The Wedding Chapel (24 page)

Nothing.

By the time he made his way home late that evening, through the angles of city shadows and lights, his slow-burn fears about his life with Taylor threatened to become a blaze.

TAYLOR

The last time she had stood outside her daddy’s Heart’s Bend office peering in the window, she’d been fourteen, maybe fifteen, and he was her hero.

She’d not intended to stand here now on this Monday afternoon, but all weekend she battled the idea that Coach Westbrook needed her. If not her, then someone.

Despite her personal feelings toward her father, he was the perfect one to look in on Coach. Because no one adored his old football mentor more than her daddy.

She played her Saturday exchange with Keith over and over in her mind all weekend, convinced the man didn’t have one sincere bone in his body.

On Sunday she intended to go to church but overslept. She still fought the Fry Hut bug. She slept most of the day, waking up barely in time for dinner at Mama’s.

Which brought her to now. Daddy’s office in downtown Heart’s Bend. The sign on the window read the same as always.

“Branson Construction & Survey—Founded 1977. Serving the central Tennessee area and beyond.”

Taylor ran her hand over the thick white-painted letters. These were new. Not the ones she helped him paint on the glass when she was twelve.

Peering through her own shadow, she saw Daddy bent over his desk, working. She might not respect his moral choices, but she could not deny he was one of the hardest-working men she ever knew.

When she was little, they had a little routine when he came home. As he pulled into the driveway, she’d burst out of the house, run down the sidewalk, and leap into his arms. He’d catch her, always catch her, and twirl her around.

Never once was she afraid of leaping. Never once did she fear he’d not raise his arms to catch her.

Then she saw him with another woman and her relationship with him became like papier-mâché. Hardening with time.

Taylor reached for the handle and let herself in. Daddy looked up from his legal notepad, a yellow number 2 pencil in hand.

“Mercy, mercy, if my eyes do tell.” Marabelle, Daddy’s longtime secretary with the bottle-red hair, shoved away from her desk, approaching Taylor with her arms high and wide. “What in the world? Drummond, you didn’t tell me Taylor was in town.”

She braced herself for a face-smothering grandmama of a hug.

Daddy slowly rose to his feet. “Guess not, Marabelle.” How could he? He didn’t know.

“Hey, Daddy.” Taylor waved at him from under Marabelle’s plump, ample arms.

“Taylor.” He nodded her direction. “What brings you around?”

“I need to ask you something,” she said, wiggling free from Marabelle’s embrace.

“You want a cup of coffee?” Marabelle pointed to the coffee cart. “We’ve got a couple of those fancy creamers. And there’re some donuts from Donut Haven.” The red-lipped secretary pinched Taylor’s side. “I see you can afford to put on a few extra pounds. Drummond, I don’t think they have food up there in Yankee land.”

“Now, you know they do, Mara. Some of the best restaurants in the world are in New York City.”

“Well, sure, they charge you a hundred bucks for an ounce of pâté and call it a meal.” She tsked and loaded up a paper plate with a selection of donut holes.

But really, Taylor wasn’t hungry. Even if she was, nothing sounded appetizing this morning.

“You all right, Tay?” Daddy sat back down at his desk, propping his hands on its computerless top. Daddy still worked with paper and pencil and the old-fashioned telephone. Last year Emma talked him into a smartphone, which now sat to one side of his desk, the screen dark.

“Sweetie pie, eat, you look green.” Marabelle set the plate of sweets in front of her.

“I’m fighting the flu bug, I think. Catching what Alena had. Mara, do you have any bottled water?”

“Sure do. Sit tight.” She hurried around the wall to the kitchenette. “You know I heard on the news something was going around.”

“So, how can I help you?” Daddy said. “Everything all right with Jack?”

Not really, but that was the last thing she wanted to talk about. “Do you know anything about a wedding chapel out on River Road? Coach Westbrook built it. Started it in the fifties, I think. Took him years to build.” Where was Marabelle with that water?

