The Wedding Planners of Butternut Creek (13 page)

As his chair flew across the narrow space and bounced against hers, Gabe glanced at Hannah. He looked as if this counted as the worst moment of his life.

She felt absolutely and appallingly humiliated, emotionally naked. She had not felt this terrible since Doug Cater had rubbed black chalk on the eyepiece of her microscope in college. Back then, everyone laughed.

She couldn’t face that again.

If she’d felt better, stronger, more Hannah-ish, she would have joked, said something snarky, stared them down, told them to leave her alone, or shoved the coach away, but she couldn’t. She hadn’t fully recovered her brain or her personality.

Before she started to blubber in front of all these people, Hannah stood, shoved her chair back until it hit the wall, and ran.

The sound of Hannah’s chair banging against the wall echoed, and Adam heard her footsteps pounding up the back stairs. Beside him, Gabe froze with the bowl of yams in his hand, passing it toward an empty space and staring at the spot where Hannah had been. Yvonne clenched her hands in front of her while Henry blinked.

“Oh, dear,” Blossom murmured, her eyes on that vacant chair.

“What happened?” Miss Birdie demanded.

“I feel terrible,” Gussie whispered. “At first I thought it was funny, like what they did to you and me.” She shook her head. “But it was terrible. I should have remembered that, at the time it happened to us, it was really embarrassing.”

Gabe put the bowl down. “Did I do something wrong?” He shook his head. “I don’t think I said anything to upset her.”

“Oh, oh, oh,” Blossom murmured, her pink mouth round. “We really upset her.”

“I should’ve stopped you,” Adam said to the Widows who’d frozen in place, their expressions stunned, even Miss Birdie’s. He glanced around the room at the stricken faces.

“You didn’t know what they would do.” Henry glared at each Widow to define the antecedent of the pronoun
they
.

“I should have realized. These are, after all, the Widows. They cannot leave a single man or woman unmarried. Matchmaking is an addiction for them.” Adam shook his head.

“What did we do wrong, Pastor?” Winnie asked in a worried voice.

“Our matchmaking efforts have always been successful,” Mercedes said.

“Sooner or later,” Miss Birdie said.

“I really should have foreseen this, both your efforts”—Adam nodded toward the Widows—“and Hannah’s reaction. It’s my fault.”

“And mine,” Gussie added.

“Mine, too,” Blossom said.

Before anyone else could enter the orgy of guilt, Adam said, “Hannah’s never been very sociable. Now, because she’s sick and had to leave Kenya, she’s more sensitive than usual.” As he spoke, Janey quietly pushed her chair back and left the room.

“We probably shouldn’t try to find her a husband right away,” Winnie stated.

“How long will she be here?” Miss Birdie asked. “Maybe we struck too soon.”

“We could put this off a little,” Mercedes agreed.

“Ladies, I suggest—” Adam began.

He should have known better than to suggest an action to the Widows. They hustled into the kitchen and toward the back door where they couldn’t be seen from the dining room and began to chatter. With everyone else distracted, Hector helped himself to another piece of chicken and a huge helping of yams.

Hannah sat on the window seat and looked out at the street in front of the parsonage. Across the street stood several nearly identical Victorian houses painted in different hues. She felt as if she were in a tree house, surrounded by huge live oaks, and wished she could stay here. But she couldn’t. She wasn’t a quitter or a weakling.

What had she done?

She knew good and well what she’d done. She’d behaved like an idiot, embarrassed herself and run away. Her reaction had been immature and spineless. She’d never been a quitter or a runner. When had she become a coward? A baby who couldn’t handle life. When they were kids, Adam would have called her a scaredy-cat—and he’d be right, at least today.

Even worse, she’d embarrassed her little brother. The women of the church had prepared a lovely meal, invited Adam’s friend and Hector’s coach to share it, and she’d run away. If she didn’t care what an idiot she must have appeared, rude and not well bred, she had to care about how her behavior reflected on Adam.

She loved Adam. Even though he was two years younger, Adam had always supported her, stood up for her. He’d been like a big brother, protecting and encouraging her. When she’d locked herself in her room for hours to study, her parents had attempted to lure her out, nagged her to be more sociable. Adam told them to let her decide what to do with her life.

