A Little Bit of Déjà Vu (22 page)

It was only after he nudged her legs further apart and then pushed himself inside her, he knew something was wrong. He froze on top of her. Granted, she was a fairly small girl, but she was still way too tight. He squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach.

Myriad emotions flooded through him. His body sang its pleasure, reveling in being surrounded by her tight innocence while his heart swelled with satisfaction, knowing her urgent desire had been genuine.

He felt honored she’d given herself to him. The knowledge he was her first lover squeezed his chest and sheer unadulterated rage built in him. He wouldn’t have even considered sleeping with Maggie if he’d known she’d never been with a guy. Fury engulfed him like a violent storm, swamping him with a deep sorrow that she could never regain her innocence.

He wanted to stop right then, but she begged him to finish making love to her. His ego swelled as her whimpers and moans aroused him further. Her sweet responsiveness sent him hurtling through space, spilling his hot seed in the longest, most mind-boggling orgasm that seemed to go on and on....and on.

He eventually collapsed and rolled to his back, bringing her with him to rest on his chest. Holding her close, he gently stroked her back, marveling at the intensity of the experience. Sex had never been this spectacular.

Something sticky dripped from between her legs onto his thigh.

He shoved her off and muttered a string of four letter words as he sat up and inspected the broken condom. What the hell had he expected?

Only a complete idiot would trust an expired rubber he’d been grinding his ass on for over a year.

Chapter 12

Margie’s and Emma’s trip to the Snip ‘n Style took up most of Saturday morning. Miz. Sherry, the owner of the beauty salon was Doc Foster’s sister, who had grown up in Pennsylvania but lived most of her adult life in Texas. After her second husband died a few years ago, she’d moved to Redemption to be closer to family and opened her shop. 

After spending forty some-odd years in the Hill Country of the Lone Star State, the friendly, silver-haired woman was bound and determined to force Redemption’s female clientele to adopt the slower pace she’d grown accustomed to living in Texas.

“So my sister-in-law, Abby, tells me you and your daughter are from Houston,” Miz Sherry drawled as she styled Margie’s hair into a feathery pageboy with the blow dryer.”

“Actually, I’m originally from San Francisco. We just lived in Texas for a few years right before moving here.”

“She says Emma’s dress is absolutely gorgeous.”

“It is. But I’m thinking all the seed pearls and crystal beading on the satin bodice might be a tad glitzy for an afternoon garden wedding.” Brand new, the gown had cost nearly two-thousand dollars, and they’d gotten it at a steal of only six hundred bucks.

“Nonsense. A bride can never be too dressed up.”

“Sherry, these ladies have a wedding this afternoon.” Abby Foster tapped her watch as she strolled into the salon, which was right next door to her dress shop. She glanced at Emma having a pedicure on the opposite side of the salon and gasped. “Oh, my word. What on earth did you do to that sweet girl’s hair?”

Margie heaved a breath of relief. She’d tried several times to tell the garrulous stylist that Emma’s bone structure was too delicate for such a big hairstyle, but Ms. Sherry had been too busy flapping her gums to listen.

“She looks beautiful with all those ringlets,” Miz Sherry insisted.

 “I don’t deny that. But she also looks like a dark-haired Dolly Parton. Doesn’t she?” Abby looked to the other women in the salon to back her up. 

 “A little bit.” Margie smiled. She’d been thinking more along the lines of a streetwalker than a country western singer.

“The girl is only eighteen, for crying out loud. As soon as you get done with Margie. You need to redo Emma’s hair, pronto.”

“Fine. There’s no need to get ugly about it.” Sherry smiled at Margie in the mirror. “I do love my sister-in-law, dearly, but sometimes Abby can be downright bossy, bless her heart.”

“Well someone needs to make sure Emma walks down the aisle looking like the sweet, young, innocent bride she is,” Abby countered.

Margie smiled askance at her. “Sweet and young, yes.
Innocent
might be stretching it a little.”

“She’s innocent. Don’t you worry about her and Alex.” Miz. Abby patted Margie’s arm. “I wasn’t any older than Emma when I got pregnant with my Tom and married Matt. Doc and I will be celebrating our forty-sixth anniversary next week.”

