The Wrong Bridesmaid

Wren opens my door without knocking, slipping through the small crack she’s created before shutting it behind her. My glare of displeasure is wasted as she presses her ear to the door, completely ignoring me.

“What are you doing, Wren?”

In response, she holds up a finger, telling me to wait, though she’s the one barging into my room, interrupting my midmorning attempt at research, trying to find any way to stop Jed.

Wren must not hear anything through the door because, after a moment, she turns. “Coast is clear. For now. But we should get out of here.”

She walks over to my duffel bag, digging around to grab clothes, and hisses, “Move it or we’re going to be late.” She throws clothes at me as she finds what she’s looking for . . . T-shirt, jeans, socks, boxers.

The T-shirt hits me in the face because I wasn’t prepared, but I catch the jeans and socks, and by the time she finds my boxers, I’ve gathered my brain enough to say, “Those are dirty. Clean ones are in the dresser.”

She drops the boxers like they’ve morphed into a venomous snake that’s going to bite her, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like, “I’m going to need hand sanitizer, hot water, and bleach to get the jizz off my hands.”

I laugh. “There’s no jizz on them. I take ’em off first. Might be a bit of piss, though. Shaking it just doesn’t get every drop, you know?”

“Oh my god! Disgusting!” Wren snaps, recoiling in horror while wiping her hand on her jeans. I laugh again, and she whisper-shouts, “Shh! How can you joke at a time like this?”

“Time like what?” I ask suspiciously.

She moves to the dresser, opening various drawers until she finds what she wants and throwing me clean clothes this time. “I heard about the protest. Good job, by the way. But Dad and Jed were plotting all evening, so we need to go. Like right now.”

That’s enough to get me up and moving. “What? When I got home, Leo said Mom was on the phone all evening, getting more and more worried about Dad not coming home after work or picking up her calls. And that Dad eventually came home drunk and passed out again. I knew he was mad about the protest, but what are they up to?”

“I’ll tell you on the way,” Wren says with a shake of her head.

I slip into the bathroom to get dressed, brush my teeth, and run wet fingers through my hair. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and realize that for the first time in a long time, I have fire in my eyes.

My life in Newport is calm and serene by design, and I appreciate every moment of that. But some things are worth disrupting the peace.

“Alright, I’m ready,” I tell Wren as I come back into my bedroom.

She’s sitting on the edge of my bed, looking at my computer screen approvingly. Thank God it was research, though it would’ve served her nosy ass right to find some crazy porn instead.

She places a finger to her lips. “Down the back stairs, out the dining room window, and around the house. We’ll take my car.”

I still don’t know what I’m getting into with Wren, but she’s got a head start on me this morning, considering I was having zero luck in finding some magical wand to wave and stop Jed, so I’m on board with her plan.

We tiptoe down the hall and follow the path she suggested, successfully rolling down the driveway in Wren’s quiet Tesla.

Still, she looks behind her several times until we’re out of Cold Springs.

Finally, I ask, “You think Dad’s going to send the cops after you? Pull you over the way he had them come into Puss N Boots last night?”

Wren shrugs. “At this point, I don’t know. He’s in bad shape, Wyatt. Leo’s right: Dad did come home drunk, but he didn’t pass out right away. I heard him in his office, muttering to himself and ranting. He’s pissed.”

“Yeah, I could tell by the stone-cold look he gave me when he saw me with the protesters.”

Wren takes her eyes from the road long enough to look at me carefully. “Well, you did basically stand up and give him a big giant ‘fuck you’ moment.”

“Wasn’t my intent. I just needed him to realize the people he’s hurting aren’t alone.”

Wren nods, and sighs. “Yeah. Well, he’s not mad at you. Okay, maybe a bit,” she corrects. “But he’s mad at Jed. And furious with himself.”

“I thought they were plotting together? That’s what you said.”

“They are, but that doesn’t mean Dad’s happy about it,” Wren says, her voice tight. “He’s in over his head, big-time, and I think he’s starting to realize it.”

Her sigh is heavy with the weight she’s been shouldering. Dad might not expect the same things from Wren as he always has from Winston and me, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t expect them from herself. And with me gone and Winston working with Jed, she’s been the one at home, helping Mom deal with Dad’s spiral.

“I’m sorry I left you to handle all this,” I tell her quietly.

“You’re here now. That’s what matters,” Wren says before looking side eye at me. “You are here, right? Not going to disappear on us again?”

The question is so similar to Hazel’s last night that it hits the same spot, making the pain double. But I choose my words carefully. “I haven’t made plans to go back to Newport. I’m here to see this through, and then . . . I don’t know.”

She glances at me, hope blooming in her eyes. “Good enough for now.”

She pulls up to the airport, parking on the sidewalk, and grabs her phone, making quick work of sending a text. A moment later, Winston and Avery come out the automated doors, wheeling a suitcase each.

I get out of the car to help them put the luggage in the trunk, confused at why they’re back from their honeymoon so early. They’re not scheduled to return until next week. “Uh, hey, guys.”

Winston glares at me. “Seriously? ‘Hey, guys’?” he mocks me. “That’s all you’ve got?”

