Always the Wedding Planner,Never the Bride by Sandra D. Bricker

Author:Sandra D. Bricker
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: I hate you.”“You do not hate me.”“Oh no, you’re wrong. I do.”
Publisher: Abingdon Press
Published: 2011-09-05T22:00:00+00:00

"It appears to be an allergy of some kind. It says here that you're not allergic to anything other than aloe vera."

"Not that I know of."

"Perhaps a fabric or something that's touched your skin. Have you been exposed to anything new?"

Sherilyn pondered the question, replaying everything that may have touched her face. "My friend let me borrow the earmuffs and gloves I was wearing today. Could that be it?"

"You've never worn them before?" the doctor asked, rubbing his latex-gloved finger over her cheek.

"No. And there was a matching scarf too. I had that around my neck."

"That's probably it then," he told her, and he stepped back and peeled the glove from his hand. "The Benadryl should take effect soon. Some people find they get a little drowsy, so you may want to head straight home. In the meantime—" And he began scribbling on his small, white pad. "—I'm going to give you a prescription for some hydrocortisone cream that may help with the itching."

"Thank you," she said, accepting the prescription and looking it over.

"And I'd return that scarf to your friend immediately." Sherilyn chuckled as the doctor disappeared on the other side of the flimsy white curtain. In just a few seconds, Andy poked his head through the opening.

"Okay to come in?" he asked.

"Of course."

Andy stepped up to her where she sat perched on the metal table, and he pecked her temple with a quick kiss.

"Are you going to live then?"

"Probably. Unless I borrow anything else from Emma." Andy tilted his head curiously. "I'm allergic to the earmuffs, or maybe the scarf."

They both looked at the garments balled up on the chair as if checking them for radioactivity.

"Excuse me," Andy called to the nurse who happened to pass the cubicle carrying a plastic bag marked boldly with the last name Carnes. "Can I get one of those bags?"

"At the desk."

Andy gathered up the scarf, gloves, and earmuffs and carried them out into the hall. When he returned, the handle of the bulging bag was safely snapped shut.

"My hero," Sherilyn teased melodramatically.

"Fighting for truth, justice, and freedom from polyester," he returned. "Ready to head out?"

"More than."

She hopped down from the table and slipped into her coat. As they ambled down the corridor toward the emergency room exit, she brushed the shoulder and sleeves of the coat in an effort to clear any fibrous remnant of the culprit. She paused to examine her face and throat via the shiny metal plate on the sliding door.

"When I was nine," she told Andy, stroking her neck and squinting into the reflection, "Lacey Beauchamp and I decided it would be a great idea to start at the top of a hill of leaves and roll down to the bottom. That night, I had poison ivy over every inch of my body. My mom used cottonballs to dab calomine lotion on me, and she put oven mits on my hands so I wouldn't scratch."

"I'll bet you looked cute." Sherilyn glanced up at Andy, her eyes misted over with tears, her heart squeezing into a tight little ball in her chest.

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