Every Bride Needs a Groom (13 page)

“Queenie . . .” I stood and helped her up but didn't release my hold on her arm. “There's something you're not saying. What is it?”

“I believe they need to adjust the thermostat in here,” she said. “It's so hot I could fry an egg on this table. Don't these Presbyterians know anything about how to cool a building?”

“No, it's perfectly comfortable. Now, let's talk about Reverend Bradford. Why did you say—”

“You two are talking about Paul Bradford?” Bessie May sidled up next to us and gave Queenie a funny look. “I thought you gave up talking about him fifty-some-odd years ago, Queenie.”

“W-what?” I looked at my grandmother, stunned. “Gave up on him?”

“You're a silly old fool, Bessie May.” Queenie's eyes narrowed to slits. “And if you know what's good for you, you'll . . . Stop. It. Right. There.”

“Just saying, it's not good to hold a grudge. Even against the Presbyterians.” Bessie May leaned toward me and cupped her hand next to my ear. “It's not really the denomination as a whole, you see. It's just one very ornery fella who broke her heart back in the day.”

A little gasp escaped as I turned to my grandmother. “Queenie?”

She put her hand up. “I forbid you to discuss this further. Let it go.”

Bessie May giggled and then moved toward the food table. “Aptly put, my friend! Let it go. Let it go.”

My grandmother released a groan. “Honestly! That woman is filled with enough hot air to fill the
Hindenburg
and is equally as dangerous. Maybe more so.”

“But Queenie—”

“No.” She glared at me. “This conversation has ended. You just forget you heard any of that, all right?”

I doubted I could ever forget it but offered a lame nod. I couldn't say which bothered me more—the fact that this
conversation centered on a man other than my grandfather, God rest his soul, or the fact that my grandmother seemed to hold a grudge against an entire denomination because of one man. The idea of my grandmother having her heart broken by any fella really set my nerves on edge, but . . . a reverend? No one messed with Queenie Fisher, even a man of the cloth.

I scurried over to the food table to chat with my father, who was filling his plate. “Pop, I have a question.”

“Sure, kiddo. What's up?”

I lowered my voice to a whisper. “What in the world happened between Queenie and Reverend Bradford?”

My father nearly dropped his plate. I had to reach out to help him steady his hand. “Who told you about Reverend Bradford?”

“Bessie May.”

My father shook his head. “That's one story best left untold, Katie.”

“But Pop—”

“Your grandfather was an amazing man. Best dad I could've asked for. I sincerely doubt Reverend Bradford”—my father spit out the words—“would've made my mama half as happy. So let's just let sleeping dogs lie, Katie.”

Okay, I had no idea what dogs had to do with this. And all that stuff about making my grandmother happy? Maybe I was reading too much into this. Still, I couldn't seem to let go of the fact that my grandmother had some sort of secret from her past. And a broken heart to boot.

I decided to bypass my dad and go straight to the one person who could—and probably would—give me the gritty details. I found Bessie May at the dessert table, reaching for a slice of my parents' anniversary cake.

“Okay, Bessie May,” I said. “Fess up. What happened between Queenie and Reverend Bradford?”

“E-excuse me?”

“I have to know the truth. It's not fair that I only have bits and pieces of the story.”

The fork in her hand began to tremble. “Well now, Katie Sue, we're talking about a tangled web here. And I'm not sure I'm the right one to be telling this tale.”

“You're exactly the right one. Please, Bessie May. I want to know.”

She set her plate down on the edge of the table. “Did you ever see
Coal
Miner's Daughter
, Katie?”

“Is this a trick question?”

“Alrighty then. Remember that scene where Doo cheated on Loretta?”

“Which time?”

“Good point.” Bessie May paused. “Well, anyway, after one of the many times, Loretta went back to the tour bus and wrote that song, ‘You Ain't Woman Enough to Take My Man.'”

“I remember it clearly.”

“Loretta was angry. Very, very angry.”

“Right.” I stopped to think through what I'd just heard. “Are you saying that Reverend Bradford
cheated
on Queenie?”

Bessie May reached to clasp her plate with her left hand, but her right hand went straight up in the air. “I didn't say that. If anyone asks . . . I. Did. Not. Say. That.” She lost her grip on the cake plate and down it went, straight to the floor.

I leaned over to pick it up, but Reverend Bradford came straight for me. Oh dear.

“I'll take care of that, Katie,” he said with a smile. “You just help Bessie May get another plate, okay?”

“O-okay.”

I went to work doing just that but leaned in to whisper to Bessie May, “When you say cheat . . .”

“I did not say cheat. You did.”

