Never Too Late

This was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives and no matter what it cost her, Savannah was determined to make this dream wedding a reality. She gently brushed her fingertips in a circular motion against the center of the window pane, gazing down on the empty street below through the patch of fog she'd managed to clear. Her warm breath quickly filled that tiny space up again, and she turned away, disappointed. Where was the florist?

Rain was supposed to bring good luck, not bad. If only her mother hadn't insisted on her getting married in January. The roads were wet, the days short and rainy, and the peonies, gardenias, and hydrangea her mother demanded were only grown in greenhouses this time of year in the South.

At least the bakery had delivered their finest hand crafted artisan cake an hour ago, right on time. One more detail checked off the list. A number of hired waiters were downstairs now, assembling the ambrosia buttercream confection to her exact written instructions. Under her mother's watchful eye, not a single layer would be stacked unevenly, later to be served from the family's heirloom china, perfectly portioned for each chosen guest.

The constant pitter patter of rain on the roof drowned out the steady ticking of the clock above the mantle, but couldn't silence the pounding in her head. Not today, of all days. She didn't need a stress headache to accompany her to the altar. She sank down onto a cushioned armchair, rubbing her throbbing temples in the same manner as she'd previously used on the wet glass.

Someone gave a firm knock upon the oak door leading into the guest room Savannah was using.

"Who is it?" She called, unwilling to admit the intruder without an introduction. No one except the wedding party, or close family members, would be allowed to see the Bride in her wedding gown until the moment of her glorious entrance down the aisle.

"It's me, your father."

Savannah rose, and unlocked the brass knob, partially hiding behind the heavy door, as she gestured her father into the room. She twirled, feeling the weight of imported ivory satin settle against her ankles as her father's eyes followed her movement, misting with tears.

"My little girl is all grown up, and soon to be Mrs. Matthew S. Morrison." He swiped at the moisture, and Savannah handed him a handkerchief embroidered with her and the groom's initials .

She threw her arms around his neck and squeezed as tight as she could, "Thank you, Daddy, for everything."

"Anything for you, baby girl." It was true. He'd spared no expense on this day to give his only daughter away to his newest law firm associate.

He nodded, but couldn't seem to form a reply as she watched him swallow down the emotion he held at bay.

"Savannah, your bridesmaids are here." Her mother's voice echoed through the door.

Her father turned to leave, ushering in her mother and six bridesmaids to take his place. The oxygen inside the room seemed to vanish as they bustled around her, chattering and sighing, staring in awe at the exquisite beading sewn into the designer dress.

"Oh, you have a loose thread." Her mother stared disapprovingly.

Savannah pressed the fabric to her waist, shielding the flaw her mother mentioned.

"Well, it isn't rather noticeable, and I suppose it can't be helped." Her mother shook her head, "Have you gained weight since your last alterations appointment?"

Her bridesmaid, Kellie, Savannah's best friend since third grade, sucked in a deep breath, and bit her lip. Savannah focused on the oriental rug upon the floor, her cheeks redder than the blush the beautician had earlier applied. From the corner of her eye, she watched her mother exit to greet the first of their high profile arriving guests.

The other bridesmaids huddled in front of the mirror, making minor adjustments to their hair and makeup, giving the two close friends a moment of privacy.

"You don't have to let her talk to you that way." Kellie whispered.

Savannah blinked, not wanting to ruin her mascara. "I've actually lost three pounds,"

"You look beautiful!" Kellie lifted Savannah's chin up with her fingertip, looking straight into her friend's questioning gaze. "And don't let anyone tell you otherwise. With or without those three pounds, or five, or a hundred."

Savannah smiled, heartened by Kellie's pep talk.

"This is your day, not hers." Kellie bent to straighten the lace edged bridal hem.

If only that were true. Savannah thought wistfully. She checked the mantle clock for the twentieth time that day. How odd. The hour and minute hands had ceased their movement. Although she knew the batteries had simply lost their charge, it still seemed time was truly standing still, collectively holding its breath for her, giving her one last chance to make up her own mind.

Orchestral music filtered up from below, and the pounding in her head intensified. She twisted the silver engagement ring, feeling it tighten invisibly around her left third finger, the sparkling diamond like a stone of regret in the pit of her stomach.

The scene was set. The officiant was here, and her groom was waiting. She couldn't walk away now, and let her parents down. Constricting pressure from the boned bodice of her gown made her feel faint as tradition and duty waged war with her desire for what she couldn't have.

Another knock sounded on the door, and a bridesmaid, Brielle, cautiously cracked it open. Surely it wasn't already time to begin the wedding march? But there wasn't anyone standing outside in the hallway, there was, instead, only a small package, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, waiting there on the floor to be found. A single red rose lay across the top, it's heady fragrance permeating the air.

"Oh, it's so romantic!" Brielle handed the gift to Savannah with a wink and a knowing smile. "It must be from Matthew."

Kellie cleared her throat. "Let's give Savannah some privacy." The other bridesmaids followed Kellie's lead, leaving the room one by one.

Savannah's fingers trembled as she sat down and untied the tangled string. As she lovingly unfolded the wrapping paper, a plane ticket fluttered onto her lap. She gasped, covering her mouth with her hand, while clutching the ticket tight. Only one person knew her dream of going Paris, and it wasn't Matthew.

A simple note was included, "It's never too late. I'll meet you there. All my love, Travis."

Fresh air, she needed fresh air. Rain or not, she needed to breath. Risking the wrinkles, she gathered the hem of her gown, and rushed over to the window, raising it high. Instantly, raindrops began to pelt her face, her hair, her gown, leaving large, wet, water spots that would later be impossible stains to remove.

There was no ladder waiting for her to climb down, but she was no longer a damsel in distress. She snapped the window closed and raced to throw open the door to her self inflicted prison. She descended the stairs to the shocked faces of her parents and their peers, their surprised mouths agape at the state of her disheveled appearance.

She'd never seen her mother cry, but there she was, tears streaming down her anguished face. But there was no stopping this ball Savannah had set in motion. This time, she was calling all the shots. Still, she was sorry to see it happen. Her father embraced her mother, but the look of sadness, and yet, understanding in his eyes, told her all she needed to know about who had given her Travis's gift .

Matthew stood waiting at the front of the room, looking rich and handsome in a gray three piece suit. He looked confused, but also, strangely, relieved. His unexpected support bolstered her confidence in this turn of events.

"Thank you all for coming, but the wedding is called off." Savannah spoke with conviction keeping her eyes on Matthew's allied face. Tugging her engagement ring off, she placed it on the lace tablecloth beside the massive cream Bridal cake.

"No, this is all just a misunderstanding. It's your nerves, darling." Her mother pleaded, wringing her hands.

Savannah walked outside the double front doors of the historic hotel, feeling the last vestiges of doubt roll off her shoulders. Even while wearing the heavy satin wedding gown she felt light, and free as a bird. The hotel veranda sheltered her from the rain as she used her cell phone to call a taxi that would take her to the airport.

A large white van pulled up to the hotel curb. The sweet scent of pink peonies, white gardenias, and blue and purple hydrangea filled the air, as workers began to carry in armloads of the requested blooms. The florist had finally arrived, but by then it was too late.