Every Girl Gets Confused (20 page)

I started laughing and couldn't stop. When I finally got myself under control, I managed to say, “I remember it well.”

Casey gazed into my eyes and took my hand, giving it a squeeze. “I remember a lot of things well, Katie. All good memories.”

A lump rose in my throat and I couldn't seem to speak around it.

“What's so funny over here?”

I looked up to see that Mama was standing next to my
chair. I pulled my hand out of Casey's, my face heating up as if I'd done something wrong. Which I hadn't of course. Still, judging from the expression on my mother's face, I might as well have.

“We're just talking about old times, Mrs. Fisher. Good times.” Casey took another bite of his chicken strip.

“Hmm.” Her gaze traveled back and forth between the two of us.

Time to change the subject. “Mama, I'm almost scared to ask, but where's the cake?”

“At the Methodist church, naturally.” She plopped down into a chair to my right and fanned herself. “Is it getting hot in here or am I just having my own personal summer?”

“W-what? Did Ophelia accidentally take the cake to the wrong place?” I knew the poor old soul was getting a little forgetful, but taking the cake to the wrong church? That was really something.

“Of course not.” Mama looked at me like she thought I'd lost it. “We're all headed to the Methodist church after we eat.”

“We—we are?”

“Well, sure. I thought you knew that.”

“No. I'm pretty sure I would've remembered that little detail.” I looked at Casey. “Did you know?”

“Nope. I guess the gossip train hadn't reached Mama yet on this one.”

“Gossip, my eye. It's common knowledge.” Mama pursed her lips.

“Like everything else in this town,” Casey whispered in my ear, chuckling.

“Mama, do you mind if I ask
why
we're going to the Methodist church? This is a perfectly wonderful place for the reception. It makes no sense to move down the street.”

“There's a perfectly good explanation, Katie. The Methodist church allows dancing, and Queenie and Reverend Bradford—er, Dad Bradford—wanted to offer their guests the opportunity to celebrate on the dance floor.”

Casey looked perplexed by this notion. “Um, I hate to ask the obvious, but why not go to the Presbyterian church for that?”

“They don't allow dancing there either.” Mama leaned in close to whisper the next part. “Big brouhaha at the Presbyterian church when Reverend Bradford brought it up in a board meeting. Trust me, you don't want to get into all of that. Anyway, that leaves us with the Methodists. And maybe the charismatics, but I'm pretty sure that dancing in the Holy Ghost isn't the same thing as the Texas two-step.”

I shook my head as I tried to make sense of this. “So, let me get this straight. We're having food at the Baptist church and then cake and dancing at the Methodist church.”

“And punch.” Mama stood and smoothed out her skirt. “But whatever you do, don't drink much. I heard a rumor that Prissy Moyer is planning to spike it. I guess they allow that at the Methodist church too.” My mother sighed. “That last part is only hearsay, of course.”

“Of course.” Casey grinned.

“This whole thing just seems so strange,” I said. “No one in our family is Methodist.”

“Strange or not, it's where we're headed next, and I need to grab a ride from you in that fancy new car of yours because the heater's gone out in my car.”

“O-okay.”

After eating our fill, we all packed up and headed over to First United Methodist Church, where Prissy greeted us in a fellowship hall equally as decked out with lovely tables and
beautiful blue floral centerpieces. She gestured to an exquisite table in the center of the room. There, in the very middle of the table, stood the most gorgeous wedding cake I'd ever seen, five tiers tall, trimmed out in soft blue roses that matched the color of Queenie's wedding gown perfectly.

To the right of the cake stood an elaborate punch fountain. The lights in the center column and base showed off the gorgeous red punch as it flowed, flowed, flowed, the trickling sound reminiscent of a mountain stream. Off in the distance a love song played, and Brother Krank, still in deejay mode, called out a welcome from the stage in the corner.

Mama looked a little floored by the sheer beauty of the room. Not Prissy, though. As she passed by, I'm pretty sure I heard her say, “And
that's
how we do it at the Methodist church!”

