Save The Date Part 46

"He sent me a beautiful bouquet of flowers at work Friday, with the sweetest note, apologizing again and telling me how much he loved me." Brooke's face softened.

"He sent you flowers from another florist?" Cara said indignantly.

"He's a guy. I'm sure he got his secretary to send the flowers," Brooke said. "Anyway, so then I was feeling guilty about making him feel guilty, but I was still dreading going out. And then that text came Sat.u.r.day afternoon. And I saw those pictures of him-with that woman-riding him-with her b.o.o.bs pushed up in his face...."

"I saw the pictures too, Brooke. He was drunk. So drunk he pa.s.sed out in the van afterward."

"Harris told you that? Is he the one who told you the pictures were on Facebook?" She buried her head in her arms. "Did everybody in Savannah see them?"

"Layne, your caterer, saw them, and she sent me the link. Harris deleted the pictures as soon as he found out his friend Mike Bingham had posted them. Brooke? Did you ever figure out who texted you with the Facebook link?"

"No." She looked up. "I deleted it afterward. Does it matter? Somebody would have told me sooner or later anyway."

Cara felt herself grinding her back molars. "I have a pretty good idea who wanted to make sure you saw them."

"Who?"

"I can't prove it, but I bet Cullen Kane was behind it."

"The florist? The one Patricia wanted to hire?"

"That's the one. He'll do anything he can to mess with me."

"I don't get it," Brooke said.

"It's a long story. But let's get back to you. That's why you left? Because of the photos?"

"Yes." She held her right hand up to her left and let the ladybug cross over the fingertip bridge. There was a faint band of pale skin where her engagement ring had been. "Honestly? No. That's the lie I told myself the whole drive down here. I thought I wanted to hurt Harris as much as he'd hurt me. I decided I'd come over here, stay a couple nights at Loblolly, and then go back and get married."

"You can still go back and get married. Harris won't care where you've been. He just wants you to come back."

Brooke shook her head. "It's too late for that now. I can't marry Harris. I won't marry him." She looked over at Cara. "And nothing you can say is going to change my mind."

She tilted her right hand slightly, and the ladybug nimbly transitioned into the palm of her hand. Brooke stood up and leaned over the wooden railing. She raised her palm to her lips and blew gently.

60.

Brooke sat back down and looked at the thin gold watch on her wrist. "If you leave now, you can still make the afternoon ferry back to St. Marys."

Cara's mind was working frantically. Where was that rational, well-planned speech she'd rehea.r.s.ed? All she could think of was-why? Why not marry sweet, lovely, loving, wealthy, wonderful Harris Strayhorn? Why not return to her loving family in Savannah? Why not beg forgiveness and get on with a wedding that might mean the difference between financial success or suicide for Cara Mia Kryzik?

Her mind went haywire. So she asked the burning question.

"Are you sleeping with Pete?"

Brooke looked up at her through lowered eyelashes. She had such long, luxurious dark lashes, Cara had major lash envy.

"Who wants to know?"

"I do. It might help me understand what's going through your head right now."

"I wanted to sleep with Pete. That first night in his cabin, I tried to seduce him. Does that shock you?"

"A little," Cara admitted. "What happened?"

"He turned me down. He was the perfect gentleman. Pretty depressing, huh? I mean, you're alone on an island. You're naked. Well, I was naked. He was dressed in some kind of ranger boxers. And then nothing. Zero. He wouldn't even kiss me. Just patted me on the head and suggested I might be more comfortable if he took the sofa."

Cara couldn't help herself. She just blurted it out. "Is he gay?"

"He says not." Brooke giggled. "And, um, from the looks of his boxers that night, I'd say he's not immune to feminine wiles."

"What did he say?"

"Oh, the usual. 'I care too much about you to let you do something you might regret in the morning.' And then there was 'I wouldn't feel right about sleeping with another man's fiancee.' And let's not forget the old 'I don't believe in rebound s.e.x.'"

Brooke sighed dramatically. "What is it with me and nice guys? Harris is nice. Pete is nice. I've never dated a not-nice guy. Just once in my life, I'd really like to go to the dark side. You know, do it with some really smoking hot, gnarly semicriminal bad boy."

