Baggage Check by M.J. Pullen

media or in person—without his trademark camouflage hat. She noticed that he had a bit of a receding hairline, surprising for someone who was just twenty-seven. Normally larger than life, tonight Dylan Burke looked like an average guy.
    They heard the car pull up out front, just as the sun began to dip below the horizon. It was perfect timing—the little scene they had created on the beach was bathed in orange light, with the mason jar candles flickering cheerfully along the path in the sand. Dylan, Jeff, and Jake hurried down the stairs and took their places beneath the streamers, while Kate, Beth, and Rebecca gathered up the extra wildflowers and listened at the door.
    â€œWhere is everyone?” Suzanne was saying irritably. “I told you we didn’t need to get all this stuff—they obviously went out.”
    â€œHow would they go out? We had the car,” Marci said. Then she called loudly, “We’re back!”
    Beth, Rebecca, and Kate, huddled on the back porch, suppressed giggles and squeals, as though they were waiting outside the eighth-grade dance. Beth motioned for them to take a deep breath and calm down.
    â€œI’m going to put this shirt in the washer before the ketchup sets, you klutz,” Suzanne said. “I still don’t know how my sundress ended up in your car.”
    â€œYou’re just that lucky,” Marci said, with just the right amount of sarcasm. She was the only person who could get away with talking to Suzanne like that. “Let’s go out back.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œLet’s go for a walk or something. Maybe the other girls are outside.”
    â€œGo ahead, I’ll catch up,” Suzanne said.
    â€œCome with me!” Marci whined.
    â€œWhat is with you?” Suzanne said. “You’re so needy today, even for you. Even pregnant you.”
    She could not hear what passed between them next, but Rebecca guessed Marci was running out of artifice, because Suzanne’s next question was in a completely different tone. “Marci, what is going on?”
    And then the doorknob turned. Suzanne stepped out of the beach house with a perplexed expression. Marci followed, and Beth handed each of them a loose bunch of flowers. “What?” Suzanne said. Then again. “What?”
    Marci answered with a hug. “We love you.” And then, surprisingly, “It was Rebecca’s idea.”
    â€œBut…,” Suzanne started, and then her eyes lit on Dylan, standing patiently on the beach next to a local judge whose teenage daughter would be getting ten front-row tickets to Dylan’s next concert in Charleston. “But—”
    â€œJust follow us,” Beth said, and began a slow stride down the wooden path.
    As they filed into place opposite the guys, Marci leading a shocked Suzanne by the hand, the bride stopped a few feet back. She gaped at Dylan. “You’re here,” she said softly.
    â€œYes, ma’am,” Dylan said, giving her a soft salute with two fingers.
    â€œBut…”
    It was strange to see Suzanne in this state. Normally, she was the most polished and professional person any of them knew. She prepared for every contingency. Nothing surprised her. Ever.
    Finally, Dylan took a step forward and took her hands in his. He extracted the bouquet of wildflowers from Suzanne and handed them to Marci.
    â€œListen, Scarlett, I’m going to be honest. We are probably going to have to do something that includes a bunch of other people—including our families and the press and everyone.
    â€œBut that will be for them, and to some extent for my job, and I know you will be gracious and go along with it. But tonight is for you. For us. No press, no chaos, just us. This will be what’s real. This is the anniversary we will celebrate for the rest of our lives together. What do you think?”
    Suzanne stood silent, staring.
    â€œI mean, unless you’ve changed