Always the Baker, Finally the Bride (36 page)

Will you write them TO one another, or will you choose
an appropriate poem, Scripture verse, or passage from your
favorite book?

Did I wake you?”

Emma thought Sherilyn must be joking. “I’ve been up since four thirty.”

“Why?”

“Uh, it’s my wedding day?”

Sherilyn giggled. “I am aware. I just thought you might not feel well or something.”

“Oh, no. I feel fine.”

“Good.”

“What’s to be nervous about, anyway? It’s not like anyone will be there to witness the wedding, aside from you and Andy, and possibly Jackson’s sisters.”

“It’s not that dire, Em.”

“Let’s count the people who mean something to us who won’t be able to make it, shall we?” she suggested. “Aunt Soph . . .”

“She’s not doing any better?”

“Well, she’s staying at Mother and Daddy’s, and they have a nurse there to help. But she’s still confused most of the time, and Mother doesn’t think it’s such a good idea to expose her to so much unfamiliar stimulation, so . . .”

“I’m so sorry, Em. But I think that’s wise.”

“I guess . . . And then there’s Audrey.”

“Audrey still might be back in time.”

Emma groaned. “The wedding is in nine hours, Sher.”

“So that’s nine whole hours for her to get a flight.”

“Why is it snowing in Chicago?” Emma exclaimed. “Seven inches. Didn’t they get the memo that it’s spring? Did you shirk your wedding planner duties and forget to send them the memo?”

Sherilyn chuckled.

“And Russell is still in Brazil.”

“Yeah.” Emma heard the pout in Sherilyn’s voice as she acknowledged that fact.

“And Pearl e-mailed to say she woke up this morning with a tooth abscess, and she’s trying to reach her dentist . . .”

“Well, it’s better that she doesn’t come, then.”

“True.”

“It’s all going to come together, Em.”

“It’s only nine—”

“—hours away. I know, I know.”

“Well, it is.”

“Are you a little nervous?” Sherilyn asked her, and Emma dropped to the sofa and groaned as she gazed outside. The gloomy sky was painted dark gray, and the wind turned the leaves on the scarlet oak beyond the window.

“No. I’m just . . . I don’t know what.”

“I’ve been doing this a long time. And here’s what I know about your wedding: It’s going to be beautiful. Tomorrow at this time, you and Jackson will be married and blissfully happy, and none of these obstacles will even be remembered.”

“Do you think it’s going to rain?”

“I don’t know,” Sherilyn replied. “But Kat has got everyone on standby to move the ceremony to the Victoria Room if it does.”

“So you think it’s going to!”

“Em, stop it right now. It’s just part of my DNA to anticipate every possible scenario.”

“Including no guests?”

Emma knew Sherilyn well enough to understand her silence.

“I am heading to the hotel in about an hour,” Sherilyn finally said. “I’ll meet you in the bridal suite at two o’clock. Did you get my e-mail with the checklist?”

“Yes.”

“Did you print it out?”

“Yes.”

“See you at two.”

“Yes.”

Emma sighed as she disconnected the call. Something just didn’t feel right. She’d waited for this day for such a long time, but something just felt . . .

Off
.

The sour taste of dread stung the back of her throat. Had she really become one of those people who came to believe that, if they actually managed to get a firm grasp on the hem of their dream, the other shoe would surely drop out of the sky and
thunk!
them down with its big, disappointing heel?

No!
she insisted.
I will not be that person. I will not give in to this
.

Especially when the most assured truth Emma knew in life involved Jackson, and Jackson alone. If every person they’d invited tripped over a prior engagement, a sick child, or full-on food poisoning . . . If an unprecedented spring snowstorm hit the greater Atlanta area two hours before the wedding . . . If
Ben Colson suddenly contracted laryngitis and couldn’t sing the song for their first dance . . . If every one of those disasters and more besides occurred simultaneously . . . the only thing that mattered would still be Emma and Jackson, facing one another, exchanging rings, and making vows.

One sudden thought sliced through her stab at positivity, spurring Emma to quickly dial the phone.

“Miguel? It’s Emma.”

“Emma, how are you? All ready to take the big plunge?”

“More ready than ever,” she told him. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yes, I was just wondering how you’re doing. Feeling okay? No unforeseen scheduling conflicts or car troubles?”

Miguel’s laughter reassured her. “No, Emma, nothing of the kind.”

“Oh, good. That’s good. Okay. Because I was thinking that, no matter what else might happen, as long as you, me, and Jackson are there, we’re pretty much golden, right?”

“Yes, Emma. No worries. I’ll be there, and in just a few hours, you will be Jackson’s wife.”

“Right,” she said on a sigh. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you at the altar, Emma.”

“Okay, then.” She chuckled nervously, wondering if she sounded as crazy to him as she did to herself. “You promise?”

Emma had always known Sherilyn as a force of nature to her many brides, but experiencing this firsthand brought that knowledge alive for her. From the moment she entered the hotel through the glass doors in the front, she ceased to exist as the mere baker at The Tanglewood Inn. She had now morphed into one of Sherilyn Drummond’s treasured brides.

