Sunny nodded, let out a long sigh, then pushed to her feet. He rose as she did, as she reached out, folded him into her. “My baby,” she murmured, then closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she looked directly at Abigail, held out a hand.
Unsure, Abigail got to her feet. “Mrs.—”
Sunny just shook her head, gripped Abigail’s hand, pulled her into the fold. “I’m going to cry, just half a minute,” Sunny told them. “I’m entitled. Then I’m going in and getting that bottle of champagne we had left over from New Year’s Eve so we can toast this proper.”
She held tight, tight, then slowly eased back to kiss Brooks on both cheeks. To Abigail’s surprise, Sunny took her face in her hands, laid her lips on each of Abigail’s cheeks in turn.
“I’m glad of this. I’m going to get that champagne.”
“She needs a minute.” Loren stood, walked to his son. “She’s happy, but she needs a minute.”
He embraced his son, then turned to embrace Abigail. “Welcome to the family.” He laughed, then squeezed, lifting her to her toes.
Everyone talked at once again, and Abigail found herself whirled between hugs, stumbling over the answers to questions about when, where, what about her dress.
She heard the pop of the champagne cork over the questions, the laughter, the congratulations. She let herself lean against Brooks, looked up, met his eyes.
Family, she thought.
She could have family, and understood, now that she could touch it, that she’d do anything, everything, to keep it.
28
Wedding plans. Abigail saw them as a small, shiny snowball rolled down a mountain. It grew, and grew, and grew, gathering weight, speed, mass, until it produced an immense, messy, thunderous avalanche.
In the sunstruck afternoon in the Gleasons’ backyard, that avalanche roared over her.
“So, are you thinking next spring?” Mya asked her.
“Spring? I …”
“No.” Under the picnic table, Brooks patted Abigail’s thigh. “I’m not waiting that long.”
“Spoken like a man who doesn’t have the first clue what goes into doing a wedding. We had ten months for Sybill and Jake’s—and worked like dogs to get it all done in time.”
“But it was beautiful,” Sybill reminded her.
“I assumed we’d just go to the courthouse,” Abigail began, and was rewarded with stereo gasps from the women.
“Bite your tongue.” Mya pointed at her.
Sybill gave her sister an elbow in the ribs. “You want something simple.”
“Yes. Very simple.” She looked at Brooks.
“Simple, sure. I’m betting there’s a lot of simple between a run to the courthouse and the diamond jubilee forming in Mya’s mind. I’m thinking in the fall—time enough for a little fuss, not enough time to rent a circus tent.”
“That’s less than six months! Less than six months to find the perfect dress, book the right venue, interview caterers, photographers—”
“Photographers?” Abigail interrupted.
“Of course. You can’t have your uncle Andy taking your wedding photos.”
“I don’t have an uncle Andy.” And she’d always avoided photographs. Ilya had recognized her in New York, in a matter of seconds, on the street. If a photo of her somehow got online or in a newspaper it could—likely would— lead to discovery and disaster.
“Which leads back to the guest list. I can help with our side. I have the list from mine, and from Syb’s. How many do you estimate from your side?”
“There’s no one.”
“Oh, but—” Mya didn’t need an elbow jab or the warning look from Brooks to cut herself off. She rolled on as if “no one” was perfectly normal. “That sure keeps it simple. What we need is a planning session, a ladies’ lunch— because you don’t have anything to do about it,” she told Brooks with a wide grin. “Weddings flow from the bride.”
“Fine with me.”
“I know this wonderful bridal boutique down in Little Rock,” Mya continued.
“White Wedding,” Seline put it. “It
“What we need to do is take a day, all us girls, go down there, check it out, have lunch, brainstorm. I’ll have to check my calendar.” Mya dug out her phone, began to swipe screens. “Maybe we can set it up for next week.”
“Next week,” Abigail managed.
“You always were a bossypants.” Sunny sat back, sipping a margarita. “That’s one of the things we love about her, Abigail, but it takes some getting used to. Why don’t you give her a few days, Mya, to get settled in to being engaged?”
“I am bossy.” Mya laughed and tossed back her hair when her husband snorted into his beer. “And when we’re sisters? I’ll be even worse.”
“She means it,” Sybill said.
Abigail heard the quiet hum of the vibrating phone in Brooks’s pocket. When she looked down, he eased it out, checked the display. “Sorry, need to take this.” His eyes met hers briefly as he stood up, walked some distance off.
It seemed surreal. Mya continued to talk about wedding boutiques, flowers, and plated meals or buffets, and all the while Brooks talked to Anson about decisions that would put her life on the line.
Like the snowball again, she thought, rolling, rolling, growing, picking up weight and mass until it took the mountain with it.
No stopping it now, she reminded herself. She was committed to pushing through.
“Are you all right?” Sybill asked her.
“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. It’s just a little overwhelming.”
“And it’s just getting started.”
“It is.” Abigail glanced over at Brooks. “It’s started.”
Brooks walked back, laid a hand on her shoulder. “Sorry, I have to take care of this.”
“Go be a cop, then,” Mya advised. “We can drop Abigail home on our way.”
“Oh.” For an instant, Abigail’s mind went blank. “Thank you, but I really need to get home to some work I left pending.”
“Then I’ll call you tomorrow, or e-mail you. E-mail might be better, I can send you some links. Just give me your—”
“Mya.” Sunny arched her eyebrows. “What happened to those few days to settle?”
“All right, all right. I can’t help it if I was born to plan and organize parties. You e-mail me when you’re settled.” Grabbing a paper napkin, Mya wrote down her e-mail address.
Abigail had a feeling it would take more than a few days. “I will. Thank you so much for the afternoon.”
“Abigail.” Sunny crossed to her, hugged her hard, and whispered, “Don’t worry. I’ll run interference with Mya for a week or two.”
It took some time. Apparently, people didn’t just say good-bye at a barbecue. They hugged, or stretched out a conversation, made future plans, played with the dog. Even called out and waved once you got as far as the car.
“Before you tell me what Captain Anson said, I want to say your family is …”
“Loud, pushy?”
“No. Well, yes, but that’s not what I want to say. Affectionate. Naturally so. I understand you better now, for
