As predicted, Amy’s arrival dumped my skinny ass straight into the bowels of hell. Since my detour dealing with Rick hadn’t unseated my throne of perfectionism, she decided she needed someone to photograph every square inch of the gardens to immortalize her wedding day.
I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t remind her she hadn’t wanted a wedding in the first place.
Unfortunately for Amy, I’d anticipated something of the sort, so I’d begged Ben to come extra prepared. I’d hear his complaints for months over his offended sensibilities, but he’d brought five spare, cheap cameras along just in case. I could find a few extra volunteers to help me take thousands of photographs Amy wouldn’t bother looking at.
Amy began her evil work at the pond, but a few kids, a baseball bat, and their ball ensured her victory. I hadn’t even registered the crack of them hitting their ball before it’d bounced off my thick skull. I lost a few minutes thanks to their aim, and when I finally rejoined the rest of the world, I discovered I’d spent some time in the pond along with Ben’s camera.
He might kill me for trashing even one of his cheap cameras.
Water dripped into my eyes, but when I lifted my hand to wipe my face, someone stopped me. My eyes refused to focus properly, although I identified the person as a man. Men wore suits, women wore dresses. That had been the dress code for Amy’s wedding, and the person interfering with my attempts to get the water out of my eyes was definitely wearing a suit.
“You were supposed to photograph the pond, not dive in,” Amy complained. “You’re a mess. You have weeds in your hair.”
I couldn’t even tell if Amy was actually upset I’d interrupted her photography shoot. I thought her tone implied glee, but I decided I wouldn’t care. I’d threatened her with a ball and chain, so it was fair enough for her to view the incident as karma biting me in the rump. “It’s a rule. Someone at a wedding always ends up in the pond. No one told me I’d score a headache, though. I could live without that part.”
My brother sighed, and I realized he was the jerk who kept stopping me from wiping my face. Then, since one sigh wasn’t good enough, he did it again. “You’re not supposed to catch baseballs with your head.”
Fine. He wasn’t wrong, but did he have to say it? I came bundled with various forms of revenge, and I figured I’d delve into my love of amusing movies to exact my revenge. “’Tis but a scratch.”
“Your clock’s been cleaned!” He shook his head, confirming he was, indeed, the helpful entity who refused to let me get the water out of my eyes.
When my brother figured out I was yanking his chain, he might kill me. “No, it hasn’t. I’m talking to you. If my clock had been truly cleaned, I would not be speaking to you right now.”
“You weren’t speaking to me thirty seconds ago.”
“My clock has not been cleaned.”
“If your clock hasn’t been cleaned, why is there blood in your hair?”
My brother made it hard to keep from laughing. In my current state, laughing would be bad. Laughing would make my head hurt. “I’ve had worse,” I lied.
“Have you, now?” My eyes focused on him enough to witness the narrowing of his eyes. He inspected the side of my head where I’d been smacked with a baseball. “I can’t remember any other time you almost lost your head to a baseball.”
Finally, my moment had come. “It’s just a flesh wound.”
Behind me, Ben snickered.
“You’re a force of unrelenting evil,” my brother complained.
“Go back to taking pretty pictures with your bride and be happy I got my solo photos done early. I’ll be fine.” After my head stopped trying to split in half. “I’m just going to sit here for a few minutes and catch my breath.”
“You almost drowned because you lost consciousness due to a baseball to the head. That is not fine.”
Damn. I was afraid to ask if CPR had been involved. If it had been, I’d never live it down. I’d heard horror stories about CPR, and my chest didn’t feel like someone had beaten me with a baseball bat, so I would assume I’d escaped from that horror. I could think of only one way to distract my brother. I turned to Ben and asked, “Did you get any pictures of that? It’d be tragic if you hadn’t caught any pictures of me taking a baseball to the head.”
My friend sighed and shook his head. “Maybe. I’ll check tonight.”
“I demand copies if they exist. Mat, please go back to taking pretty pictures. I’ll be fine.”
My ploy failed, and my brother glared at me. “I fail to see how my sister, who was hit in the head hard enough she fainted and almost drowned, can possibly be fine.”
I checked the gardens for our adoptive parents and spotted them nearby, their arms crossed and glaring at me with matched expressions of disapproval. Unlike my brother, they wouldn’t say anything—yet. They’d wait for a moment of weakness and attempt to kill me with kindness.
And they’d arrange it so I wouldn’t be able to escape. If they felt I was about to have a breakdown because my big brother had finally grown up, they might bring a puppy or kitten with them and make me care for it.
I’d never had a puppy or kitten before.
Or, worse. They’d finally listen to my childhood dream of owning a horse and make one appear to keep me broke, busy, and close to home.
I’d even like it.
“I’m fine!” I hollered in their general direction.
Neither seemed to believe me.
I wrinkled my nose. “I’m just that amazing. That’s how I’m fine. I’m just that amazing. Go take your pictures. I’ll just sit here and wait for the busybody paramedics you probably insisted on calling to arrive. After they leave, I’ll get changed and prepare for the reception.” I pointed at my brother. “Are we clear?”
“You’re a pain in my ass. You’re really going to attend the reception after taking a baseball to the head?”
Duh. Stupid brother. “Today is your wedding day. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. A damned baseball isn’t stopping this woman, so get used to the idea.”
My brother looked like he wanted to be sick. “Hope.”
I wanted to tell him he was only going to get married once, but I knew better than to tempt fate, especially when Amy was the second half of their partnership. “Please go do the things handsome grooms do on their wedding day. I’ll be fine. Really. It’ll take a lot more than a baseball bat to make me miss any part of your wedding.”
Except that bit where I’d fallen into a pond and almost drowned. I didn’t count that. It wasn’t my fault a bunch of kids thought it was a good idea to play baseball in a botanical gardens.
Ben and my brother both heaved sighs but trudged off to do as told.
Three
Some risks were worth taking.
To keep to the day’s frantic schedule, I dealt with the paramedics in record time. They couldn’t force me to go to the hospital, I politely turned down their repeated invitations, and I promised I would take myself to a doctor if I suffered from any of the symptoms they rattled off. I promptly forgot the list.