32. Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Two
Dallas
Even before I crack open the small, black velvet box that skidded to the floor during our heated moment that, really is, ahem , on me, I instinctively know what’s inside.
“Lila’s grandmother’s earrings!” I give Beck one more quick kiss and gaze at them again. “They really are something else.”
Tiny pearls knotted together to form a dangling teardrop shape. They’re going to look exquisite on Lila.
“Why are they here?” Beck asks.
“I don’t know, but I’ve got to get them to the mayor as soon as possible, and then I’ve got to go help Mary.”
“Here.” Beck holds out his hand. “I’ll take these to her. You go to Mary.”
I hand him the box. “Thanks. And don’t let Lila see them. They’re supposed to be a surprise.”
“I’ll be careful,” he says, slipping the box in his jacket pocket and making a shushing noise as he places his finger at his lips.
I swallow thickly. I have to tell him. “Also, Martha isn’t happy about the teens being at Willow Wood last night. Or that Valentina Rice was injured there. Beck, Valentina’s father is on the YMCA board.”
He blows out a long breath and shakes his head. “That’s not good.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It’ll work out somehow.” But the fizziness in my gut is only churning more and more. Not only is Beck’s YMCA wing in jeopardy, but will Mayor Dobbs give Shoshana a sour report because we allowed the Prom dinner to take place here?
“It will work out. And right now, you can’t think about all that.” His gaze holds agony, but his voice is firm. Strong. And it calms me.
I thank him then rush out of the bathroom, the scent of the caterer’s food hitting my nose, right as something else almost hits my nose. Or rather, someone else.
“Mayor Dobbs!” I shriek and stop so abruptly that Beck smacks right into me from behind.
The mayor glances at the bathroom door, then at Beck, and finally back at me. “Hello, you two.” Her gaze keeps going between us, like she’s trying to suss us out. “I just need the restroom.”
I give an exaggerated laugh. She must think I’m insane. “Well, here you are. We warmed it up for you,” I say, making a movement with my hands like Ta Da! Why, Dallas? Why? “Uh, Beck has something for you,” I say, feeling my cheeks warm.
The mayor is frowning, staring at us. When Beck brings the earring box forward, she gasps. “Oh! Where was it?”
Finally, Beck speaks. “On the bathroom sink.”
The corners of her mouth curve up in a smile. “I’m relieved. Thank you.” Without another word, she knits her brows together and moves past us toward the bathroom.
I don’t have time to analyze how awkward that was. I need to find Mary. I take a second to toss a fleeting look at Beck, but his eyes widen. “Hold up,” he says, scowling as if he’s concentrating hard. “Your lipstick’s smeared.” He brings his thumb to my cheek next to my mouth and rubs my skin in circles.
I suck in a breath. Martha Dobbs caught us coming out of the bathroom—together—with my lipstick smeared?
Embarrassment floods me from head to toe.
Here, Beck, hold my headset while I go lose my mind.
But I can’t go lose my mind. I have to grit my teeth and continue on. It’s what I do. Even while my sense of foreboding gets worse and worse.
I’m only three steps away from the back doors to the patio when I hear a blood-curdling scream coming from the beach.
This is going to be a long night.
*****
The theme song to Ghostbusters hits my brain and it’s all I can think about as I survey the wreckage in front of me.
Who you gonna call?
But instead of a resounding “Ghostbusters!” It’s “I haven’t the slightest idea!” Incident management? Animal control? The National Guard?
The bride is sitting in the sand, her hands shaking, her veil halfway in front of her face. The groom is kneeling on one knee in front of her. If they weren’t already married—as of a few minutes ago—I’d think he was proposing to her but with a tragically bad grimace on his face. An hors d'oeuvres table is on its side, and the arch--the beautiful arch I made—is tipped over. A humpbacked, wooly creature is chewing through one of my perfectly shimmery tulle panels.
“Prince Harry!” I hear my own voice ring out amongst the crowd as I spring forward.
The photographer’s got her camera turned around and is looking at the photos. “I can’t believe it!” she laughs hysterically. “I caught it on film. Look at this.” Several people gather around, but she steps next to me to show me.
Because, you know. I’m the wedding planner. I should be kept abreast of all incidences involving all animals belonging to the camel family.
