I'll Be Your Everything Page 32

  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 amaz
ing 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?”

  I nod. Almost every woman in the crowd nods, too.

  “Shari Nance ...” He laughs. “Man, I’d really rather tell you later tonight.” He steps in and whispers, “We have a deadline here, right?”

  “Say your piece then, man,” I whisper.

  Tom steps back. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he calls out in a loud voice, and I even jump a little. Big man, big voice. “I have before me the sweetest, kindest, smartest, most sensual, and definitely most stubborn woman I have ever met in my life. And as God is my witness, I want her more than anything I have ever wanted in my life. I want you, Shari Nance. Just you.”

  Wow. And he’s supposed to be so shy. My goose bumps don’t go away as the applause gets louder and louder. I stare at my boots. I have to top that?

  A woman a few feet from me says, “Go on, girl. Do your thing.”

  I slide on his ring, and I have to twist it to get it over his knuckle. “All right,” I say loudly. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have before me the sweetest ... No. I don’t want to bite off him. This has to be original.”

  Some laughter.

  “Tom, I can’t say that I’ve been waiting for you all my life.” I can’t. Fantasies like this hardly ever come true. “I have been waiting on your butt for five years, though, and that’s a very long time to keep a Brooklyn girl waiting. Am I right?”

  The cheers tell me I’m right. I’ll bet some of these men watching are going to get badgered to death by their Brooklyn girlfriends tonight.

  “But now that we’re here on the greatest bridge in the world, and now that we’re about to become man and wife, I have a few things I’d like to tell you.” On a whim, I pull out Tom’s watch and check the time.

  More laughter.

  I put the watch back in my pocket. “I promise to listen only to you. I promise to fuss only with you. I promise to ...” I thought I was out of tears, and here they come. “I promise to love only you for the rest of my life.” I turn to Reverend Wilder. “I’m done.”

  Reverend Wilder blinks. “You sure?”

  “I’ve said all that needs to be said,” I say.

  Reverend Wilder raises his hands over us. “By the power vested in me by the state of New York, almighty God, and the great city of Brooklyn, I now pronounce you man and wife.”

  And then we kiss to thunderous applause.

  I know we’ll be on YouTube.

  Why?

  Because we’re setting the world’s record for the longest kiss ever given and received on the Brooklyn Bridge, and on a Monday, no less, and there must be a hundred cell phones held in the air around us.

  Tom pulls back first. “Hi, Shari.”

  “Hi, Tom.” I hug him. “And that’s how we began.”

  “Yeah.”

  I look up at my husband for the first time. “Now what?”

  He winks. “Answer your phone the next time it buzzes.”

  Right. “Details, right?”

  He nods. “Always.”

  Chapter 35

  As if on cue, my phone buzzes while we get even more hugs and handshakes and even a few high fives from our “invitees.” Our wedding guest book would contain at least two hundred names. I hug Carl and Tia, and then I answer the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Shari!” Corrine yells. “Thank goodness!”

  I kiss my man loudly. I’m sure Corrine heard it. “What’s up, Corrine?” No more of that “Miss Cross” business. I am more than her equal now.

  “Why haven’t you answered your phone, Shari? I’ve been calling for hours.”

  She sounds hopelessly desperate. I smile. “Are you in the office, Corrine?”

  “Yes.”

>   “Well, I’ve been getting married. If you look out the window, you’ll see our wedding party on the Brooklyn Bridge. I’m the one waving. I don’t know if you can see me.”

  When I start waving, everyone around me starts waving. Corrine has to see us now.

  “You ... you just married Tom?”

  “Yep. What do you want, Corinne? I have a honeymoon to go on.” Just not today. Sigh.

  “Shari, I really need you.”

  It’s my turn, wench. “Go on ...”

  “And I’m ... I’m sorry for using you the way I have. It’s this business. You understand. It’s just business.”

  I roll my eyes. “No, I don’t understand, and I never will. And it isn’t the business, Corrine. It’s you. I’ll never understand you.”

  “Well, um, I’m sorry, okay?”

  Tom and I start pushing the bike back to Manhattan, several bouncing Coke and Sprite cans tied to the rear fork. I need a picture of this! “Okay, Corrine. What do you want?”

  “Look,” she says. “I know you have everything memorized, and I haven’t filed the paperwork for your firing.”

  How nice. But she’s never done any paperwork before! I probably would have had to fill out my own termination notice!

  “So could you ... could you come back?” she pleads. “Please, Shari. I can’t do this without you.”

  Tom’s plan is running according to schedule, but I have to tweak it a little. “I’m going on my honeymoon, Corrine, but ...”

  “But what?”

  “But we’re not leaving until Thursday.”

  I hear Corrine sigh. “Well, that’s good.”

  For you. “But I refuse to do an all-nighter.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t ask you to do that, Shari,” Corrine says. “I just need the information.”

  I wink at Tom.

  Tom smiles.

  I smile.

  We have an all-nighter of our own to do.

  “Um, Corrine, there’s just one more stipulation,” I say.

  “Name it.”

  I’m about to, wench. “I must be allowed to go to the meeting with Mr. Peterson.”

  “But you can’t,” she says way too quickly.

  I shrug. “Oh well. Enjoy unemployment, Corrine. I hear the lines can get long for unemployment benefits, so get there when they open and bring some bottled water. I wouldn’t want you to dehydrate.”