what he said.”

  “Huh,” Annie said.

  “What?” Becca prodded, thinking about how she’d had to remind him the other night about his RSVP, how long it had taken him to finally commit. “Are you surprised he said yes?”

  “Well…” Annie hesitated. She picked up the towel again, wiping at a few nonexistent crumbs on the counter. “I don’t think Colin’s a big fan of weddings these days.”

  Becca frowned. Despite whatever else had been growing between them over the past week, he’d been incredibly generous in accommodating her wedding, with all the guests and the issues with the construction. She hadn’t felt like it had been a burden, even once. “Why not?”

  Annie set down the towel, taking a deep breath. “I thought you knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “Colin was engaged not too long ago.”

  “Engaged?” Becca echoed, stunned. “When?”

  “Before he came back from Afghanistan,” Annie said. “He was supposed to get married in San Diego last summer. Will was going to be his Best Man.”

  “But…” Becca trailed off, trying to wrap her head around it. “I don’t understand. What happened? Did he call it off?”

  “No,” Annie said, shaking her head. “She did.”

  Becca’s eyes widened. “I can’t believe anyone would break off an engagement to Colin. He’s…” perfect, she almost said, before she caught herself. Before she realized how easily the word could have slipped out of her mouth.

  Annie lowered her voice when the door to the café opened downstairs and they heard Taylor and Ryan walk inside. “Will told me this in confidence, so please don’t spread it around.”

  “Of course,” Becca said. “But…what happened? Why did she call it off?”

  “She gave him his ring back when she came to visit him at Walter Reed, when he was still in bed recovering from the surgery.” Annie said. “She said she couldn’t marry an amputee.”

  Engaged? Walking away from the café half an hour later, Becca’s head was still spinning over what Annie had told her. How could she not have known that Colin had been engaged? It wasn’t like asking someone to spend the rest of her life with you was a small thing. And if it had only been a year since she’d broken up with him—had left him because he’d lost a leg fighting for his country—then the wound must still be fresh.

  She gazed down at the sidewalk, at where a cluster of dandelion was breaking through a crack in the cement. No wonder he’d reacted so strongly when she’d seen his prosthesis for the first time. No wonder he’d gotten so angry when she’d stared. He must have thought she was turned off by it, like his fiancée had been. Nothing could have been farther from the truth.

  For the first time since meeting Colin, she felt like she was finally starting to get a full picture of him. And he was nothing like what she’d originally thought. Nothing at all.

  She reached out, letting her fingers trail over the velvety petals of a peach rose climbing riotously over a neighbor’s white picket fence. The scent of the flower drifted into the air, almost dizzying in its sweetness. It wasn’t just his fiancée that he’d lost. He’d lost two teammates on that mission. He’d lost his ability to walk without the help of a prosthesis. And he’d lost his career as a SEAL, which he’d told her he still missed every single day.

  There had to be a lot more going on underneath the surface than anyone realized.

  Was it possible, she wondered suddenly, that his decision to open the veterans’ center on this island wasn’t just bec
ause he wanted to do something to give back to his fellow wounded warriors? Was it possible that he needed what this island could provide, too—a place to heal?

  She thought back to the night when she’d gone up to Annapolis for his father’s fundraiser dinner, when he’d told her he wanted to buy a house on the island, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life here. She thought about the first night he’d come to her house, when he’d said it would be a good home for a family, and that he wanted three children one day.

  Yes, he’d said all those things. But she hadn’t really believed him. Even when he’d told her he loved it here, she had assumed he would tire of it eventually, that it wouldn’t be enough for him, like it had never been enough for Tom. Since the first night she’d met him, she’d assumed that a man like Colin would never actually want to settle down. Not when he had so many women to choose from.

  A barn swallow alighted from a sycamore tree, flapping its wings across the street toward the marina. What if all he wanted was the same thing she wanted—a house, a family, a quiet, simple life on this island?

