An April Bride (7 page)

“What’s it like being home?”

Marshall stared over at the man who apparently was the best man in the wedding. Nick Prescott was blond and big-boned, with an easygoing smile that seemed laid back. But Nick was a successful businessman. As with all the people he’d been reintroduced to, Marshall had shadowy, almost-there memories of him.

“It’s different,” he said. “I mean, my mind’s still befuddled and scrambled. I feel like an old computer trying to race to catch up with modern technology.”

“You need a reboot, man,” Nick replied with that sappy
smile. “After we eat, I’ll show you some of the places where we used to hang out.”

“My mom says we stayed in trouble.”

“Yep. We weren’t exactly choirboys, but hey, we made it this far.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” They sat in silence until the waitress brought their blue-plate specials.

“What’ll you do now?” Nick asked. “Any plans for a job?”

Marshall laughed at that one. “I’ve been told I had planned to take a long honeymoon with my bride, then come home to settle down to a career in real estate.”

“Is that what you want to do, or what everyone else has told you that you should do?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Marshall said, glad to have someone to be honest with. “It’s a mess. Stella is wonderful and beautiful and . . . what else could a man want?”

“But if you can’t remember her or any of the plans you made with her, that’s kind of tough, huh?”

“Worse than tough. I don’t want to hurt her.”

“Do you still love her?”

He stared over at his friend and felt a connection that gave him hope. Nick might seem like a big puppy dog, but Marshall had a feeling he could trust him. And that he
had
trusted him, many times over. “I love what I know of her right now. She’s adorable and smart and hardworking and so full of this light that seems to shine through. Stella has enough faith for both of us.”

Nick nodded then crunched on an ice cube. “She might at that, but . . . you need that kind of faith too. You need to consider that before you go ahead with this marriage.”

Marshall stared across at Nick. “Are you happy in your marriage?”

“Marriage has its ups and downs,” Nick said with a shrug. “But I’m happier married than I’d be single. I’m better with her than I’d be without her. I love my wife.”

While the two men enjoyed their meal and caught up on everything from football to the weather, Marshall wondered if being with someone he cared about was the key. Having someone to share life with you would surely make it all better. He’d cling to that and hope the rest would work out.

“Thanks, Nick, for listening,” he said after a while.

Nick grinned, then tore into the coconut pie the waitress had just brought. “Hey, that’s what friends you can’t remember are for, right?”

Marshall laughed and dug into his own dessert. “That, and for paying the tab.”

T
he next morning, Stella hummed a happy tune while she inventoried a new shipment of the latest fiction. Mornings were usually slow at The Book House, but today she planned to keep busy so she wouldn’t think about the next few weeks. A couple of customers were sampling the paperbacks on the remainder rack, and over in the corner café the smell of Mr. Denham’s freshly brewed coffee mingled with the scent of just-out-of-the-oven cookies and breads. On most days, she considered this the ideal job—books to read, coffee to drink, and tempting desserts to consider. She was glad she’d convinced Mr. Denham to start his café inside The Book House.

Patty Parker, her right-hand sales associate and all-around confidante next to Stella’s best friend, Rhonda, walked up and propped herself against the big counter behind the cash register. “So, are you getting excited about the wedding?”

Stella lifted her head and pushed at her always-wavy hair. “Yes and no.” She glanced around to make sure the two Tuesday-morning customers were still browsing on the other side of the long narrow store. “I’m worried about Marshall.”

Patty lowered her head. “Is he still having trouble?”

“Yes, but he’s getting better every day. I read up on head trauma and amnesia, and one of the things I’ve tried to do is show him the people and places he can’t remember. That’s supposed to help in retaining new memories.”

“So that’s working, then?” Patty’s short red hair stood in little spikes and twirls around her head. Her bifocals were hot pink to match her sensible but sequined pink tennis shoes.

“I think maybe it is making a difference since he’s able to retain most of what we tell him and show him,” Stella replied. “We had a good weekend.” She smiled and held a book with a beautiful historical cover in her hands. “We went to the house after church Sunday.”

“Oh, your precious little house. What did he think?”

“He seemed to like it and he . . . sounded as if he’d like to live there.”

“But?”

“But . . . I want the old Marshall back. He would have been moving from room to room, making suggestions, fussing because he didn’t get to help with the remodeling. He would have shown more excitement and . . . he would have grabbed me up in a bear hug. This Marshall is more reserved and . . . almost afraid. He didn’t even remember the old oak tree. That tree is one of the main features of the yard. We both loved it.”

“So what happened?” Patty asked, all ears.

“He made up for not remembering,” Stella said. “He insisted we have a picnic right there underneath the tree. Thankfully, Daddy had mowed the yard just last week.”

“So . . . how did the picnic go?”

“Nice,” she said. When she saw a customer approaching the cash register, she whispered, “He kissed me.”

Patty’s little squeal of delight caused the stoic woman with several paperbacks in her arms to turn and stare.

“Sorry,” Patty said with a shrug. “We were talking weddings and . . . love.”

The woman made a face and handed her book choices to Stella. “Hmph. I don’t believe in all that stuff.”

“Have you ever been married?” Patty, ever so blunt, asked.

“Once, and that was enough for me.”

