Altar Call Read online

  HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS

  EUGENE, OREGON

  Cover by Left Coast Design, Portland, Oregon

  Cover illustration by Krieg Barrie Illustrations, Hoquiam, Washington

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  ALTAR CALL

  Copyright © 2006 by Hope Lyda

  Published by Harvest House Publishers

  Eugene, Oregon 97402

  www.harvesthousepublishers.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Lyda, Hope.

  Altar call / Hope Lyda.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978–0-7369–1590–8 (pbk.)

  ISBN 978–0–7369–6044-1 (eBook)

  1. Weddings—Fiction. 2. Bridesmaids—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3612.Y35A79 2006

  813.'6—dc22

  2005033546

  All rights reserved. No part of this electronic publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The authorized purchaser has been granted a nontransferable, nonexclusive, and noncommercial right to access and view this electronic publication, and purchaser agrees to do so only in accordance with the terms of use under which it was purchased or transmitted. Participation in or encouragement of piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author’s and publisher’s rights is strictly prohibited.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to the friends who helped me down the aisle when I took the plunge:

  Dawn, Kim, Jeri, and Jackie.

  And to Marc, the good man who was waiting at the end of that aisle

  (and had no idea what he was getting into).

  Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Introduction

  Dating the Boss

  Crowning Glory

  Piece of Mind

  Between Phone Lines

  Green Light

  Pew

  In Print

  Choices

  Falling

  Remembering Me

  Misstep One Two

  All About Spin

  Mathematics

  Aftermath

  Emphasis on Maid

  Digging

  Tutu Good

  What Goes with Chartreuse?

  Lie-brary

  Favorites

  Sudden Moves

  Telling

  Guarded

  Something Old

  Blind Faith

  Water Under the Bridge

  Security Measures

  Welcome Matt

  Pass the Role

  Ground Rules

  Teaching Old Dogs

  Three-Way Conversations

  Familiar Faces

  From a Distance

  The Shadow Knows

  Flavor of the Month

  Forty Licks

  A Fitting Response

  Filling in the Blanks

  Etiquette

  Amazing Grace

  Stranger and Stranger

  Reenactment

  Final Words

  Bedside Virgil

  Definitely Fall

  Tourist for a Day

  Rhyme for Reason

  Lucky in Love

  Scene and Overheard

  In Hiding

  Girlfriends

  Champs and Winners

  Beau Who?

  Pass the Sugar

  Animal Instinct

  Passing Notes

  Lesson Two

  So Long, Farewell

  Last Call

  The Business of Dating

  Break Fast

  Beau Motion

  Disappearing Act

  Afterlife

  Rodeo Rhonda

  All Making Sense

  Rehearsal

  Up Loading

  Wedding Belles

  Aisle Hope

  The Elephant in the Room

  A Proposal Accepted

  Something Borrowed

  Fear of Flying Solo

  When Everything Fits

  What Is Normal, Anyway?

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to…

  The readers of Hip to Be Square and the retailers who carry it, for encouraging a new author.

  Hap and Julia Lyda, for generously allowing me to use the coast cabin as my personal writing retreat. It truly saved me!

  Glen and Elaine Lyda, for their hospitality, encouragement, laughter, and kindness. And for the many meals at their special table with the best view along the Oregon coast.

  Kim Moore, my generous and supportive editor, who has a good eye for scenes and a great heart for her work and her authors.

  To all the women in my life who have taken big steps this past year and inspire me to take leaps of faith. To Andrea—thanks for the road trip adventure and for modeling courage and faith even when you didn’t feel it.

  And to my cousin, Randy, for the tours of DC, your hospitality, and for great conversations at a rooftop restaurant, a cabin table, and on a fabulous porch.

  Introduction

  Lots of faith.”

  This was my answer several months ago when a reporter asked me how a previously antisocial, hopelessly outdated girl ended up the creator of Tucson’s biggest social gala in years.

  Well, he didn’t phrase my status exactly like that, but I was on the verge of social extinction as I approached my life goal date of thirty. But on the cusp of thirty, I discovered I had faith, purpose, and best of all…potential. I turned an inheritance of vintage clothing into a fund-raiser for Golden Horizons Retirement Center that is still being talked about today. I ended up with the job I used to take for granted and now love. And I met Beau, a great, datable guy (stuff of urban myth), and through a strange turn of events he proved to be a humane, stellar boss as well.

  For the first few months of my new and improved existence I was certain that the center would drop like a faulty Times Square New Year’s ball and crash into a million glittery pieces.

  My friend Angelica Ross, a former college pal who has known me through thick and rarely thin, pointed out to me that while our friend Caitlin Ramirez is a “glass half full” gal, I am a half-full-with-a-twist person. When I say the proverbial life situation glass is “half full,” I say it like an accusation—merely to point out that by being half full it is indeed half empty.

  She was right.

