The Second Yes Page 24

  He’d just buried himself back into the kings of Israel when his phone rang. Snow White Bridal flashed across the screen. “Hello?”

  “Hello, my name is London Hutchins. I work in the same building with Rhonda Snow at Snow White Bridal. I heard you had a request with a previously canceled order, and I was wondering if I could help.”

  Ty stammered out an unintelligible response. “… I talked to Mrs. Snow before, and she said she couldn’t help me.”

  The girl assured him that she was not Mrs. Snow. “Why don’t you tell me what you need?”

  Ty explained his predicament—how an order had been made back in March, but then the bride had to cancel it. “I want her to have the dress she wants, not the one others want her to wear.”

  “What was the name on the order?”

  Maybe she can help! Ty tried to sound confident as he said, “Lara Priest.”

  “You’re Lara’s fiancé?”

  That question solidified an idea that had been building in his mind and heart since the day he could no longer deny that he loved Lara—the day he realized she wasn’t completely immune to him. Ty swallowed hard, steadied himself with a quick prayer for favor, and said, “Hopefully.”

  Her next question held a trace of something he feared might be mistrust. “And your name is?”

  “Ty Jamison.” As he said it, Ty realized for the first time that Preston’s surname sounded similar to his. St. James… Jamison… If Lara said Preston’s name, maybe this girl will remember that.

  “Just give me a minute…”

  Ty said, “Okay,” but he could tell she’d already gone. Seconds stretched into minutes. One… two… three…

  “Are you still there, Ty?”

  “Yes!” Please say you’ve got the dress.

  She did. “I found the dress.”

  Praise the Lord.

  Instructions followed. How he’d have to pay for the rest of the dress, how the dress needed to be altered. How he’d have to get her some measurements right away so it could be shipped immediately.

  “Um… oookaaay… What kind of measurements?”

  “Just the standard. Bust, waist, hips.”

  For the first time in his life, Ty found himself stammering in earnest. “B-b-b…” Ty cleared his throat. “Would I find those on her driver’s license?”

  The moment he asked the question, the ridiculosity of it struck him. Really, Ty? Are your… measurements on your driver’s license?

  London laughed. “I certainly hope not!”

  Ty just groaned.

  Ever helpful, London continued. “What about Brenna? Can she help you get the measurements?”

  “No, not really. No one knows what I’m doing, and I need to keep it that way.”

  Of course, at that, London insisted that she must have proper measurements to ensure the dress fit well. Ty suggested measuring the other dress, and London agreed it might work, but he’d have to be careful to measure in exactly the right places. Flustered, Ty assured her he could lay it out and measure.

  “Do you want it in feet?” The moment he asked, Ty wanted to crawl in a hole. Inches or centimeters, you idiot. Even you know that much.

  Once more, when London specified the need for bust, waist, and hip measurements, Ty tripped up on that four-letter word, “bust.” He stammered for a moment and asked for the exact place to find that particular measurement.

  “The breast area, Ty.”

  He bit his tongue. Really? I don’t measure the sleeve length to get that? Shocker. Ty tried again. “Um… how? Like the circumference? From one side to the other?”

  London began explaining how to measure around the dress. In one sentence she’d managed to mention breast and bra. If I didn’t know you were a friend of Lara’s, I’d swear you were doing this to me deliberately. Here goes… Ty took a cleansing breath and ordered himself to say the word breast. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t said it in mixed company without any trouble—his entire life! “B-b-b… Um… Maybe we should try the hips first. Is that one easier? Then I can work up to the b-b-other one.”

  “Sure.”

  Ty could hear the laughter in her voice. She is doing this deliberately. She has to be.

  “Her hips would be the area right above her panty line.”

  That one, Ty didn’t dignify with a response. Instead, he jumped up, grabbed the dress, and tapped the speakerphone button. In a drawer, he found the metal measuring tape he used when brides needed help with the chapel.

