Wrapping a blanket around her, Joan reclined in one of the patio chairs and gazed up at the sky. "So far, so good," she told the stars. "There've been no catastrophes, no breakdowns, and no bloodshed. Adam and I thought that Kat and Grace might not get along, and there was that moment after Kat asked Grace why she'd relegated herself to a small-town radio talk show. But then they got into a debate about something political that nobody but them cared about and all was well.
"Everything's set for tomorrow. There are no foreseen complications on the horizon. Maybe fate will be kind and tomorrow will go smoothly. Everybody will be on time and the whole thing will just fall into place after months of crazed planning." Joan laughed at the unlikelihood of her fantasy. If only life worked like that. Stop thinking negatively, she thought. That won't do anyone any good. Besides, you're dancing around what you really want. Just get it over with and go to bed.
Smiling up at the heavens, Joan said, "I've been a pretty decent instrument, I think. Well, I've obeyed and things turned out all right. I haven't always been gracious or polite, but I am grateful for everything. And I know I probably shouldn't do what I'm about to do, but I haven't asked for much of anything. Okay, yeah, I've asked for answers to my questions, but that's more of a reflex than anything else. I already know you're not going to answer. So, here goes. Please, please, don't let it rain tomorrow. Yes, it's April and there's that whole showers thing, but I'd really, really appreciate if all the bad weather could wait until Saturday. That is, if it has to rain at all. That's it—that's all I'm asking. You thought it was going to be something big, didn't You?"
"You wouldn't call manipulating the weather big, Joan?"
Bolting upright, Joan smiled when she located the source of the question. God, in his all-time favorite cute boy form, crossed the patio and sat in the empty chair beside her.
"I was hoping You'd show."
"I'm always with you, Joan. You know that."
Was that sadness she detected in His voice? Frowning, she took a closer look at Him. Though He didn't seem any different than usual, Joan still felt a deep sense of sadness from Him. "I know. I was just hoping I'd see You before the wedding."
God didn't respond. Instead, He stared at the stars. Joan followed suit, a sense of well-being stealing over her as they sat in companionable silence.
Then His voice reached her through the still night. "You've been a wonderful instrument, Joan."
A teary smile lit Joan's face. "Thank You."
"You're welcome."
Wiping away her tears, Joan picked up the envelope resting on the table between them. "This is for You," she said.
"What is it?" He asked as He took it.
"Like You don't know," she scoffed laughingly. When He simply cocked an eyebrow, an obvious signal to play along, she rolled her eyes and said, "Open it."
With a barely perceptible smile, He opened the envelope and removed the card inside. "You're inviting Me to your wedding."
"I want You to be there."
"I'm always 'there,' Joan."
"I want to see You there," she rephrased. "Please. Just this one last time."
Cute Boy God glanced at her sharply, something akin to surprise in His eyes.
"I figured it out," Joan whispered. "The infrequent visits, the lack of weird missions, the sadness I feel right now. You aren't going to be coming around anymore, are You?"
"No."
Blinking back fresh tears, Joan offered Him a bittersweet smile. "I'm going to miss You. Your visits," she hurriedly amended. "I'm going to miss Your visits."
"It's time, Joan," He said gently.
"Okay." It wasn't, not really, however she knew the only choice she had was acceptance. "Does that mean You can't come to the wedding?" She held her breath, bracing herself against possible disappointment.
"I'll be there, Joan."
"In person, so to speak?"
"In person," He confirmed. "Now shouldn't you be getting ready for bed? You have a big day tomorrow."
Giggling, she nodded as she stood. He mirrored her, hands tucked in His corduroy jacket. Joan fidgeted with her hands, unsure of what to do next. She wanted to hug Him or something she'd ordinarily do in such a situation, but it seemed improper somehow. He wasn't helping either, just standing there, patiently waiting for her to make a move. Finally, she gave up and tried to convey everything she felt with a single look. "Good night."
God took one of His hands out of His pocket and drew it across her forehead before pushing her hair away from her face. "Good night, Joan."
Overwhelmed, she turned away and headed for the apartment. At the patio door, she glanced back, but He was gone. "See You tomorrow."
Joan groaned as shrill ringing woke her. Reluctantly opening her eyes, she squinted at her alarm clock as she hit the snooze button. Seven-fifteen. She was going to be late for work.
The ringing continued undaunted. It was the phone. She grabbed it, wondering who'd be calling so early. "Hello?"