“Okay, but when you say cheat, do you mean, like . . .” This time I almost dropped the plate.

“Heavens, no. He's a reverend. A man of the cloth. But his heart was all twisted up with two different gals at once. One of them, Queenie, pretty much climbed on the proverbial tour bus and wrote ‘You Ain't Woman Enough to Take My Man' so the other gal would know to back off. But the other gal didn't back off.” Bessie May glanced at Reverend Bradford as he drew near with a rag in one hand and a mop in the other. “You get my drift?”

I wanted to say yes but still felt confused. Very, very confused.

“The, um, man in question . . . married the other gal—er, girl?” I whispered as I glanced down at the good reverend, who now worked cleaning up Bessie May's mess.

“Nope.” Bessie May grabbed me by the arm and pulled me over to a nearby table. “In the end, he didn't marry either of them.” She chuckled. “Ain't life strange? Just when you think you've got everything figured out.”

Right now I couldn't figure anything out. Mostly this conversation. One thing I did understand: Queenie's heart had been broken by Reverend Bradford years ago. And her broken heart had obviously never mended—thus her beef with the Presbyterians. Thank goodness Reverend Bradford wasn't Baptist. Queenie's bitterness might've changed our entire family's denominational leanings.

Still, it seemed really, really odd that my grandmother had all of these skeletons in her closet. She'd done a fine job of keeping her emotions to herself.

Or maybe she hadn't. I glanced across the room and watched
as she sat alone at her table, eyes fixed on Reverend Bradford as he worked. He glanced up and caught her gaze, then gave her a little wink.

Alrighty then. Maybe the skeletons in Queenie's closet had a little life left in them after all. And maybe, just maybe, I would get to watch them make their way out into the open.

I grew up in a small town where everyone wanted to be the same or look the same and was afraid to be different.

Kate Bosworth

I
spent the rest of the weekend in Fairfield, then headed back to Lori-Lou's on Sunday night. I arrived just in time to learn that she and Josh had put an offer on a house.

“Oh, Katie, it's perfect.” Lori-Lou clasped her hands together in obvious delight. “Very little money down because it's one of those . . .” She looked to Josh for help.

“Repo,” he said. “The bank repossessed the house from the owners when they got behind on the mortgage.”

“They're letting it go for a song. And the very best part?” She released a squeal. “The mortgage will actually be less than our rent here. And we'll have double the space. Isn't God good?”

“We haven't exactly been approved for the loan yet,” Josh was quick to add. “And we'll have to count every penny to come up with the down payment. But I think we can make it.” He gave her a kiss on the forehead and before long the two of them were smooching. Ugh.

I'd wanted to give Josh a piece of my mind for telling Queenie about my trip to Cosmopolitan Bridal, but he seemed so happy about the house possibilities that I decided I'd better wait. Besides, who could blame him for not standing up to Queenie? From what I'd been told, the only person who'd ever tried and succeeded was Aunt Alva, and none of us had seen her for years.

One particular conversation couldn't wait any longer. I had to let the people at the bridal shop know about my lack of wedding plans before the reporter arrived. Madge would be upset, but I had to risk that. I called Brady's direct line at the store but got his voicemail. Great. I'd have no choice but to wait until morning. Maybe I could catch him in time, before the reporter arrived.

Lori-Lou wasn't able to go with me Monday morning because she and Josh had an appointment with their Realtor, so I drove myself to Cosmopolitan. Pulling up in the '97 Cadillac was a wee bit embarrassing. Hopefully no one would see the old girl. She sputtered to a stop and I got out, straightened my twisted blouse, and then drew in a deep breath, ready to get this over with. I walked inside the store and found it strangely quiet.

Madge saw me right away and headed toward me. “Katie, I'm glad you're here. Dahlia has put together a pattern for your gown and wants to show it to you after your interview.”

“Well, actually, about the interview . . .” I shook my head. “Don't you see, Madge? I can't go through with it. This whole thing has reached a ridiculous point.”

“No it hasn't. You're overthinking it.”

“I'm not overthinking it. I'm being realistic. If I don't tell
Brady, it could come back to hurt him and the shop, and ultimately his mom. I don't want to be responsible for that.”

“I'm telling you, you're overthinking this. There's nothing in the contract about a wedding. And I'm begging you to let Nadia have her moment in the sun. Please don't ruin this for her.”

My heart softened toward Madge as I noticed the tears in her eyes. “Why is her career so important to you, Madge?”

Madge swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “She's like a sister to me, a sister that I never had. We're as opposite as two people can be—kind of like you and Lori-Lou. But I'll go to my grave looking out for her.”