Ronnie [Ronald Reagan] is really the only man I've ever known who loved dancing.

Doris Day

B
rother Krank cranked up one of Queenie's favorite songs—“When I Fall in Love”—and the bride and groom headed out on the dance floor arm in arm. I'd seen my fair share of dances over the years, both high school proms and square dances at the civic center, but I'd never seen anything like the sight before me now. My grandmother looked positively radiant. And in that moment, when her husband
swept her into his arms for their first spin around the dance floor as a newly married couple, I barely noticed the knee issue. All I saw was the smile on her face and the look of pure bliss in her husband's eyes.

After their dance, she shared a special dance with my dad. Then Reverend Bradford danced with his daughter, who had arrived in town just in time for the ceremony. I watched all of this in awe, my heart moved by the emotion of the day. Finally Brother Krank opened up the dance floor to everyone. Most of the couples were in their sixties and older. Even Mama and Pop joined in, though they were among the younger set. I smiled as they danced to “Dream a Little Dream of Me.”

All morning long I'd observed Dewey and Dahlia hanging on the fringes, watching each other without saying much. I sensed the awkwardness between them but also picked up on the affection in my brother's eyes every time he glanced her way. It didn't take much courage for me to approach Dahlia to nudge her into his arms.

“Dahlia?”

She looked up from her glass of punch, which had almost touched her lips, but not quite. “Hmm?”

“You love my brother.”

Her eyes filled with tears and she stared down at the floor.

“And my brother loves you.” I spoke the words with conviction. “This separation thing is just plain silly. Get yourself over there and ask him to dance.” I took the cup away from her and set it down on a table.

She glanced up and I could see her trying to find Dewey through the crowd.

“He's right there.” I pointed over to the punch table. “And he's by himself. You're going to be miserable until you get this over with.”

“I don't know, Katie.”

I extended my hand and she stared at me, clearly confused. “What?”

“Come with me.” I looped my arm through hers, marched across the room, and moved her directly in front of Dewey. I could read the surprise in his eyes, but it was coupled with delight.

“Dahlia?”

“Yeah.” She looked down at the floor. Finally she looked up, grabbed Dewey by the hand, and said, “You're going to dance with me.”

He stared at her for a moment. Then he led her to the dance floor. Less than a minute later, they were kissing. And kissing. And kissing some more.

I really should take up matchmaking.

I didn't mean to say the words aloud, but I obviously had.

“You'd make a great matchmaker, Katie.” Casey must've been listening in. He pointed at Dewey and Dahlia, who were now cheek to cheek on the dance floor. “What's going on with those two?”

“He wants to marry her.”

Casey tipped his head a bit to the right and watched them. “That's a good thing, right?”

“Yeah, but he wants her to move to Fairfield. She's opposed to that idea.”

“I see. The distance thing is a dilemma.”

“And he wants her to have fourteen kids.”

“Fourteen?” Casey's eyes grew wide.

“Approximately. But I think, based on how comfortable they look together, they'll come to some sort of compromise.”

“Seven kids?” Casey tried. “And maybe they could live halfway between Fairfield and Dallas? I hear Waxahachie is nice. That's about halfway.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

We watched, mesmerized, as my brother and Dahlia continued smooching as they danced. When the song ended, she kissed him soundly, and as soon as she realized the entire roomful of people was watching, she gave a cheeky smile and hollered, “And
that's
how we do it at the Lutheran church.”

“Okay then.” Alva stepped beside me and fanned herself. “I might have to convert.”

“There's a mighty lot of converting going on around here already.” Bessie May walked over with a glass of punch. “Queenie's becoming a Presbyterian, Dewey's going to end up a Lutheran, and Lori-Lou and her husband have gone off and joined one of those rock-and-roll churches in Dallas. What about you, Katie? You converting too?”

I put my hands up. “Don't ask, Bessie May. You'll just be disappointed to hear I've been trying out a community church.”