  A glance at the dress, the lining, and all the twisted, gathered fabric gave him pause. As much as he didn’t want to, he had to ask. “Should I be measuring on the inside? I bet this thing is a good inch bigger on the outside with all these bits and bunches.”

  Just to test it, Ty tried measuring both, but bending the metal measuring tape around the dress wasn’t easy. That’s probably why Mama has one of those plastic ones. He tried again. And again. Frustrated, he huffed, “Hey, Miss Hutchins, do they make padded bridal underwear? Maybe we can just make the dress too big and pad it out… Maybe a blow-up thing that expands to fill it based on how much too big it is.”

  As ridiculous an idea as it was, he found the suggestion cathartic after his inability to make the tape measure work. London’s response shook him to the core. “Actually, Ty, I really need precise measurements. Last I checked, all inflatable underwear was completely out of stock.”

  She sounds way too serious for that. It’s not really a thing, is it? That would solve so many problems!

  London interrupted his thoughts with a new suggestion—that he put the dress on and subtract the dress’s measurements from his. Like I know mine. You’ve got to be messing with me.

  “Yeah, I’m not sure I can do that.”

  “Oh, but that’s the best way to get the other measurements I need.”

  She got him. Before he could stop himself, Ty blurted out, “Other measurements?”

  “Yes, it would be so helpful to know how heavy that dress is. Also, if I could get a measurement from the crotch area, up past the bust to the neckline, that would be very helpful.”

  Lord save him from himself, he stuttered on both words, not able to spit them out. Never fear, London repeated them both and even began explaining what a crotch was. Lord, save me now!

  The crotch is the—”

  “I know!” Ty snapped.

  And just like that, the ordeal was over. London conceded that she could survive with only bust, waist, and hips. This time, Ty decided to let the magic of Google help him find exactly what to measure on the dress. He wrote down her email address and promised to send them as quickly as possible.

  Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was messing with him, so Ty threw out one more plea for help. “Are you sure? You think you might be able to find some inflatable underwear after all?

  “I’m sure I can figure something out,” London replied.

  “Thanks for your help, Miss Hutchins.”

  “Good luck, Ty.”

  She was about to bust a gut. He could tell. Ty tried one more time. “Um… just one more question. The waist? Where would I find that?”

  “That’s the smallest part of the dress. In between the hips and the bust. That one should probably be the easiest one to measure.”

  “Oookaaay…. Do they make inflatable belts to go with the underwear? Maybe you should pick one of those up, too, just in case. And something for the b-b-b—” This time, his stammer was affected—just for her. If I could only say that about the other times.

  “Don’t hurt yourself, Ty. Just get me some numbers, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  So, while London awaited his email, Ty searched Google for points of measurements on garments and tried to make his match. He had the skirt spread out and the measuring tape pinned down when Lauren burst in the door.

  If I ever have a daughter, her name will not begin with L. Lara, Lauren, and London. This is cruelty.

  “Um, Ty? What are you doing?”


  “The seamstress needs measurements from the gown.”

  The girl gave him a look that said, “You’re an idiot.” She turned to go. “I’ll be back. What measurements are you taking?”

  “Bust, waist, and hips.” And I didn’t even stutter once.

  “Hips?” She spread out the skirt. “That’s not going to tell you anything. There’s probably a hundred inches of fabric there. Lara does not have hundred-inch hips! I’ll grab a pair of her jeans while I’m at it. Be right back.”

  Thanks to Lauren’s help, he sent off the measurements inside the hour.

  When she should have been at work going over scheduling, Lara turned away from the restaurant and carried a folder up Abbey Lane to Church Street and into Ty’s office. He looked up at her, his delight in seeing her evident. “Lara! Just the woman I wanted to see.”

  “At least someone does.” She dropped the folder onto the desk. “I thought it made sense to bring that to you since you have to send it in and everything. It’ll be here waiting.”