“Don't you think—and this might just be a guess—that she can handle whatever fallout occurs if I tell her?”

“Probably. But I don't want anything to mess up her time in Paris. She's worked too hard for this. Let's just let it ride, shall we? You won the contest fair and square and you got the dress. It also won't change the fact that Nadia James is a woman of her word. She gave you what you won.”

“Talking about Mom?” Brady's voice rang out from behind us. “Are you having some concerns about the design of the dress, Katie?”

“About the design?” I turned to face him. “No. Not at all.”

“Good.” A boyish smile lit his handsome face. “Because Jordan Singer will be here in half an hour. I'm glad you came when you did. I wanted to go over some of the interview questions with you before he arrives. Do you mind?”

I would've responded, but his gorgeous eyes and broad smile held me captive and I forgot what we were talking about. One thing was clear—for a guy who didn't want to be in the wedding gown biz, Brady James was starting to look at home at Cosmopolitan Bridal. Peaceful, even.

Well, peaceful until the door to the shop opened and his agent walked in.

“Roll out the red carpet, folks.” The familiar bald-headed fellow took a deep bow at the waist. “It's Stan the Man, showing up for round sixty-three of his never-ending pep talk with his favorite player. Maybe this time I'll be able to pound some sense into that thick head of his.”

“Oh, joy.” Madge groaned. “Stan the Man. Just what I needed to make my morning complete.”

“Hey, I heard that, Madge.” Stan gave her a playful wink. “And I'll take it as a compliment, thank you very much. One of these days you're going to see that it's me and greet me with the respect I deserve.”

“Or not,” she said.

“Admit it, Madge-girl. You love this crusty old soul.”

“You've got the crusty part right,” Madge muttered under her breath. “And the old part too.”

“I heard that. And I'd be willing to bet we're the same age, so guard what you say. If I don't show up to annoy Brady, he'll settle into his life here at the bridal whatchamacallit and end up pushing petticoats for a living. We can't have that.”

“Stan, really? Petticoats?” Brady shook his head.

“Someone's gotta keep your career afloat, my boy. Anything I can do to convince you that you should get back to the business of playing ball.”

“Well, maybe we can talk later. Katie and I need to go over the Q&A for her interview.”

“Ah yes, the infamous Katie.” Stan sighed as he looked at me standing next to Brady. “The distraction.”

“Stop it, Stan.” Brady gave him a “cut it out” look and I did my best to ignore him. “She's practically a married woman.”

Oh boy. Now what?

“Well, that makes me feel a little better, as long as you're not the groom. Gotta keep you focused on my game, son.”

“Katie's our contest winner. She's getting married . . .” He looked at me. “When did you say the wedding is going to take place?”

Before I could say, “Never,” Stan groaned. “Marriage is an institution, I tell ya. And it's one I was happy to escape from.”

“You need to get married and settle down, you old coot.” Madge gave him the evil eye. “Finding a good wife would do you a world of good.”

“I found a wife once. Lost her a couple years later in the shoe department at Macy's. She never turned up again. Last thing I heard, she was draining some other sucker's pocketbook dry. Good riddance, I say.”

“Nothing like true love.” Brady chuckled. He glanced at his watch. “I hate to interrupt this inspiring conversation, but Katie and I really need to—”

“Don't ever get married, son.” Stan nudged him with his elbow. “You'll be in a lot better shape if you stay single and free, like me.”

Brady's smile shifted to a more thoughtful look, and he seemed to forget all about the upcoming interview. “No, I want a wife and family someday. I've been praying for the right person to come along.” He shrugged. “Just haven't found her yet. But she's out there.”

“Well, stop looking,” Stan said. “You're still young. Live your life. There's plenty of time to be tied down later.”

Interesting. Stan's little speech reminded me of what Jasper had said that night at Sam's.

“Tied down?” Fine wrinkles appeared on Brady's forehead. “Huh?”

“Yeah, you know.” Stan rolled his eyes. “The old ball and chain.” He nudged Brady again and gave him a knowing look.

“Puh-leeze. How would you know?” Madge balled up her fists and planted them on her hips. “Doesn't sound like you were tied to your wife long enough to know anything about it.”

“I've been a confirmed bachelor ever since she took off. Er, ever since I ditched her at Macy's. Nothing wrong with the free and easy life.”

“Nothing except for years of heartache, loneliness, and pain.” Madge grimaced. “But who am I to say?”

“Point is, I can do what I want when I want, and no one is any the wiser.” Stan scowled at Madge.

She pursed her lips and crossed her arms. “Whatever you say, oh wise one.”

