3. Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Melanie
My dress hangs high on the special hook in the bridal dressing room of the Whispering Pines Inn. The morning sunlight streams through the tall windows, making the crystals dance like dewdrops across the satin. This venue was our only choice - the inn perfectly embodies rustic chic style with its rich wood beams and luxurious fabrics, the crisp scent of pine drifting through the windows. The grand banquet room below can hold most of the town, its walkout patio offering breathtaking views over the ravine. When the owners offered it as a wedding gift to their general manager's bride, we jumped at the chance. Evelyn was severely disappointed we opted against a church wedding, but after forty or fifty conversations, she finally agreed and promised not to mention it again.
I love my dress. Everyone said I'd know instantly when I found the perfect one. They were right, it was the third one I tried on. The fitted white satin bodice hugs me perfectly, adorned with a lavender silk sash that matches the crystal flowers scattered across the floor-length skirt. Maybe it was the lavender that made me fall in love with it instantly, being my favorite color, but fall in love I did. And today, finally, I get to wear it.
The accessories make it even more special. My aunt sent my mom's diamond tennis bracelet with a note saying she knew Mom would want me to have it. My heart squeezes every time I look at it.
My dress is perfect. The venue is perfect. What's not perfect is having my mom and aunt missing this day. I miss them both desperately. Moms become so confused now, Alzheimer's is brutally cruel that way. Having your parents look at you with vacant eyes, no recognition, no memory, no idea who you are - it shatters something deep inside. At this stage, she only recognizes my aunt. Even though Cameron offered to fly down and bring them up, I couldn't put her through the confusion and exhaustion of travel. When my aunt's doctor advised against her traveling too, given her health issues, that settled it. At least they'll watch via FaceTime. I'm grateful for that much, but God, I hate this damned disease.
I sink onto the cushioned bench facing my dress, dabbing at my eyes with a tissue. The spring sunlight warms my face as I let the tears flow quietly.
Thank goodness they have each other. When Mom was diagnosed, my aunt refused to consider any other caregivers. “Sisters see each other through everything,” she'd declared. Even if Mom can't remember anyone but her now, my aunt makes sure she knows she's loved. They share every meal, watch TV together, nap in matching recliners. The routine comforts Mom. The purpose sustains my aunt.
My phone's cheerful ring startles me. Seeing Cameron's name, my heart lifts as I try to steady my voice.
“Isn't calling the bride against your mom's traditions?”
His warm chuckle wraps around me like a hug. “I'll risk it. She'd forgive me if she heard your voice. Oh babe, I know you're missing them. If your mom could be here, she would.”
“Thank you,” I whisper past the lump in my throat.
“At least they can watch,” he says gently. “I love you.”
Love floods through me, washing away the sadness. “I love you too, more than I can explain. But I promise to tell you every single day.”
“I'm holding you to that, Mrs. Whitaker. See you soon.”
“I'll be the one in white.”
“Not me, I'm wearing lavender,” he laughs and hangs up, leaving me smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.
When I finally get my emotions under control, my makeup artist gives me a stern but loving lecture about ruining her work. I sit dutifully with ice packs on my puffy eyes while the hairdresser works her magic. The peaceful morning erupts into joyful chaos as my bridesmaids burst in bearing croissants, donuts, mimosas and bless them, my favorite coffee from The Rustic Roast.
“What happened to you?” Connie and Debbie bring over my coffee and a mimosa.
“Nothing, I'm fine. I was just thinking about Mom.” Both ladies step in front of the hairdresser and wrap their arms around me.
“We knew it would hit you. That's why we wanted to be here if you needed us,” Debbie says softly. Connie kisses my cheek.
“Liars, you just wanted to look extra good for pictures,” I tease my two matrons of honor.
The room fills with warmth and laughter as we share stories and memories. This is exactly what I wanted for my wedding morning, being surrounded by love. The makeup artist fusses over, fixing my eyes while the rest of the ladies get their wedding preparations started.
A sharp knock causes everyone to pause. Ruthie opens the door to reveal Sophia from the front desk, standing in front of a man who seems to fill the entire frame behind her. His military-style buzz cut and black tactical clothing looks jarringly out of place in our feminine sanctuary. Two dagger tattoos run down his cheeks, meeting at a point on his chin. His dark eyes scan the room with predatory intensity, lingering a beat too long on each of us. The man is built like a brick wall, giving the immediate impression he'd rather talk with his fists than words. His taut muscles show clearly under his clothes. He appears even less than joyful when he speaks. His presence makes the cheerful atmosphere evaporate. Something about him makes the hair on my neck rise. In his hand, in stark contrast to everything about him, is a lavender-colored box.
“Melanie.” His gravelly voice matches his appearance.
Sophia jumps in front of him, clearly irritated. “I'm sorry. This courier insists he can only give the package to Melanie. He has a 'private message.' I wouldn't let him barge in alone. I AM the manager on duty.” She elbows him ineffectively.
“You Melanie?” He grunts at Ruthie.
She glances back at me. I nod and she steps aside. “The lady in the white robe is Melanie.”
His gaze locks onto me as he thumps forward, his enormous hands gripping the lavender box like it might try to escape. My name appears in elegant calligraphy along with the inn's logo. “FOR YOUR EYES ONLY” spans the tape, sealing it.
“Are you Melanie?” His tone makes it more demanding than questioning.
“Yes.”
“Verify that.”
I glance at Connie and Debbie, unease creeping up my spine.
“What do you think this is, a group wedding? She's the bride, dumbass. Of course she's Melanie.” Debbie plants her hands on her hips, stepping toward him.
“Just doing my job.” He thrusts the package at me but maintains his grip when I reach for it. Leaning close, his coffee-dark eyes bore into mine as his voice drops to a whisper so low it raises goosebumps on my arms. “What's inside is for your eyes only. To be opened in private.” A pause. “He was very specific about that.”
He straightens, releases the box, turns on his heel, and marches out.
“I'm sorry, Melanie,” Sophia meets my eyes, genuine regret in her expression. “I really am.” She hurries after him.
“What in the world?” Connie peers at the box. “What do you think it is?”
“The dumbass referenced a 'he' - does that mean it's from Cameron?” Debbie asks.
I shrug, giving it a gentle shake. “Well, it didn't blow up. I guess that's a good thing.”