“Susie.” Thom’s voice now. His hand rests on my shoulder, steadying me on my waving feet.
“That was Ace,” I say. My voice sounds strangely flat when I hear it in my ears. “He wants to talk.”
Thom turns me to face him, and his eyebrows knit in concern. He squeezes my shoulders. “Sit down. Take a breath. I’ll get you some water…this looks like the kind of place that puts cucumbers in their water, extra refreshing, hits the spot, yes?”
But the thought of sitting down or slowing down for even a second gives me heart palpitations. “I’m fine. I’m great.” I brush past him abruptly. “Move aside, please—I’ve got a wedding dress to rescue.”
The bridesmaids are whispering among themselves by time I get back, and Cora is nowhere in sight. Roxanne sees me, stands, and rests her hand on my arm. “Honey, now I don’t mean to be a right pain in the rear, but that dress…”
“I’m on it, Miss Dalton,” I reassure her and peel the older woman off me. I step over the stage and past the white curtains to enter the dressing room.
Cora sits on a bench surrounded by wedding dresses. She has her head in her hands, but she lifts her watery gaze when I walk in.
I offer her a warm smile. “Hey. How are we doing?”
“What do you think?” She sniffs. “Cynthia said I look like a mop.”
I move to the rack of wedding dresses and start spooling through them. “The right dress…like the right man…can be tricky to find. I’m of the opinion that, sometimes, we don’t know what we want until we’ve tried on other options… What about this one?” I yank out a white dress, a little longer at the hem, but with a similar cut.
Cora just looks at me with blank, wet eyes. “I designed this dress. This mess…I literally made it. With my own two hands. Usually, this is what I’m good at, but it was like every time I went to the drawing board…my mind just went blank.”
She rubs her nose on the back of her hand. Tissues—there’s always tissues in bridal shop…aha. I find a box resting on the shelf and hand it over to her. Cora takes a tissue, blows her nose, and then starts picking at the tissue.
“Do you think I’m crazy for doing this?” She whispers. “We barely know each other, really. And then doing a wedding like this so quickly…it’s insane, isn’t it?”
I crouch down and move my hands to her thighs. “Love is crazy,” I tell her earnestly. “That’s what it is. It’s crazy and it’s challenging, but when it works…it’s a beautiful and wonderful thing. Do you love Ray?”
“Well, of course,” Cora whimpers as she blobs mascara from the edge of her eye.
“Then that’s all that matters. Once you find that perfect person for you…you hold on to them tightly and you never, ever let go.”
Cora reaches out and pulls me into a sudden, bone-crushing hug. “You’re so smart,” she sobs. “What would I do without you?”
“That’s me,” I wheeze. “Super-smart Susie.”
18
Notes From the Dalton/West File
Ray Dalton’s suit is, of course, designed by Cora West herself. Ray will be wearing a black silk suit with matching trousers. He’ll have a silver paisley, single-breasted waistcoat underneath and matching tie.
His belt buckle belonged to his late father, who won it in a riding competition. It means a lot to him to have a piece of his father with him.
Final touch: a matching set of cufflinks (left side says “Yee” and right side says “Haw”), a gift from the bride to her groom.
19
Braxton
I want to die.
This place smells like mothballs. It’s a local place—Jack’s Formalwear or John’s Formalwear—something of the sort. Black tuxedos hang on spinning displays, dust specks and small particles embedded in the fabric. Ray, his best friend Colburn, and other brother-in-law (whose name I’ve already forgotten) have spent the last couple hours trying on funeral tuxedos.
I get cell phone reception in a corner by the window, and I answer emails in a shaft of light, trying not to be too bothered by the dust floating around me.
Ray lets out a guffaw of a laugh, and my back molars clench. “Heck yeah! You know me too well, Rich. Now we’re talking.”
I don’t lift my eyes. I don’t want to know. I don’t care. I don’t want to be here.
“Hey, Braxo!”
Braxo. Ignore it. Maybe if you ignore him until he gets your name right, he’ll learn. Like a dog. Don’t give him positive reinforcement. That works, right?
“Buddy! Check it out!”
Okay. No way I’m getting out of this. I begrudgingly turn my eyes upward.
Ray stands by the mirrors, flanked by his yes men. He lifts his hands and motions to the black corral cowboy hat on his head. “What do you think? Can you see me walking down the aisle in this or what?”
“That’s cute,” I say, monotone.
“So you like the hat?”
“No. That’s cute that you think you’re going to be walking down the aisle.”
Ray’s smile fades. I turn my attention back to my phone. I hear him shoo away his posse (“Give me a moment, yeah? Think they’ve got some ties in the back—”). Still, I don’t budge until Ray is up in my face and his big, clunky hand clasps my shoulder.
“Hey, let’s talk.” It’s not a request. I’m petty, but even I know when it’s time to face the music, so I tuck my phone away in my back pocket.
“All right.”
Ray presses his lips together and lets out a sigh like a deflating balloon. “Listen here…I know you don’t approve of me and your sister getting hitched. I don’t know what it is about me…maybe you think I’m some stupid country hick.”
“Well, the first step to fixing a problem is admitting it.”
“But let me tell you—” Ray smiles, but there are daggers in his teeth. “—if there’s one thing us country boys do well, it’s protect our own. Cora’s my family now. If you try to come between us, I don’t care who you are. I’ll knock your pearly teeth out.”
The hair on the back of my neck rises. Before I realize it, my hands are tight fists. “Why wait?” I challenge him.
Ray just grins. He pats my shoulder, and I wince. “Heck, boy, you are wound up. Have a drink. Relax.”
He makes to leave, but I shoot back, “I don’t think you’re stupid. Or too country, whatever that means. I think you’re Cora’s flavor of the week and, this time next year, she won’t remember your name.”
Ray frowns at that, but it’s a sympathetic frown. The kind of scowl a doctor gives before he delivers terminal news. “That’s where you’re wrong. I love the hell out of that lady. And she loves me.” His eyes flicker over me. “Let’s get along, Braxo. Don’t make her choose between us.” As he walks away, over his shoulder, he adds, “You aren’t gonna like the choice she makes.”