I'll Be Your Everything (34 page)

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Authors: J.J. Murray

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“You already cleaned out your desk?”

“I boxed up everything last week and have already taken it home. Let us go.”

Should I go box up the meager pickings in my desk, too? “I forgot to clean out my desk.”

Tia shakes her head. “There is nothing there for you.” She pushes me toward the hallway. “Just ... go.” She laughs.

I move into the hallway. How’d she know that slogan? “Tia, have you been talking to Tom?”

She laughs even louder.

Chapter 34

T
he second Tia and I step out of the elevator, my phone buzzes. Corrine already? I knew she’d be desperate, but whoa! I check the screen. Yep, it’s her. I let it buzz. I don’t want her to mess with the buzz I have right now.

I burst through the double doors to the outside and see Tom waiting beside the passenger door of that beautiful Mustang. I run to him and give him a hug. But who’s in the backseat? Carl? What’s a taxi driver doing in the
backseat
of my man’s car? I turn to say good-bye to Tia, but Tia opens the back door of Tom’s car and gets in.

“What’s going on, Tom?” I ask.

He kisses me. “Your steed is ready, milady.”

“What?” Oh yeah. A Mustang is a horse. “I mean, where are we taking Tia and Carl? Are we going out to eat?”

He puts his hand on my booty, and in public! “Get in the car, Mrs. Sexton.”

I get in, and my phone buzzes again.

“She’s already calling?” Tom asks.

I nod. Desperation can sure make a person persistent. “Now what’s going on, Tom?”

He gets in and rolls away from the curb. “You can’t answer your phone yet.”

I know. Duh. “I don’t intend to,” I say, my voice rising, “now
tell
me what’s going on!”

Tia chuckles. “I was the same way.”

“My wife, too,” Carl says. “Had the jitters. Yelled all day. Made everyone crazy.”

“I had to take a Valium,” Tia says.

Carl looks at Tia. “Me, too.”

What are they talking about? Are they ...

No.

I look straight ahead.

Oh ... my ... goodness.

“Tom?” I whisper.

“Yes, Shari?”

Oh, now
my
jaw and lips get to twitching. It must be catching. “Am I ... Are we getting married today, Tom?”

“Yes.”

I don’t ask how.

I don’t ask where.

I don’t ask when.

I cannot speak.

“That’s why you can’t answer your phone for a while,” Tom says. “You have to make your own day before you can make hers.”

I’m getting married.

Today.

I look at my jeans and boots. “But I’m wearing—”

“The right clothes,” Tom interrupts.

“You look ravishing, my dear,”
Carl
says.

I turn slowly and look at him. Carl is smiling. I didn’t know he could.

Carl turns to Tia. “I always wanted to say that to someone.”

Tia beams at Carl. “A woman always likes to hear it.”

“I hear you like to dance, Mrs. Fernandez,” Carl says. “I can still trip the light fantastic.”

She beams at me. “I love to dance.” She smiles at Carl. “But please call me Tia.”

Carl nods. “And you can call me Carl.”

I look at Tom, and he shrugs. Them? A taxicab driver and a currently unemployed salsa dancer? Them? I look back and see them cutting their eyes at each other. I grip Tom’s hand fiercely.

Absolutely
anything
can happen in New York City.

And then, we ride the whirlwind ...

Our first stop is the Office of the City Clerk on Worth Street, where Tom and I fill out forms while my phone buzzes a hole in my pocket. Then we fill out a judicial waiver so we can get married within twenty-four hours because Tia says that I
have
to be married today. By whom? Where? Exactly when?

All Tom says is “I know a guy.”

I know a guy, too. His name is Tom, I’m about to marry him, and he won’t give me
any
information about my
own
wedding!

We drive around seemingly aimlessly for twenty minutes until he pulls into a parking spot on Avenue of the Finest. I look ahead and see the Brooklyn Bridge.