By the time Miz Sherry restyled Emma’s hair into a chignon with a riot of wispy tendrils framing her face and they arrived back at their condo, they had barely ninety minutes to get ready for the ceremony.

 As Margie helped her daughter into her strapless empire-waisted wedding gown, she studied Emma’s rounded abdomen. Her short torso made her pregnancy show a lot more at eighteen weeks than it would on a taller woman. The significance of her swollen tummy hit Margie like the blast of a cold shower.

Her baby would very soon be a mother.

“Any day now, you’ll need those maternity clothes Alex bought you.”

“I know.” Emma’s gaze lowered in the mirror as she tugged up the embellished satin bodice. “I haven’t been able to button my jeans for three weeks now.”

“Well, Mrs. Foster did a wonderful job altering the dress for you. I can hardly tell you’re pregnant under the chiffon skirt. You look absolutely beautiful, Sweetie.”

Miz Sherry had woven a few sprigs of baby’s breath into Emma’s hair, which made her look especially sweet. She looked back up at Margie, doubt flickering in her eyes. “Mommy, will Alex still want me when I look like Shamu and all the other girls are wearing bikinis?”

Margie wished she could tell Emma she was worrying needlessly, but considering Alex’s age, she had good reason for concern. He was the sort of guy every girl dreamed of catching—athletic, good-looking, smart, not to mention heir to a corporate empire. In the next four years, he would be spending his days in classes surrounded by nubile coeds more than eager to help him enjoy his
sexual prime,
as Jake had put it.

Hugging Emma close, Margie pressed her lips to her daughter’s forehead. “Of course, he will. I think most men are fascinated by the changes their wives’ bodies go through while they’re carrying their baby. Your daddy loved to lay his head on my belly and talk to you.”

Emma’s eyebrows drew together. “Why didn’t you have any more children after me?”

“We tried, Em.” Margie sucked in a long breath as her eyes misted over, remembering all their disappointments. “But with your dad flying all over the place, more often than not we weren’t in the same bed at the right time.”

After having Emma, they’d decided to wait until Margie finished college before having another child. By then, Dan had been close to forty and it had taken them two more years to finally conceive again.

“I had my first miscarriage when you were seven and three more by the time you were ten. The doctor told us we were probably lucky to have had you. She suspected there might’ve been a genetic problem.”

Every time Margie lost a child, she’d mourned her first baby all over again and wondered if she were being punished.

“Did you ever get tested?”

Dan had been as resistant to doing that as he had been about seeing a doctor for his impotence. He would never discuss it with her, but she suspected he’d been afraid the doctors would discover something that would have affected his certification as a commercial pilot.

“No. Your dad insisted if God wanted us to have another child, we would. He felt we should just keep trying and eventually we’d get a lucky combination of our genes again.”

“And you never got pregnant again after that?”

“No.” The doctor had told Margie she couldn’t find a thing wrong with her. Dan had been in his late forties by then, so she’d speculated his sperm count might have dropped too low to impregnate her or they had some sort of incompatibility. Margie knew if she’d suggested artificial insemination or even adopting it would have added to Dan’s feelings of inadequacy, and by that point, he'd considered it unfair to burden a child with a dad nearly old enough to be his grandfather. In the end, she’d swallowed her deep disappointment and let the issue of having more children drop.

Emma slumped on the bed and stared at the floor. “Do you think I might have inherited the same problem?”

“No, Sweetie. You’re eighteen weeks into your pregnancy. I never got past the ninth.” With as quickly as Margie’s body expelled her unborn babies, she figured she’d probably conceived many more times during her marriage without ever realizing it.

She glanced at the clock. “Come on, we’d better hurry and touch up your make-up, or we’ll be late. You don’t want Alex to think you’ve stood him up.”

Since the matron of honor traditionally wore the bride’s best color, Margie had purchased a formal suit from Abby’s Closet in a light blue raw silk that complimented the silver in her daughter’s eyes. She’d lost a few pounds, but unfortunately, the dress’s halter-style bodice was still a little tight and the seams had been too narrow to allow Abby to let the garment out any more than she had. If Margie didn’t keep the matching jacket on, every man at the reception would be waiting for her breasts to fall out of the top of her dress.

