Traci stood in the doorway of the Branch Bridal Wedding Shop, her stomach clenching in nervous apprehension. She smelled potpourri and coffee and dresses. In the windows, mannequins posed in wedding, prom, and little flower girl attire. Racks of dresses in a rainbow of colors filled the room. Against one mirrored wall sat a platform about two feet tall. Damask sofas and dainty end tables surrounded the platform.

She shifted her sheriff’s uniform belt and felt as out of place as she could possibly feel.

A woman with short, curly brown hair stood behind the counter. She had a phone to her ear and leafed through a giant book in front of her. “Right,” she said, pulling the pencil out from behind her ear and marking in a notebook. “Okay. I need delivery by Thursday. Great. Thanks.”

She hung up the phone and looked up at Traci. “Good morning. How is your mom doing?”

“Uh,” the recognition threw her off. “She’s, uh, not doing well, actually.”

Her face fell, and she stepped out from behind the counter. “I’m Dorothy Branch, by the way. I don’t think we’ve ever officially met.”

“Traci. Nice to meet you.” They shook hands, and she looked around. “This is, uh, quite a place you’ve got here.”

With a beaming smile, she said, “Thanks! My mother was a seamstress and had a dress shop. When she died, I turned it into a formalwear shop.” She gestured up and down at Traci. “So, I hear you’re getting married.”

“I, uh, yeah.” She held up the box she carried. “I have a request, and it’s probably going to sound strange. My mom has been drawing similar wedding dresses since she was a little girl. I’d like to know if they can be put together and made into a dress that symbolizes the spirit of her drawings.”

She held out the thin box that had once contained letterhead paper with her mom’s company logo on it. “How exciting! Let me see,” Dorothy said, taking it from her and setting it on the counter. She lifted the lid. A crayon drawing on gray construction paper sat on the top. “Ohhh,” she breathed. She gently lifted it up and studied it. “Oh, this is wonderful.”

Dorothy looked through each piece of paper, giving each a practiced glance, then reached over the counter and picked up a notebook. “I cannot possibly do this work. It’s so beautiful. I am going to contact a designer I know and have her do it.” She looked up at Traci. “I’ve seen her work. If you’re willing to allow me to send this to her, all of this, I think what you get back will amaze you.”

“Thank you.” She glanced around again. “I need some other gowns, too, like for the bridal party.”

Dorothy grinned. “Those, I can probably handle.” She reached over the counter again and pulled out a thick appointment book. “In fact, I would be delighted. When is your wedding date?”

“June 22.”

“That’s soon.” Dorothy looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “That’s really soon. Less than three months from now.”

“I know.” She cleared her throat.

“There’s really no delicate way to ask this. Should I let the designer know that we may need to let out the waist size a bit?”

Traci blinked, then snorted. “No. My mom probably has four months to live. I’d like to do this while she can be there.”

The older woman blushed first, probably as a result of her initial assumption. Then her eyes filled with unshed tears, and she bit down on her lips to gather her composure. When she spoke, she said, “I’m very sorry to hear that. We’ll get it done in plenty of time. I’ll go ahead and call London and let her know what I’m sending her. I’ll email her a couple of these images so she can get started right away. What else do you need?”

Traci hooked her thumbs into her uniform belt. “I think this is a good start. Thank you.” She reached up with one hand and tapped the top of the box. “I mean it. This is not my world. I don’t know what’s supposed to happen when. Thankfully, my mom has so many checklists and guides that I can go back and see what my wedding looks like with those.”

“Well, know how much we love your mom, and we will make sure that everything for your wedding goes to the head of the line as our top priority.”

“Thanks.”

Dorothy smiled. “Let’s get you measured.”

Traci took off her uniform belt and boots and stood on a two-foot platform while Dorothy took every possible measurement she could take. When she walked out of the shop, she slipped her sunglasses back on and looked around. What next? Right. Work. She had to work now because she needed to save as much personal time as possible for when she needed it again. She knew in her heart that when her mom got to the point of death, she’d need more time. Instead of sadness, hot burning anger flooded her chest. How was this anything close to fair?

Honestly, though, how could she feel such righteous indignation? She’d spent her entire adult life trying to avoid her mother, and now all she wanted was to find a way to make her happy in the last few months of her life.

She walked down the street and headed back to her office. As she crossed the road, her eyes fell onto the Two Sisters Flower Shop sign. Maybe she should pop in there, too.