When she’d wanted to head off to Africa and her parents had been appalled, he’d interceded.

How had she repaid him? She’d embarrassed him in front of people in the church he served. She should go back downstairs, apologize, and join the others for dinner. The first problem with that action: She didn’t apologize well.

Second, she followed an important rule in her life: Never return to the site of earlier humiliation. After the many mortifications she’d suffered being a brilliant nerd in a world of older, less intelligent beings, she’d learned avoidance and denial very well.

Third: She wasn’t hungry.

But none of those points mattered.

What should she do?

To her left, although she couldn’t see it from here, stood the church Adam served. Her little brother, a minister. The thought awed her.

In this situation a few years ago, Hannah would’ve prayed for guidance. But she’d lost the God of her youth in Kenya. Actually, she believed God had deserted her and all those suffering people and starving children. Certainly the Creator of the universe could do better than to allow such horror to exist.

She hadn’t prayed in a year, except for that odd time in the garden that she still didn’t understand.

That left prayer out. The only alternative to sitting up here like a spoiled baby was penance and apology. Her brother deserved it. She couldn’t ruin what made him happy because she was such a blockhead.

“Hannah?”

On top of that, she’d behaved so poorly in front of sweet Janey, the only person in the world who accepted her unconditionally—well, except her brother and maybe Yvonne and Gussie and Henry and Hector.

“I’m sorry, Janey.”

What relation was Janey? Her brother’s almost foster daughter made her Hannah’s sort of niece?

“Why are you sorry?” Janey asked. “You’re unhappy. When I’m sad, chocolate helps.” She held out her hand with something wrapped in a napkin. “Blossom’s cook makes the best chocolate chip cookies. They look really good.”

“Oh?” Hannah reached for the cookie, took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. “I do feel better. Thank you.” She wrapped the cookie up and put it on the window ledge.

“I need to go back. Will you come with me?” With that, Hannah took a deep breath and stood to take Janey’s hand. The connection gave Hannah strength. They went down the steps and into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” Hannah said to the Widows. Okay, that hadn’t hurt too much. “I’m sorry for running off.”

The women watched her with compassionate gazes, which almost forced her back upstairs.

Then Blossom patted her shoulder. “We’re sorry we upset you. Don’t you worry.”

“Thank you.” Hannah allowed Janey to pull her into the dining room where the others looked up and gave her broad and totally fake smiles, then took a bite of food. To give them something to do, Hannah guessed. The sound of chewing replaced conversation as if mastication were the most important action in their lives. None of them watched her, maybe showing her they hadn’t noticed her disappearance.

“Hello,” Hannah said to everyone as she slipped into her chair. Henry winked at her and her brother smiled but Gabe moved his chair a little to the right so they weren’t slammed up next to each other.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“That’s all right” and “We love you” and other encouraging words and phrases mingled together. They all looked at her and nodded and smiled.

Still a little overcome and nervous, Hannah took a forkful of something on her plate. She didn’t realize until she had it in her mouth that it was cheese grits. She didn’t like grits. Not even butter or onions or hot sauce or cheese could turn those gritty molecules into tasty treats. However, having embarrassed herself and her brother once, she swallowed the unpleasant mouthful and smiled.

Gabe glanced at Hannah from the corner of his eye. He admired the fact that she’d come back. Couldn’t have been easy.

But why had she run? Did the idea of being matched with him sound so terrible, she fled? That was an ego buster.

He looked up at Blossom, who was placing a piece of cake in front of Yvonne.

“It’s a hummingbird cake,” Yvonne said. “My favorite.”

“It has pineapple and bananas.” Blossom placed the second plate in front of Hannah. “All good for you. We’ll leave the rest of the cake here for you, Hannah. Fatten you up.”

“Fattening people up is a favorite activity of the Widows,” Adam said jovially. He’d never heard Adam sound jovial before.

Everyone smiled, still artificially. Even
he
recognized the efforts to cheer Hannah up, and he was probably one of the worst readers of body language ever. She probably recognized that as well.

