Crystal unlocked the door of the old brick building located one block off Barnes Avenue. She held the door for me to glide past her into a large empty room. “I know it doesn’t look like much—but we can give it a face-lift.”
“Is this one of the original buildings in Emerson Pass?” I asked.
“Yes, it’s exchanged hands quite a few times and has varied incarnations. The last was a ballroom dancing club.” Crystal spread her arms out and did a twirl. My girl was so light these days. Love had broken her open and allowed her to rise and blossom.
There were tiny clefts in the wood floor, probably from the heel of a ballroom shoes.
“I’ll pay cash, if you like it,” Crystal said.
“What do you think?” I asked as I looked around the vast room. Brick walls would need to be painted white. The wood floors needed a good refinishing to bring them back to their original glory.
“I think it’s ideal for the gallery,” Crystal said. “Wait until you see the upstairs. It’s going to be perfect for your studio.”
We took the stairs up to the second floor. “Oh, this is nice,” I said. The room was the right size for all my equipment, plus it had an inspiring view of the southern mountain from one set of windows and the northern from the others.
“Can’t you see working here?” Crystal asked.
“Absolutely.”
“We’ll fix it up. The bathrooms need an overhaul too. But the location is perfect to attract visitors, don’t you think?”
I nodded in agreement. “Are you sure it isn’t too much?”
“Mom.”
“Fine, I know, money isn’t the issue.”
“The light’s great in here, too.” Crystal took a tissue from her pocket and made a clean circle in the glass.
I nodded in agreement as I went over to the windows that looked over Barnes Avenue and all the way out to the ski lodge and southern mountain.
“Once we have everything cleaned up and remodeled it’ll be great in here,” Crystal said. “I think you should hire a gallery manager to help you with procurement and organizing various artists’ shows.”
“I’ll have to, or I won’t get any work done.” As much as I loved Crystal’s dream of a gallery in Emerson Pass, I didn’t want to run the day-to-day. I wouldn’t be any good at it anyway.
“I actually have someone in mind,” Crystal said. “Her name’s Stormi, and she’s a very talented wedding photographer. She’s been working part time at the bar and grill to fill in for the revenue she lost when the fires ruined the wedding business. I told her to stop by so you could meet her.”
No sooner had she proposed the idea than we heard a voice calling to us from the first floor. “That’s her,” Crystal said.
We hurried downstairs to greet her. Stormi was a young woman with straight black hair, startling light green eyes that seemed almost translucent, and an upturned nose. She wore combat boots paired with a vintage cashmere coat that she’d probably picked up at a used clothing store. I sensed she was a woman who hadn’t come from circumstances that supported her emotional or financial needs. The way she held her shoulders gave me the idea of someone with grit but also a deep need to protect herself from hurt.
The three of us talked for an hour about ideas we had for the gallery. During our discussion, I learned that Stormi also did freelance work for the Emerson Pass newspaper.
“I’m amazed the paper’s still around,” I said.
“Huck Clifton owns the newspaper now,” Stormi said. “Do you know him?”
“I know of him,” I said. “His father’s the mystery novelist. He was ten years older than Jack and me, so we didn’t know him personally. It was quite the talk about town when he got his publishing contract.”
“Huck never talks about him. Or his mother.” She shrugged. “He hates me for some reason. I think he’d get rid of me if he could. But I take good pictures, and I’m cheap.”
“How could he hate you?” Crystal asked.
Stormi swept her hand through her shoulder-length hair. “I don’t know. I bug him. Maybe it’s my New York accent. People out here think I sound rude.”
“Well, I don’t think so,” I said. “I’m delighted you’re interested in helping with the gallery.” I glanced over at Crystal, who was currently smiling down at her phone. Most likely reading a text from Garth. “Should we all go to lunch and talk more?”
“Depends on where we go.” Stormi shuffled her feet, and her pale cheeks flushed. “I’m kind of broke. I just used all my tip money to pay my February rent.”
“My treat,” Crystal said. “We’ll consider it a business lunch.”
“In that case then, yeah. I’m super hungry.” Stormi buttoned up her coat, then pulled a cap over her head.
“When you work here, you can quit the bar and grill,” Crystal said. “And focus all your attention on art.”
“Do you think I’ll have time to take photos if I’m working here?” Stormi asked. “Not that I would turn down the job either way.”
“I’ll insist on that,” I said. “We’ll work out a deal where you still have time to take wedding photos if you want. This will be a part-time job, I think.”
“Speaking of wedding photos,” Crystal said. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Why? You have a gig for me?” Stormi asked.
“Yes, my mom and dad are getting married.”
“Wait? What?” Stormi looked over at me, clearly confused.
Crystal nodded. “My mom and Jack Vargas were high school sweethearts and now they’re back together and getting married.”
I had to laugh at Crystal’s matter-of-fact explanation, as if this kind of thing happened every day.
“That’s killer,” Stormi said. “Tell me when and where and I’ll be there.”
In the guest room at Brandi’s on the last day of the year, a makeup artist put the finishing touches on my face. My hair had been pulled back into a classic chignon. A simple headpiece sparkled under the lights. I’d chosen it instead of a veil. We’d thrown all this together quickly. Finding a dress had been nothing short of a miracle.
“Crystal, you look amazing,” Brandi said from her position on the bed. It had taken a little convincing, but I’d talked both the girls into having their makeup and hair done as well. Crystal had picked out new dresses for them both: a light blue for Brandi and a mint green for herself. The doctor had given Brandi permission to get out of bed briefly for the ceremony if she promised to sit the entire time.