  She’d given up hope a long time ago that she could ever have that, because of who she’d chosen to be with, and because—as Colin had so bluntly put it last week—she’d never imagined, in her wildest dreams, that she would actually meet someone on this island. The thought that she could, that she could actually have everything she wanted, made her heart ache with longing.

  When she got to her own street, she took in the familiar row of homes. Her gaze paused on her father’s house, the house she’d grown up in. His truck was parked in the driveway and she could just make out the shadow of a man through the kitchen window.

  She still owed him for stepping in at school today, for sacrificing a day of work to be there for Luke. Her gaze shifted back to the other side of Main Street, where Rusty’s hugged the edge of the marina. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone, but she could pick up some take-out and drop dinner off to her father before heading home.

  The parking lot was already packed and she did a quick scan of the cars as she crossed the street. She felt a small thread of relief when she didn’t see Jimmy’s red F-250 anywhere. Her shoes crunched over the oyster shells scattered over the gravel as she wove through the parking spots marked by worn wooden pilings and thick strands of rope.

  Walking through the front door of the restaurant, she inhaled the tangy aroma of fried food and draft beer. The sun was beginning to set, flooding the wooden interior in soft orange light. The outdoor deck was filled with people, not just locals, but a few out-of-towners, too—the first of the weekend boaters who would stop by on their way down the Bay for a sunset cocktail.

  She recognized them instantly from their pastel polo shirts, aviator sunglasses, and pressed khaki shorts. Their return, like the ospreys and the blue crabs, and any other migrating species that left and came back every year when the weather warmed, gave her a small sense of comfort as she headed up to the bar to place her order.

  “Hey, Becca,” Dave Moore called over the baseball game blasting from the TV hanging over the bar. “What can I get you?”

  “A crab cake sandwich and a rockfish platter to go.”

  “Coming right up,” he said, moving over to the computer screen where he punched in the order. “Want something to drink while you wait?”

  “Just a glass of water.”

  He filled up a pint glass, added a slice of lemon, a straw, and a friendly wink as he passed it over.

  She smiled. “Thanks.”

  Beside her, Billy Sadler, one of her father’s waterman friends started to get up off his stool. “Want to sit down?”

  “No, thanks,” she said, waving him off. She knew he was there to watch the game, as all of the other men on the barstools were. She glanced up at the TV. “Who’s winning?”

  “O’s,” Billy said, settling back onto the stool and looking up at the screen. “We’re up by two. Bottom of the eighth.”

  She watched the game for a few minutes, then turned, leaning back against the bar to survey the dining room. Every table was filled with someone she knew. She waved to a few people who caught her eye, taking a sip of her water, and listening to the crack of balls from the pool table where a group of teenagers were playing a game in the far corner.

  She spotted Luke and Courtney, sitting at a small table near the other side of the bar and walked over to say hi. It was unusual for Courtney to come into Rusty’s for dinner, but maybe she was trying to do something nice for Luke to make up for missing the day at school. Luke seemed perfectly content, slurping down a soda, nibbling on a plate of fries, and sketching on his paper placemat.

  “Hey, Courtney,” she said, keeping her tone upbeat and friendly, hoping to ease some of the tension from their meeting this afternoon. “Hi, Luke.”

  “Hey, Becca,” Courtney said, glancing up warily.

  Luke’s face broke into a grin when he spotted her. “Hi, Miss Haddaway,” he said excitedly. “Did you hear about all the fish we caught today?”

  Becca smiled, shaking her head. “How many did you catch?”

  “Seven!” he said triumphantly, popping another fry in his mouth.

  “All perch?”

  He nodded.

  Some of the guys at the bar started to shout when one of the players on the TV hit a fly ball into the outfield with the bases loaded. She glanced over her shoulder, watching the runs come in, then looked back at Luke. She was about to ask him what kind of lures they’d used to catch the perch when the door to the restaurant swung open, smacking against the interior wall. She jumped, and knew instantly from the expression on Courtney’s face who it was without having to look. Instinctively stepping between Luke and the door, she turned, watching Jimmy saunter up to the bar.

