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Tucker unlocks a door on the right-hand wall and ushers us into an even smaller, darker room than the groom suite we’ve been trapped in all morning. What the heck?
Logan takes a deep breath and, exchanging shoulder pats with Tucker, says, “Man, I’ll see you on the other side,” and moves into the church.
And now there’s only Tucker, Mr. Knowles, and me left.
“Tuck,” I protest. “What are we supposed to do here?”
“Wait until I go get the bridesmaids and bride,” he explains, and in a petulant tone, he adds, “You’d know if you’d bothered to show for any of the meetings.”
I don’t reply; every word he says after “bridesmaids” washes over me like water down a waterfall. Summer will be here soon. I’ll finally see her.
Tucker leaves, and the minutes tick by too slowly. To be stuck in such a tiny space with the father of the woman I’m crazy about is uncomfortable. Does he know? My guess is no. Summer’s dad is too calm and contented for someone sharing the room with a man who’s potentially broken his daughter’s heart. If some arrogant asshole hurt my little girl, I wouldn’t be so peaceful and restrained.
And just like that, I see her face. A small girl of six or seven years with a gap in her front teeth. She has Summer’s long blonde hair and my mother’s button nose. And I love her more than anything else in the world.
We’re playing baseball in the backyard because she’s a bit of a tomboy and refuses to take ballet classes like her mother would’ve wanted.
She laughs as she catches the ball in her leather glove and throws it back at me so quickly, I miss.
“You’re too slow, Daddy,” she teases and I chase her off halfway through the garden, while she squeals like a piglet, her ponytail bouncing with each step.
Then more screams break from the house because, with all our shouting, we’ve woken her baby brother. Summer opens the screen door and comes outside, bouncing the crying baby on her hip and scowling at us.
“Uh-oh,” I say, lifting my daughter onto my shoulder and running away. “We’ve made Mommy angry.”
With an evil smirk, Summer grabs the hose and sprinkles water down on us, making the child on her hip cackle with baby laughter.
The vision feels so real, it makes my heart beat faster, while my blood pressure drops, so much so that I have to lean against a wall for a second so I don’t pass out.
“Pal, are you okay?” Mr. Knowles asks. “You look paler than the groom.”
“I’m okay, Mr. Knowles, thank you,” I say, hoping I have infused enough you-want-me-as-your-other-son-in-law politeness into my tone.
After what seems like an eternity, we hear female voices outside.
The door opens. Bright sunlight streams in and momentarily blinds me, before a white cloud enters the room with Winter’s head sitting on top of it. The bride has to gather her skirts around her while someone helps her bring the train in from behind. Summer? I can’t see.
I crane my neck, but when the figure crouching behind the bride stands up, it’s Lana. No sign of Summer anywhere. Where is she?
“Archie, Lana,” Tucker says. “You’re up first.”
No,I think, desperate. I want to see Summer before I go. But she’s avoiding me. She must have waited outside. Nice try, but it won’t work. I’m already trying to find a way past the bride and her skirts and out of the room when Tucker grabs my arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I need a minute,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”
“No, dude.” Tucker pulls me aside and lines me up next to Lana. “I’ve already okayed the violinists. Once the music starts, you’re outta here.”
As if on cue, sweet notes fill the church hall on the other side of the wall.
Lana takes my arm and looks up at me. “Ready?”
“Where’s Summer?” I whisper instead of answering.
“She’s right behind us,” Lana whispers back. “Don’t worry, you’ll see her soon.”
Tucker prompts us, “Okay, guys, you should go.”
We exit the small chamber, take a short pause in the center of the aisle, and then make our coordinated entrance, ambling toward the altar.