Crystal came out of the bathroom with my peach chiffon dress. She’d steamed it into compliance.
The makeup artist stood back to inspect her work. “You’re finished.”
I looked at my reflection in the mirror. “Not bad for a middle-aged bride.” Here I was marrying the love of my life. Older but wiser.
“Let’s get you dressed, Mom,” Crystal said. “You’ve been waiting long enough for this moment.”
The makeup artist told us good luck and went off with her supplies to find a glass of champagne. She’d promised to stick around for the party and give touch-ups if we needed them.
Minutes later, Crystal had me zipped up and standing in front of the long mirror. I was too old for all this fussing, but the girls had insisted that I have whatever dress I wanted. When we’d found this one, I’d balked at the price. Now, as I peered at my reflection, I was glad they’d convinced me. The A-line skirt and silky bodice with a sweetheart neckline were flattering to my figure. “I don’t look too bad for an ancient bride.”
“You’re not ancient, Mom. You’re beautiful.”
“I agree,” Brandi said as tears filled her eyes.
“Don’t do that,” Crystal said, sounding panicky. “You’ll wreck your makeup.”
“I don’t know if I care.” Brandi fanned her face. “I’m just so happy.”
The back of my throat ached. I sat down on the side of the bed and took her into my arms. “I’m happy too.”
When we disentangled, Crystal handed Brandi a tissue and sat on the other side of the bed.
“We’re supposed to be laughing, not crying,” Crystal said.
Brandi nodded. “I know, I know. This pregnancy is making me emotional and it’s just that you’re both so good for my dad. He always wanted more children, and Crystal, you and he are so much alike. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.” She turned back to me. “He’s been through a lot and now to see him in love and with the sparkle in his eyes—I can’t even describe how much it warms my heart. I’ve never seen him this way. She just beat all the life out of him, day after day, until I thought he’d be an empty shell by the end of his life. I don’t know how to say how much it all means to me. How much you mean to me.”
“I love you, sweetie,” I said to Brandi. “We have many, many good times ahead of us.”
I fully expected Brandi to have recovered but to my dismay, she started sobbing again. They were not joyous tears—more like the cries of the brokenhearted. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I-I just wish you’d been my mom.” Brandi lifted her head from where she’d been crying into the now crumpled and wet tissue. “Instead of my real one. Then we all could have been a family and I wouldn’t have had so many problems and insecurities. I’d be awesome like Crystal.”
“First of all, you are awesome,” Crystal said. “And it would be impossible for us to both be here if things didn’t go down as they did.”
“I know,” Brandi said, hiccupping. “But you know what I mean.”
“We do know what you mean.” I patted her shoulder. “If you want, I can be your mom starting now. Would that make it all a little better?”
“Could I call you that? Mom, I mean?” Brandi glanced over at Crystal. “Would you mind?”
“Of course not,” Crystal said. “Jack is now Dad, so it’s only fair that I share too.”
“We have a mom and dad,” Brandi said as she reached for Crystal’s hand. “And men who love us. Did you ever think we could be this lucky?”
“There were times I didn’t think it was possible,” Crystal said.
“I never thought miracles were real,” I said. “I was wrong. Look at us all. I always wanted you to be part of our family, Brandi. Did you know that?”
“Really?” Brandi sniffed.
“When you came to visit and I could see Jack in your eyes, it just broke my heart to send you back here without Crystal and me. Especially after you told me about your mother. I would have taken you in at any point.”
“Now we’re all together.” Crystal’s eyes were glassy now.
“All right, my darlings, we have to stop this, or we’ll have to have that girl come back and do my face again.” I stood up and brushed the front of my dress with dry hands. No clammy nervousness for this bride. I couldn’t wait to become Mrs. Vargas at last. “Let’s go make this family official.”
Jack waited for me at the bottom of the stairs. He wore a dark blue suit and peach-colored tie to match my dress. When he greeted me at the bottom of the stairs, he wiped a tear from his eye. “Do you remember the color dress you wore to the senior prom?”
What had the color been? My mother had made the dress. I could see her hunched over her sewing machine. Jack drew his wallet out of his jacket pocket. “Here, do you see?” He handed me a photograph of the two of us at our prom. My dress was almost the exact color of the dress I currently wore.
“Gosh, we were young,” I said. “Look at my bangs.” They’d been sprayed to stand upright. “I can almost smell the hair spray.”
“I loved your bangs,” Jack said. “But I have to say, you look divine at this exact moment.”
“Are you ready to do this?”
“I’ve been ready all my life.” Jack gave me his arm. “May I walk you down the aisle?”
And so he did.
If you enjoyed the story of Jennie and Jack’s long awaited second chance, you’ll be excited to know that Brandi and Crystal’s stories are the first two in the Emerson Pass Contemporaries Series. In The Sugar Queen readers are introduced to Brandi and Trapper and the whole cast of characters in the small town of Emerson Pass. You won’t want to miss Crystal and Garth’s story and the continuing small-town saga in book two, The Patron. To find those and Tess Thompson’s other titles and join her mailing list, head over to her website at: www.tesswrites.com.
Tess Thompson writes heartwarming contemporary and historical Romantic Women’s Fiction sure to pull at your heartstrings and have you smiling as you eagerly turn pages. If you enjoy family sagas, romance, dashes of mystery all set in small towns, then her books are for you. Check out Cliffside Bay, Blue Mountain, River Valley and Emerson Pass to find your next favorite sweet and clean series to share with all generations.
To connect with Tess, head over to Facebook to join her Patio Chat reader group or email her at tess@tthompsonwrites.com.