“Don't tell me you're a rock and roller too, Katie.” She slapped herself on the forehead. “We raised you on the hymns.”

“And I still love hymns. But I love contemporary worship songs too.”

“For pity's sake.”

“I love the church I go to in Dallas. It's different than the one I grew up in, but not in the ways that really matter. People still love on each other. The gospel is still preached. Sure, the music's a little different . . . okay, a lot different. And we meet in a building that's about five times the size of the Baptist church. And we don't have pews—we sit on chairs. But if you don't count all of that, it's just the same. Except for the lights. They put on a crazy-cool light show during some of the worship songs. Very ambient.”

“Ambient, my eye.” Bessie May grunted. “I'd have to close my eyes to keep from getting seasick.”

“But it's the kind of church where I feel comfortable, where I can grow. And isn't that the point? Shouldn't we all find the place where we feel like we're part of something bigger than ourselves, where we've got people to lift our arms?”

In that moment, as I spoke those words, it hit me—it really, really hit me—why Brady was so devastated about not playing pro basketball anymore. He'd always been a team player. Now he had no team. For a guy accustomed to being surrounded by teammates, he must feel completely lost without them.

Bessie May fanned herself and walked away, mumbling something about how the whole world was going to pot now that the Baptists were dancing in the Methodist fellowship hall, the Lutherans were kissing the Baptists, and the community church folks were lifting their arms.

Casey couldn't seem to stop laughing. Before long I'd joined in. It felt so good to laugh. Great tension reliever, and the past few weeks had been filled with their share of tension.

“Want to take a spin around the dance floor, Katie?” Casey took hold of my hand. “For old times' sake?”

I hesitated, but then Casey tugged me to the center of the dance floor as “Unforgettable” played overhead. “It's our song,” Casey whispered in my ear as he pulled me into his arms.

Correction. It used to be our song.

Still, as the lyrics rooted themselves in my heart, I found myself caught up in the moment. I settled into Casey's familiar, comfortable embrace and was whisked back in time to the days when we were young and in love.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of Mama staring at me. She turned and whispered something to Pop. No doubt I'd hear about this later. But there was nothing wrong with a girl dancing with an old friend, right?

When the dance ended I shook off my ponderings and headed over to the punch bowl to cool down. Casey's mother lifted an empty glass and filled it for me. “So, you and Casey . . . I'm happy to see the two of you together again.”

“Oh, we're not together, Mrs. Lawson. We're just friends.”

Her eyebrows elevated as she passed the glass my way. “I see.” She lifted another glass for the next guest and I moved out of the way, intrigued by the punch. It appeared to be some sort of reddish-purple fruit drink mixed with sherbet, just like the punch we always had at our church events. So why did Prissy say she was using a family recipe if it was the same old same old?

I'd just started to take a sip when Bessie May rushed my way. “Don't drink the punch!” She snatched the cup out of my hand and set it on a table.

“But I'm thirsty,” I said.

She waggled her finger at me. “It's not Baptist-approved.”

“Huh?”

“There's a water fountain in the hall. Don't drink the punch.”

Okay then. I trotted off to the hallway to the water fountain, where there was quite a line. Weird.

Minutes later I watched as Lori-Lou—visibly pregnant—and Josh danced. Mariela tugged at her skirt as she reached down to pick up Gilly. Off in the distance Alva held little Joshie, who took bites of a cookie. Looking at that cookie made me wonder when—or if—we'd ever get a slice of that yummy-looking cake. Thank goodness Brother Krank's voice came over the sound system, announcing the time had come to cut it.

Queenie looked pretty winded by now. For that matter, Reverend Bradford—er, Pap-Paul—did too. But they made quite a show out of cutting the cake, bragging about the amazing job Ophelia had done.

“I helped her put it together.” Prissy planted her hands on her hips. “And I set out the plates.”