"Good morning."
Joan stretched decadently as happiness swelled throughout her body at the sound of Adam's voice. "Good morning," she purred back.
"Are you excited?" he asked, amused by her catlike noises. "Nervous?"
"About what?"
Adam didn't answer immediately and Joan frowned. As much as she loved waking up to the sound of his voice, she knew she couldn't linger in bed for long. She wanted to savor this conversation quickly. She was just about to ask him what was wrong when he said, "Jane, do you know what day it is?"
"Of course, I do. It's Friday, our wedding . . ." Joan's jaw dropped. They were getting married today. Had she really forgotten? "Oh, Adam, I'm sorry," she whispered earnestly. "I just woke up."
His warm, forgiving chuckle rumbled through the phone line. Settling back into her pillows, she realized talking to Adam was a really good way to start the day. She intended to get used to this. "So," he began, pulling her out of her thoughts, "excited? Nervous?"
"Excited, yes. Nervous, no." She twisted a strand of hair around her finger. "You?"
"Same. I can't wait to see you coming down the aisle."
Feeling a smile wash over her, Joan teased, "You know, you're making the next eleven hours much harder to bear."
He scoffed, "You're counting the hours?"
"Yes. Aren't you?"
"Yeah," he admitted sheepishly, making her giggle. "Hey, Jane?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you."
Joan couldn't have stopped her grin if she tried. "Hey, Adam?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you, too."
After a moment, he said, "Hey, Jane?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you said yes."
"Hey, Adam?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you asked."
"Jane?"
"Yeah?"
"I can't wait to say 'I do.'"
For a moment, Joan couldn't summon a single word. Finally, she said, "Adam?"
"Yeah?"
"Me, either."
They sighed together. She could have played the game a lot longer. There were so many things she wanted to say to him. But then, listening to him breathe was good, too. Oh, she had it bad. She knew instantly when something else claimed his attention.
"Adam?" He didn't answer. "Hey, what's going on?"
She heard him say something, but it was too muffled for her to understand. Then he was back. "Sorry about that. Kevin and Rodney are ready. I have to go."
Though she wanted to say 'they can wait,' she knew it was time for her to get up, too. They had a long, full day ahead of them. "Okay."
"Good-bye, Jane Girardi."
"Good-bye, love."
Dropping the phone back in its cradle, Joan tossed back the covers and hopped out of bed. She crossed over to her vanity and stared at her reflection. Joan Girardi stared back. She reached out and touched the glass where her cheek still had pillow creases etched in it. "In about ten hours and fifty minutes, you won't exist anymore," she whispered. "Joan Rove will take your place."
Smiling thoughtfully, Joan waited for any worries or uncertainties to arise. This was usually the time when they made their last-ditch efforts, just before she actually took the big steps. She felt only rightness. She was more than ready to do this. Joan glanced back at her reflection. "Good-bye, Joan Girardi," she declared.
Dubiously, Adam raised his hand from the dish of warm, soapy water. "Ow." He glared at the woman across from him. She'd just popped the back of his hand with an inch-thick emery board and pushed his hand back in the dish. "Why are we doing this again?" he asked his bridegrooms.
"Because we were told to do something to relax you," Kevin answered.
He winced as the manicurist dragged the emery board across a sore spot on his nail. "I was relaxed before I came here," he muttered under his breath.
"And Kat told us to," Rodney added. He sat between Kevin and Adam, completely comfortable with his manicurist. Adam resisted the urge to grimace at his best man. Rodney had an almost uncanny ability to be comfortable anywhere. "She said," Rodney continued, "and I quote, 'Just because he works with his hands does not mean Joan should have to endure his calluses.'"
The image of Joan sucking her breath in through her teeth as he skimmed his fingertips down her spine appeared unbidden before his mind's eye. He could see her gazing up at him, heavy-lidded passion blazing in her eyes, as his hand slid up to cup her breast. Her moan reverberated through his memory. She never seemed to mind his calluses.
"Dude," Kevin said sharply.
With effort, Adam shook away his libidinous thoughts. "Huh?"
"Stop that."
"Stop what?"
Kevin shot Adam a knowing look. "Stop having dirty thoughts about my sister."
Rodney choked on an aborted shout of laughter. "So he can't even think about tonight? That's cold."
Adam just gaped at Kevin. Kevin stared back. "I'm serious, dude. Don't make me come over there."