“What?”

I look from Winston to Avery, whose eyes are bloodshot and purple smudged, so I don’t see it coming when my brother steps in close enough to send an uppercut into my gut.

I wheeze, bending in half. “What. The. Fuck?”

Winston leans down, growling, “I was on my honeymoon, asshole.”

Avery takes his arm, soothing my brother as she pulls him away from me. “It’s okay. We’ll go on a trip another time. I want to check on Grandpa Joe anyway.”

Winston grunts and grabs both suitcases, tossing them into the trunk angrily.

Straightening up, I look to Wren and repeat, “What the fuck?”

Wren forces a plastic smile, ignoring my question. “Well, now that the gang’s all here, let’s get going. Um, Avery . . . you want to go to your place?”

Avery smiles sweetly and nods. “Yeah, you three can talk and I’ll make Grandpa Joe’s favorite cowboy cookies for everyone.”

We climb in the car, and I start to ask Winston what the hell crawled up his ass and died, but Wren cuts me off. “Not yet. Let’s do that all at once. First, I want to hear about the short honeymoon you did have.”

Winston lifts his chin, meeting Wren’s eyes in the rearview mirror, but then looks out the window.

Avery answers instead, telling us about the beach outside their villa, and the seals that would come right up onshore. “We had fresh seafood every day, and if we tossed the fish, the seals would catch it. I clapped for them, and then they started clapping back for themselves too. It was basically the most adorable thing ever.”

Wren gives Avery a small, but genuine, smile. “Sounds like it,” she answers, but she’s glancing in the mirror at Winston and keeping her eye on me at the same time. Considering what’s just happened, she’s probably worried we’re going to start beating the hell out of each other.

And while I definitely don’t like my brother putting one in my ribs . . . I’m going to let it slide until I know more about what the hell’s going on.

Wren pulls up to what must be Avery’s house. It’s a cottage-style place that looks small from the outside. I’d guess two bedrooms at most, but it’s well cared for, solid and strong, with a recent white paint job with beige trim.

The inside’s just as neat as the outside, with worn but clean and well-cared-for hardwood floors, walls that are the same light green as the trim, and furniture that’s clean but just this side of needing retirement.

And Grandpa Joe, who’s sitting in a gray fabric recliner and looking spry as ever. “Well now, don’t tell me I went and forgot a whole week!” he says as Avery goes over to give him a kiss on the cheek. “If I did, you might need to check my drawers. I probably dropped a deuce or two I’m not noticing!”

“No, we came back early,” Avery says with a smile. “And you look great, Grandpa Joe. I hope you don’t mind I came with . . . well, guests.”

“Guests?” Joe says, then grins. “Look like family to me. You look good, Winston.”

“Thanks, Joe.”

“Wren, pretty as ever,” Joe says before his eyes go to me and I can see him lick his lips, looking for my name most likely.

“Wyatt, sir,” I remind him, offering a hand. “Remember me from the wedding?”

Joe grins, and shakes. “Yeah I do, you’re the one that forgot how to escort a pretty young lady down the aisle and thought it was an all-you-can-eat buffet, pick the one you want.”

“Um, well . . .” He’s not wrong, but I look to Avery for backup, not wanting to explain myself to Joe. He sees the move and takes full advantage of my imbalance and leans forward, dropping the feet of his recliner.

“How’s that working out for you? Our Hazel is a might bit . . .” He pauses, tapping his temple as he searches for the word.

“Amazing?” I suggest after a moment, strongly implying he should choose his next words carefully.

Grandpa Joe laughs. “I was going for headstrong and mouthy, but I think amazing works just fine.” He smiles and I feel like I received some degree of approval from Grandpa Joe.

Avery is quick to take the win, and beams. “Grandpa, can I put The Price Is Right on for you while I make some cookies? The Fords need to have a little family chitchat.”

“I reckon you can, but make sure you don’t turn the TV up too loud,” Grandpa Joe says before dropping a wink. “I want to be able to eavesdrop from my recliner.”

Avery rolls her eyes, helping Grandpa Joe get set up just the way he likes. His home health aide shows up just as she brings out a mug of warm milk and assures us that she’ll keep an eye on Joe while discreetly keeping her earbuds in, listening to her own program on her phone.

Assured as we can be, we sit down at Avery’s kitchen table, silent until she gets back and starts pulling out ingredients to bake. Wren decides to take the lead. “Okay, let’s start from the beginning. Wyatt, you go first. Tell us about your day yesterday and how you ended up at the biggest protest in Cold Springs history.”

I’m surprised, and ask, “That wasn’t the usual?”

Wren snorts. “No, the protests are typically a bunch of folks sitting in folding chairs and waving signs. There’s more action at the Episcopal Church dog show. Definitely no music festivals and mini-parades downtown that are only missing clowns on stilts and floats with people throwing candy.”

Huh. I hadn’t really thought about how big the protest had gotten. It’d felt like everyone had a common cause and was letting their thoughts be known, especially when Dad came out, but I guess it makes sense that the protests would amp up the closer we get to the hearing.

