Turtle Tear came into view, the tips of the leaves on the highest trees already a brilliant burgundy in the late November sun. I’d always wanted a fall wedding. It might be the season when everything died off, but for me, it was about the smell of a bonfire in the air, the sharp crack of acorns falling on the roof, the crunch of crisp leaves underfoot, and the chill in the air. Nothing was better than the cool nights with a blanket and the man you love snuggled up on the couch.
Merrick landed the helicopter in the clearing. There were already two others there. “You did put a lot of planning into this, didn’t you?”
He lifted his chin proudly. “Oh yeah. Not just me, though.”
“I can tell.” I couldn’t stop smiling. It felt like my cheeks would crack. I knew today would be the happiest day of my life, but having Merrick whisk me away—again—to the place I loved and belonged… it was overwhelming.
“Stay there. I’m going to lift you down so you don’t accidentally tear your dress.” Merrick hopped out of the pilot’s seat and jogged around the front to my side, where he helped me unbuckle the harness and tossed me over his shoulder, laughing.
“It’s like I’m being kidnapped to the aisle!”
“Nope! You’re going willingly, I hope.” He started across the tall grass toward a waiting golf cart decorated in white tulle. “Your chariot awaits,” he said, putting me on my feet beside it.
All the way down the shadowed path to the hotel, clear glass votive holders flickered with candles hung at different lengths from tree branches. But there were other things, different shapes, frames, I thought, hanging from a few of the branches as well.
I stood still, one hand pressed to my lips, in awe. Emotion spurring chill bumps up both arms. “This is a dream, Merrick.”
He held me from behind, his arms wrapped around my waist. “You’re my dream, Rachael. I wanted to give you the perfect day. One you’ll never have regrets about.”
I spun in his arms, closed my eyes, and pressed my lips to his. So warm and familiar, so comforting and secure. Home. Husband. Best friend. I cherished this man, treasured him. Always.
In the distance, I heard a cello playing, its melody drifting through the trees. “Beck,” I said, breaking our kiss and grinning up at Merrick.
“Our own personal cellist.”
“Fancy.” I kissed him again quickly. “Let’s get this chariot moving, Mr. Rocha. I have vows to take.”
“Funny, so do I,” he said, slipping in behind the wheel.
On our way down the path, Merrick began to sneak expectant looks in my direction as we approached the first frame hanging from a branch. He stopped in front of it. When I saw who was in the photo, I immediately began to sob.
There in an ornate, rectangular cherry frame was my dad with me on his lap as a little girl. The picture was one of my favorites—my mom knew that. She must’ve picked it out. It was taken on Christmas Eve. I was eight. Everyone—grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins—was at our house, packed into the small family room. I could still smell the ham in the oven and the cigar smoke on my dad’s shirt.
His unruly dark, wavy hair was brushed back and shiny with some kind of gel or hair wax. I was on one knee and he balanced a drink of some kind on the other. We both had wide smiles on our faces, me missing two front teeth.
Merrick brushed a tear from my cheek with his thumb. “Looks like he loved you a lot. Wish I could’ve met him.”
I turned to look at Merrick. His dark eyes held such sincerity. More tears rolled down my face. “He would’ve liked you.”
Merrick took my hands in his. “Since I couldn’t ask him for your hand, I wrote him a letter. I took it out by the gazebo and burned it, thinking maybe the wind would blow the ashes to Heaven.”
There was no keeping the sobs wracking through my chest at bay. I leaned into Merrick’s shoulder and cried bittersweet tears. Happy to have such a wonderful man, sad that my dad would never know him. “Thank you. I know he got it—he knows what you wanted to tell him.”
He kissed my temple and stroked my back as I took a few minutes to collect myself and regain my composure. When I was finally ready, we moved on. “Am I going to bawl my brains out at each photo?”
Merrick squeezed my hand and chuckled. “No. That was the only one.”
About a yard away, a second frame dangled on a ribbon. This one was oval and beaded with what looked to be blue and green sea glass. The photo was of a woman and there was no mistaking who she was. Merrick might be the spitting image of his father, but this woman with her expressive smile—she was laughing in the photo and the way she held her head, her mannerisms—was definitely his mom.