Adam and Rodney bowed their heads, shaking with bridled laughter at Kevin's tone. When he trusted himself to speak normally, he turned to his soon-to-be brother-in-law and said, "Dude, I'm marrying her. You don't have anything to worry about."
"I'd better not," Kevin said darkly.
"Are they always like this," Rodney asked.
Smirking, Adam said, "The Girardi men are extremely protective of Joan."
"All I'm saying is be careful with her," Kevin stated. "Because if you hurt her, I'll kick your ass." He grinned.
Adam leaned toward Rodney. "Is it customary to be threatened by your future in-laws on your wedding day?"
Rodney nodded reflectively. "I think so. It's like a formality you have to get out of the way before the wedding can actually take place."
Adam looked around his best friend at Kevin for confirmation. Kevin nodded, then pointed at Adam's manicurist. She'd opened a bottle of clear nail polish and had the brush poised over his hand.
"Uh, no." He politely pulled his hand out of the woman's grasp. "I won't need any polish, thank you."
The five women moaned in unison. "This is incredible," Helen sighed from somewhere on Joan's left.
"I haven't felt this good since before I got pregnant with Trevor," Rebecca said from Joan's far right.
Grace grunted. "This is definitely better than sex." The other four women all looked at her. She shrugged. "Unfortunately, I've never had spectacular, mind-blowing sex. Sue me." She dropped her face back in the table's face-shaped hole.
Joan buried her flaming face as well. Leave it to Grace to say something like that in front of her mother. "Well," she said when she trusted her voice to sound normal, "thank Kat. This was her idea."
The other three women chorused their thanks. Between the whimpers, sighs, and gasps, it sounded downright naughty.
"You're welcome," Kat said, a hint of laughter coloring her words. She did this for herself regularly.
Joan opened her mouth to thank her as well when her masseur finally loosened a particularly tight spot. "Oh, God," she groaned, mentally apologizing for taking His name in vain. It just felt so good.
"I hope the boys are enjoying their outing as much as we are," Kat mused.
After surviving the manicure debacle unscathed (and unpolished), Adam spent the next three hours taking care of the final details: paying the vendors, securing the ring, and such. Now he was sprawled in a chair in his room (Joan had rented rooms at a bed and breakfast across the street from the park so the wedding party could change and rest before the ceremony), desperate for a nap and some aspirin.
He had just nodded off when he heard the knock. He briefly considered pretending he wasn't there but thought of the chaos that might cause. "Come in," he said wearily.
Carl stuck his head in. "Adam?"
"Hey, Dad." Seeing the bag in Carl's hands, he got up and moved to the table. "What do you have there?"
His father frowned slightly as he entered the room. He seemed to be testing the waters. Adam contained his sigh, but sadness nearly overwhelmed him. It had been like this for the last week, this tentative dance they performed around each other after their last argument. For once, Adam hadn't started it. He'd simply asked if Sharon was coming to the wedding. Carl lost it. All of the frustration he'd been feeling since his heart attack gushed out. But it was Carl's unanticipated declaration—she didn't love me enough to stay—that neither knew how to get past. Adam understood the feeling—had felt it himself when he was a teenager, sometimes he still did. He'd always thought it was a sign of immaturity in him. It had never occurred to him that his father felt the same.
Carl sat down across from his son. "How are you holding up?"
"Tired. It's only noon, but I'm already exhausted." He offered his dad an uneasy smile. "Who knew weddings were so much work?"
"Women." Carl returned his son's smile. "Um, Sharon thought you might be hungry. She sent you some lunch."
Unable to bear his dad's hesitance, Adam said, "That was really nice of her."
"She's a nice lady."
Clearing his throat, Adam asked, "Is she coming tonight?"
Carl stiffened briefly before answering. "No. We thought it would be best if . . ."
"She should come." Taking a deep breath, Adam raised his eyes to Carl's uncertain ones. "You should have someone to share this with. Sharon cares about you. She should be there."
"Adam . . ."
"Mom's gone." He'd said it before, but this time it broke his heart. It was an oddly freeing sensation. "She's gone and we have to let her go."
Tears glistened in Carl's eyes. Adam felt tears in his own eyes. He didn't try to blink them away. "You deserve to be happy, Dad. If Sharon makes you happy, then I'm happy, too."
"Are you sure?"
"Can she cook?" he asked although he already knew the answer.
Carl nodded.
"Does she make sure you take your medication?"
