Every Girl Gets Confused (10 page)

I have found that when you are deeply troubled, there are things you get from the silent devoted companionship of a dog that you can get from no other source.

Doris Day

O
kay then. Dahlia planned to kill my brother.

I stood up and tried to gather my thoughts while I willed my hands to stop trembling.

Dahlia threw her tissues on the table in a wad as her words tumbled out. “He. Just. Broke. My. Heart!”

Hmm, maybe someone
needed
to kill my brother.

It took a few minutes to get the rest of the story, but apparently my brother had indeed broken her heart. Not in the “I'm
seeing another woman” sort of way, but rather the “Maybe we should take some time to think this through” way. Just like Casey had done to me.

Jerk.

“He said we needed to step back.” Dahlia sniffled. “He wasn't sure he could handle the long-distance relationship. Can you believe that? It's only, what—an hour and a half to Fairfield? Two at most?”

“Long distance, my eye,” Madge sputtered. “That boy's in Dallas more than he's home in Fairfield. He just needs to get a job here and settle down.”

“That's what I told him, but he doesn't want to leave Fairfield and I can't leave the shop. I just can't. He thinks that we should get married and have fourteen kids and live in the country.” Dahlia gestured to her trim physique. “Do I
look
like I could carry fourteen kids? And live in the country? I don't think so!” She dissolved into a haze of tears again.

“My goodness, I don't know this man you're referring to, but I do believe he's in need of some wise counsel.” Carrie took a seat. “I daresay he needs a swift kick in the backside as well. Not that I know you either, so you can take or leave my advice.” She stuck out her hand. “I'm Carrie Sanders, by the way. Just came back to see about having a dress designed.”

“Oh no!” Dahlia looked dismayed by this news. “Not another new dress! When do you need it?”

“January 8th.” Carrie spoke so softly I had to strain to hear her.

“January 8th?” Dahlia swiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Are. You. Serious?”

I had to get this train back on track. “Let's go back to what we were talking about. I want to understand, Dahlia. Are you saying that my brother loves you enough to want to marry you,
but the two of you can't settle on how you could make it work? Or are you saying that he broke up with you? Because I'm confused.”

“Oh, wow.” Carrie gazed at me. “The guy who broke her heart is your brother? Awkward.”

“I—I guess I broke up with him.” Her lashes brimmed with moisture. “Because I can't have fourteen kids. Don't you see that? I just can't.”

“I'm sure he doesn't really want you to have fourteen kids,” Carrie said. “Likely it's a misunderstanding.”

“He wants me to become a . . .” Dahlia cried in earnest now. “A . . .”

“A . . . what?” Carrie sat on the edge of her seat.

“A Baptist!” She seemed to choke on the word. “I can't become a Baptist! All of my people are Lutheran! If I have to leave the Lutheran church, my mother will never forgive me. And my Aunt Regene, God rest her soul . . . she will spit on me from the grave. Don't you see? I can't do it!”

Eduardo, who had kept silent all of this time, rushed Dahlia's way with another box of tissues in hand. Hibiscus and Jane came behind him carrying an open box of imported chocolates.

“This'll make everything better, honey.” Jane thrust the box of chocolates in Dahlia's direction.

“Eat two. They're small,” Hibiscus added as she grabbed one and popped it into her mouth.

Carrie's eyes widened as Dahlia carried on. I started to apologize but she put her hand up. “Are you kidding me? This makes my situation look like small potatoes. If this poor girl can live through fourteen babies, becoming a Baptist, and having her dead relatives spit on her, then surely I can handle two families that quarrel over basketball.”

I wasn't so sure about that last part but didn't say so. Then again, I was a little distracted by Dahlia, who now had chocolate all around the edges of her mouth.

“You are a saint, Dahlia,” Carrie said. “Truly.”

Dahlia gazed at her with newfound respect. “Here. Come and have a chocolate.”

Carrie rose and walked over to grab a couple of chocolates. “Thank you. Don't mind if I do. I tend to agree that chocolate is a cure-all. It makes everything better.”

Well, if I couldn't beat 'em . . .