In the limo Jake insisted on hiring to transport them to his house, Margie squeezed Emma’s hand. “Do you feel funny having me as your matron of honor instead of someone your own age?”

“A little. But only because it tells everyone I don’t have a best friend. It makes me feel like a loser.”

Dan had never understood Emma and Margie needed more than just each other. “I know, and I’m sorry about that.”

“I suppose I could’ve asked Kristen, but I’ve only known her about six months.”

“I’m sure once you get to the university with Alex, you’ll make lots of friends.”

“Right, there’s dozens of pregnant co-eds running around the campus.” Emma laid her head on Margie’s shoulder. “I’m scared, Mommy. I love Alex so much. I don’t want to lose him.”

Margie didn’t know how to reassure her except to say, “And he loves you very much.”

That
she didn’t doubt. The kids’ future together might be uncertain. But for the time being, Alex clearly believed he was cloud-nine, mile-high in love with Margie’s daughter. Whether that love would mature with them was a whole other matter.

“Don’t worry.” She patted Emma’s hand. “Together, you’ll make it work somehow.”

When the driver opened the limo door for them, Jake strolled from the house and let out a long wolf whistle. “Wow. I don’t know which of you looks more gorgeous. I’ll have to say Emma since brides are always the most beautiful.”

~~~

The flowers in the garden took Margie’s breath away as she preceded Emma up the aisle separating the rows of white folding chairs. The tenderness in Alex’s eyes when he saw his bride and the love in his voice during the ceremony tightened Margie’s chest.

Her daughter had never been comfortable as the center of attention. Emma’s voice trembled as she said her vows to Alex, “I, Emma Margaret Bradford, take thee, Alexander Jacob Manion, to be my lawfully wed—”

When she froze, Alex gathered her close and whispered, “Shhh, relax, Angel. Forget about everyone else. Just say the words to me.”

She gazed up at him and smiled, finishing with his arms wrapped tightly around her.

As soon as the minister pronounced them husband and wife, Alex scooped Emma up and kissed her as he carried her down the white runner.

Once the reception began, the day whizzed by in a blur for Margie. Every time she looked up, Jake had his arm around Roxanne and was laughing with old friends or family.

After moving so often, the few friends Margie had made over the years were scattered about the country. Since she’d lost what little family she had when she’d severed her relationship with her mother, the only guests Margie had were Louise and the three teachers she ate lunch with all year. All four of them had to leave the reception early due to previous commitments.

She understood why her daughter felt like a loser. The reception simply spotlighted what a wallflower Margie was. Every time she found herself standing by herself, watching everyone else enjoying themselves, she imagined a big L stamped on her forehead. And after today, she would be totally alone.

Had her mother felt this kind of despair when Margie left home? For the first time in nineteen years, she felt sorry for her mom.

~~~

“How much longer until we can leave?” Alex whispered, nuzzling Emma’s ear. He couldn’t wait for the reception to end so he could finally take her to bed again.

“We haven’t even cut the cake yet.”

“Oh.” He twisted his mouth and chuckled. “I guess it’ll be a while before we can get naked, huh?”

“At least another hour.” Emma smiled and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. “Unless, of course, you want to strip down right here.”

His buddy, Greg Stenchler, strolled up behind him with Crunch and a few of their other friends and slapped Alex on the back. “Great party. Where’s the honeymoon?”

“Oh, no-o.” Alex laughed. “You don’t really think I’m stupid enough to tell you Bozos where we’re going.”

“You know, Phil and Brandy are really pissed you didn’t invite them,” Greg told him. “Is it because of the incident in the locker room last fall?”

Alex cringed inwardly and fired a warning look at his friend. “No,” he muttered through his gritted teeth. “I just don’t like the way they treat Emma.”

Greg winced, obviously realizing too late that he’d put his foot in his mouth. “Ooops. Sorry.”

Emma’s baffled gaze bounced between them. “What happened in the locker room?”

The last thing Alex needed on their wedding day was for her to find out about Brandy. “Uhh, nothing, Angel, just some practical joke Phil played.”

Alex set down his glass of the effervescent punch being served to the minors and waved toward his mother. “I promised my dad I’d talk to my mom before we leave for Manhattan.”