“But,” I cautioned, “a good marriage is also a duet. It takes both spouses, both putting their partner first, to make it work. You’ve both got to be on board. Love is a verb, Garrett. Something you do, even if you don’t feel like doing it. That’s what ‘for better or worse’ means.”
“We’re supposed to start our premarital counseling pretty soon.”
“Good! Take it seriously. A lot of couples rush through that, and they shouldn’t. If every engaged couple spent half as much time preparing for marriage as they do preparing for the wedding, I think we’d have about half as many divorces.”
Garrett scratched his temple with one finger. “In our case that would mean we’d have to spend about three years solid in premarital counseling. I swear, the collective man-hours involved in putting on this wedding must be running up close to a decade’s worth of work by now.”
“You might be exaggerating a little there.” I laughed. “But not by much.”
He looked at me, waiting to see what else I might have for him. I wished I did have more, some special gnosis, some secret nugget of truth that I could pass on to my son about love and marriage that would ensure its endurance, some warranty against nicks, dings, breakdowns, and catastrophe. But I could offer him no such guarantee. Life just isn’t like that. Who would know better than I?
Garrett clasped his hands together, dropped his head, and looked at the floor again, mulling things over, trying to sort everything out and arrive at some definite conclusion, something he could hang his hat on.
That’s Garrett, through and through. He’s a computer guy. He’s not afraid of complex problems. In fact, he relishes them. But Garrett’s world is made up of numbers and codes and formulas, things that can be theorized with reasonable certainty, tested, and ultimately proven. In Garrett’s world there is always one optimal solution. It might take a while to reach it, but there is great comfort in knowing it’s out there, somewhere.
These were uncertain waters and they scared him, I could tell. Frankly, they scared me too. They had from the first moment Garrett had called me and said he was getting married.
After a long time, he raised his head. When he did, the searching little boy look was gone.
“Mom, would you mind if I took off a little time this week? I’d like to go into the city and see Liza. Maybe just for a cup of coffee or something. I don’t want to put any more pressure on her. But I think I should see her, let her know I’m thinking about her.”
His gaze was steady and full of resolve. He had made up his mind. Never again would Garrett stand distantly, helplessly by when the woman he loved needed him. Next time, he would do something. Maybe not the right something, but something.
I smiled. I was right. My son was a good man, and he would be a good husband. One way or another, he would be okay. They both would.
T
here was a sound of tires crunching gravel. A pair of headlights beamed two columns of light through the living room window. A moment later, I heard the slam of a car door, a 1968 Chevy Corvair.
“Finally!” I said to the empty room. I stopped pacing midway between the kitchen and breakfast room and marched to the front door, ready to fling it open and shout, “Where have you been? Do you have any idea what time it is?”
But as my fingers wrapped around the glass knob, I had a mental image of my mother and Gibb Rainey standing on my front porch lip to lip, and it stopped me in my tracks.
What if they were out there doing just that? Was that something I wanted to see? Definitely not. The thought of seeing my mother locked in the embrace of a man besides my father, especially if that man was Gibb Rainey, was a scene I didn’t want to witness, now or ever. Not that I had anything against Gibb personally—he was a nice enough guy, but he was short and monosyllabic and spent his days sitting in a lawn chair in front of the post office, for heaven’s sake! While my father, my darling father, had been a college professor—tall and handsome and respected in his field! So respected that when Dad died, the alumni had endowed a full-ride scholarship in his name. After living fifty-one years with my father, what could Mom possibly see in Gibb Rainey? What?
And if I opened that door and saw Mom and Gibb together, there was no doubt in my mind that I would ask Mom exactly that, undoubtedly with my voice raised. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.
“Don’t go there, Evelyn,” Charlie had said when I told him about my suspicions regarding Mom and Gibb. “I’m telling you,
do not go there.
It’s none of your business. And even if it’s true, why do you care? So what if Virginia and Gibb have a little romantic fling? They’re both of age.”
Ha! They certainly were! I’d done a little sleuthing and found out that Gibb was even older than I’d thought. Come October, he’d be eighty-eight. Eighty-eight! What business did Gibb have going around luring innocent little old widows into romantic flings at his age? At Gibb’s age, a romantic fling could be fatal. I told Charlie that.
“Oh, stop it,” Charlie said with a roll of his eyes. “Virginia is healthy and Gibb looks pretty fit as well. I’d sure never have pegged him as eighty-eight. And we’ve all got to go sometime. Can you think of a better way?”