"Who are you?" Cara gave her a quizzical look. "What happened to the sedate, conservative, dark-suit-wearing debutante lady lawyer from Savannah? Did they give you some kind of mystic Indian Kool-Aid when you got off the ferryboat Sat.u.r.day? Because this is totally not the Brooke Trapnell I know."

"That's sort of the root of my problem," Brooke said. "You asked me earlier why I left. I'm just beginning to figure that out. I do know it's not because Harris went to some t.i.tty show. It's not because I want to punish my dad and Patricia for pushing me into a giant wedding that I didn't really want. And it's not because I'm in love with Pete Haynes. Although yeah, I'll admit I'm attracted to him. Which in itself should be a reason not to get married to Harris, don't you think?"

"Do you love Harris? I mean, really love him?" Cara asked.

"I thought I did," Brooke said softly. "I knew I should love him. Harris is perfect for me, right? So why was I having panic attacks in the middle of the night? And throwing up every morning? Why did I deliberately miss those dress fittings and portrait sittings?"

Now, thought Cara. Now is the time to tell her how normal it is to have doubts and fears and panic attacks. Tell her about the hairless Chihuahua bride, or the girl who lost so much weight her mother ended up force-feeding her Ensure every day for two weeks before the wedding. Tell her this is all perfectly normal, and then drag her b.u.t.t back to Savannah and collect her daddy's check.

"The wedding is still two weeks off," Cara pointed out. "Maybe if you come home, let Harris know that you're feeling confused and unsettled, or speak to a therapist, go to couple's counseling or something, you'll realize that this is all just a severe case of pre-wedding jitters."

"Is that what you'd do?" Brooke asked, regarding Cara carefully. "If you were me, knowing what you know about what I'm feeling and what I've done, would you go back to Savannah and go through with the wedding anyway?"

"Dammit, that is not a fair question," Cara said.

"Sure it is. You've been married. And divorced. You've seen what, a couple hundred weddings up close and personal? You're battle-scarred. So tell me, what would you do?"

"I guess ... I guess maybe I'd try to find a graceful way out of this mess. There's no way to do this without hurting people you care about, but from what you've told me, I don't think you should marry Harris. Not now, anyway."

Brooke nodded and reached over and squeezed Cara's hands. "Thank you for being honest with me. And for not ratting me out to anybody."

"You have to talk to Harris right away," Cara said. "He's in agony. And so is your mom."

"I know. And my dad too." She winced. "What's Dad's reaction to all this drama?"

"He was getting ready to hire a private detective to track you down and bring you home, but your mother managed to talk him out of it," Cara said.

"That sounds like Warden Gordon, all right."

They both laughed, and then Brooke stood up and dusted off the seat of her shorts. She pulled Cara to her feet, too.

"Will you go back with me? And talk to Harris face-to-face?" Cara asked, as Brooke lowered herself onto the top rung of the foot ladder.

Brooke hesitated, then shook her head. "I can't. If I go back, Harris will probably succeed in talking me into going through with the wedding. And I just can't risk that. It's the coward's way out, I know."

Cara dropped her backpack to the ground, and then climbed down after Brooke.

"What will you do?" Cara asked. "Savannah's a pretty small town. It's going to cause quite a stir when word gets out that you jilted Harris."

"Ow," Brooke said. "Jilted. It sounds so cruel."

"I tell it like I see it," Cara replied. "Remember, it's not just Harris who's going to be devastated. You say his sister is your best friend, and his parents adore you ... I'm not trying to guilt-trip you, Brooke, but you need to be aware of what the consequences will be. For everybody involved."

"I'm fully aware," Brooke said calmly. "I borrowed Pete's computer and emailed my boss this morning and resigned from the law firm. Cell-phone service here most days seems to depend on which way the wind is blowing. I guess maybe I'll catch the ferry back with you this afternoon and try to call Harris tonight, when he gets home from work. I need to get some more clean clothes from my car, anyway. I'll call Mom and Dad too."

"Attagirl," Cara said. "And then what?"

Brooke shrugged. "Who knows? I can't stay with Pete too much longer, that's for sure. Park Service regulations." She made a face. "I do love it down here, though. I'd like to see if I could rent one of the little caretaker's cottages on the north end for two or three months. Just hang out and chill. See if I can make my brain and body slow down long enough to enjoy life. I want to spend fall on the island. It's my favorite time to be on c.u.mberland. Mom knows people, so maybe she could get me the hookup."

