The Sometime Bride

call the rescue squad?”
    Carrie let out a laugh that released more tears. But this time, she felt more in control. “Thanks, Grandma,” she said, taking another deep breath. “You’re the best.”
    “What’s all this about wanting? You mean the dang hunk hasn’t proposed by now?”
    “Not yet, but it’s coming,” Carrie said, holding out her trembling left hand and examining the bare ring finger. “I can feel it. Just like that musky heat right before a rain.”
    “Well,” Grandma Russell said, “he’s been waiting for a reason. So don’t you go jumping all over him with kisses and I-do’s before he can get two words out. First, give the rascal a chance to say his piece.”
    “Jumping…? Why, Grandma Russell, what do you take me for, an impatient woman?”
    Her grandma chuckled. “Just a woman who knows what she wants. And I can’t say I blame you. He is a dish, that Mike Davis, he is.”
    “Grandmother! It’s not all about the way he looks, and you know it!”
    “Yes, I know. But I also know enough to know looks don’t hurt. Especially when the man in question looks just like a young Robert—”
    “There you go with that movie-star thing again. I swear, that’s not helping.”
    Grandma Russell hooted. “I can’t wait for the big day. It will be so nice feeling like you are finally anchored in Virginia, Carrie love. I just know with that man of yours at home, those week-long trips to New York won’t seem nearly as enticing.”
    Carrie thought about telling her but decided against it. Why spoil her grandmother’s jovial mood? Besides, Carrie was finally feeling better herself. Perhaps if she had some yogurt and a bit of soda. She definitely needed something in her stomach, and the soda would help her queasies.
    “I think I’d better go and grab something to eat before he gets here,” Carrie said, standing and walking to the kitchen. “Keep those fingers crossed for me.”
    “Absolutely,” Grandma Russell reported, “and all my lavender-painted toes.”
    Carrie hung up the phone, wondering if her grandmother had really painted her toenails purple or was just being funny. With Grandma Russell, one never really knew. Perhaps expressly why Grandpa Russell married her in the first place.

    Okay, Mike told himself, scooping the brand-new engagement ring off his carpet for the third time. This wasn’t good. Not good at all. He was all thumbs tonight. What a wonderful night to propose. Plus, it was predicted to rain. How romantic. He had planned to take Carrie to his special spot, right there in Norton Vineyards. He’d even bought a Norton Sweet Virginia Red and a whole box of mint chocolate chip ice cream sandwiches to complement the evening.
    Before, when he’d acted rashly and proposed to the wrong women, he’d charted a course for disaster. Not this time. Not this time, indeed. Tonight was special. Carrie was special. And the dag-blasted ring he’d traded for Alexia’s had cost only a few hundred more. A few hundred, but worth every dime.
    Yet the custom setting Mike had arranged had taken time. An unsettling amount of time. On a couple of occasions, in fact, Mike had actually feared Carrie was going to propose to him instead, if he didn’t hurry it up.
    Well, now all that was neither here nor there because he had the ring, he thought, wedging it back in its box and shoving it down in his pocket. He walked to the kitchen counter, completing his mental checklist. He had the wine. Check. He felt his other pocket for the Swiss Army knife with the corkscrew. Check. And the ice cream… He opened the freezer to find it bare.
    Mike whirled on his heels toward the center of the kitchen where a soggy brown-paper bag wilted against the table. Holy cow! Not again. But it was, in fact. Even worse than the first time.

    Carrie fiddled with her watch and paced the living room. She picked up the remote and switched on the television. News and game shows. She switched it off again.
    She checked the mantel clock. Seven forty-five. All right, Carrie, she told herself, fifteen minutes late does not a disaster make. He could be running a bit behind, could have stopped for gas.
    Carrie felt like she was getting a sick headache. No, not tonight, she prayed. Not tonight of all nights. She went to the kitchen and poured some water from the tap, preparing to take two aspirin, when a firm knock sounded at the front door.
    Carrie’s stomach revolted.
    She raced to the door and tugged it open, just