Wire racks of potted green plants in all different shapes and sizes covered the sidewalk in front of the store on one side of the door. On the other side, blooming bushes, buckets of roses, budding tulips, and other flowers she could not even identify overflowed the area.

The door jingled when she walked in, and immediately the overwhelming smell of fresh-cut flowers assaulted her nose. It transported her back into the hospital room, waiting to find out the test results, listening to the doctor explain what advanced congestive heart failure meant, and all the implications of that diagnosis. It took all her willpower not to put a finger up to her nose to block the smell. Spanish tile covered the floor, and the air had a cool, moist feel to it.

Jessica Seaver stood behind the glass counter. She had a shock of wild, slightly frizzy red hair that she tried to contain under a bandana, creamy white skin that looked almost artificial it was so smooth, and big green eyes made more visible because of the horn-rimmed glasses she wore. Traci had always liked her and wished there was a part of her that could so blatantly set a style for herself.

“Traci?” Jessica greeted, her eyes wide. “Is your mom okay?”

“Mom’s okay.” She looked around at the displays of flowers, the hanging baskets of plants, the balloons caught in the net behind the desk, then finally back at Jessica. “I know. I can’t believe I’ve never been in here before, either.”

“So, you’re here about the wedding, then?”

Surprised, Traci opened her mouth then closed it again. “Uh….”

“It’s okay. We’ve got you covered.”

“How’s that?”

Jessica raised an eyebrow. “You have the butterfly binder, right?”

“Yes. Yes.” Almost weakly, she added, “The butterfly binder.”

Jessica reached underneath the counter and pulled out a file folder. She cleared a spot on the glass counter and opened the file. “It’s all here. We’ve already ordered the butterflies that will be ready to release on the big day. June 22^nd, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Butterflies?” Her eyebrows came together in a frown. “Have you been talking to Travis about this?”

“Yes, of course. And your mom.”

“And my mom?” She took a deep breath through her mouth to try to avoid smelling as many flowers as possible and looked up at the ceiling. Finally, she said, “I don’t want you bothering my mom with this.”

“Uh, Traci, she called me.”

“Nevertheless.”

“Traci, we’ve known each other for a long time, and I’ve known your mom for even longer. I’m going to say this without an ounce of offense intended. This is her world, not yours. You’re not exactly….” She pressed her lips together, then said, “Tell me why you don’t want her to help you. You know nothing could bring her more joy.”

Traci carefully constructed the next sentence. “She is very weak. She’s using every ounce of her energy just to stay alive. If I handed my wedding over to her, it would consume her waking thoughts, and she likely wouldn’t live to witness the day. I’d rather have her there than have her die planning it.”

Immediately, Jessica’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize she was that level of sick.”

Traci nodded. “She is that level of sick.” Clearing her throat, she stepped forward so she could see the paper inside the folder. “So, apparently, I am releasing butterflies?”

“Yeah, uh,” Jessica slipped her fingers under her glasses and wiped at her eyes, then continued, “that was Travis. He said with all the focus on butterflies throughout your mom’s binder that it would be a beautiful way to honor her.” She grabbed a pencil out of a terra-cotta pot next to the register. “I can cancel the order, of course.”

Some female part of her heart bloomed open with the thoughtfulness of Travis, at the way he put his own personal touch on something that didn’t have room for any further personal touches due to her mother’s already meticulous and detailed planning. “No. Please. That sounds perfect.” She skimmed the other words in the file. “Is everything in order for the flowers, or was there more information needed? I am not going to counter my mom at this point since she’s already called you, but I’ll take over from here.”

Jessica ran her finger along the list. “Nope. Looks like it’s all in order. I’ll need to know the number of attendants. That should be about all the more input I’ll need.”

Relief at not having to make those decisions made her smile. “Great. Perfect. Thank you. I’ll get back with you on the attendant thing.”

Jessica smiled broadly. “Okeydokey!”

Escaping as quickly as she could, she left the shop. Once outside, she took deep breaths of clean air and headed toward her office again. As she walked, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed her mom’s number.

“Traci,” her mom said enthusiastically, “you never call me in the middle of a shift!”

“Yeah, I, uh, took a quick break and went to Two Sisters.”

“Did you see the flowers we talked about?”

“Mom, I need you to stop.”

She stopped walking so she could focus all her attention on her mother’s tone. “Stop what?”

“Do not plan this wedding. You’ve already planned it. I have the…the butterfly binder, right? Please trust me to know how to follow your very detailed instructions to know what to do next.”

