I honestly thought she was joking.
“She’s seven.”
“I’m thinking about the future,” Barbara replied. “Brandon will eventually have children of his own.”
That phrase stayed with me.
Children of his own.
As though Lisa could never possibly count.
I told Brandon about some of Barbara’s remarks.
He always seemed uncomfortable.
“She’s old-fashioned.”
Or:
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“She’s protective of me.”
Or:
“She’ll adjust.”
I wanted to believe him.
For most of the wedding planning, Barbara kept herself under control.
She complained about the flowers.
Questioned the guest list.
Thought we were spending too much.
Normal mother-in-law stuff.
She even volunteered to help with decorations.
So on the morning of the wedding, I wasn’t suspicious.
I was nervous.
Excited.
Overwhelmed.
We were getting married at a small bed-and-breakfast about forty minutes outside town.
Afterward, Brandon, Lisa, and I planned to stay there for a few days.