Yes, I could. Pretty much any way that involved lifetime fidelity to the memory of my deceased father would be a much better way. Charlie had a good laugh over that one. Easy for him to be so glib. How would he feel if Margaret, the legendary matriarch of the Donnelly family, inventor of the many secret family recipes and, since Charlie’s father’s death, the sole proprietor of the county’s only three-star restaurant, suddenly took up with a busboy at the local diner? Huh? Answer me that?
“There are no diners in Ireland.” Charlie made a sucking noise with his teeth. “Evelyn, your father was a great man, I’ve no doubt about that. But he’s been gone for ten years. Even if this were any of your business—which, I repeat, it is not—is it possible that you’re being just a wee bit irrational?”
Well. Maybe.
I backed away from the door and went back to pacing. After what seemed like an age, the door opened. Before she came in, Mom turned around and waved. “Thanks again, Gibb.”
“My pleasure,” Gibb replied.
“Go, Huskies!” She laughed.
“Go, Huskies!” Gibb called back, raising his fist over his head as he made his way down the sidewalk and got into his car.
Not noticing me at first, Mom chuckled to herself as she closed the door and took off her coat.
“How was the game?”
Mom looked up and jumped a little. “Oh! Evelyn, I didn’t see you there. What are you doing up so late? The game was fine. We won!”
“I know,” I said. “Almost three hours ago. I listened to the radio broadcast.”
Mom frowned as she hung up her coat on one of the wall pegs near the door. “Evelyn, is something wrong?”
“No,” I mumbled, feeling suddenly ridiculous. Charlie was right. It was none of my business. I should have left it alone. If Mom had, I would have. But she didn’t.
Mom narrowed her eyes. “Evelyn Dixon,” she said, “don’t stand there looking at me like that!”
“Like what?”
“Like I am some sort of delinquent teenager who’s been caught sneaking in after curfew, that’s how. Take your hands off your hips and quit glowering at me. If you’ve got something to say, then say it!”
I shoved my hands in my pockets. “All right, I will. Do you have any idea what time it is?” I asked before answering my own question. “Nearly one o’clock in the morning! Where have you been?”
“That is none of your business, Evelyn.”
So I’d been told, twice, by Charlie.
Mom’s lips flattened into an indignant line. “Quit looking at me like that!” she demanded.
“Like what?” I said, throwing up my hands in frustration. This wasn’t fair. My expression was a blank canvas, as neutral as Switzerland. I was sure of it. “I’m not looking at you like anything. I just asked you a simple question. I’ve been pacing around here for hours, worried to death that something might have happened to you. I mean, you might have at least called or something. Just to let me know everything was all right and you were going to be late. After all, I am responsible for you, and I think…”
“Responsible for me?” Mom barked. “Responsible for
me?
Oh no. I don’t think so. I am a mature, experienced, and capable adult. Only
I
am responsible for me. That’s the way it’s been and that’s the way it will be until I die!”
She was mad, and rightly so. What was wrong with me? Why was I behaving like a jealous daddy’s girl? Maybe because I still was. I was also out of line.
“Mom,” I said, deliberately lowering my voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just—”
“You don’t have to tell me what you meant. I’ve known for a long time. Ever since you showed up in De Pere to spy on me.”
“Spy on you! Mom, I wasn’t spying on you.”
“Oh, yes, you were,” she said, pointing her finger at me accusingly. “Poking around my refrigerator and my cupboards. Not letting me drive. Insinuating that I couldn’t take care of myself anymore, that I needed some kind of babysitter.”
“Mom, be fair. I never said you couldn’t take care of yourself.”
“You didn’t have to say it!” she scoffed. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been up to, Evelyn. Ever since I came to New Bern, you’ve been trying to convince me to stay, to give up my home. Well, I’m not going to do it! Your father and I lived in that house for our entire married lives. All my memories are tied up in that house. I’m not going to sell it. Not ever!”
Mom was clenching her jaw so tight that I could see the muscles twitch in her neck. I took a step toward her. “Mom, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Let’s sit down and talk about this.”
She turned her head away and held up her hands to ward off my approach. “No,” she said in a voice that was calmer but no less resolved. “There is nothing to talk about. I’m tired and I’m going to bed. And in the morning, I’m going to call up a travel agent and book a ticket back to Wisconsin.”