“I’ve not
heard
of it, no, but I actually saw it a few years back.” Daddy leaned back, calling over his shoulder, “Mara, when did we do the surveying for the county off 251, River Road?”

“Ninety-two.”

Daddy grinned. “Who needs a computer? I got Mara.”

“Yeah, but can you back her up in case she crashes?”

Daddy’s laugh burst from his chest, a confetti of colors and tones. It hit Taylor in a familiar yet dry place and slaked the edge of her thirst. “She keeps meticulous records, but if you mean this place would be lost without her, you got that right.”

Marabelle hurried toward Taylor with a bottle of water. “What’s got y’all so tickled?”

“Taylor says I can’t back you up. You’re not a computer,” Daddy said.

“Darn right.” Mara huffed, digging her fists into her round, wide hips.

“So if you crash . . .”

“It’s called job security, Taylor. Don’t forget it.” Marabelle returned to her desk. “Drum, I’m heading to the bank. They messed up the automatic draws again. Looky here, Taylor, this
human
has to go fix what
their
computer did.”

Taylor saluted the woman with her water. “Give ’em what-for, Mara.”

“So, what about this chapel?” Daddy focused in on Taylor.

She shrugged, picking at the water bottle label. FRESH. “Coach Westbrook built it. Did you know about it?”

“I might have. How’d you find it?”

“I came down to do a shoot for
Architecture Quarterly
.”

“No kidding?” Daddy nodded, impressed. “That’s one of my regular reads.”

“
AQ
heard about it and wanted to feature it in their Chapels of America edition.”

“Well, I’ve seen the chapel. On the outside.” Daddy whistled, shaking his head. “It was impressive. I came on it out of nowhere, traipsing through the woods. I knew the land belonged to the Westbrooks, but that chapel wasn’t on any of the drawings or specs I ever saw.” Daddy tapped his pencil against the desk, his gaze shifting between his yellow legal pad and Taylor. “What’s going on? Did the shoot not go well?”

“No, it went great. Beyond great.” Their eyes met for a second, then Daddy looked away.

He wasn’t comfortable. But could she blame him? She’d kept him at arm’s length for fourteen years. But today she chose to lower her arms. For Coach. And if she was honest, it was good to see him.

“Listen, Daddy, Coach is selling the chapel. Keith Niven is the real estate agent. Do you know him?”

“I do. He’s a good man. Knows his business.”

“He told Coach he would get him top dollar, but I have this feeling in my gut Coach shouldn’t even be selling. He built that chapel for a reason, but something happened and he never used it.”

“Then maybe it
is
time to sell. Coach is getting on in years. He might think someone could get use out of it.”

“I know, but something doesn’t seem right to me. Not only is the wedding chapel a masterpiece, but it’s on all that land. The land alone is worth a lot. I have a feeling Keith is going to lowball him.”

A
feeling
was not a good argument. Or even a reason. Not logically, anyway. Not to mention she was going to bat for a man who didn’t ask for, or want, her help.

“You realize the higher the price, the more commission Keith makes. I’d trust he’s pricing it for the current market.”

“I guess so.” Taylor twisted the cap from her water and took a glorious swig. The cool water eased the flashes of heat spiking beneath her skin. “It’s such a beautiful place. I hate to think of him selling. It’s as amazing on the inside as the outside. The light is almost otherworldly, if that doesn’t make me sound crazy. I didn’t even have to edit any of the photos I sent to
AQ
.”

The twist in her gut told her Coach put more than time and sweat into the chapel. He’d left his heart and soul there.

The walls, the windows, the floors, and the light all reflected him. His love for whoever . . .

“What do you need from me?”

Taylor peered at her father.
Thank you.
He could’ve told her he was busy, to get lost, to not stick her nose where it didn’t belong. Because that’s more or less what she’d done to him for the last half of her life.

“Will you look into it?” she said. “Find out what Keith’s up to? Maybe figure out what the land and the chapel are worth. If anyone knows the value of land and a building, it’s you. Besides, Coach is one of your favorite people in the world.”

Daddy tapped his pencil against his palm. “All right, if it means that much to you.”

