27
Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever. —Persuasion
I toss and turn. I can’t stop thinking about April. Wondering if she could really be marrying Johnny. Thinking about the emotion in the room during our rehearsal. Ruminating over all the things I should have said.
Eventually, I give up on sleep, climb out of bed, and grab my guitar. I do what I always do in times of great emotion: shape my feelings into a song. A small part of me still hopes April will call or text me tonight. She did say she wanted to talk. Coward that I am, I do not call her. Instead, I step onto the patio and stand on the concrete bench to see her second-story room. The window glows a soft yellow, even though it’s past 1 a.m. I repeat this pathetic routine every half hour or so. Her light shines steady until I come out a little after three a.m. and all is dark. Wrung out and tired, I go to sleep myself.
When I wake, I see everything in a new light. The gossip linking April to Johnny still stings, but I feel more hopeful. If she were really into Johnny, why would she chase me down in the parking lot? I’m ashamed that I left the rehearsal dinner early. I stormed out like an angry schoolboy. It was immature and dramatic and beneath me. I’m mortified by my behavior. It’s hard to explain—seeing April with Johnny. I was gutted all over again that she had walked out of my life. I left early before I did or said anything I would regret. But now, I regret what I left unsaid.
I immediately text Carlos.
freddy
Sorry I left last night.
I wasn’t feeling my best
carlos
No worries
Hope you feel better
freddy
So much better, thank you
freddy
How are you today? Big day!
carlos
Hyped!!!
freddy
How can I help?
carlos
Wear a tux
Sing a hit song
Keep my car safe
I know there’s more to be done. I text Gloria and offer my help. She has several last-minute errands for me to run, which is exactly the distraction I need and keeps me busy. I try not to think of April and that, in a few short hours, we’ll be walking down the aisle together. I’m desperate to see her. But also, dreading it.
I feel a little queasy when I arrive at Johnny Love’s ranch. I wish for the umpteenth time that my house was finished, and I could have offered it as a venue. Though my yard, even with the beach, would not be big enough for September’s dream wedding. The gate is decorated with an artistic arrangement of autumn leaves and creamy white flowers as big as white doves.
I’m welcomed by Johnny Love, so basically, a talking mannequin in a luxury suit.
“Freddy!” He greets me at the door. “We were sorry to see you go. I heard it was stomach trouble.” True enough, I couldn’t stomach the sight of him. I plaster on the fakest smile.
“Thanks for your concern.”
“You feeling better?” he asks, his voice dripping with fake concern.
“I feel awesome.” This is a total lie; my stomach is twisted in knots. I’m more nervous than I was before my first stadium concert. I’m not worried about performing the wedding song. It’s the thought of seeing Rainy that unnerves me. Will she be happy to see me or annoyed, or worse, indifferent?
***
Most of the guests have arrived and found their seats in the rows of white chairs dotting the golden hillside, set against the glittering Pacific. Gloria straightens Carlos’s bow tie. He gives me a wink. His mom turns around and greets me. “Freddy! Don’t you look debonair.” We stand in dappled shade under a cluster of sprawling oaks. In this elevated location, we are hidden from the guests but can still see the rows of family and friends taking their seats. In the distance, a black grand piano appears to float in a sea of tall yellow grass. On the other side of the congregation, a string quartet plays sappy, popular love songs. Currently, they are playing: “A Thousand Years.” I’m not generally a fan, but my mood, the strings, and the setting make the song surprisingly moving.
The flower girls gather around the owl man, a tall, balding man in a three-piece tweed suit with a barn owl perched on his leather gauntlet. The creature stares at the crowd of us with unblinking judgment.
Daisy politely asks if I’m feeling better.
“Yes, thank you. I was sorry to miss the rest of the dinner.”
“You should have stayed,” says Rosie. “You were missed, especially by a certain maid of honor.”
“Please,” I say, a little terse. “Not now.”
“I’m trying to cheer you up.”
“I know.” I try to smile. Her words do warm my heart a little. But right now, I’m a bundle of nerves, and I’m trying my best to maintain a level of chill. Carlos, in contrast, appears totally relaxed, and he is about to be married.
“Ready, Mom?” He offers his arm to Gloria. Who pauses a minute to gaze fondly at her only son. She hugs him tight and long. They walk down the short path to the end of the aisle. When they come into view, soft, ethereal notes of a classical piece drift up from the grand piano, then a cello joins in. Carlos and his mom are followed by flower girls who scatter fall leaves.
Dean Elliot pulls up in a golf cart with September sitting beside him. April rides in the back. Rosie and Daisy hurry over, eager to tell the bride she is beautiful. As for me, all I see is Rainy. Radiant in a copper-colored dress, she gives Rosie and Daisy their bouquets. She hugs her sister, then hands her an enormous bouquet of creamy flowers and fall leaves.
When she turns to me my heart stutters.
“Freddy!” She steps toward me with her hand reaching up. “You’ve got something in your hair.”
I lower my head, and she plucks out a white owl feather. The slight touch sends happy chills through my whole body.
“Better?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she searches my face, her sea-green eyes swirling with questions.