"Yeah."
"Gets you to exercise?"
"You know she does," he answered, a hint of a smile creeping into his voice.
Adam swallowed before asking his next question. "Do you get that giddy, light-headed, excited, stomach-cramp feeling when you think about her?"
The smile faded from Carl's lips and clasped his hands together. After a long minute, he said, "It's getting stronger each day."
Nodding, Adam said, "Then I'm happy for you."
"Thanks."
Father and son sat quietly, digesting their conversation. Finally, Carl said, "She'll never replace Elizabeth."
"I know. I know that, Dad." After another mini-silence, Adam said, "I'm sorry for the way I act before and everyth . . ."
"None of that," Carl interrupted. "You're not apologizing on your wedding day. Maybe when you get back from your honeymoon," he teased.
"To both of you," he agreed. Adam drummed his fingers on the table as if signaling the end of the subject. He acknowledged the bag with a tilt of his head. "So what's in the bag? Tell me it's not a fried egg sandwich."
Watching his father throw his head back and belly laugh was the best thing to happen to Adam since his talk with Joan that morning. "That's my specialty," Carl said, winking conspiratorially at his son. "Plus, Sharon's on the same health kick you've been trying to get me on." Then he took out two plates full of hot, steamed vegetables and roasted chicken.
Adam felt the worry he'd been carrying in the pit of his stomach over his father begin to loosen. He had a feeling that both he and Carl were going to be just fine.
"I'm not hungry, Mom," Joan exclaimed for what felt like the twentieth time. What was it with her mom and food? For as long as Joan could remember, Helen was constantly trying to force food on her and she was trying to fend it off. "I don't think I could keep anything down anyway." Maybe that would get her mom off her back.
Helen wasn't giving up so easily. "If you don't eat now, you won't get a chance to until the reception. Do you really want your stomach to start growling in the middle of the ceremony?"
Joan threw Helen an unholy glare knowing she was trapped by her mother's airtight logic. Helen returned her daughter's glare with a beatific smile. "What did you have in mind?" Joan asked as she turned away. It wouldn't do to let Helen see the grin stealing over her face.
"Well, you know I'm partial to bran."
"Mom!" She whirled around, aghast at her mother's suggestion.
Clapping a hand over her mouth, Helen burst into a fit of giggles before she fell on the nearby bed. "You should see your face."
Plunking her fists on her hips, Joan struggled to hold on to her indignation in the face of her mother's hilarity. "Not funny, Mom."
Helen cleared her throat and managed to swallow the majority of her remaining laughter before saying, "What would you have said if I'd mentioned the importance of staying regular?" She'd barely made it to the end of the question before she broke down again.
Joan gave up fighting and collapsed on the bed besides her mom, letting the shared laughter wash over her. The nervousness she hadn't felt that morning had slowly crept up on her until her stomach was in knots. It amazed her how good it felt being silly with her mother like this.
When they'd finally gotten control of themselves, Joan turned to her mother. "I needed that."
"Me, too."
Mother and daughter stared up at the ceiling, relishing this rare moment of unity. "Mom?"
"Yes, honey?"
"I know I wasn't an easy teenager," Joan began.
"No, you certainly weren't."
Joan bumped Helen's shoulder with her own. "What, you couldn't agree faster?"
Helen snorted.
"The point is," Joan continued importantly, "I appreciate now how lucky I was to have you for a mom."
Sitting up, Helen looked down at Joan with her pre-cry smile firmly in place. "Joan," she said in her uniquely Southern, sing-songy way. She was clearly moved by her daughter's statement.
Quickly sitting up as well, Joan warned, "No crying, Mom."
"But . . ."
"Uh-uh," she interrupted. "If you start crying, then I'll start crying and nobody wants a puffy-eyed, red-nosed bride. Not before the vows, anyway."
"Right." Helen settled for gazing at her grown daughter. She stroked Joan's cheek. Both were surprised when Joan pressed it into her mother's palm. "My baby's getting married," Helen whispered.
Joan rolled her eyes at the awe in her mother's voice to relieve the mounting emotion in the room. At the rate they were going, they'd both dissolve into puddles in about thirty seconds.
Helen suddenly pulled Joan in for a hug. She kissed her daughter's temple before whispering in her ear, "I'm lucky to have you for my daughter." She quickly let go of Joan and got to her feet. "I'll go find something for you to eat—fruit or something. Definitely no bran." Then she was gone.