A Wedding on Primrose Street (Life In Icicle Falls Book 7) by Sheila Roberts Page B

that was the end of the lecture. Anne left the shop, feeling that they were getting somewhere.
    “I don’t know why you’re trying so hard,” her husband said over dinner that night.
    Of course he didn’t. She’d rarely complained about their wedding. But even though she’d been a sport about it, she’d always wished she’d been able to have the wedding of her dreams, something that reflected the beauty of their love and the seriousness of their commitment. Not that what they’d opted for was bad; it was just...less. Could it have played out differently at the time?
    No, she reminded herself as she relived that pivotal conversation and what followed.
    1990
    Anne and Cam sat in his souped-up truck outside her house in the late summer night with Michael Bolton on the radio asking, “How Am I Supposed to Live Without You?” Good question.
    “I wish you’d never joined the army,” Anne said, her voice as bitter as her tears.
    “Come on, babe. You know we had a plan. This will pay for my college.”
    “If you live to go to college. If you come back.” How was she supposed to tell him her news in light of this?
    He reached out a hand and played with her hair. “Of course I’ll come back, and then we’ll get married just like we planned.”
    And by then... “I’m pregnant,” she blurted.
    His hand froze. “You’re...pregnant? How could that be? We used protection.”
    “Well, I guess it wasn’t very good protection,” she snapped. “And now you’re leaving for the Middle East.”
    “That wasn’t exactly my idea,” he said. “But...hey, a kid. This is cool.”
    “This is
not
cool,” she informed him. He was going away. She’d be left on her own to deal with everything. They’d planned to have a big church wedding when he got out of the army. She’d work while he went back to school, and after he got his degree, she’d finish up hers. Then they’d have their two kids and a dog and a little house somewhere in the burbs and life would be perfect. Now nothing was perfect. “We should’ve waited.”
    “Are you serious? Babe, I’ve been taking cold showers since I was seventeen.”
    If she’d known this was going to happen, she would’ve kept sending him to the shower. Now look at the mess they were in. What would her youth pastor say? Never mind him. What would her mother say?
    “We’d better get married.”
    “I don’t have time to plan a wedding before you get shipped off to the Gulf.” Everyone knew it took months to plan a wedding. She didn’t even have a ring yet. Why did he have to go away? Why did this stupid war have to break out?
    He stared out the window. There was nothing much to see on Tenth Avenue except tree-lined street and modest Queen Anne houses with their porch lights on. Then he began to tap his fingers on the steering wheel.
    “We can go to the courthouse,” he finally said.
    “The courthouse?” Get married at the courthouse? That would be her big wedding?
    He turned to look at her again, his face earnest. “I love you, Annie, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Let’s make it official before I ship out. It doesn’t matter where we get married just as long as we do. Right?”
    Well, of course, that was the most important thing. But ever since she was seventeen, writing
Mrs. Cameron Richardson
in her high school notebooks, she’d dreamed of a traditional wedding with all the trimmings: the gown, the flowers, the church, the big reception afterward. Now reality was closing the door on that vision. She was pregnant; he was going off to the deserts of the Middle East, where who knew what would happen to him. They had to be practical.
    She nodded but she couldn’t talk. There was suddenly a boulder stuck in her throat.
    Cam pulled her close and touched his forehead to hers. “Hey, I know this isn’t what you wanted,” he said softly.
    She swallowed hard, forcing the boulder down. “I want to be with you,” she told him. “That’s what I