  Ty flipped it open, stared at the paper inside, and folded it. Then, as if he could read her mind and heart, he rose, skirted the desk, and came to hug her. “Congratulations. It’s getting real, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wait… someone doesn’t want to see you?” The way his voice strangled, and he paused, blinking, told her he’d started to say something else.

  “Preston is still put out about the trade show—I think. He won’t actually say. I have an appointment to speak to Pastor Clary, because if he doesn’t open up and tell me what’s wrong, if he’s not willing to compromise on things that are really important to me, I’m going to postpone the wedding.”

  Without hesitating, without saying even one of the angry things she saw flash in his eyes, Ty took her hands and stood there, head bowed, silent for a moment. Then he prayed. “Lord, Lara is in trouble. I want to say all the spiritual-sounding things, but I’m angry at Preston right now, and lying to You in prayer seems not only futile but a slap in the face. So, I’m going to keep this simple. Please bring to light all that is hidden. Please open the doors for true communication so that everyone may stand with a contented heart and clear conscience when the wedding day comes—whatever day that is.”

  Lara broke in, fighting back tears. “Yes, that, Lord. That. All of it. That.”

  Ty filled in the formalities of closing prayers—something Lara didn’t understand when people were supposed to be in continuous prayer. Why do we ever say, “Amen” if we’re not supposed to stop praying?

  She’d made it to Abbey Lane before Lara realized she’d kissed Ty’s cheek before she left. Lord, he opened up to both of us about his anger. Why can’t Preston do that with me?

  Local rumor said that Preston St. James would be at The Birches after seven o’clock. He was there nearly every night at that time—whether Lara worked or not. So, when Ty had the final vows and prayer printed out for Lara and her fiancé, knowing Preston would be there, he took off for the restaurant.

  Lara greeted him almost the moment he walked in the door. The way her eyes shifted from anxious to relaxed at the sight of him told him more than she’d meant to.

  A crowd bustled in, and Lara beckoned for him to follow her outside. “Juli gets flustered if I’m hovering. What’s up?”

  He passed her the pages. “I could have given these to you tomorrow, but I know Preston comes by sometimes, so I thought he could take one set to Clary on Saturday.”

  By the light of the streetlamp, she read through the minor changes he and Pastor Clary had agreed to and nodded. “Thanks, Ty. I appreciate it.” She pointed to a spot in the prayer and sighed. “I pray that already.”

  Ty leaned close to see, his heart giving every indication of stopping until he saw the words—the part where Pastor Clary would pray that Preston would learn to live with his wife in an understanding way. “Lara, if you have—”

  “What’s going on here?”

  A red flag shot into the air at the anger and suspicion in Preston’s tone. Had he been at any of the counseling sessions, Ty might have assumed he read Ty’s heart and didn’t like it. But as things were, it was impossible.

  “Ty brought by the vows and prayer for us. He and Pastor Clary worked on them together. He thought you would want to take them to church on Satur—bath.”

  You sound like a terrified wife trying to keep her husband from flipping out.

  “Well, he did it. He can go now.”

  Even in the low light of the streetlamp, Ty could see Lara’s eyes flashing. “Preston! That was just rude.”

  “This man came into our house and terrorized my grandmother. I think I can safely say I am not comfortable with him around my fiancée, either.”

  Exaggerating much? Red flag number two.

  “What? Ty would never—I haven’t even met your grandmother.”

  “I did meet his grandmother last week. She wants to meet you, too.” Ty faced Preston and controlled every word as he said, “But if anyone terrorized anyone, I’d say it was the other way around. She has very decided opinions on your form—”

  “That’s enough.” Preston turned to go and take Lara with him. “You need to mind your own business.”

  A charming three. Will there be four flags? Five?

  “Preston, what’s wrong with you? Why shouldn’t he meet everyone?”

  “That is our prerogative, Lara. When. Who. How. This is my family, I have to protect them, and I expect you to support me.”

  Yep. Definitely four.

  “And I’m telling you that Ty wouldn’t terrorize an old lady! He’s not that kind of man.”

  “Lara!”

  Five.