"And after the fall?" Cara asked. They were walking in the direction of Loblolly, where Cara had left her bike. The horses were gone now, and the sky had started to cloud up.

Brooke wasn't listening. She was looking down at the spot Cara had excavated, and in the next moment, she was kneeling on the ground, brushing sand away from the Loblolly threshold. "Hmm?"

Cara walked her bike over. "I said, what will you do after the fall? How will you make a living?"

Brooke looked up. "I'll figure that out, right after I figure out me. Who knows? Maybe I'll hang up a shingle in St. Marys. There must be somebody over there who needs suing, right?"

"Right."

A wide, mischievous grin lit up Brooke's face. "I'll start with the Park Service."

61.

Bert was seated on the living-room floor in what looked like the lotus position, his hands palm-up, resting lightly on his knees. He opened his eyes when he heard Cara come clomping up the steps from the shop.

"How did it go?" he asked. "Did you manage to la.s.so the runaway bride?"

"No." Cara dropped her backpack on the floor and collapsed onto the sofa. Poppy took that as the signal to rest her muzzle in Cara's lap, nudging Cara's hand until she obliged with a head scratch.

"The wedding is off. Brooke called Harris and her parents this afternoon to let them know where she is and to say that she's not coming back."

"Oh, wow. Major b.u.mmer."

Cara looked idly around the room. Bert had managed to pack up everything from her bookshelves, and now boxes lined the living-room wall. "What exactly are you doing?" she asked.

"Yoga. My AA sponsor says sober means sober, so no more drugs. He says the yoga will help with keeping me grounded and quitting the weed."

"Sounds good. How long have you been doing yoga?"

"Counting this morning, twice. It's very relaxing. You should try it."

"Maybe later," Cara said.

"Was Brooke shacked up with the geeky ranger like you figured?" he asked.

"She's staying with him, but not sleeping with him. And she swears that calling off the wedding is not about the strip club or the geeky ranger or even about torturing her father and stepmother. I think she basically wants to hit the reset b.u.t.ton with her life."

"Hmm." Bert slid forward with his hands under his shoulders, straightening his legs, lowering his head, and pointing his b.u.t.t toward the sky. He held the pose for only a few seconds before dropping back onto the floor. "Ugh! Now I remember why I hate the Downward Dog pose. It makes all the snot run out my eyeb.a.l.l.s."

"Just out of curiosity, how are you learning yoga? Are you going to cla.s.s?"

"Nah. Cla.s.ses cost money, and I don't like the idea of being in the same room with a lot of stinky, sweaty women. I just watch YouTube videos."

"Makes sense. By the way, thanks for packing up all the stuff, Bert. I was dreading coming home to face that. But mostly I was dreading coming home without Brooke in tow."

"I really thought you would pull this one off, Cara. I was sure if you found Brooke you'd be able to talk her into going through with things."

"Me too. I even had a brilliant five-point plan worked out."

"What happened?"

"I was outgunned. So that's it. No humongous two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar wedding means no humongous check. Patricia called me to make that perfectly clear. I called most of our vendors during the drive back from St. Marys. Everybody's disappointed. n.o.body more so than me. I'll have to talk to the Colonel in the morning to break the bad news. He's going to pop a vein when I tell him I can't send the rest of his money the way I promised."

"He called today, by the way."

"My dad?"

"Yup." Bert got up and handed her a stack of pink message slips from the console table. "He tried calling your cell phone too, but said the calls wouldn't go through."

"Thank G.o.d for c.r.a.ppy reception on that island. I don't think I could have dealt with talking with the Colonel today. Wait a minute. How'd he get my cell number?"

"Not from me," Bert said.

Cara shook her head, then held up the other message slips. "Who are all these people? I don't recognize the names."

"Ahhh. Well, it seems your former nemesis Lillian Fanning has transformed herself into your own personal patron saint. The top three slips are all from brides or mothers of the brides wanting an appointment to talk wedding flowers, and two of them said Lillian referred them. The third girl, Taylor Vickers, and her mom, you're seeing tomorrow at eleven because she just had a tragic breakup with her former florist, and the wedding is only three weeks away."

"What florist did she break up with?" Cara asked.