After several seconds of not speaking, Michelle finally asked, “Why not? Why can’t I make a simple phone call to people I have communicated with as part of my job every day since I’ve been in business?”

Traci lifted a hand in greeting as someone walked by her and turned her body to block anyone from overhearing. “Because, Mama, you’re not working today, are you? You’re on terminal sick leave. Your body is using all its energy to keep you alive. The less energy you put into other things, the more you’ll have for when there’s a detail I need your help with.”

“You’re expecting me to sit in my rocker like an old woman. I’m forty years old. I can work.”

Emotion forced her to clear her throat to keep speaking. “Just to prove you can? Please, Mom, just relax. Go get your hair done. Enjoy a spa day.” With her mom’s strangled sound of frustration, she said, “I have an idea. Why don’t I come over and show you what I’ve accomplished for the day? Okay? You can approve, suggest changes, and give me names and numbers, and I’ll do all the leg work.”

After a few seconds, her mom said, “I think I’d like that very much.”

Feeling like she’d just averted a major interpersonal crisis in a relationship already on a weak foundation, she smiled. “Great. I’ll see you after my shift.”

Before continuing to her office, she stepped into Travis’ school. She had a five-minute window before he started his next class. She walked into the lobby and looked through the window into the dojang. He sat on the mat next to a little girl and helped her put her body in the right position to stretch. Surprised, Traci noticed all the students were children, even this early in the day, and realized this was the new homeschool group. She tapped on the window and waved when he looked up and saw her.

The smile that crossed his face made her heart leap in her chest and her breath catch in the back of her throat. Why did just seeing him do this to her? She smiled back and waited for him to finish before he sprang up and jogged barefoot to the door.

He wore a black dobak. An American flag patch adorned one shoulder while the red and yellow dragon emblem of his school adorned the other shoulder. Around his waist, he wore his black belt with five gold stripes, called dans, on one end and his name in gold hangul on the other end. He came through the door and walked toward her.

“Hey. Everything okay?”

As soon as he stood close enough to touch, she put her hands on his face and kissed him. At first, he put his hands on her waist, but after a few moments, they slipped around her and pulled her closer. When she broke the kiss and stepped back, he raised an eyebrow, looking her up and down, from the toes of her boots to her sheriff's deputy uniform to the top of her head. “What was that for, officer?”

“Deputy,” she corrected automatically, then said, “Star. Not a badge. Thanks for the butterflies.”

For a moment, he looked confused, then he grinned. “Well, I’ll have to do something like that again if this is how you act about an order of insects.”

She kissed him hard and quick again. “I love you. I’ll see you later.”

On her way out, she paused and looked back at him. “I’m having dinner with my mom to talk about the wedding details I arranged today. Would you like to join us?”

He shook his head. “I have an eight o’clock practice with the team in the competition this weekend. But next time?”

“Sure. I’m sure there will be a lot of times.” Laughing, she walked out of the school and down the street to her office.

Travis stepped onto Traci’s porch and settled into the chair next to her. Around them, the town lay silent in the late evening. He looked forward to the day that he could call this coming home.

Traci tilted her head toward him and smiled. “How was practice?”

He’d started his day at five this morning. After five hour-long classes and a two-hour practice, his muscles ached with exhaustion, and his eyes burned. “Good. They’ll do well.”

“Aren’t you competing?”

He’d registered, but lost a lot of practice time with Michelle in the hospital. “Not this time.” Reaching for her hand, he asked, “How did dinner go?”

“She is really energetic about this.” Her voice sounded tired. “I want her not to work. I need her to rest.”

“I get that, Traci, but she’s a grown woman. The doctor has given her all the necessary information, and she is making an informed decision. Despite your perspective, she’s not a child, she’s not frail, and she’s not mentally unsound.”

She pulled her hand away. “Is that how I’m acting?”

“It’s how you’re treating her.” He stood and moved so he could stand her in direct line of sight. “Listen, I know you’re doing this because you love her. You want to step in and help her to make up for years of wishing she would just go away and leave you alone.”

She opened her mouth as if to argue but then shut it again and looked at his feet. He didn’t intend to shame her. He didn’t intend to argue with her about it. He just wanted to help her stop and trust God and relax about the fact that there was absolutely nothing she could do to change the past. “Just let her help you. You need it. She needs it. Let her listen to her body and be the one in charge of how she should feel.” Kneeling, he reclaimed her hand, and she met his eyes again. “I think you’ve made a point to her, and I think she got your message. Now, enjoy her. Love on her. While you can.”

