“Spring? I…”
“No.” Under the picnic table, Brooks patted Abigail’s thigh. “I’m not waiting that long.”
“Spoken like a man who doesn’t have the first clue what goes into doing a wedding. We had ten months for Sybill and Jake’s—and worked like dogs to get it all done in time.”
“But it was beautiful,” Sybill reminded her.
“I assumed we’d just go to the courthouse,” Abigail began, and was rewarded with stereo gasps from the women.
“Bite your tongue.” Mya pointed at her.
Sybill gave her sister an elbow in the ribs. “You want something simple.”
“Yes. Very simple.” She looked at Brooks.
“Simple, sure. I’m betting there’s a lot of simple between a run to the courthouse and the diamond jubilee forming inMya’s mind. I’m thinking in the fall—time enough for a little fuss, not enough time to rent a circus tent.”
“That’s less than six months! Less than six months to find the perfect dress, book the right venue, interview caterers, photographers—”
“Photographers?” Abigail interrupted.
“Of course. You can’t have your uncle Andy taking your wedding photos.”
“I don’t have an uncle Andy.” And she’d always avoided photographs. Ilya had recognized her in New York, in a matter of seconds, on the street. If a photo of her somehow got online or in a newspaper it could—likely would—lead to discovery and disaster.
“Which leads back to the guest list. I can help with our side. I have the list from mine, and from Syb’s. How many do you estimate from your side?”
“There’s no one.”
“Oh, but—” Mya didn’t need an elbow jab or the warning look from Brooks to cut herself off. She rolled on as if “no one” was perfectly normal. “That sure keeps it simple. What we need is a planning session, a ladies’ lunch—because you don’t have anything to do about it,” she told Brooks with a wide grin. “Weddings flow from the bride.”
“Fine with me.”
“I know this wonderful bridal boutique down in Little Rock,” Mya continued.
“White Wedding,” Seline put in. “Itiswonderful. I found my dress there.”
“What we need to do is take a day, all us girls, go down there, check it out, have lunch, brainstorm. I’ll have to check my calendar.” Mya dug out her phone, began to swipe screens. “Maybe we can set it up for next week.”
“Next week,” Abigail managed.
“You always were a bossypants.” Sunny sat back, sipping a margarita. “That’s one of the things we love about her, Abigail, but it takes some getting used to. Why don’t you give her a few days, Mya, to get settled in to being engaged?”
“I am bossy.” Mya laughed and tossed back her hair whenher husband snorted into his beer. “And when we’re sisters? I’ll be even worse.”
“She means it,” Sybill said.
Abigail heard the quiet hum of the vibrating phone in Brooks’s pocket. When she looked down, he eased it out, checked the display. “Sorry, need to take this.” His eyes met hers briefly as he stood up, walked some distance off.
It seemed surreal. Mya continued to talk about wedding boutiques, flowers, and plated meals or buffets, and all the while Brooks talked to Anson about decisions that would put her life on the line.
Like the snowball again, she thought, rolling, rolling, growing, picking up weight and mass until it took the mountain with it.
No stopping it now, she reminded herself. She was committed to pushing through.
“Are you all right?” Sybill asked her.
“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. It’s just a little overwhelming.”
