Traci carried the gallon jug of lemonade into the kitchen just as Travis Seaver’s mother, Margaret Seaver, pulled the Easter lamb rib roast out of the oven and set it on a burner, then pulled out a large turkey. Margaret looked over her shoulder at Traci as she set the pans on the ceramic trivets she’d laid out on the kitchen island. “Hi, honey. Go ahead and put that in the fridge for now. That way, it can keep cool.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Traci said. She found a spot in the fridge and shut the door. When she turned back around, she saw Margaret dishing potatoes and carrots out of another roasting pan. Travis’ mother had taken a job as the high school secretary a week after her husband’s funeral and had worked there ever since. Travis and his sisters had been in elementary school at the time. Margaret was barely five-four and had a compact, round body but somehow projected herself much larger and commanding than her actual size.

She ran her household with an order that both impressed and intimidated Traci. She’d never reach that level of domestic accomplishment, nor did she want to. But she certainly admired the way Margaret had balanced work and home.

Traci asked, “Can I help?”

“Hand me that platter over there.”

She looked toward where Margaret waved her hand and saw a large platter lined with some sort of leafy green lettuce. She set it next to the pan of meat. Upon closer inspection, Traci realized the roast sat in a cake pan, the kind that made the hole in the middle. Bundt! Yes, a Bundt pan.

With her hands protected by silicone gloves, Margaret lifted the roast out of the pan and set it in the center of the platter. Using heavy-duty shears, she snipped at the string that she’d wrapped around the meat to hold it in place. Once she unwound the string, Margaret stepped back and examined it.

Traci said, “That looks kind of like a crown.”

“Well, that’s just perfect, then,” Margaret said. “It’s called a crown roast.”

The back door opened, and Travis came in, carrying a large bowl of potato salad. On his heels, his grandmother Betty Jasper followed. “Mammaw made potato salad,” he announced. “Enough for an army.”

“Never have too much potato salad,” Betty replied. She went to Margaret and the women hugged, then she turned to Traci, arms out. “Happy Easter, Traci. Heard you’re finally making an honest man out of my boy here.”

Traci laughed and hugged Betty, smelling the familiar scent of vanilla that always accompanied her. “I think he’s always been honest.”

“Meh.” She stepped back and wagged a finger in her face. “Your mama’s been waiting too long, girl.”

“Betty, I’m 25. Hardly an old maid.”

“She was in my history class when she found out she was pregnant with you. That girl could’ve quit and took the easy road, but she didn’t. She came to school every day. Finished school, finished college.”

Traci smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

“She was one of the good ones. You’re doing right by her.”

“Thank you.”

The kitchen door opened, and Jessica Seaver walked in carrying a grocery bag in one arm and a vase of lilies in the other. She had straight red hair cut into a bob and streaked with blonde highlights. Always elegantly dressed, this afternoon she wore a cream pantsuit with a lilac blouse and lilac heels. “Happy Easter,” she announced. “I brought the mint sauce for the lamb, and Jessica’s bringing the potatoes I made this morning.” She set everything down on an empty spot on the island and hugged Betty first and then Margaret. “Mama, did Aunt Deborah say she was definitely bringing the cake? I never did hear back from her, so Jessica’s standing by ready to hit the grocery store if we need her to.”

Betty waved a hand. “I talked to her this morning before church. She was frosting it while we were talking.”

Jessica looked at Traci. “Hey, there’s the bride.” They hugged, and she said, “All the flowers are on order. We’re due to get them June twentieth. “

The now-familiar nervousness twisted in her stomach. “Great,” she said with a tight smile. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Everyone stopped talking and looked at her, so she gestured with her head toward the back door. “Can we talk in private?”

With a perfectly manicured raised eyebrow, Jessica said, “Of course.”

Closest to the door, Travis opened it and preceded them outside. She’d already talked to him, so he knew the subject of the conversation. Once out of earshot of his family, she turned and looked at his sister. “I’ve asked my mom to be my matron of honor.”

Jessica nodded. “Oh, honey, I know. She called and told us.”

Holding a hand against her stomach, wanting to fight back the fear and nerves, she said, “If something happens and she, uh, can’t, I was wondering if you would stand-in for her. Just as her surrogate.”

It took a second for Jessica to comprehend the words. As soon as she did, her eyes widened and filled with tears. “Oh, Traci. We keep going day by day and forgetting about what might be.”

Despite the harshness of the thought, Traci said, “Not might. What will be. It’s not if. It’s when. My prayer, our prayer, is that we get through the wedding. But there’s no promise.”

“Surely, she will be okay two months from now. I just saw her yesterday.”

Traci closed her eyes and let out a breath. Travis put an arm over her shoulder, and she looked up at him. He obviously understood her silent plea and took over the conversation. “Will you stand in for Michelle if need be?”

A tear ran down her cheek. “Of course. Yes. I would be honored.”

Traci stepped forward and hugged Jessica. “Thank you.”

She stepped back and gestured toward the door. “We should get back in there before everyone comes out here or explodes with curiosity.”

Soon, the house filled with Travis’ mother’s side of the family. Coming from a really small family, with cousins only on her maternal grandmother’s side, the sheer size of his family sometimes overwhelmed her. His mother’s sister, his Aunt Deborah, arrived at one with her two children, their spouses, and their children. Travis and his cousin set up tables in the living room and one outside for the kids.

Traci helped Travis carve the turkey while Jessica and Justine lined all the sides and desserts around the island in the kitchen. As soon as the food was ready, the house fell silent, and Travis asked God’s blessings on the meal and their time together as a family.

