My name is
Cheryl Chandler, and I always knew the
truth about fairy tales. With every beat of my heart, I believed today would
prove their reality.
Warm lips pressed against my cheek.
Martin.
I reached for him, pulled him close as he …
“Cheryl, if you don’t get up now, you’ll miss your wedding.
You’re the only woman ….”
Mom—not Martin—blathered on about me oversleeping then flounced
out of the room.
I clutched the pillow I had believed was Martin and swiped off
the damp from Mom’s kiss. Yuck. But today? I sighed the dreamy exhale of
romance novel heroines. I’d marry my prince.
Out of bed, I threw open the shades. Azure sky peeked out of
fluffy white clouds with black-streaked bottoms. What did my earth science
teacher call them? Strato-accumulate? No. Martin played a Strat guitar, and he
certainly accumulated a lot of them. Ah. Stratocumulus! Perfect.
My stomach rumbled. I sniffed hoping for the scent of French
toast with strawberries and whipped cream.
Nope.
In the bathroom, I stuttered to a stop. My hair! Cosmo
Kramer looked better. No problem. That’s why God invented hairdressers.
With all toiletries complete, I opened the bathroom door and
walked into the solid wall that was my mother. She stood with arms crossed so
close to the door, her nose had to have been touching it. “In five minutes, you
have a hair appointment. Twenty-minutes away.”
She grabbed my arm, and off we ran through the summer
morning that smelled—what? Somewhat ionized? I looked up. Still, lots of blue.
Even with oversleeping and only eating the cold (non-French)
toast Mom thrust at me, the rest of the day would bring my happily-ever-after.
All fairy tales abounded with problems. But the ending …? I sighed.
Again.
Two hours later, with stomach rumbling, we arrived at the
Lodge—our premier wedding venue. The tulle and silk flowers decking the gazebo
fluttered in the breeze that seemed more of a gale than a zephyr. No time to
think about the wind currents.
In the dressing room, my best friend, Janelle, helped me
slip on my dress. “You look gorgeous. Perfect hair. Perfect make-up. Perfect
day for an outdoor wedding.” She grabbed the zipper and pulled.
Pulled some more.
And more.
“Breathe in,” Janelle said.
I sucked in air.
“More.”
I tightened every abdominal muscle, stopped breathing until the world whirled around me. The zipper wouldn’t budge.
“It fit perfectly a month ago,” I wailed. “Could it have shrunk in storage?”
“Could you have eaten a gallon of Ben & Jerry’s every night?”
My face heated. Coughing overtook me, and I couldn’t answer.
Janelle moaned her signature lament—the once she’d used since grade school when she dealt with my missteps. She dashed out of the room.
My stomach growled, and I paced. What would I do? If Janelle took any longer, I’d lose enough weight to fit my dress.
“Here we go.” Janelle breezed into the room brandishing needle, thread and safety pins. “Out of the dress. I’ll let out the seams. Hopefully, we’ll have enough play to make it fit.”
Finally, perfectly coifed and fitted, but late for my own wedding, I stood at the exit of the Lodge. I peered through the glass doors. Martin and the groomsmen stood under the gazebo. Guests filled the chairs under the canopy. Above me … I looked up. No. Those beautiful clouds looked dirty, like they four-wheeled through a mud run.
The violinist played the wedding march.
I stepped out.
The wind blew flowers out of my bouquet. I clutched my veil as my father gripped my arm as though to keep me from becoming Dorothy off to Oz. Only twenty steps to the canopy.
We took step two.
Rain pelted us. We ran.
The Olympic sprint in the rain drenched us. Of course, once under the canopy, the torrent subsided.
At the altar, Dad gave me to Martin. We recited our vows.
Happy is the bride it rains upon, is the old cliché.
Married to my prince, in twenty-years, I’d discover the truth about fairy tales.
~ ~ ~ ~
Carol is offering a free copy of The Perils Of Cheryl, direct from Amazon
for one who leaves a comment.
Please leave your email address, so we can contact you after the drawing
THURSDAY MORNING, DEC 24, 2020
~ ~ ~ ~
My Story Title: The Perils of Cheryl
My Story Genre: Women's Fiction
My Story Releases: January 4, 2021
Up for PRE-ORDER NOW
~ ~ ~ ~
The Author of My Story: Carol McClain
Carol McClain's a passionate Christian whose stories
show the redemption of the unredeemable. Although themes range from forgiving
the unforgiveable to escaping the trauma of the past, all her stories are told
with humor and compassion. They will make you laugh and cry.
She’s an author of four books.
In
February, Elk Lake Publishing will release
Borrowed
Lives
~ ~ ~ ~
Get Connected:
~ ~ ~ ~
WHERE can the book be purchased?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
