The Plot Thickens

No. Not that way at all.

The morning of the wedding was routine enough. I woke up, got myself looking presentable and smelling like a pocket full of posies for Scott's early morning arrival.  I got the usual "On my way!" text as he'd gunned out of the driveway.  I could estimate his arrival.  Have coffee waiting. And something yummy for breakfast.

He'd already asked about what to wear to the wedding but I sensed that he had his doubts and wanted time for shopping for a Plan B outfit.  Attire for this gig was admittedly a little tricky. A casual wedding with Southern BBQ at our friends' home.  Hot as blue blazes out. I had sent the mother of the bride a note asking for some direction. Would we be going in the pool?  What were the men wearing? What was she wearing?  Women have it so much easier. No one is going to think your a boob if you wear a fitted sundress and everyone else is in shorts. Women can overdress and get away with it. But if Scott showed up in a seersucker suit and the men were in Hawaiian shirts and flip flops, that would suck.

I was ready to make the trek to the mall to get a camera ready wedding outfit on the fly with Scott. Had already figured that into the agenda along with hair, makeup, and a pedi for me.  I was on a roll. Fun day ahead.

And then something weird happened. His daughter texted me looking for him.  I said I had not spoken to him but could find him. Was she ok?

She was not feeling well.  She has a chronic condition that was flaring up and had been suffering all night. I said I'd find him, but I wondered why she hadn't just called him herself. Why go through me? He never ignored his girls' calls.  Had she tried him?    Had she texted him a 911 saying as much?  That would get his attention pronto.

I called him and got him right away. Told him what was wrong. He said he'd call her. He was half way to my house and would be along shortly.  He'd call me back.

And he did.  His daughter was having a bad episode and needed her meds. She was at his sister's beach house for a few days and did not have them with her (God knows why) and he'd have to turn around and get them for her, deliver them to the beach house, and then make the trek to me all over again. DOing the math in my head, I hoped he did not need the time to shop after all.

I stammered. Why can't Abby take them there?  Can her boyfriend?  Can't his sister or her husband get to his house faster and therefore get the meds to her faster? Logically it made no sense for him to turn around and drive 45 miles back, grab the meds, and then join the shore-bound traffic to the beach house.  No sense at all.

But he insisted. She was crying.

And soon, I would be.