  “Yelling at her isn’t going to solve anything,” Ty suggested.

  “Mind your own business.”

  Six. Red flags waving all over the place.

  Lara demanded he apologize. He demanded she stop undermining his care and concern for his family. As the argument continued, red flags shot up faster than those in a carnival game. Nine… ten… eleven… twelve… I’d better go before he gets a baker’s dozen.

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Lara. This isn’t a profitable discussion.”

  “I don’t think so. She’ll be excusing herself from the rest of your so-called sessions.”

  As Lara protested, her eyes told Ty he’d better go. Ty walked away with one thought in mind. And we end with an unlucky thirteen.

  Preston’s voice followed—complaining about misplaced loyalty, how she probably would have used Ty’s gift instead of relegating it to the back of the closet, and something about how his grandmother was still upset after the visit.

  Gift? Closet? Wha—no… he’s not still whining about that stupid purse. Is he?

  Ty’s phone rang as he entered the parsonage. Detective Frome’s name flashed on the screen. “Hey, Frome. Thanks for getting back to me.”

  “Just got off and thought I’d call on my drive home. What’s up?”

  “Well, I’ve got a couple of questions.” Ty needed to ask a dozen, but the purse blurted out first. “This is going to sound really weird, but can you look at the crime scene photos when you get a chance?”

  “That depends…” Frome cleared his throat. “What are you looking for?”

  “See if she had a purse? If you could describe it? I know it’s weird, but—”

  “Don’t have to look at it. It was one of those designer things. Shiny. Um… hang on. My wife is always banging on about wanting one. Simona. That’s it. She wants the number two, but I think I read Eddington’s purse was a six.”

  “I don’t know what any of that means but I’m going to look it up. What color?”

  “Some weird pink that’s almost off white and almost brown, too.” Frome swore and blared his horn. “If I weren’t off duty, I’d call in a cruiser. Jerk.”

  “And you remember all that from three years ago?”

  Frome laughed. “Nah… company name, sure, b
ut I just went over some of the files after you called.”

  “So… what year was it? Do the numbers change?” Ty stared at the screen with nine different styles spinning on the home page. “I think I need to look for the right year.”

  “Nah, it’s like that Chanel perfume. Number 5 is always number 5. And the same with the purses. They hardly change them.”

  While Frome talked about how that purse being full of cash was how they’d known it wasn’t a robbery gone wrong, Ty looked up a number six purse and sent a screenshot to Brenna. Is this Lara’s purse?

  “So there was money? Like how much is full?”

  “Fifteen hundred exactly. In an envelope. What’s this about?”

  Ty’s phone dinged, and a one-word text appeared. Yes. A moment later, another followed. Why?

  I’ll explain later.

  “Ty?”

  “He bought the same purse for Lara. Don’t you think that’s weird? He also didn’t like finding out that I went to see his grandmother.”

  Silence followed. A squeal of tires and then a question. “You saw the grandmother? How?”

  “Found out that the mom sleeps on Friday afternoons and the house help is gone. Went in, said hi, talked. She’s obsessed with Lara being a replacement for the ‘ungrateful’ Monica.”

  “Between us, Jamison, I always thought the grandma did it—somehow. But we have nothing on her. She never leaves the house except for church.”

  Ain’t that the truth. The memory of Preston’s overreaction prompted Ty to share the whole conversation. “He was just… kooky about it.”

  “Kooky?” Frome gave a weak laugh. “Yeah. But I know what you mean. It’s all weird.”

  The fury on Preston’s face, the way he’d overreacted to their conversation, the purse, the thing with the grandma… Ty had to ask one more time. “And you’re sure he couldn’t have done it.”

  “Positive. And more than that, I don’t think he did. I wanted him to be guilty, but no one believes it. No one. It just doesn’t work. But…”

  Give me something. “What?” Anything.

  “Well, what you’re saying about the stuff now. If this girl really does look like Monica, and if he bought her the same purse, and if he’s hiding grandma…”