“You’re probably right.”

He winked and grinned. “I think that is a good note to go forward on.”

Straightening some, he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m going to go inside and root in your fridge. Hopefully, you have something I can eat so I don’t have to leave so early.”

She stood with him. “I brought you leftover chicken salad.”

“You’re a rock star. But sit. I can collect my own salad.”

He slid open the glass door and stepped into her living room. Immediately, he noticed the open wedding binder next to a yellow legal pad scribbled with notes in Traci’s handwriting. He walked through the orderly room and into the kitchen. In the fridge on an empty shelf, he found a plate of salad greens next to a small bowl of roasted chicken. In the door was a mason jar of vinegar and oil. Soon, he had his salad dressed and grabbed a fork out of the drawer, then took it outside.

“You keep taking Michelle’s side, you know,” Traci said as he began to eat.

While he chewed, he analyzed her words. “I’m not taking anyone’s side per se,” he said after swallowing. “I’m simply trying to get you to see things from my perspective. I’m on the outside of your relationship with her, and it’s puzzled me for a long time.”

Linking her fingers together, she raised them above her head and stretched. “My father did not like me. I adored him. I remember them living together. I remember waiting and waiting for him to come home, and I’d run over to him, and he’d do his best to get away from me. He never cuddled with me or even just watched television with me. He never played games with me or called me any cute nicknames. He would call me Traci-girl. He was always reminding me I was a girl.”

Travis thought about his own father, about how close he felt to him, and how he knew his sisters adored him and sought his approval until the day a terrible accident took him away from them. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s what it is. They were fifteen. My grandfather tried to keep my mom from moving in with him since they weren’t married, but Mom insisted it was the right thing. When I was four, Dad made us leave so he could move his new family into our house. Mom moved home, and my grandfather became my surrogate father.”

Travis knew she never spoke to her father, even though he worked two blocks from the sheriff’s office. They’d been together at a restaurant once when he walked in with his family. Traci saw him come in, but nothing on her face gave away any hint of how she felt about it. She had just looked at him, then back at Travis, and continued the conversation. If he hadn’t known it was her father, he never would have suspected she had even recognized him.

“When I was twelve, I was on a softball team for the county. At practice one day at the ballpark, I saw him with his son.” Travis noticed she said son, not claiming him as her half-brother. “They were there for little league, and he was so loving and attentive to that boy. I ran up to him to say hi, but he didn’t know who I was at first, then was very cool to me after. It’s the last time I really tried to talk to him.”

Travis frowned. “Did he not have visitation?”

With a shrug, she said, “He never pushed for it. My mom and grandpa never pressed him about it. I don’t even know if he ever paid any child support. Grandpa took care of everything. He was well off, and my mom lacked for nothing.”

They sat in silence while he finished eating. Finally, he said, “Traci? Are you harboring some anger at your mom because of how your dad treated you?”

In the moonlight, he could see the frown cover her face. “No. She didn’t do anything to hurt our relationship. But my mom never understood my desire to be more tomboy than girl. We had more fights about pants over dresses or pigtails versus bows than I can count. I wanted to play sports, she wanted me to dance. I wanted to join rifle and archery teams, she wanted me in home economics. Nothing I did pleased her. Nothing she wanted me to do pleased me. Honestly, we’ve been at odds my entire life.”

He thought about what she’d said, then asked, “Do you think your dad rejected you because you’re a girl?”

She stood and took his empty plate from him. He followed her inside. “No. I just think he didn’t know what to do with me because I’m a girl. I think he wouldn’t have been afraid of a boy. But what do I know?”

After setting the plate in the sink, she looked at the clock on the stove. “I need to get to bed. I have a super long day tomorrow. We have a prison transport.”

He opened his arms, and she willingly stepped closer to him. He wrapped her tightly against him, savoring the contact. With his cheek next to hers, he closed his eyes and relaxed for the first time all day. “You be careful with your prison transport.”

“I promise.”

“Soon, this won’t have to be goodbye.”

Without breaking contact with him, she lifted her head and looked into his eyes. He felt the pull of his desire for her as he looked down at her. “I know. I can’t wait.”

Kissing her gently, he stepped away and broke contact. “I will see you tomorrow.”

Smiling, she said, “Yes, you will.”