  He was wearing a faded T-shirt and ripped jeans. His hair was limp and greasy. His beard was grizzled and unkempt from a week’s worth of growth. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin sallow, and he looked like he was starting to lose weight—in a bad way.

  “Give me a couple of Budweisers,” he said, leaning on the bar to keep himself upright. “And make sure they’re cold.”

  “Not tonight,” Dave said quietly.

  “What are you talking about?” Jimmy asked, slurring his words. He pulled out a few crumpled bills from his back pocket, tossing them onto the bar. “Just give me what I asked for.”

  “I think you’ve had enough,” Dave said, keeping his tone calm, trying to diffuse the situation.

  Everyone in the restaurant had gone quiet. Every eye was on Jimmy, except for a few teenage girls in the corner, their heads bent together whispering.

  Oblivious, Jimmy looked over at where Becca stood, and a slow smile curved his lips. Pushing away from the bar, he walked over, his red-rimmed gaze combing up and down her body.

  Becca was vaguely aware of several men pushing back their chairs, rising to their feet.

  “Nice dress,” Jimmy slurred, in reference to her modest, work appropriate, blue sweater dress.

  “Go away, Jimmy,” she said coldly, remembering not only her father’s warning now, but Grace’s from a few days ago. This wasn’t the time or the place to confront him.

  Undeterred, he looked past her at where Luke and Courtney were sitting, looking down at their plates, humiliated by his behavior. “Well, hey there, sis,” he said, grinning.

  “Go away, Jimmy,” Courtney echoed.

  He ignored her and looked down at Luke. “I heard you went crying to your mom about me not coming to school with you today.” He laughed as Luke’s face went white. “Real men don’t go crying to their mamas. Didn’t your daddy ever teach you that?”

  “How dare you?” Becca snapped, her temper breaking as she stepped between him and Luke again.

  “Becca,” Dave warned, lifting the hatch from behind the bar.

  “No,” Courtney said shakily, pushing to her own feet. “She’s right.” She walked up until she was standing face-to-face with her brother-in-law, anger and prote
ctiveness rippling off her in waves. “How dare you talk to my son that way?”

  Jimmy’s red-rimmed eyes narrowed. “Pull the stick out of your ass, sis.” His gaze raked critically over Courtney’s scrawny, overworked frame. “Maybe if you got laid, you’d chill out a bit.”

  “Hey,” Billy barked, stepping between them. He put a hand on Jimmy’s chest, pushing the contractor back a few steps. “That’s enough.”

  “Fuck you,” Jimmy said, batting his hand away.

  Joe Dozier walked up—all six-foot-three-inches and two-hundred-and-seventy pounds of him. “Is there a problem?”

  Jimmy started to laugh, as he stumbled backwards. “Look at you people. You’re all pathetic. None of you would even know how to have a good time if it stared you in the face.” He started to turn, head back to the truck, when his gaze zeroed in on Becca again. Lurching forward, his hand shot out, grabbing her arm.

  “Why don’t you come out for a ride with me, honey,” he slurred, nodding to where his truck was idling outside the door. “I know I could show you a good time.”

  Becca’s breath caught at the strength of his grip. It was so tight, she flinched in pain. She tried to wrench her arm free, but he pulled her against him, his whiskey-soured breath hot in her ear as he whispered what he’d like to do to her.

  Several men stepped forward all at once, but before they could get to him, Becca drove her knee up, hard, into his groin.

  Jimmy doubled-over in pain. “Fuck,” he wheezed.

  Joe grabbed him by the back of his shirt, hauling him upright. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

  Jimmy came up swinging, and Joe caught Jimmy’s pathetic attempt at a punch in his hand. “I said,” he repeated, lowering Jimmy’s arm back to his side, “it’s time for you to leave.”