I reached for a chocolate and popped it into my mouth.

Before long calmer heads prevailed. “Dahlia, is there anything I can do?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“I may not be able to solve the problem with my brother,” I said, “but maybe it would be a nice distraction to Skype with Nadia after you get Carrie's measurements so that they can talk about design ideas. If you don't have time to make the dress, perhaps one of the others will.” I gave Eduardo a hopeful look and he nodded.

Dahlia sniffled and reached for her measuring tape. Less than thirty minutes later, a bright-eyed Dahlia conversed with Nadia over Skype as if nothing had ever happened. Introductions were made and Nadia chatted—like the pro she was—with our young bride-to-be. It didn't take long to settle on a plan. All Nadia had to do was ask the question, “Who's your favorite actress or singer?” to set things in motion.

“Oh, I know you'll think this is crazy, but I'm nuts about Doris Day.” Carrie chuckled. “I've seen
Pillow Talk
over a dozen times. Was there ever a sexier man than Rock Hudson?”

We all sighed in unison.

Well, those old enough to know who Rock Hudson was
sighed. This led to a conversation about his life offscreen, which somehow led us back around to Doris Day once again. By the time we ended the call with Nadia, everyone was in good spirits, including Eduardo, who had actually met Doris in person when he lived in Los Angeles in the fifties. Go figure.

Once we finished up with Nadia, Carrie turned my way, eyes lit with joy. “Oh, Katie, I'm so excited! Mama's always been such a huge Doris Day fan and so is Mrs. Dennison. This might be just the ticket. Basketball has separated us but Doris will bring us all together!”

They needed something to bring them all together, no doubt about that. And I was glad Nadia had the insight to ask for the bride's input. Still, I doubted that Doris Day had the power to pull these two families into one cohesive unit.

Minutes later Dahlia—now all smiles—pulled up pictures of Doris Day on the internet. We all pointed out the various dresses that we loved, then gave a common gasp when we saw Doris in a remarkable fitted white gown sparkling with rhinestones on the left shoulder.

“Oh, that's it!” Carrie let out a squeal.

“I know this dress well,” Eduardo said from behind me. “Silk sheath, as was her custom. Off-white, though it looks more white in this picture. Ankle-length gown. Notice how the gown is drawn to gather on the left shoulder and how the back plunges downward.”

“Yes, it's beautiful.” Carrie leaned in to have a closer look.

“Very popular style back in the day,” Eduardo said. “And the accessories are perfect. But what really makes the dress come alive is that fitted bodice panel. One rarely sees that anymore, but what a lovely way to accentuate a small waistline.” He smiled at Carrie. “Like yours.”

“Why, thank you. You think this gown would work for me?”

“Do I? But of course. I would add more sparkle to the top, but the rest would stay the same. Just promise me that you will wear elbow-length gloves in white.”

“Ooh, I promise.”

“It will be the loveliest gown ever produced at Cosmopolitan Bridal!” Eduardo threw his arms up in the air. “Or my name isn't Eduardo Villa de la Consuela.”

Okay then. Looked like everyone was on board.

“It'll be perfect. Just the ticket.” As I spoke the word “ticket,” I thought about Carrie's father. Hopefully he wouldn't really mind the idea of Nadia designing the gown. Worse things had happened, after all. Who cared if they had opposing views when it came to ball teams?

This made me think about Dewey and Dahlia. Had my brother really given her an ultimatum—move to the country and have fourteen children? If so, I needed to have a “Come to Jesus” talk with him. A real couple worked things out. Even the hard things.

For whatever reason, thinking about them reminded me of Casey—how he'd left me high and dry to move away to Oklahoma. We hadn't worked things out, had we? Then again, we weren't meant to be. I was meant to come to Dallas, to meet Brady James. And Dallas was where I planned to stay.

Unfortunately, the squabbles continued when the families entered the shop once again, though the womenfolk seemed pleased with the whole Doris Day angle. Things didn't get much better when Stan got involved minutes later, insisting Brady sign autographs for the groom's family.

