Miss Match (29 page)

I can tell he is prying. Dad's not exactly what you would call subtle.

"The cabin doesn't have a phone?" I ask.

"No."

"Yeah, I'd bring the cell. If only for emergencies. You know. An
attack by an angry codfish and the like."

"I guess you and Ryan could always write letters."

Here's what I am: Blatantly merciless.

Poor Dad.

"We may not have to." I stretch again. "Over dinner we talked about
just eloping and being done with it. So if that happens before the end of this month, then I guess Ryan will just go with us."

Dad blinks several times. Opens his mouth and closes it twice.

"Laurie-"

I start giggling. "Gotcha, Dad!"

He sinks lower into his chair. "What did I do?" he asks the
ceiling fan.

I decide I will leave Dad and the fan blades to figure it out.

"I'm going to bed, Dad. Good night. Love you." I stand and wrap
my arms around his neck in a hug.

"Love you too, Laurie-girl."

I trip up the stairs, throw my backpack in the direction of my squishy
chair, grab my pajamas, and head for the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, I fall onto the bed with a moan. Dragging my Bible
over, I flip it open. I finished with Ephesians, and I'm almost through
Philippians. I start reading at chapter 4. Verses 4 and 5 catch my attention: "Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your
gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near."

I frown slightly. Gentleness. Not one of my strong points. And why
does it follow the command to be gentle with "the Lord is near"? I bite
my bottom lip as I consider it.

Maybe it has something to do with the Ephesians passage about
living not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity.

I close my Bible and I'm halfway asleep when I have another
daydream.

Brandon smiling ... eyes twinkling ... at Hannah.

I suddenly come awake and sit back up. Brandon? Hannah? The
thought isn't new, but I'm wondering now if it may have potential.

Hmm.

Come to think of it, it was the two of us, plural, who came up with
the Ruby and Nick blind-date thing. And Brandon knew that. Yet did
he get mad at Hannah?

No.

And he always has a special greeting for her. I get, "Mmph, Laurie."

Hmm.

I lie back down and pull the covers up to my neck. Brandon and
Hannah Knox.

It has possibilities.

First, Hannah isn't so bad. He can marry her and still be friends with
me. Hannah won't care.

And she's been very interested in God and church. Lots of questions.
I predict a new Christian in our midst by next month.

She's pretty. Brandon's nice enough looking. Their kids could
be cute.

I drift to sleep thinking of Little Brandon and Little Hannah.

The morning comes much too early.

Nothing new here.

Dad is at the table with paper, vitamins, and high-fiber cereal in
front of him when I come downstairs. "Morning, Honey. Sleep good?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Good." The paper rustles as he sets it on the table. "Honey, do you
think you could get off a little earlier tonight?"

"Sure, Dad. Why?"

He smiles excitedly. "I thought we could go pick out our fishing
poles."

I get my coffee. "Okay. Sounds good. What time?"

"I'll pick you up at five?"

"Works."

"This will be so much fun, Laurie."

I sit opposite him and plan the day.

It will go as follows:

(Scene: The Brandon Knox Photography Studio. Morning. Laurie
walks in.)

LAUREN: Morning, Hannah. Where's Brandon?

HANNAH: Hello, dear Laurie. I believe Brandon (said with a
blush) is in the back, reading financial statements with his forehead creased, his elbows on the desk, and stroking his chin
(blushes again). But that's just a guess.

LAUREN: You like him, don't you?"

HANNAH: (covers her face) What can I say?

LAUREN: The truth.

HANNAH: Yes! Yes, I like him! But I cannot. Not yet. I need
to call Nick. I need to learn how to become a Christian first.
Then...

LAUREN: Then what?

HANNAH: Then I want to marry Brandon.

Seems easy enough.

I kiss Dad's cheek, promise to behave, and set off to work like the
good career girl I am.

Hannah is sitting down at her desk when I walk in.

"Hey, Hannah."

She rubs her cheek wearily. "Hi."

I frown at her appearance. Her hair is half-curly, half-straight, and
to the untrained eye could look like an attempt at the beachhead look. I
know it's sheer laziness and lack of time spent with a blow dryer. This is
how I know: She's wearing a fuzzy sweater and jeans.

Everyone knows that fuzzy sweaters and jeans are the outfits of
extreme exhaustion.

"What's wrong?" I ask her.

"I didn't get to bed last night until two thirty." She pulls her extralarge coffee closer, yawning hugely.

I shove my backpack in the cubby. "Why?"

"Promise you won't laugh?"

"Uh, sure."

"They were showing an . . ." She clears her throat and looks away.
"An Elvis marathon on TV last night."

"You didn't." I make no effort to hide the laughter.

"I did." She groans and lays her forehead on the desk. "Look at me!
I am pitiful!"

"Hey, could've been worse. You could've been watching The Three
Stooges. Then there would be cause for worry." I pat her back. "So cheer
up.