“That's more like it. Now, don't you worry about me, and don't you dare put any ideas into this boy's head. I'm married to the game, and Brady here is too.” Stan slapped Brady on the back, but I could tell that move didn't go over very well.

“Basketball makes for a lonely bedfellow in the long term.” Madge wagged her finger in Stan's face. “You can't cuddle with a basketball, you know.”

“I beg to differ.” Stan chuckled. “I've done it many a time. Besides, a basketball doesn't argue with you or spend your money on expensive shoes. And doesn't keep you up nights talking about nonsensical things like hot flashes.”

“My mama has hot flashes,” I chimed in. “She takes special vitamins for them. They help a lot.”

Stan looked at me. “Great news, kid. If I ever find my ex, I'll tell her.”

Okay then. No more getting involved in this conversation.

“I'm not sure I'd agree that basketball is the be-all, end-all,” Brady said. “It's just a game.”

At that statement, you could've heard a pin drop. Stan turned almost in slow motion to face his favorite player. His eyes narrowed as the punctuated words, “What are you saying, Brady?” came out.

“Saying it's just a game. Like any other game. It plays itself out. As my mama would say, it's non-eternal.”

“Are you saying there's no basketball in heaven?” Stan stood as stoic as a Greek statue. “'Cause if you are, I might just have to reconsider where I'm going when the final quarter is over.”

“Good grief.” Madge slapped herself on the forehead. “Of course there's no basketball in heaven. And no women in high-heeled shoes from Macy's.”

“But there is a Clinique counter, right?” Dahlia popped out from behind the rack of gowns where she'd been working. “'Cause I can't imagine going for all eternity without my makeup.”

“Not sure how we got from basketball to makeup,” Stan said. “But that's the problem with women.”

“What's the problem with women?” Madge glared at him.

“First they're spending your money on heels, next they're headed to the makeup counter. It's a never-ending financial dilemma.”

“Enough, folks. Enough.” Brady shook his head. “But going back to the earlier conversation, I do plan to get married someday. Looking forward to it. Now, if you don't mind, Katie and I really need to—”

“He just hasn't found the right girl yet,” Madge interjected. “Some people get so distracted that they don't see what's right in front of them.” Her words were directed at Brady, but I had the weirdest feeling she was also trying to get some sort of subliminal message through to Stan. Odd.

He didn't seem to notice. The old coot mumbled something
about basketball, and minutes later he and Brady were embroiled in a dispute over a recent game. Go figure.

“Men.” Madge shook her head. “You can't live with 'em and you can't live without 'em.”

Stan paused from his conversation with Brady to look at Madge. “Strange. That's what I've always said about women.”

“And there you go.” Dahlia went back to work straightening the row of white gowns. “The battle between the sexes rages on, and no one comes out a winner.”

“Some folks must,” I said. “I mean, this is a bridal shop. You see plenty of brides come through here. People must be getting married and settling down. So surely there are still some people interested in marriage, right?”

Everyone in the room turned to stare at me, their silence deafening.

Oh boy. Why did I have to go and say that?

“Well, duh, Katie.” Dahlia gave me a perplexed look. “You're one of them.”

“Sure, sure.” Stan patted me on the arm in fatherly fashion. “You're about to enter a life of marital bliss. We all have a lot to learn from you. Right?”

Yeah. Like how to ditch a would-be fiancé in a hurry. I could certainly teach lessons on that.

“Katie's a great teacher,” Madge said. “I've learned so much from her already.” She gave me a penetrating look, one meant to shut me up.

“I'm sure you're going to be one of the lucky ones, Katie.” Dahlia sighed. “You're going to marry . . . what's his name again? . . . and live happily ever after.”

“Casey,” Brady said. “Her fiancé is named Casey Lawson. It's in the essay.”

Dahlia's eyes took on a dreamy look. “Well, you and Casey
are going to have a blissful life in Fairfield and raise 2.5 children and live in a house with a white picket fence.”

“I'd pay money to see the 2.5 children.” Stan elbowed Madge.

Madge, God bless her, managed to turn the conversation around, and before long we were talking about basketball once again. She gave me a “whew!” look, but I could read the warning in her eyes. No point in upsetting the apple cart, as Mama would say. I didn't want to spoil things for Nadia, after all. And with the reporter from
Texas Bride
coming soon, I'd better mind my p's and q's. Looked like I couldn't get out of the interview, no matter how hard I tried. Not with all of these people surrounding me, anyway.

A couple of minutes later, Twiggy and Crystal entered the shop from the workroom. Crystal glanced up as an elderly woman came barreling through the front door, fussing and fuming about the weather.