Along with that distinction came a bevy of perks she hadn’t anticipated:

1. Tomás, the handsome, uniformed bellman assigned to await her arrival;

2. Automatic check-in at the front desk where the clerk called her to the front of the line and handed her a key and a fragrant rose, the stem wrapped in a ribbon emblazoned with the word “Bride”;

3. Tomás’s personable escort to the bridal suite where the claw-footed table that greeted her brimmed with chocolates, sparkling cider chilled in a crystal ice bucket, a handwritten note on engraved stationery bearing the initials of her wedding planner, and an assortment of fruit, cheeses, and whole grain crackers; and

4. Fragrant arrangements of roses and hydrangea in low vases on every table.

The whole scene just smacked of Sherilyn’s attention to the most minute detail, and Emma found sudden and profound common ground with all of those women who had preceded her—the ones who gushed about how the whole wedding experience at The Tanglewood had rocketed far above their hopeful expectations, mainly because of the recognizable fingerprints of their wedding planner.

“Will there be anything else?”

“No, Tomás,” she told him as she poured cider into one of the crystal flutes on the table. “Thank you so much.”

In sync with the click of the door as it closed behind him, Emma grabbed her glass, a strawberry, a wax-enclosed wedge of cheese, and Sherilyn’s note, and she tossed herself deep into the corner of the overstuffed green chenille sofa.

Em, make yourself comfortable and relax.

Fee and I will be along in a bit with some bride-type surprises that will make the afternoon of your wedding a lovely treat with your two best girls.

xxoo Love you.

—Sherilyn

Halfway into the third wedge of cheese, a knock sounded at the door and Emma skipped toward it. Flinging it open, she expected to find Sherilyn on the other side; the face of her mother greeted her instead.

“Mother! I wasn’t expecting you this early. Are you one of my
bride-type
surprises?”

“Can I come in?” Avery asked her.

“Of course.” Emma closed the door behind her and asked, “Do you want some cheese? It’s really phenomenal.”

“No. Thank you.” Just about the time that Emma began to realize the look on her mother’s face did not exactly say, “Happy Wedding Day, Daughter!” Avery turned to her and sighed. “You’d better sit down, Emma.”

“Oh . . .” She sat in the closest chair, which happened to be one of the ladder-back dining chairs at the round dining table.

“Is it Aunt Soph?”

“No, it’s not. I don’t want you to worry because everything is going to be just fine,” her mother prefaced as she joined Emma at the table and took her hand.

“Mother, you’re kind of freaking me out here.”

“Sorry. It’s just that I don’t want you to overreact, Emma Rae.”

“Well, tell me what I’m not overreacting to, would you?”

“Around two this morning, I had to take your father to the emergency room—”

“What! Why didn’t you call me?” Emma popped to her feet and circled to the back of her mother’s chair. “What happened?”

“He had a . . . mild . . . 
episode
 . . .”

“Mother, please.”

Avery sighed and blurted, “It’s his heart.”

“His heart!” Emma sat down in a different dining chair, her hand clasped over her mouth. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Oh, honey, it’s your wedding day. And your father didn’t want you to—”

“That is so like him to make a harebrained decision like that.”

“—worry. Or worse yet, postpone the ceremony.”

“Well, of course we’re going to postpone it! Is he crazy? What hospital is he in? Is he at Fulton?”

“Emma Rae—”

“I’ll leave a note for Sherilyn,” she said, jumping to her feet again. “Or I can tell them at the front desk to—”

“Emma Rae!”

She fell instantly silent. Emma wasn’t sure she’d ever witnessed Avery resorting to . . . well . . . 
shrill
. If she had, it had most certainly been directed at Gavin, never at Emma herself.

“Sit down.”

She obediently sat in the chair across from her mother.

“Your father was very clear about this. He does not want you to rush over there, to postpone your wedding, or to do anything rash. He’s going to be fine. The doctors have said it was just a mild episode of angina. They’re going to monitor him closely and get him on some medication, and he’ll probably be out of the hospital in a day or so.”

Emma’s heart pounded so hard that she wondered for a moment whether the bed next to him might be available. She could use a little heart medication herself at the moment.

“I want to head over to the hospital and see Daddy.”

“Why don’t you call him instead?” Avery suggested. “I think as soon as you hear his voice, you’ll feel better.”

Emma rifled through her bag until she found her cell phone. Avery handed her a card with the phone number printed on the front and a room number written in blue ink.

“Daddy?”

“Emmy! I hoped you’d call. How’s my little girl on her wedding day?”

“I’d be a lot better if I knew you were well enough to be here.”

Gavin released a bumpy little sigh. “No one wants to be there more than I do, princess. In fact, I’ve been working on this stubborn doctor of mine most of the morning, but he just doesn’t want to give in.”

“No, don’t leave the hospital before you’re ready, Daddy . . . It’s just not going to feel right getting married without you.”

Her mother got up when a soft knock sounded at the door, and she shushed Sherilyn and Fee as she ushered them inside, then whispered to them about Gavin’s illness.