  At least I used to be this way. My dear friend Tess Childers, who passed away last year, taught me how important it is to don an attitude appropriate for the life season. And this is a good season. Brilliant with sun, and I don’t just mean the Tucson blaze above, but rather the brightness of hope for good things. From Tess I inherited the fabulous collection of designer wear and a deeper capacity for joy. As a reminder of all she taught me in our time together at Golden Horizons, I wear the key to the clothes trunks on a bracelet. It isn’t a fashion statement by any means, but it is a faith statement.

  I owe my chance at this new life to Angelica, Caitlin, and Sadie Verity. Last year was all about me. I was on a quest for the good life. At one point I even had a job at Majestic Vista Luxury Resort and a car with real payments, not just bills from the mechanics. Of course, this new life I was so desperate for did not take into account the fact that I really did love my old life, including the work at Golden Horizons. I don’t know why I never comprehended how much a person goes through when they work against their purpos
e.

  Faith, combined with a desire to shake up my old life and find a new one, led me to this place of contentment. I am grateful. But this year, in the fairness of a carefully orchestrated universe, it is someone else’s turn to step into the limelight.

  Sadie is five months into an eleven-month engagement, so she is the obvious choice. Her fiancé, Carson Curtis, is kind, handsome, successful, and generous. Sadie glows with happiness. But I have noticed a slight imperfection in the normally flawless veneer that is Sadie. In the throes of wedding plans she is a bit…scattered, moody. Dare I say unstable?

  I sense she is about to crack, but I don’t mention this to her face in case she does pull a Humpty Dumpty. I would feel responsible.

  Every book I have skimmed on aisle 4 at the bookstore says that her change of personality is typical behavior for a bride to be. It is completely normal for the woman to get a bit nervous and unglued with each step closer to the altar of commitment. That book, however, says nothing (and I checked the index) about whether it is normal for the friends surrounding the bride to act equally deranged. Sadly, I could only deduce that the absence of the topic indicated that our individual quirky responses were either very weird or so taboo of a subject that the author and publisher behind The Blissful Bride could not bear to shed light on it.

  Chapter 10 of the aforementioned book says that Sadie will indeed survive this time of emotional upheaval, identity change, and a million-and-one little decisions to achieve her time of bliss. But I’m beginning to wonder if the rest of us can survive the next six months.

  Dang. That glass always gets in the way of my progress.

  Dating the Boss

  Mari, would you tell your boyfriend that this rotation schedule is killing my love life?” One of my coworkers, Lysa, rubs her red eyes and adjusts her tousled Golden Horizons Retirement Center uniform, which is on backward.

  “Maybe your lack of dates has a little more to do with your faulty closet-eye coordination,” I suggest, laughing.

  “Or the fact that you started taking night classes again,” Sonya, the yoga instructor, chimes in as she enters our small office area.

  “Yeah, you are probably right.” Lysa takes a gander at her misfit outfit. “But I prefer to blame someone else, if you don’t mind.”

  Sonya and I raise our hands in submission. “Go right ahead,” I say. “You can blame Beau anytime.”

  “Hey, I heard that.” Beau strides down the hall toward us. As he gets close to me I stare into his eyes but then force mine to drop to his name tag, which says “Director.”

  Overall I’m starting to feel more comfortable with the idea of sharing my life with someone. Even this too-close-for-comfort scenario has begun to reveal benefits. When we are not able to go out after work, we see one another throughout the day. We steal glances and sweet conversations about life, my friends and their latest antics, and our favorite residents at Golden Horizons. When I go to bed at night I try to recall our best exchange of the day. Lately, I have been going to bed mentally balancing my checkbook. But every relationship has a natural dip after the initial, mutual wooing.

  In the past I’ve engaged in relationships that had little chance of surviving. Sometimes they had a natural expiration date, like college graduation. Other times they were such absurd pairings that they just had to end…a Julia Roberts, Lyle Lovett kind of thing. But this…this thing with Beau pulls the real me to the surface. Fighting and screaming at times, but deep inside I know this is the adult relationship I have always been afraid to hope for. And as sappy as it sounds, my belief in love came alive the day I let my guard down.

  Beau heads toward his office, which has no door. His first decision six months ago, when he became director and subsequently my boss, was to declare an open door policy forevermore. In a mock-ceremony our small staff gathered around while Beau dismantled the hinges. Party favors from the dollar store were involved.

  As I get back to my file purging, Beau spins on one heel and backtracks two paces. He gives me a smile, steals a kiss, and grabs the remaining maple bar from the Sugar Fix box before disappearing into his doorless den. “As you were,” he says.

  I doubt that is possible.

  Crowning Glory

  Miss Verity, more champagne or sparkling cider?” The ever-pleasant bridal shop hostess makes another round through my friends with her silver tray and tempting hors d’oeuvres.

  I stop staring at her visible happy lines and respond. “You mean Mrs. Curtis to be.” I reach for a cider, completely ignoring my desire to grab the bottle of champagne and run for the door. I have had these five months to get used to the idea of my friend’s pending nuptials—and I still desire a numbing agent to keep my mixed emotions at bay.