“Thank you, Prissy.” My grandmother held her little plate of cake with a shaky hand. She lifted a piece with her fingers and aimed it at her husband's mouth. Would she do it?

“Oh my.” Lori-Lou busted out laughing. “Well, look at that, why don't you.”

I couldn't stop looking, actually. Queenie had smeared cake all over the good reverend's face, but he responded by kissing her. When he came up for air, they were both a sticky mess.

Mrs. Lawson handed them cups of punch. I wanted to say, “Don't drink it!” but Queenie took a big sip and then licked her lips.

“Yum. Tastes different this time. Just what the doctor ordered, though.”

She got distracted talking to a guest, and Prissy started slicing the cake.

“I know what you're thinking,” Casey whispered in my ear.

“You do?” I was thinking I needed a trip to the ladies' room after all the water I drank, but I couldn't remember where it was.

“Yes. You're thinking you want a piece of cake with one of those blue buttercream roses on it.”

I faced him. “You remembered. I love extra frosting.”

“Of course I remembered. I remember everything about you, Katie. About us.”

“Chocolate or white cake, Katie?” Prissy's voice interrupted my thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“There are only two tiers left, girl, so speak now or forever hold your peace. One tier is white, the other is chocolate. What's your poison?”

“Actually, I think the poison's in the punch bowl,” I whispered to Casey. “I'll take the white cake,” I said to Prissy.

She cut a tiny sliver—
Really? That's all I get?—
and I carried it to the table to devour it.

Casey settled into the chair next to mine. Hanging out with him was getting to be a habit, one that suddenly felt a little strange. I swallowed down the cake and then headed off to find the ladies' room. It was just past the water fountain, which still boasted an exceptionally long line.

When I got inside the bathroom, I heard a familiar voice coming from inside one of the stalls.

“Alva?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Are you singing in there?”

“I just can't help it.” She giggled. “They keep playing some of my favorite old songs from days gone by. Just sets my toes to tapping and my heart to singing.”

“So you're enjoying the day?”

“Very much.” She came out of the stall and washed her hands at the sink. I glanced at our two reflections in the large mirror.

“I saw you dancing with Casey out there,” she said.

“Yeah. Don't read too much into it, though, okay?”

She dried her hands and then spoke to my reflection in the mirror. “Listen to me, girl, and listen good.” Her voice took on a tone I rarely heard, sort of a chastening sound. “You can't let the little foxes spoil the vine.”

“I'm sorry—what?” I turned to face her.

“The little foxes.” This time she talked to me rather than my reflection. “It's a verse in the Bible. Look it up. I can't remember the reference or I'd tell you straight up. But it's there. Little foxes get in and spoil the vine.”

“What does this have to do with me, Alva?”

“The little foxes are trying to worm their way into your relationship with Brady. To bring confusion. But don't be confused, honey. The Bible says you don't have to be confused.”

“It does?”

“Well, something like that. It doesn't specifically say, ‘Katie Sue Fisher, you don't have to be confused.' But the point is, you've got to shoo away those little foxes before they ruin everything. They'll eat up all the good grapes, and before long there won't be any left to make a fine wine.”

“We don't drink wine in the Baptist church, Alva.”

“I'm just trying to say that you need to be on the lookout. The enemy prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.”

“I thought we were talking about foxes.”

“Foxes. Lions. It's all the same. Point is, if you want something badly enough, you have to fight for it. You can't let anything—or anyone—steal it away. Even if he's young and handsome and someone you grew up with.” She put her hands on her hips. “Got my drift, or do I need to just come out and say it?”

“Alva, is that what you're thinking? You're worried that Casey and I are . . .” I shook my head. “I knew I shouldn't have danced with him.”

“I'm just saying that the little foxes try to confuse us. I know, because I've walked a mile in your shoes.” She adjusted her girdle. “Well, not in your shoes exactly. I could never wear heels like that, not with my bunions. But I've been in a place where I lost a relationship with the most important person in the world to me, my sister.”