That Lucky Old Sun (The Bella Novella Collection Book 4) by Janice Thompson Page B

Amen and amen.”
    “It took all of us getting along to stop the storm,” Darian said. “But I guess that’s a moot point now.”
    We helped the older ones to their feet and went into the living room to assess the damage. One of the large panes of glass had cracked down the middle, but the others remained intact. And, except for the patio tables, which had somehow come loose from the deck and landed upright in the sand, the back yard didn’t appear to have sustained any permanent damage. Plenty of debris from the beach had washed up to cover the deck, side-to-side. My goodness, would we ever have a job on our hands to clean up this mess!
    “Oh, my poor wedding venue.” Ling walked over to the broken window, but Darian took her hand and pulled her back.
    “Careful. Cracked glass.”
    “I know, but. . .” She began to cry, tiny little cries at first, but then gut-wrenching sobs. “Our. Wedding. Is. Ruined!”
    “Your wedding is not ruined!” I flew into wedding coordinator gear right away. In a few days this window will be replaced, the patio furniture will be back in order, and the deck will be cleaned and the vendors will have worked their magic, filling the whole place with gorgeous tables, chairs and centerpieces. The temperatures will be calmer, the people will be braver, and the storm will be completely behind us.”
    “You think?” She sniffled as she looked my way.
    In that moment, I put on my best wedding coordinator face.
    “I know . Just trust me, Ling. We’re going to work together as a team and pull off a beach-themed wedding like no one’s ever seen. We’ll do it because you and Darian are worth it. You are loved, you are in love, and you are going to have the best wedding this island has ever seen.”
    “If anyone deserves it. . .” Grandpa Nguyen’s voice sounded from behind me. “My granddaughter does. This girl is our legacy, the one we adore. So listen to me, Ling. You will have your day. I will make sure of it.”
    “Listen to your grandfather, Ling,” I said.
    “Yes, listen to me. I have something to say.” He eased his way down onto the plush sofa and we all gathered around him. “Our Ling is living the American dream, and we all get to participate. I can think of nothing finer, not after all I went through to get here. This is all I’ve ever hoped for, for my family, to carry on the Nguyen legacy in this new land where opportunities abound.”
    Wow. For a guy who rarely spoke, he’d shared a lot, and straight from the heart.
    “Mr. Nguyen, how long have you lived in Galveston? I asked after a moment’s pause.
    For a moment, the elderly man’s eyes clouded over and I wished I hadn’t posed the question. It appeared to bring some sort of pain, if such a thing could be judged by a man’s expression. After a moment or two of awkward silence, he looked my way. “I did not come to Galveston by choice, Mrs. Neeley.”
    “Did any of us?” D.J. nudged me with his elbow. Then, after seeing my “Watch it!” expression, he shrugged and added, “Just saying.”
    “When Saigon fell to the North Vietnamese in the 70s, everything I knew changed in a moment.” These words from the usually quiet grandfather brought an eerie silence to the room. Everyone looked his way, as if anticipating his next words. “Back in those days, thousands of us fled from Vietnam to save our lives. We had no time to say proper goodbyes. We just. . .fled.”
    Man. Now I really wished I hadn’t asked him to relive this journey.
    “Texas wouldn’t have been my first choice,” he added. “Not many of my people here at the time, mostly servicemen’s wives. But we had no choice. My wife and I were young and Hahn Jr. was just a boy, only ten years old.” He pointed to Ling’s father. “I feared for his future.”
    Whoa. The room was so quiet you could’ve heard a pin drop.
    “We were taken to Arkansas when we first arrived in ‘79,” he explained. “From there, many of us headed west to Texas.