“It does.” She sat up straight, relieved, smiling. “Thank you.”

He regarded her for a moment. “Ardell is making her famous sloppy joes for dinner. She’d love to see you, Taylor.”

“I can’t.”

Daddy nodded, clearing his throat. “Well, if you change your mind—”

“Emma and I are going through the last of Granny’s stuff. If there’s anything you want—”

“I got everything I want.”

Taylor stood to go, tapping her leg with the water bottle. “You know, I found a letter addressed to me hidden among the LPs. She wrote it not long before she died. Like she knew her time was near. Did she say anything to you about it?”

“No, sorry, Tay. What did it say?”

“Funny things . . . You know Granny. But she claimed she had a secret.”

Daddy laughed. “Now, why doesn’t that surprise me? Mom embodied secrecy. Did she tell you the secret?”

“Sort of. She left me a key, said to find a box, and if I felt like it was worth sharing . . . whatever I found . . . I could share it. Otherwise she said to take it to my grave like she did.”

Daddy stiffened, making a face. “Oh, my mother. Cold in the ground and trying to pull strings. Taylor, listen, don’t get wrapped up in her shenanigans.”

“Do you have any clue as to what the secret might be?”

Technically Taylor was breaking one of her five “Dad Rules” by sitting here, talking personal business with him, but rules were made to bend from time to time.

“Not one.”

“Why did she and Granddad divorce?” Taylor never knew her paternal grandfather, nor the stories behind his romance with Granny and subsequent demise.

He died at sixty-two of a massive heart attack when Taylor was a baby.

“He and Mom fought a lot. That’s all I know. I asked her about it once after your mom and I were married. She mumbled something about Dad being jealous and pigheaded.”

“Was he?”

“Not that I could tell. If you ask me, she won the coin toss on being pigheaded. He was always good to me.”

“Do you think Granny really had a secret?”

Daddy shook his head, arms propped on his desk. “No, I think she had a lot of secrets.”

“Hmm . . . Maybe to do with Colette? I saw her last week, by the way. I did a shoot with the
Always Tomorrow
cast.”

Daddy arched his brow. “You’re getting some good work, kiddo. Did I ever tell you I didn’t even know Mom had a sister until I was twelve or thirteen? I met Colette in the seventies when she was a parade marshal.” Daddy shook his head, tapping his pencil on the desk. “If Mom has a secret she’s passing on to you, wouldn’t surprise me if it had to do with Colette.”

The push-button phone on Daddy’s desk rang out. “Branson Construction—”

Taylor got up, waving, and started for the door. The water had helped ease her wooziness. Daddy held up his hand, signing for her to wait.

“Hold on, Ralph.” Daddy pressed his hand over the mouthpiece. “Will I see you before you leave?”

“I want to finish with the house and—”

“All right, then. Have a good trip home, Taylor.”

“Yeah, and thanks for checking on the chapel for me.”

“You still have the same cell number?” Daddy shoved the yellow legal pad her way, offering his pencil.

“Same one.” But she wrote it down anyway.

“I’ll call when I find out something.”

“Thanks.”

“Taylor?”

She paused at the door.

“For the record, you’re one of my favorite people. If not my most.”

Taylor shoved outside, speed walking to her car, her eyes flooding. Why did he say that? Why?

Behind the wheel of the Lincoln, she slammed the door shut and fired up the engine. As she placed her hand on the gear shift, a rolling sob broke her strength.

She folded forward, resting her head on the sun-warmed wheel.

She’d never articulated to him what she saw in the family room that day. But by now the image was buried so deep, she wasn’t exactly sure how to dig it up. How to frame it with words.

But his raw moment of kindness challenged her. Did she want to live the rest of her life without her daddy? Perhaps it was time to roll away the stone from her heart and let love out again.

Chapter Eighteen

JIMMY

H
e’d gotten an unexpected call from Drummond Branson asking to see the chapel. He’d be jigged if he and his chapel weren’t suddenly the most popular things in Heart’s Bend.