The screen shows a grinning Ryan and Lila under the arch, posing for photos with her siblings and parents. The photographer repeatedly pushes a button and the photos, in live mode, share a sort of stop motion horror film of Prince Harry the llama prancing into the shot, his large patchwork brown and white posterior swaying to-and-fro, knocking over the snacks table. In the footage, Lila screams as Prince Harry takes a big sniff of her head. In Ryan’s attempt to protect his new bride, he steps in between her and the llama, which upsets the arch above them. Even Lila’s dad’s burly arms can’t stop the thing from collapsing to one side, a slow-motion zigzag to the earth of ribbons, tulle, flowers, and wicker. Which, in turn, causes Lila to topple over, too.
A surge of shame hits me.
This isn’t my fault. But as the wedding planner, I’m the commander in chief of this beach right now. And the beach went rogue, which means I’m responsible for that.
We look up from the camera. The llama, completely unaffected by the gathering crowd, bats his thick, black, falsie lashes and continues on, dragging the tulle along with him as he chews my fabric like it’s his cud.
I blink. I blink again. The crowd has grown quiet and everyone’s staring at either the llama, the bride and groom, or at me, waiting for me to do something.
I snap out of my stupor and rush over to Lila and Ryan, reaching out my hand to help her up.
“Are you okay, poochie coo?” Ryan asks her, grimacing.
Lila stands with the help of both Ryan and me and lets out a sob. She wipes her face, but then the next sob sounds a whole lot like a laugh.
She bends at the waist, placing her hands on her knees as she begins to laugh. Soon, she and Ryan are having a big ol’ laugh fest. The first feeling I’m fighting is frustration. Shouldn’t we be focused on gathering any last shreds of dignity we may have? I reach up to smooth out her previously perfect hair.
“Mary,” I say into the headset, my voice a little shaky. “We’re going to need that big surf rake in the garage, please?”
Lila surveys the wreckage, the food in scattered bits and pieces along the sand. Already, there are gulls landing to peck at the remnants. “I think we’re going to need more than a surf rake, Dallas,” she says before laughing again.
The father of the groom watches the video footage that a guest happened to capture on their phone. “With Ryan and Lila’s permission, let’s sell that to a media outlet. We’ll make a ton of money!”
I feel a presence at my shoulder and turn to see Beck with sand rakes and garbage bags in tow.
“Hey,” he says, grasping my upper arm. My steadying force. “Let’s get this taken care of together, okay?”
My bottom lip trembles. “This is officially worse than switching those two cakes,” I say. “Do you mind if I go curl in a ball in that big tub in the honeymoon suite?” I’m half joking. Maybe one-fourth joking.
Beck cradles my face with his free hand. “There’s no time to think of you in that tub, as much as I’d love to fantasize about that right now, Dallas. And yeah, this might be worse than the switched cakes, but do you see anyone else upset right now?”
His gaze takes in the beach, the people around us getting garbage bags and cleaning up. Some guy has a big bucket of ocean water that he’s splashing on the ruined, scattered bits of desserts. Prince Harry is calmly taking in the scene, safely flanked on either side by wedding guests that must know him. Blessedly, someone has taken the mangled fabric he stole and is keeping it out of his reach.
Ryan’s family, still laughing, joins Lila’s family and they all help in one way or another.
At first, I’m dumbfounded. No one’s yelling. No one seems even remotely concerned about the large mammal still on the grounds. In fact, now someone’s approaching him with a celery stick and another is petting his neck.
What is going on?
“Someone call King,” a wedding guest says, gesturing to the llama. “It’s his llama. Prince Harry’s a big pain in the—”
“But he’s also a big softie and we love ‘em,” the woman’s husband interjects loudly.
“We’ll forgive King,” the father of the bride says, looking only a little worse for wear. “It’s fine.”
“It’s going to be alright,” Beck says, his brown eyes my anchor, crouching down to pick up napkins splayed on the sand.
I am so glad he’s here.
I open my mouth, ready to say, “I guess I’m fine if Lila and Ryan are fine,” but it dies on my tongue because…it defies all reason. I’m certainly not fine . And at the risk of thinking I’m more important than I actually am, the whole “If mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy” tenet is pulsing inside my head.
Except, Beck is here, and together, we’re going to clean up this mess and grow stronger in the process.
Still, there’s an ache in my belly. Despite the laughter of the guests, which is actually really great. Despite this Prince Harry town-mascot fellow who I can admit is kind of cute, I can’t help but feel…weighted. Doomed. Like my fate has been sealed.
There is no way Shoshana isn’t going to hear about this. And no way I’m getting my job back.