Brandon walks in. "If I sacrifice you to the god of money, do you
think I'll finish these financial forms faster?" he asks me.

"Pagan. Read Romans 1," I tell him.

He ignores me. "Good morning, Hannah."

She moans, head still on desk.

He frowns with concern. "Hannah?"

"Mmm?"

"You okay?"

"Mmm."

I grin. "That means yes."

"You look like you have a hangover," Brandon says. How he decides
this, I'm not sure, because he still hasn't seen her face.

"M mph."

I interpret. "That means she wasn't drinking, but her hips hurt."

Hannah starts laughing.

Brandon stares at me. "Why do her hips hurt?"

"Because she-"

Hannah jerks her head up, long blonde hair flying. "Don't you dare,"
she threatens me.

"Hannah?" Brandon asks.

"And her knees hurt." I skip into Studio Two. "Better ask her,
Brandon. She might need to go home."

"Lauren Holbrook!"

I hat my eyelashes at her and close the door. The room, dark, cold,
and lonely, does not look inviting.

The point of picture taking is to make the person whose picture you
are taking feel comfortable enough to look normal. I find doing impersonations of Disney characters and singing off-key parodies of famous
songs can help.

However, in order for me to feel comfortable doing that, the studio
needs to be comfortable.

I turn on the lights, jack up the heater, and force the computer
to come out of hibernation. I open the door to go back out to the
front office.

Brandon sits on Hannah's desk, idly twirling a pencil between his
fingers. Hannah's talking animatedly, her blonde hair bouncing.

Neither hears me.

I turn back into the studio, quietly closing the door.

Ruby and Nick. Brandon and Hannah.

Ty is married with three kids. Newton got married last summer.

Soon I will be the lone single person at The Brandon Knox
Photography Studio.

Couples, couples, couples.

I am surrounded by couples!

I sit on the couch in the studio with a huff. There's Ryan, of course,
but technically we aren't a couple. Should something ever come of it, it
won't work anyway because of Dad.

Why isn't life more like chick flicks?

I sit there depressed for the next five minutes before suddenly snapping. What is wrong with me?

I'm Lauren Holbrook, remember? I'm not interested in dating. I'm
never getting married. I don't have these kinds of thoughts.

Confession: I'm having these kinds of thoughts.

I sink farther into the sofa. "Oh boy," I mutter under my breath. The
tightening in my stomach I thought I had gotten rid of comes back with
a vengeance.

This is Not Good At All. Lord, what's happening here?

Someone knocks on the studio door and I yell for them to come in.

A woman with brown hair and green eyes pokes her head in. "Hi,
we're your nine o'clock. Sorry we're late." She drags a nice-looking, welldressed man in behind her.

I stand. "I'm Laurie."

"I'm Kristen. This is my fiance, Gordon."

The speech rolls off my tongue without the use of my brain. "You'll
have three clothing changes ..."

Meanwhile, my brain is busy. Lord, I'm seriously counting down the
days until the fishing trip.

Kristen and Gordon leave at ten.

I walk them out and then turn to Hannah, who is nibbling at a
Hershey bar while clicking around on the computer.

"Who's my next appointment?"

She looks down at the calendar. "Um, Ted Crosby and Stacy
Hollings."

I draw a blank. "Do I know them?"

"Well, I don't." She grins at me and shrugs. "Not like I would. I
think they're first-timers, if I remember right."

I nod. "Oh. At ten?"

"Ten thirty."

"Okay." I rub my head. "I'll be in the studio."

"Hey," Hannah says. I turn back around.

"What?"

She gives me a long look. "You okay?"

"Just a headache."

She raises one eyebrow. "Really." Her tone does not invoke belief.

"Really."

"You're lying."

"Okay. And I'm tired."

"You weren't earlier."

I sit on one of the chairs with a sigh. "Hannah," I mumble, massaging my temples.

"Laurie." She digs into one of her drawers and retrieves a Milky Way.
"Here."

"Thanks." I don't open it. "All my life," I blurt out. "All my life, I
never wanted to get married."

Long pause. "Okay."

"Never," I say again, more adamantly. "When I was little, I never
pretended that I was a mom or a wife or anything like that."

Hannah cups her chin in her hands. "What did you pretend?"

"That I was an astronaut or a firefighter or a ... or a ... a
dog sitter."

She smiles at the last one. "Laurie? Do you want to get married
now?"

I don't look at her. "Oh boy," I mutter. Grab the chocolate bar, rip
the wrapper off, take three bites, and finally look at her.

Hannah nods. "That's what I thought. Look, Laur, what's so bad
about that? So you want to get married, so what? It's not the end of
the world."

I swallow. "You don't understand, Hannah. I can't even remember
all the times I've promised Dad I wouldn't get married."

Ruby walks through the door then, shivering. "Hey."

"Hi, Ruby." Hannah smiles. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd
forgotten your ten thirty."

"No, I just ... what's wrong, Laurie?" Her voice is laced with concern. She sits in the chair beside me. "You don't look well."