I put a hand on his arm. He placed his hand over mine, but kept his eyes on the photo. “I can still hear her laugh,” he said. “It had this ring, almost like a bell, but not a feminine tinkling, a deeper clang, I guess. She really let it out. You couldn’t help but laugh with her when she got started. I don’t remember a lot about her, but that’s what I remember the most. Her laugh.”
He turned to me then, his dark eyes shining. “You remind me of her. Well, not her exactly, just the way I remember feeling when she would tuck me in, or hold me. Like everything would be okay because she was there. Like I didn’t need anything else, just her. That’s how it is with you. As long as I have you, nothing else matters.”
I stroked his cheek. “I’m glad you remember those feelings and had her in your life even for a short time.” His childhood had been so terrible after she died, stuck with a father who lied, manipulated, and neglected him and his sister. “I know she’s proud of you and the man you’ve become.”
“I hope so.” He picked up my hand and kissed my fingertips before moving on down the path.
My eyes spotted one last suspended frame swaying gently up ahead. Merrick’s mood seemed to rise as we approached, his smile broadening, his eyes hinting at playfulness. “This ought to be good,” I said, making him laugh.
“Just wait.” He slowed to a stop beside the large, dangling frame. There was nothing fancy about it. It was black—and empty other than a white mat. From the right bottom corner of the matting, a black ink tree was sketched, jutting up with branches sprouting over the right top corner. On the tree trunk was drawn a heart, and inside that heart was written Merrick and Rachael Rocha, and the date.
The handwriting was familiar. I couldn’t believe he’d done this. “Merrick… you drew this?”
His dimples and the gleam in his eye couldn’t be contained. “I did. It’s the start of our family tree. We’ll put our wedding photo in it and eventually a family photo and then a photo with our grandkids.” He took me by the chin. “And in fifty years when we’re old and gray, we’ll renew our vows here on the island and have a new wedding photo to frame.”
Merrick kissed me then, a firm kiss, full of confidence, promises that would be kept, a lifetime of adventures to share and a family to love. My heart was on a precipice, ready to fall over the edge and burst with its fullness.
He took my face between his hands and nuzzled my nose with his. “Are you ready to get married now? To become my wife?”
I almost laughed with so much joy inside. “I’ve been ready!”
Then we did laugh and held each other until our giddy excitement was interrupted by the squawk of a walkie-talkie clipped to the visor followed by MJ’s voice. “NBT to Big Papa, what’s your ETA?”
Still chuckling, Merrick closed his eyes and shook his head. “NBT?” I asked. “Big Papa?”
“MJ’s idea,” he said. “He says he’s the NBT—Next Big Thing—and that even though he’s my little brother, he’d always think of me as Big Papa.”
I slid my hand up his thigh. “Big Papa, huh? I’ll have to remember that.”
“I want to hear you scream it tonight.” He shrugged his eyebrows up and down.
“Big Papa,” MJ said into the walkie-talkie. “Come in, Big Papa. Looking for an ETA here. Riley’s got his thong in a knot about putting the cake out too soon.”
“Forget the damn cake.” Beck’s voice now, fainter than MJ’s. “I’ve got a gator fifty yards from the gazebo. Get it gone—now!”
“Fine!” Riley’s voice now. “You fly in the cake from L.A. next time, tough man, and figure out how much defrosting time it needs so it’s not frozen solid or a ball of mush for photos.”
Beck let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, that will always be all you.”
“Don’t act all muscles and tats with me. You’re in touch with your feminine side, Mr. Cello.”
“Big Papa!” MJ yelled this time. “ETA.”
Merrick and I couldn’t stop laughing. “You put those three stooges in charge of my wedding?” I gave him a playful whack on the arm.
He rolled his eyes. “Trust me, my selection of helpers was limited. Maddie and Shannon are around somewhere, though. Never fear.” He pressed his foot to the accelerator and picked up the walkie-talkie. “Big Papa to NBT. ETA five minutes.”
Five minutes and I’d be walking down the aisle.
Five minutes and this man beside me would be mine forever.
Five minutes and I’d become Mrs. Merrick Rocha.