I could read the pain in Brady's eyes as he signed the photos that Stan magically produced from his car. Really? Did the guy carry around photos of the players he represented? Soon after, my youngest brother, Beau, showed up. I hadn't seen
him in action as an upcoming agent, but the guy really knew his stuff. At least, he knew enough to get Mr. Sanders more perturbed than ever.

Just when I thought things couldn't possibly get worse, Eduardo made his way out to the front of the store. He'd overheard enough of the conversation to wave his hands in disgust. “I care nothing about basketball. It is a ridiculous sport.”

I put my finger to my lips. “Please don't say that so loud, okay?”

“Why should I hide my feelings?” he asked. “I don't need to scream at a television screen to prove my manhood. I prove it just fine by fitting lovely ladies in beautiful dresses. I know a lot of men, young and old, who would kill for such a living. But to create a beautiful gown like the one that Doris wore in
Pillow Talk
? These are the things I live for!”

“To each his own.” Stan rolled his eyes. “You can keep your ball gowns. I'll take a basketball any day.”

This led to an argument. Great. Just what our customers needed to hear—employees who didn't get along. Not that Stan really worked in the shop, but we couldn't seem to shake him. He wasn't giving up, no matter how problematic Brady's knee situation got. Apparently Eduardo wasn't giving up either. He just kept sharing comment after comment about how much he despised basketball and how Doris would be proud to hear that her gown was making an appearance at a bride's wedding in San Antonio, Texas.

Well, terrific. What a lovely day we were all having.

When everyone finally left, I settled into a chair in Brady's office, relieved to have the whole experience behind me.

“That went well.” He laughed.

“The bride got her way in the end. I suppose that's all that matters.” I leaned back in the chair and rubbed my neck.

“Yeah. We don't always get our way, do we?” Brady said, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Nope. But I'm completely floored at how brilliant Eduardo is when it comes to designs. Your mom certainly knew what she was doing by hiring him.”

“If only we could get him interested in basketball. He'd be the perfect employee.” Brady grinned, but just as quickly his smile faded. He busied himself with papers on his desk, but I felt compelled to get to the heart of things once and for all.

I sat up straight in the chair and put one hand on his desk. “Brady, do you mind if we have a little talk?”

“Don't mind a bit.” He rose and walked over to the door to close it. “We'll give 'em something to talk about.” Before taking his seat, he planted a little kiss on the top of my head. “Now, what's on your mind?”

“I'm worried about you.”

“Worried?” He took a seat behind his desk, confusion registering in those gorgeous eyes of his. “Why?”

“You're not yourself lately. You seem kind of . . . down.”

“Down? Really?” He looked perplexed. “Not trying to be.”

“Oh, I know that. Maybe it's more of a perception. When I first came to Cosmopolitan, you were okay with the idea of
not
playing basketball, at least until your knee healed. But now . . .”

“Now it's more of a struggle.” He shrugged. “Part of it is knowing I have to have another surgery. That's like the nail in my coffin. If the first surgery had worked, I would've held on to the hope that I'd be back out on the court in a few months. But the idea of a second surgery . . .” He shook his head. “It changes everything. Mostly my perspective. You heard what I said out there earlier, right? I'm not in love with the sport like I used to be. It's time I start looking at myself as something other than a basketball player.”

“Not forever, Brady. It's just a season. I've heard you say it yourself. God moves in seasons.”

“Yes. It's a season.” He rose and winced as he put weight on his left leg. “A long season. And I know what I've said. I still believe all of that. It's just . . . I don't know . . .”

“A little harder than you thought it'd be?”

“A lot harder. And even more on days like today when everyone around me is talking basketball. They all want me back in the game.”

Hmm. Not everyone wanted him back in the game. Mr. Sanders, for instance. But I understood his meaning.

“You know how it is.” Brady locked eyes with me. “When you're young you have all these dreams about what you want to be when you grow up. Who you want to be. So you set goals. And then you achieve them.”

Actually, I'd been raised in Fairfield. My big dream was to make the cheerleading squad in high school and possibly earn the title of Peach Queen before I graduated. I'd achieved both of those goals, thank you very much. Other than that, I hadn't spent a lot of time pondering the whole goals thing.