“Hurry,” September practically hisses. Rosie and Daisy are already going down the aisle.
I hold out my arm to April. She takes it without a word. We walk slowly and deliberately, just as we practiced during the rehearsal. But now the sky is a soft pearl, the crowd hushed, and every eye on us. Through my jacket, I can feel the heat of her hand resting on my forearm. April’s breathing is unsteady. So is mine. The whole thing is awkward, terrible, and thrilling. There’s so much I want to say. Need to say. I don’t know where to start. “You... um look good.” I speak without looking at her.
“Thanks,” she says, and I’m certain I’ve botched things again. We separate when we reach the front, marked by a simple golden arch framing the glittering sea in the distance. Standing by the priest, an excited Carlos bounces on his heels.
As the last ethereal notes float across the golden hillside, the audience holds its breath in expectation. A cellist begins Bach’s famous suite. All at once, the crowd rises to their feet and turns as a whole to see September and Dean Elliot walk down the aisle. If I just squint my eyes, I can imagine he is walking with April, and I am the groom waiting. The thought electrifies me. I look over at April and our eyes snag. She blushes, and for an instant, I wonder if her thoughts are running in the same direction. As September approaches, Carlos ignores everything we practiced in the interminable rehearsal. He steps out of his place and hurries to meet her. His eagerness makes September laugh. Dean gives her a parting kiss on the cheek, then takes his seat of honor next to Gloria.
Clasping hands, Carlos and September stand in front of the priest (one of Carlos’s many uncles), smiling like they might explode with happiness. Dean Elliot cries through the whole thing while Gloria hands him multiple handkerchiefs. When the priest asks for the rings, the owl circles the crowd, causing murmurs of excitement. The great bird swoops down and lands on his perch beside the priest, holding in his beak a gold ribbon tied to a white box. When the priest pronounces them man and wife, the cello starts again, and Carlos kisses September with a dramatic dip. (Also, not practiced during the rehearsal but a definite crowd pleaser.) As the audience cheers, thousands of monarch butterflies are released into a soft pink sky.
***
“This turned into the attack of the butterflies,” Flossman says to me as we mingle with guests immediately after the ceremony. All around us, monarchs flit from chairs to flower arrangements, to hats, to handbags.
Dean Elliot strides up to me and slaps a hand on my shoulder. “Freddy West, Sexiest Man Alive!” He says this as if it’s my full title. Perhaps he thinks it should be.
I reply in kind, “Dean Elliot, Sexiest Man Alive.”
“I like that.” He shakes my hand and then turns to Flossman. “Everyone’s making a fuss about Freddy saving Rosie. Did you know, this guy also saved my daughter?”
I am stunned.
“You saved September?” asks Daisy, which is a reasonable question since, as far as she knows, I’ve only known Rainy since June.
“No, it was April,” clarifies Dean, who is thoroughly enjoying the drama of his story.
“This explains so much.” Rosie joins us, Benwick trailing close behind.
“A few years back, that daughter of mine evaded her security and got into some trouble with a high tide. And this stud swooped in like some superhero.”
What is happening here? Dean Elliot is saying nice stuff about me? Everyone looks at me expectantly. I have no idea how to respond. I give a sort of half shrug.
“It was no big deal.”
“No big deal?” Dean looks around the growing group listening to his story. “No big deal!!! You saved the life of my oldest daughter.”
“April’s a decent swimmer. She would have managed. All I did was make a stressful situation a little less scary.”
He slings an arm around me. “I don’t see it as nothing.” I feel a bit of whiplash. I am happy to have Dean treat me like this. But I don’t know where this is coming from.
“So, when was this?” asks Flossman.
“Six years ago,” I say.
“So, before you were famous?” asks Rosie. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head. “Wait a minute? Did you two date?”
I search the crowd for April. She’s helping Carlos and September with their photos. The NDA I signed expired. I’m legally free to tell people I dated her. But I’m in the habit of keeping that part of my life to myself.
“Did they date?” Dean scoffs. “A pretty pop star is rescued by ‘The World’s Sexiest Man’? What do you guys think?” He winks at me.
“Why didn’t she tell us?” asks Daisy.
“April had the right to a private life,” I say, hoping to change the topic. Call me old-fashioned, but I want to talk to April and tell her how I feel before everyone at this wedding knows more than she does.
“April’s the girl who broke your heart!” says Rosie, jumping up and down.
“She’s your muse,” squeals Daisy.
“Are you going to try to win her back?” asks Dean.
In for a penny, in for a pound. I look across the hillside to where April arranges September’s veil. Feeling my gaze, she glances over and gives me a slight wave. I wave back. Mr. Elliot waits for my answer.
“Yes, sir, that is exactly what I plan to do.”
Dean slaps me on the back. “You just might be worthy of her after all.”
“But isn’t she dating Johnny Love?” asks Daisy.
“Not anymore,” says Dean. “Not as of Wednesday.”
“Is that so?” I ask, my heart suddenly lifting.
He nods, then smiles and winks. I am beginning to reconsider my opinion of Dean Elliot.