No ... way. “I’m marrying you on the bridge,” I say.

He nods, checking his watch. “In about half an hour.”

How can he be so freaking calm? I even ask him, “Tom, how can you be so freaking calm?”

He squeezes my hand. “I’m feeling kind of breezy today.”

Grr.

Tia and Carl get out, and I open my door, too.

“Not yet,” Tom says. “Close your door, Shari.”

I close my door. “Why?”

Tia takes Carl’s arm, and I watch them walking away, both of them smiling.

“Why aren’t we going with them, Tom?” I ask.

“The bride always comes in last.”

Oh yeah. “But it’s going to take us a while to get there, isn’t it?”

He shakes his head at me. “We will be arriving in style, Miss Nance. Hey, that may be the last time you ever hear that name.”

How much style can it be? You can only walk or ... ride—“We’re riding bikes?”

“Just one.”

I sit back. Wow. And I once thought I’d never buy a Peterson bicycle. “With me on the handlebars.”

He nods. “And if I can keep us at ten miles per hour, we should hit the center of the bridge in five minutes.”

He did the freaking math! So in twenty-five minutes, I’ll be married. I may always like Mondays now. “But I don’t have a ring for you!”

“Carl got it for me,” he says, “and Tia is holding it for you.”

A taxi driver picked out my man’s ring? “But I didn’t pick it out,” I say. “I’m supposed to pick it out.”

He smiles. “Another first!”

I can’t help but laugh. “You’re taking this first thing too far now, Tom.”

“I know.”

“Did you pick out your own ring?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “My best man did. His father did jewelry repair for Tiffany’s back in the forties, so he knows a thing or two.”

“This is crazy.” I kiss his cheek and watch my feet running on the floor mat. “And you’ve known Carl for how long?”

“A few days.” He smiles. “Another—”

“Don’t say it,” I interrupt.

“Yep. Um, I’m going to need your ring now.”

I cover it with my right hand. “You’ll have to fight me for it.”

“I’m only borrowing it, Shari.”

I give him the ring. “Can’t I be just a little early?” I have to get out of this car!

He opens his door, and I fly out of mine. He opens the trunk. “I had to take the wheel off so it would fit.” He pulls out the tire, handing it to me. “Tired?”

Boo.

He pulls the rest of the bike out and attaches the wheel while I slap his helmet on his head. “Ready?”

Am I? Am I ready to ride across the Brooklyn Bridge on the handlebars of a Peterson bicycle? Isn’t that what marriage is like anyway? Riding across together, bridging lives where the rubber meets the road ...

This is no time to get philosophical.

I don’t want to be late for my own wedding.

“Ready,” I say.

Tom has to carry the bike up a bunch of stairs, and then I put on my helmet, which isn’t exactly a veil, but it will have to do. I’m not wearing a gown. I’m not wearing flowers in my hair. I’m not wearing a garter. I’m not even wearing any makeup. What kind of a bride am I?

A happy one because I am wearing a smile.

I look at my boots waving in the air. My boots are old. I will be sporting a scintillating ring. The ring is new. I feel the warmth of the sun seeping through my jeans. My jeans are blue. Borrowed? Shoot. I left my tote bag in the car.

“I need something borrowed!” I shout to Tom as he weaves us around pedestrians and other bicyclists. “You borrowed the ring, now give it back.”

He shakes his head. “Take my watch.”

A borrowed watch? Hmm. I unclip the watch from his wrist and slip it into my back pocket.

I’m set.

The crowd thickens, and Tom has to slow to a crawl. “We’re here.”

He helps me off the handlebars. “But we can’t be halfway yet,” I say.

He puts his arm around me. “We will be. This is the aisle of the sanctuary.”

We walk with the bike, and the crowd parts like the proverbial Red Sea. I guess word got around about the crazy couple getting married on the Brooklyn Bridge. An amazing assortment of people shake our hands and hug us, many taking our pictures. We break through the crowd into a clearing, and there’s Carl and Tia and a huge black man holding a Bible. My goodness, he’s Reverend Wilder, one of the many ministers at Brooklyn Tabernacle.

