Not just thunder but rain. Not gentle, romantic, movie-scene rain, either. Nope, it’s heavy, pounding, angry rain. I drop the pink disaster and rush to the window, yanking back the curtain. My stomach somersaults when I take in the scene before me. It's pouring, the kind of rain that floods streets and ruins everything in its path. Water is hammering the ground, turning the backyard into a muddy disaster zone.
Our outdoor wedding.
“Oh my God,” I breathe, pressing my hands against the glass.
The gorgeous tent we set up yesterday is white and beautiful, with fairy lights strung inside. I can barely see it through the rain, but what I can see makes my heart sink. There's a giant,gaping hole in the top of the tent, and water is pouring through it like a waterfall.
“No. No, this can't be happening.”
My bedroom door flies open, and Mom rushes in, her face pale. “Hope, honey, we have a probl?—”
“I know!” I gesture wildly at the window. “The rain! The tent!”
“The tent has a hole,” Mom says, her voice tight. “A big one. I just came from outside. The chairs are soaked, and the decorations are ruined. Water is pooling everywhere."
“And I don't have a dress!” I grab the horrendous dress and hold it up. “Look at this! This isn't my dress! Where's my dress?”
Mom's eyes go wide. “What? Ho?—”
“I don't know!” My voice cracks. “I don't know what happened, but this is what was in the bag, and the wedding is in a few hours, and I don't have a dress, and the tent is destroyed, an?—”
My phone rings, interrupting my rant. We both stare at it on the nightstand like it's a bomb that will detonate at any second.
Hell, it could be with the way everything else is going.
“Maybe it's the bridal boutique,” Mom says hopefully. “Maybe they realized the mistake.”
I lunge for the phone, not even checking the caller ID. “Hello?”
“Hope?” The voice on the other end is rough, congested. “It's Pastor Williams.”
“Hi, Pastor Williams,” I say weakly.
“I'm so sorry,” he says, and then he coughs, a deep, rattling cough that makes me wince. “I'm sick. I believe it’s the flu, and I can barely get out of bed. There's no way I can officiate your wedding today.”
The phone nearly slips from my hand. My stomach sinks further into the depths of despair, which I didn't think was possible. “You... what?”
“I'm so sorry,” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know this is terrible timing. Maybe you can find som?—”
“The wedding is in six hours,” I say numbly.
“I know. I'm so, so sorry. I hope you ca—” Another coughing fit cuts him off.
“It's okay,” I hear myself say, even though nothing is okay. “Feel better.” I hang up before he can apologize again.
Mom is staring at me. “That didn’t sound good. What did he say?”
“He's sick with the flu. He can't do the ceremony.” I look down at the phone in my hand, then at the pink dress on the bed, then at the rain hammering the window.
No dress. No venue. No pastor.
“What the hell are we going to do?” I whisper.
Mom's face crumples slightly, but she tries to hold it together. “Okay. Okay, we can figure this out. Can we move the ceremony inside? The living room is big enou?—”
“For forty-three people?” I shake my head. “What about the tent? All the decorations? The chairs?”
“We can bring them inside and dry them off,” she suggests.