I explain about driving out to the subdivision site, feeling compelled to go back to the protesters, and how things grew organically from there. I gloss over a few things, but tell Wren and Winston about Dad coming out, marching to Puss N Boots, and everyone planning. I wrap up with going home to Leo saying Mom was on the phone all night and Dad came home drunk and passed out.

“I can fill in the gaps on some of that,” Winston says, sounding a lot calmer than he was at the airport. “Dad went to Jed’s, and they were arguing about what to do. They’re worried about the hearing, and that’s the pivot point that sets the whole next phase off. It’ll determine whether this project is a success from the beginning.”

“How do you know that?” I ask, and Winston gives me a stern look.

“Because they called me, I’d like to point out again, on my honeymoon. The first call came while I was about to enjoy a private hot tub with my new wife wearing the swimsuit she bought specifically for our trip.”

His anger makes perfect sense now. I shake my head, and yeah, I feel a little ashamed. Not by what I did, but the timing? Yeah, that sucks. “Fuck! I’m sorry, man. Sorry, Avery.”

Winston grinds his teeth for a moment. My brother must have a colossal case of blue balls at this point, but eventually he lets it go with a nod.

“I’ll let you have that punch for free then,” I add, and Winston snorts.

“As if you’d be able to give me a receipt for it.”

That’s my brother, and I grin. “We both know I would have tried. And succeeded. But nah, let’s just let it go. Honeymoons should be sacred.”

The image of Winston on his honeymoon, romancing his new bride, only to be interrupted by Dad and Jed’s bitching, roils my stomach. It’s not my fault exactly, but apparently me being at the protest was a match to the gasoline that started yesterday’s dumpster fire.

“What are they going to do?” Wren asks, eager to move on. “Dad and Jed?”

“They talked about making the hearing private, but they think the townspeople will storm the meeting,” Winston says, turning back to business. “Or making the votes private, but there are bylaws about that. Basically, anything that’s a secret vote by the council has no force of law, is what Dad says. So I think their main plan is to run Wyatt out of town.”

“Me?” I ask, stunned. “Why?”

Winston frowns sadly. “Because, like you warned me, I’m already in their pocket, and Wren isn’t going to change the outcome. But you might. You were the one standing up in the back of a pickup truck thrusting his fist in the air.”

Weight crashes onto my shoulders—responsibility, expectations, involvement in something so big and important that I don’t want to mess with it. A part of me wants to run back to Newport, settle back into my easy life, where I have to worry about only myself and my customers.

But this is important.

Too many people depend on this, on maintaining Cold Springs, on this community, as Etta called it.

I won’t abandon them now. “What are we going to do?”

“First thing you’re gonna do,” Avery says as she brings over a small plate laden with heavenly-smelling sweetness, “is eat a cookie. No good decisions were ever made on an empty stomach.”

I don’t think many revolutions have been planned over cookies, either, but they are delicious, and help as we talk and talk about everything we know about Jed, the subdivision, and the land.

“What about your thing at Puss N Boots?” Winston asks. “What happened?”

“Nothing particularly helpful,” I admit, frustrated. “They suggested blackmailing Jed over family secrets or sex tapes. Both voted down because there are none. At least not since Etta deleted her tape.”

I pause to make a disgusted face, which is echoed by Winston, Wren, and Avery. From the living room, Grandpa Joe shouts, “Hell, even I wouldn’t watch that, and I’m pretty hard up for porn these days. Etta, she’s a pretty thing. But Jed, he’d likely make my pecker shrivel up and fall off.”

I laugh, but try to push it down when Avery shouts, “Grandpa Joe! Nobody wants to hear about your wiener!”

Trying to distract from Grandpa Joe’s fairly accurate, and funny, commentary, I say, “The other suggestion was checking to see if the land is an ancient cemetery. But as far as I know, we’re not living in a live-action version of Poltergeist.”

Wren adds, “A corpse army might be worth considering . . . if they’re on our side.”

Grandpa Joe calls out from the living room, “You young ’uns talking about the farms outside town again? Man, we used to go out there all the time, hide out in the barns, and get drunk as a skunk on moonshine. Why, I remember this one time, we plucked a whole row of Abel’s cabbages and were wearing them as fig-leaf briefs to cover our ding-a-lings. But one gust of wind and the girls would lose theirs because they couldn’t hold three leaves at a time.” He chuckles but it turns into a cough.

Winston shakes his head, squeezing the bridge of his nose in annoyance as he mutters, “Beach, water, sunshine, my bride by my side. But noooo . . .”

“Sorry again,” I tell him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. I highly suspect I’m going to need to do this about a thousand more times . . . maybe pay for a second honeymoon for them, somehow.

Winston shrugs me off, looking up from beneath his brows. “It’s not your fault. This is what I signed up for, unfortunately.”

Guilt washes over me. Winston might be the one who agreed to work for Jed, but if I’d been here, I could’ve steered him a different way. I could’ve protected him. But I left, and now here we are—on the verge of our family imploding and taking Cold Springs with it.

“We’ll figure something out. We have to,” I tell my siblings.