The woman paid Stella, took the bright yellow paper bag with the bold emblem of a house made from books, and turned to leave. But when she reached the door, she pivoted back. “Whichever one of you is getting married, I wish you the best. I’m just a bitter old woman who lost her husband to a war.”

“Oh.” Stella came around the counter and rushed to the woman. “I’m so sorry. My . . . my fiancé just came home from the Middle East. He’s in the Army—a staff sergeant. He was wounded right before Christmas.”

The woman’s stern expression softened. “I heard some people talking at a dinner last night about a soldier from here who’d been wounded. He’s lost his memory?”

“Yes, but we’re working on helping him to remember things,” Stella said, not knowing what else she could say. Did the whole town know of their dilemma? Even a stranger in her bookstore?

“You have my prayers,” the woman replied.

“Thank you,” Stella said. “When you said once was enough—about being married—what did you mean exactly?”

The woman shifted her bag full of books. “Don’t listen to me, honey. I didn’t want him to join the Army, but he insisted. He wanted to serve his country. And he did for ten years. But then he got wounded and . . . I lost him. That was over forty years ago. Vietnam.” She let out a wobbly breath. “What I mean is, I only had one love in my life and . . . I never found anyone else to match him.” She patted Stella on the arm. “You and your fellow are blessed. He made it home.”

“Thank you,” Stella said, “for shopping at The Book House and for . . . sharing your story with me. It means a lot. And so do your prayers.”

“I’m on it,” the woman said with a sad smile. “I can’t bring back my soldier, but I can certainly pray for you and yours.”

After she left, Patty said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in here before.”

“Me either,” Stella replied. “Maybe she’s new in town.”

“Maybe so. A bit opinionated, huh?”

“Yes, but she’s still grieving.” Stella stared out the window, her thoughts churning with worry. “I prayed the whole time Marsh was gone that he’d come home safe. And that prayer was answered. I shouldn’t ask for anything more.”

Patty gazed over at Stella with solemn brown eyes. “But you didn’t expect him to come home without the memory of you, right?”

Stella shook her head. “Never in a million years. It’s like talking to a stranger, but he’s still the only man for me.” She lifted her chin toward the door. “I don’t want to wind up
like that woman, old and alone. I want Marshall to want this too. What if he doesn’t?”

“I could tell you it will be okay,” Patty began, “but we both know I can’t predict the future. That’s in God’s hands.” She took Stella by the wrists. “But I will tell you that your faith is solid. Lean on that. Be patient and stay hopeful.”

“I will,” Stella said. “Each new day brings another challenge, and we’re making progress. But we’re also running out of time.”

“Why is that?”

“Patty, I’m beginning to think if Marsh doesn’t have his memory back by our wedding date, there might not be a wedding.”

Patty stood speechless for a minute. Then they heard the bell jingling on one of the double front doors of the old building. Patty turned around to see who it was, then whirled back to Stella.

“It’s my lunchtime,” she said, then made a beeline to the café.

Stella found the strength to put on a smile for their next customer and turned toward the front of the store.

Marshall stood just inside the door, his gaze roaming over the wooden bookshelves and the open café area. “So this is where you work?”

“Yes.” Stella was glad to see him but still unsure of how to handle him. “Do you remember any of this?”

He took another long look around. “I don’t know. It feels familiar.”

“I’ve been working here off and on since high school,” she explained. “I started part-time after school and on weekends,
then full-time during summers home from college. Now that my aunt Glenda has retired, I’m the manager.”

Stepping closer, she said, “You used to meet me here and we’d go get a burger or take in a movie after work.”

“And I worked at my dad’s law office.”

Stella nodded. “Yes, you did. You were a runner.”

His grin reminded her of the old Marshall. “I do remember being tired after football practice and then making deliveries for my dad.”

Stella thought about those years now. “We used to sit inside the screened porch at Flower Bend—on that old glider my mom won’t give away—”

“And we’d fall asleep,” he added, moving toward her. “I remember that, Stella.”

Stella went still. “You remembered me, just a little bit?”

“I did.” He gazed down at her, his eyes full of hope. “I can see you there on the glider. In my arms.” The look of hope turned to something else. Confusion? Anxiety? Regret?

“Marsh—”

“Hey, Marshall, come on over here and get a free lunch on me!”

Stella stepped back and thanked God for that one small memory. Then she put aside her doubts and found her manners. “Do you recall Mr. Denham? Doug Denham. He was our Sunday school teacher for years.”

“His voice sounds familiar,” Marshall said. “Probably used to get onto me a lot for disrupting his lessons.”

“He did,” she agreed, giggling. “He got onto both of us.”

Marshall laughed too. “So what does he have over there to eat?”

Stella guided him through the archway between the bookstore and the café. “Treats of all kinds that he and Mrs. Denham bake, and sandwiches and salads.”

Before Marshall could say anything, Doug Denham came around the long wooden counter and reached out a hand. “I’m sure glad to see you, son. We always have a special deal here for our returning soldiers. Anything you want, on the house.”

“Thanks, Mr. Denham,” Marshall said before giving Stella a helpless glance. “Seems like everyone wants to make sure I eat a good meal.” He turned back to Stella. “I had lunch with Nick yesterday. Guess I’m making the rounds.” He grinned at her. “Will you have lunch with me?”

Stella was about to say she couldn’t when Patty came breezing up. “I just finished, so you go ahead. I’ll watch the store.”