Traci had spent as many holidays with Travis’ family as she could between work and obligations with her mom. Occasionally, she brought her mom with her. Today, though, Michelle had wanted to lie down after church and insisted that Traci go and celebrate with Travis. They promised Michelle that they’d bring her a plate back.

While she fixed herself a plate, Traci thought about her day. Last week, she and Travis had sung in the Easter cantata at their church, and Travis’ family had filled two rows to watch them. This morning, the two of them had attended the family church. She thought about the music and the message Ryan had preached and felt such peace and contentment as she sat surrounded by a loving family who had spent time worshiping together this morning. How had she ever thought she didn’t want to marry Travis and become an official part of this clan? She couldn’t remember even thinking that way before.

Throughout dinner, she laughed, chatted, and answered questions about the wedding and about her mom. Knowing that she didn’t have to face Michelle’s diagnosis alone, that this group would stand beside her, made it easier to face. She found herself reaching for Travis’ hand and just squeezing it, trying to convey all the thoughts and feelings mixed up inside her. He didn’t press her for any words. Instead, he slipped his arm over her shoulder and squeezed her tightly to him.

That night, after putting the plate of food in her sleeping mother’s refrigerator, they stood at the gate, saying goodbye. “Hey,” she said as he started to walk away.

He turned and grinned at her in the dusky light. “Yeah?”

“Thanks for asking me to marry you.”

He winked. “Thanks for saying yes. And thanks for the second yes.”

Travis let himself into his apartment and hooked his keys onto the hook by the door. Immediately, his orange tabby Hobbes rushed at him, loudly complaining about the all-day abandonment.

“Is that right?” he replied to the caterwauling, letting Hobbes lead him into the kitchen. Minutes later, after filling a bowl full of food and making sure fresh water flowed through the miniature fountain, he ran his hand down the soft fur and straightened.

The full day of family had left him feeling a bit drained but content. Now he had to prepare for the week ahead. He was thankful for the blessing of having to add the homeschool group to his schedule, but three extra classes a week meant more work. In two weeks, his classes would test for promotions in rank. One of his colleagues had a scheduling conflict, so he needed to find another person to help him with the testing. He’d put a call out to the black-belt class and see what came out of it.

He had always wanted to teach and had majored in education in college. After graduation, while looking for a job in the Cooper County School System, the owner of the Taekwondo school approached him after he earned his fifth-degree black belt. Master Lee wanted to retire, but he wanted to keep the school active. Travis had prayed about it, talked to his mom at length about it, and at twenty-two years old, signed the contract for the loan to purchase the building and the school.

Nothing in his life had ever felt more right up to that moment. He took all the skills and tricks he learned in studying for general education and applied them to the martial arts school environment. It clicked perfectly for him. He loved his job, his students, and the fact that two years later, he met Traci.

Still full from Easter dinner, he left the kitchen and went into the living room. From the window above his classroom, he looked down on Main Street. Easter Sunday night meant Main Street had rolled up the sidewalks and closed everything down. Even the diner lights were out.

As he settled onto his couch, he looked at the closed laptop sitting on his coffee table. He really should work on lesson plans. He should write evaluations. He should investigate upcoming competitions and such. Instead, he reached over and picked up his Bible, randomly opening it to a passage in Proverbs. Skimming over the words, he read, “He who finds a wife finds a good thing and obtains favor from the Lord.”

His attraction for Traci had been born out of respect for her concentration and skill on the mat. Her hand-to-hand training in the police academy had prepared her for the discipline to focus on an opponent and anticipate attacks and defenses. Underneath the training, he sensed a raw talent that he’d only seen a few times in the two decades he’d practiced the art.

It took him months to ask her out, mainly because she gave him absolutely no indication as to whether or not she would accept, reject, or welcome such a request… nothing. Every time he thought about it, he talked himself out of it. Finally, he just asked, on the spur of the moment, one night when she was one of the last students leaving.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she’d grinned. “For a minute there, I thought I’d have to make the first move.”

For two years, they dated very casually, their relationship building very slowly. Eventually, he went to her church instead of his home church. Eventually, they spent holidays together, assumed plans, and people started talking about them as a couple rather than two separate people. He told her he loved her one night in the emergency room while they waited for her wrist to get wrapped after she’d sprained it in intramural baseball league practice. She’d grinned up at him and said, “I’ve loved you since the first time you flattened me on the mat and didn’t apologize.”

Asking her to marry him had taken a lot more courage than anything he’d ever done. He knew she didn’t want to get married. He knew she didn’t want a family or anything traditional. But he needed to be married to her. He needed that completion, that one-ness spoken of in the Bible. He required more than casual, gradual. The proposal was his way of writing his future in stone.

Her immediate yes surprised him. Her second yes humbled him. Knowing she felt the same way about him, even if it took her a little extra time to come around to the notion, thrilled him. Knowing that in two short months they’d come together as man and wife excited him.

After praying, thanking God for her, for them, for Him, he finally opened his laptop and started generating lesson plans for the coming week. With Hobbes curled up in a contented ball at his side, he worked until about midnight, sending the plans to himself so he could print them from his work computer.

Knowing Traci had likely gone to bed hours before, he didn’t send her a text to tell her that thoughts about her had distracted him from working most of the night. Instead, he set an alarm for five, knowing that she’d come out of her garage apartment about five-ten for a morning run that would take her past his school. He would wait downstairs for her, as he did most mornings, and he would cherish that time.