Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Clearly, I said yes to helping make the day special for Summer without question, and in large part, my entire role so far today has been chasing Norah around at full speed.
“Okay, what else do we need to get done?” I ask as we step inside the tent that’s been erected near the town square. For the past few hours, Norah has been running around like a madwoman, working to get all of the chairs set up and the floral arrangements in place, and I’ve been doing my best to keep up with her.
Honestly, a pair of roller skates would’ve been useful today.
“All we need to do now is get ready,” Norah says in a rush, pulling a dress out of her duffel bag and tossing it at me so hard it whips me in the face.
“Dang, Nore.” I snort. “How about you take a breath? It’s all going to be okay.”
“I’m sorry,” she squeaks out as she pulls another dress out of her bag and hangs it across a metal folding chair near a mirror that has a sticker that reads Earl’s Grocery Store on it. Somehow, in a matter of days, my sister has managed to get help from the whole town in making one of Summer’s last wishes come true.
I stare across the tent at my sister as she hurriedly changes out of her jeans and T-shirt and into the bubble-gum-pink dress. When she flashes me a “get your ass moving” look, I huff out a sigh and unfold the dress she threw at me from my arms. It’s a white silk A-line number with bright pink flowers embroidered in the delicate material.
“Where did you manage to get this?” I shrug off my tank top and slide down my jean shorts. “It’s gorgeous.”
“I found it in one of the many boxes and bags of clothes I haven’t really had a chance to unpack.”
“Oh, you mean, the bags and boxes that are still cluttering my entire house?” I question, sarcasm in my voice, and for a brief moment, Norah looks sheepish.
“Maybe?”
I roll my eyes on a laugh as I finish sliding the dress on, and when Norah shoves a bag of makeup and a hairbrush into my chest, I get to work on making myself look presentable. I don’t have any drive to pander to the male gaze—though, Clay always notices me—but with a dress this beautiful, I’d like my face to live up to it.
“Okay, so what else do you need my help with before I go find my seat in the audience?” I question as I apply a final coat of mascara to my lashes. I peek out of the tent quickly to see that the other guests are taking their seats. “Everything looks beautiful, Norah.”
When I turn around to face her, an expectant smile on my face, the lipstick and blush are pointedly out of her hands. Her lips are sucked in on themselves, and she looks frighteningly guilty.
“What’s going on?” I ask straightaway. “I don’t like that look.”
“Well…you’re not going to be sitting in the audience.”
“Huh?” When she doesn’t offer an explanation, I add, “Where am I supposed to sit?”
“I need you somewhere else.” She pauses and puts a little hairspray in her curls, fluffing them up with both hands. “A very important role in making this as special for Summer as possible.”
I don’t miss the way she’s using the sweet, sick girl against me. She’s cunning when she needs to be, just like she was with the memory of Grandma Rose when she needed a place to live.
“Bridesmaid?”
She shakes her head and digs her top teeth into her bottom lip.
I scrunch up my nose, my face a mask of annoyed confusion. “Pretty sure I’m too old to be a flower girl, Nore.”
“Oh, I know,” she says through a stilted laugh as she shoves her makeup into the bag and walks to the other side of the tent where a bunch of bouquets of pink flowers sit. “But you’re not too old to be the bride.” She quickly spins on her heel, and she fidgets with one of the bouquets. “Pretty much the perfect age, if you ask me.”
“I’m the bride?” I shout loud enough for everyone outside the tent to probably hear. “Norah! Are you freaking kidding me?”
“I’m sorry,” she says in a rush as she turns to face me again with her mouth set in a frown. “But I didn’t know who else to ask. I mean, a wedding needs a bride and groom, and I briefly considered having Bennett and me pretend to be the ones getting married, but that felt instantly wrong, you know? Like it would be pushing the moral envelope a little too far.”
I can’t disagree with her there. The implications of a dying girl’s father getting married to a woman he just met isn’t something that falls in the gray. That’s something that falls in the hell-no-don’t-ever-do-that red zone. “Okay, it can’t be you. Hypothetically, I get it…but if I’m the bride, who’s the groom?”