Tom reaches out and takes the minister’s hand. “Reverend Wilder.”

“Tom,” Reverend Wilder says. “Right on time.”

I’ll say. Oh, my stomach is rocking!

“Reverend,” Tom says, “this is my bride, Shari Nance.”

Reverend Wilder gives me a big old bear hug. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Shari. I think I’ve even seen you getting your praise on, too. It’s about time Tom found the right woman, don’t you think?”

“Yes.” I take Tom’s hand. So many people are here! “Um, don’t we need a permit or something?”

Reverend Wilder shakes his head. “God is everywhere, child. Now hush up and let’s do this thing.”

Yes, let’s do this thing.

“Turn and face your betrothed,” Reverend Wilder says.

As the crowd tightens around us, I face Tom, holding both of his hands tightly. Just you, man. Just you. I start to cry, but I’m laughing, too, and it makes me want to shout!

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God, Manhattan, and Brooklyn on this old bridge ...”

Yeah, now folks are clapping.
This
is worthy of applause. I wonder if anyone up at MultiCorp is watching. Oh, goofy me. I didn’t send out any invitations.

“And today, we are here to form a bridge between this man and this woman.” Reverend Wilder closes his Bible. “I’ll dispense with the other stuff.” He straightens and looks around. “I think a song will say it all.” Reverend Wilder nods to a quartet of young black men, who all wear old Brooklyn Dodgers jerseys. “Gentlemen, you’re on.”

And then they sing “Bridge over Troubled Water” in four-part, on the corner in Brooklyn, doo-wop harmony that has me crying my guts out. I like the song, but now the words make sense to me. I’ve felt weary and small, and I know Tom will dry all of my tears. He will definitely be by my side, especially when life gets rough, and he will comfort me. I’m weeping by the time they sing about the “Silver Girl.” Yeah, that’s me. My time has come to shine, and all my dreams are on their way. I look into Tom’s eyes, seeing how they shine.

Yeah, I have me a best friend who will stand behind me and beside me for the rest of my life.

“Do you, Shari Nance, take Tom Sexton, to be—”

“I do,” I interrupt.

The crowd laughs. A few folks even shout, “Brooklyn!”

“I have to say the whole thing,” Reverend Wilder says.

“No, you don’t,” I say.

Reverend Wilder shakes his head. “Tom, where’d you find this one?”

“She’s been in my heart my entire life,” Tom says.

The crowd says “aw,” and Reverend Wilder nods. “So do you, Tom—”

“Yes,” Tom interrupts.

The crowd laughs again, Reverend Wilder smiling and laughing. He addresses the crowd. “I don’t know why they asked me to come here to do this. They seem to have it all under control.”

More laughter. I am having a chuckle of a wedding.

Reverend Wilder focuses in on me. “You love him, Shari?”

“Yes,” I say.

He turns to Tom. “You love her?”

“Yes,” Tom says.

“Good enough for me, and good enough for God,” Reverend Wilder says. “Like my nana used to say, ‘You two jes’ keep on keepin’ on, hear?’”

We both nod.

“Where are the rings?” Reverend Wilder asks.

Tom pulls out my ring, and Tia hands me Tom’s. I compare Tom’s huge platinum ring to mine, and I know my ring could fit inside his. We both look at Reverend Wilder.

“Whatcha lookin’ at me, for?” he says. “Let’s do this thing.”

Tom slides on my ring. “Shari Nance ...” He smiles.

Go on ...

“I’ll tell you later tonight,” Tom says, and he’s blushing.

A Brooklyn “whoo” sounds out.

And I’m blushing! I’m a blushing bride!

Tom shakes his head. “No, I need to say something more than that in front of all these witnesses, don’t I?”