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Annalise gasps. “Marco!”
I have never felt more the outsider than I do in this moment with this pair of pristine do-gooders, plus Annalise, whom I can’t figure out for all the world. While I’d like to take my words back, I can’t. Because I’mright.
Maddie, sweet lady, laughs softly. “Don’t worry. This ring probably won’t see the light of day while we’re there, but this is what God’s called us to. He’ll take care of us.”
I can’t help myself. I’ve seen too much. Lived it. “Well, you better pray He does because you’re sure as he…ck…going to need it.”
Unfortunately, I don’t believe the hush that falls across the group comes because they’ve taken my warning to heart. I’ve crossed the boundary between blunt and outright boorish. I don’t know these people. I do know I should be sorry, but I’m not.
Coming around first, Maddie’s soft smile seems surprisingly—no, shockingly—genuine. “The safest place for us to be is in the center of God’s will. But it’s sweet of you to be concerned, Marco.”
I am agape. The logic, so-called, is unfathomable. And sweet? I mean, it’s nice of her to give me the benefit of the doubt and all, but how can actual grown adults be this naïve?
There’s more I might say, but it isn’t my place. I can’t read Annalise, although I expect to get an earful once we’re back in my truck. I have been a horrible guest.
The pleasantries resume until the main course arrives. Clearly, I’m dining with a group in possession of far more self-discipline than I.
When the waitress places a teeming plate in front of me, I have to concede the food looks good. It would look better if I knew a chicken breast lurked beneath the healthy serving of cream sauce, but, since the appetizer was tasty and I didn’t die, I’m game. My knife slices easily through the filet, and I pierce the first bite with my fork. A throat clears.
I look up. The lovebirds have joined hands, and they’re not the only ones. Annalise’s left hand is holding Maddie’s and her right is bumping against mine. Worse, The Groom has his stretched out to me. Uh…that’s ano. What themmmis this anyway?
But I’m not a complete heathen, so I do figure it out in fairly short order. I have no problem taking hold of Annalise’s hand, but I grit my teeth when I take The Groom’s. Not my thing, man, not my thing. I dutifully bow my head, but peek while the guy with rocks for brains thanks God for our food. I almost pipe up and ask Him to give this man some good sense.
I mumbleamenwith the rest of them, but in my head I’m thinking what a great happy hour story this will be for the guys when I get back to Dallas.
IfI get back to Dallas.
No, there’s no question I’ll get back. The question is whether I’ll be a free man when I get there. There may be no night-out with the boys in my future for a very long time.
My troubles loom. Good thing I’m a live-in-the-moment kind of guy.
The first bite I take is…heavenly, an appropriate descriptor given tonight’s company. The fish itself is nondescript, but the cream sauce with chunks of shrimp, crabmeat, and crawfish is beyond words. Tuning out the conversations around me and shoveling food in at a barely respectable pace, I’m halfway through before I notice Annalise nibbling away at her burger. It hits me then: I’m eating her meal. The cheeseburger was a backup plan so I wouldn’t go hungry if I hated the rest.
I set my fork down with a clank and elbow her. “Trade you.”
“You don’t like it?” There’s a twinkle in her eye that brings relief. Despite my behavior, I don’t think she hates me.
“It’s awesome, but I know that burger’s not what you had in mind tonight.”
She stares at me, confusing me. “It’s fine, Marco. Go ahead. Eat.”
We argue for a minute, until I cut off the untouched end of my fish and slide it onto her plate against her protests.
She stares a moment longer—and then puts my fears of an eating disorder to rest.
CHAPTER 9
Marco
The time of reckoning has arrived.
As I stare at the retreating taillights of the newlyweds’ vehicle, I brace for Annalise’s censure. I was rude to her friends, and by extension, her. I might be open to apologizing, but truthfully, I’m in more of a sorry-not-sorry frame of mind. Head-in-the-sand people make me angry. I hold The Groom responsible. It’s his job to protect his wife from trouble, not haul her into it.
Other than that, they were great folks.
Once we’re both in the truck, I pause with the key in the ignition. “I’m sorry if I was rude tonight.”
A moment of silence. “If?”