Then Gabe looked at Hector. The kid showed that even he could tell everything was phony, and he
never
recognized nuance. What high school kid did? What male did more than once or twice a year?

Later, as he helped clear the table, Gabe studied the Widows. Why had they chosen to put him together with Hannah? He noted that he, Hannah, Hector, and Janey were the only single people under the age of sixty, maybe seventy, and he and Hannah were the only single adults over twenty in the room. Those factors pretty much narrowed the demographic of those the Widows had available to match.

Could be they hadn’t made an effort to set him and Hannah up. After all, he visited the parsonage often. He was Hector’s coach and spent most Sunday evenings with him lining up colleges and scheduling visits. Maybe he wasn’t the target.

But if he wasn’t, why had they forced him to sit on her footstool and next to her at dinner? Why the bump to shove his chair closer to—on top of, really—Hannah? He placed his stack of plates in the sink and turned around to study the other room. The Firestones seemed completely out of the loop, he thought.

But when he came back into the dining room, the Widows sized him up and smiles flickered around the lips of three of them. Miss Birdie just observed him carefully. Finally she smiled as well and turned toward Hannah, who had just finished her second or third piece of cake. At that moment, he knew he’d been drawn into the trap along with Hannah and, in no time, no matter what Adam said or how he warned the Widows off, they were not going to leave them alone. Someday, they’d ignore Adam’s opposition and Gabe’s objections and Hannah’s obstinacy and he and Hannah’d end up married, too.

He didn’t want to get married, not yet. He still had a lot of living and partying to do.

But if that was true, why had he come to Butternut Creek? Hardly the number one party spot in the world. Butternut Creek was the biggest get-married-and-settle-down-for-the-rest-of-your-life place he’d ever lived. Look at Sam and Willow and Gussie and Adam. Those four made love and marriage sound good. Almost.

Then he glanced at Hannah. For a moment, she lifted eyes toward him. Not a flicker of interest showed in the calm and cold depths.

In that moment, he realized that no matter what or how hard the Widows tried and no matter that he’d fallen a little in love with her when he first saw her photo, Hannah was not the woman he’d spend the rest of his life with. Not even the next week or two. He didn’t attract her, and she’d lost the appeal that had fascinated him.

Then Janey approached and put her arm around Hannah’s shoulders and the woman changed. For a second, when she looked at Janey, she glowed. Didn’t last long but he’d seen it and it nearly blinded him. In that second, he saw her spirit that had attracted him in the photo. He saw the woman Adam had called “Gypsy.” In that second, he realized two women lived in that skinny body. Unfortunately, neither one of them seemed to like him very much.

Adam opened the car door for Gussie. “You know they won’t leave us alone until we set a date, right?” he said.

Once settled in the car, Gussie asked, “Do you really think they’ll leave us alone even after we decide on a date?”

“No, they won’t.”

“If they ask you my favorite colors, say red or orange or ultraviolet. Do not let this be a pink wedding!” She started the engine.

“Be careful.” With those words, he watched her back down the drive and pull into the street.

“She’s getting off a little late,” Hannah said from the porch swing.

He glanced at the darkening sky. “She’ll call when she gets back to her apartment.”

“Have you talked to Mom and Dad about your engagement?”

“I emailed them. They’re happy.”

“Come sit with me.” She took his hand and tugged. “You really love her, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.” Adam joined her. They sat for a moment, silent, enjoying the breeze and the swaying of the swing and the comfort of being together.

“What’s it like?” Hannah asked. “What’s it like to care for someone enough to want to spend your life with her?”

He couldn’t read her expression. Usually couldn’t unless she allowed him inside. “You’ve been in love, haven’t you?”

“Despite the fact that I’m your older sister and you think of me as worldly and glamorous, no, I haven’t.”

“Oh.” He considered those words. “Mom told me about guys you dated in college and med school.”

“I lied. I made most of them up. Made her happy and she left me alone.”

“Oh.”

“Didn’t you ever notice I never brought any guys home? I always told Mom we broke up just before the holidays.” She grinned slightly. “I think she caught on after a few years and gave up.”