  “You aren’t falling for the whole change your name bit, are you?” Angelica inquires while eating pimento loaf on a cracker topped with a bit of judgment, it seems. I know she is playing devil’s advocate. Her horns are showing through the silk-and-lace veil she has chosen to model for us.

  We all hold our breath. Well, I hold my breath and give Angelica a look that could melt the spot of misplaced cheese resting on her nose. Has she not noticed that Sadie is on the verge of an emotional breakdown these days? One does not ask a maniacal maiden to second-guess any of her decisions.

  Caitlin, always the first to crack during a moment of uncomfortable silence, seeks a distraction. “This would be heaven.” She reaches for a tiara and places it on Sadie’s perfectly shaped cone of hair.

  Like anyone living on adrenaline and anxiety, Sadie is quick to respond to new stimuli. Especially when it sparkles. With a blink of her pink frosted lids, Sadie’s expression goes from annoyed to overjoyed. She radiates from within as she offers the mirror her silhouette.

  I half expect animated blue birds to appear and encircle her head.

  “Oh my, that is beautiful,” I say.

  “Breathtaking,” Angelica adds.

  Sadie gives a slight shoulder shimmy to see if the sculpture will remain in position.

  It stays. I am certain we have nicely maneuvered the minefield of Sadie’s panic buttons…until Sadie’s face falls. Crumples, really. And she starts crying as she runs for the dressing rooms.

  Our hostess hands the tray of goodies to Angelica—just as Angelica is about to grab the last shrimp puff—and rushes after the bawling bride. I do believe it is the three-thousand-dollar tiara that has made the hostess break the record for the one hundred in heels and not empathy.

  Angelica keeps eating, Caitlin explains the situation to a security guard responding to the alarm set off by Sadie’s expensive getaway carats, and I go after my friend. Recently, it seems many of our heart-to-hearts or spill-our-guts conversations take place in public restrooms, dressing rooms, or the lobbies of our preferred restaurants.

  Val, our attentive attendant, feigns concern for Sadie’s hair. She gently brushes loose strands back into the fold of Sadie’s shiny, black updo before casually removing the tiara. I think I see beads of sweat on Val’s nose. But she needn’t worry about losing the tiara or offending a customer. Sadie is caught in her reoccurring cyclone of self-doubt, fear, and whatever else brews in that pretty head of hers.

  A false eyelash sails for the shore of her chin. I catch it before it wanders to the brilliantly expensive gown she has on. Val smiles to show her appreciation and hands me a narrow towel used to protect dresses from the mascara and foundation of blushing brides.

  I take the towel and drape it over Sadie’s now reddish neck. She is trying to hold back the sobs, but I know they soon will escape their prison of privacy.

  “Val, can we have a minute?”

  “Certainly. Can I bring you anything? Aspirin? Valium?”

  We both look at our incredibly helpful hostess with troubled concern. What kind of joint are you running here? I want to ask. Our obvious preference for none of the above is made and Val takes her leave.

  “Why is it that when one of us breaks down it leads to drug use?” I
say in jest. Though last year my breakdown at a slightly less desirable locale did indeed lead to an emergency room visit and a mild narcotic.

  Sadie’s quick smile fades as she likely recalls that last time she was the one in control of her emotions. That was normal for us. Me whimpering, sniveling, and caving in to my constant angst while Sadie was assuring, comforting, and advising. But this scene was the opposite of normal. And I know I am witnessing a glimpse of things to come.

  “Would it be too inconsiderate if I asked for the valium?”

  Sadie does not offer a laugh but holds the towel closer to her throat as if chilled by her outburst.

  “Maybe it’s hormones,” I offer.

  “Um, I’m pretty sure that is said to comfort or disregard pregnant women, not engaged women. Unless you are suggesting I am so old that my hormones are out of whack,” Sadie sneers. This is definitely new behavior territory for Sadie.

  “No. No. I would never suggest that because I am a nice friend,” I pause, “and because we are the same age.”

  This gets a laugh. I close the fabric curtain a bit tighter so my friend can open up. “I’m really doing well, Mari. At least I have been managing, don’t you think?”

  Kinda. “Yes!” I assure her.

  “I have been juggling the wedding details, handling my inner fear that this is too good to be true, and dealing with the pressure at the Tucson Botanical Society to generate more donations.”

  I nod.

  “Then over spaghetti at Vauldi’s last night, Carson tells me that Harry will be flying in quite early to have quality father-son time before the wedding.”

  I understand the shock value of this news, especially when you are enjoying lamb meatballs and looking forward to your next bread basket refill. However, my first thought is that a father should spend time with his son…especially before such a big life transition. Instead of giving volume to this viewpoint, I make appropriate listening sounds. “Oh. Hmm. Uh-huh.”

  Sadie needs me to hear her worries, not determine their merit.

  “There is more…but I just cannot discuss it now. Not yet. I’m still trying to pray before I jump into my first response to…this other news.”