“But,” I protested, “what about the wedding?”
“I’ll stay until the wedding to help you and to help Garrett and Liza. But after that, I’m going home.”
I tried to speak but she wouldn’t let me.
“No! Don’t start. I’ve made up my mind. There’s no use trying to talk me out of it. If you do, if you bring it up again, then wedding or no wedding, I’ll be on the next plane back to Wisconsin. Don’t test me on this, Evelyn. I am dead serious. I won’t hear another word about it, not one.”
I
glanced up and looked at the clock that hung on the red brick wall, right next to the poster announcing the new “Summer Can’t Come Fast Enough!” line of citrus-flavored Frappuccinos.
“I wish I had more time. I feel guilty that you drove all the way into the city again just to have a cup of coffee with me.” I paused and looked up at him from under my lashes. “But I’m glad you did.”
“I’m glad I did, too. It isn’t that far.”
I raised my brows. “Two hours?”
“Okay, so it is that far. So what? I wanted to see you, even if it was for only twenty minutes.”
“I’m sorry,” I said for the third time since we’d sat down.
“Liza, forget about it. Besides, later we’ll actually get to spend some time together. We’re still on for tonight, right?”
I nodded. “I’ve got to meet Abigail at Byron’s office at ten sharp. I’ll call you as soon as I’m done. That’s my last obligation in this very long week. Unless, of course, Abigail thinks up some other obligations for me—which seems like a good bet.”
“It’s all right,” Garrett said patiently. “We’re in the home stretch. Things will be better after the wedding, you’ll see.”
I nodded, hoping he was right. Hadn’t I been telling myself the same thing for weeks now?
He reached out to adjust my engagement ring, turning it so the diamond sat square on the center of my finger. “This is really loose. Didn’t I get the right size?”
It used to be the right size. When Garrett gave it to me it fit perfectly. But I’d lost seventeen pounds since then, and my fingers were as bony as the rest of me. I wasn’t dieting; I just wasn’t hungry. When I did eat, the result was an instantaneous stomachache.
“It’s fine,” I said, pulling back my hand, picking up my Frappuccino and pretending to take a sip. “I’ve just lost a couple of pounds.”
“Just a couple? Looks like more than a couple. Are you feeling all right?”
“Oh yeah. Really. I’m fine,” I assured him and then took a big slurp, a real one this time, to prove it. “Just busy. Byron says that most brides lose a few pounds before the wedding. It’s perfectly normal. Like you said, things will be better after the wedding.”
With his brows still drawn together, he slowly nodded, agreeing with me, wanting it to be true as much as I did. We were quiet for a moment, each thinking our private thoughts. What Garrett’s were I didn’t know, but mine, as they had been for much of the week, were all about Professor Williams’s job offer in Chicago.
Should I accept? I didn’t know. It was the chance of a lifetime. Professor Williams said it was, and in my heart I knew she was right—but did that mean it was right for me? I’d never been to Chicago, not even to change planes. Truth was, I’d never been much of anywhere outside of New England. Mom and I went to Florida once and Philadelphia another time, but that was pretty much the extent of our travels. Of course, I’d been away to school in Rhode Island. That had been a complete disaster.
I didn’t have any friends at school there. Not surprising. My mother’s death had been so recent that the pain of it nearly paralyzed me. I held myself together, but only just. Without realizing it, I kept crying out in my sleep, apparently pretty loudly. By Halloween my roommate asked to be moved. I roomed alone for the rest of the year.
Once, I heard a girl in the library who was on her cell phone, loudly arguing with her mom about something stupid. I don’t remember exactly what it was about now, but she was just going off on her mom. I walked up, grabbed the phone out of her hand, hit the End button, and told her to shut up because people were trying to study. The girl yelled at me and I yelled back and we both got tossed out of the library. I was so mad!
At the time, I really believed I was angry because she was being loud, but now I realize it was all about my mom. I was mad at everyone whose mother was still living, which amounted to basically everyone.
By the middle of the third semester I was on the verge of flunking out, so I decided to drop out of school and beat the administration to the punch. I was miserable, anyway. After that experience, the idea of going off to some strange place made me very nervous. And, especially after this weekend, after getting to go to New Bern and spend a little time (thanks to Abigail, only a very little) with family and friends in the only place I think of as home, the thought of accepting a job halfway across the country is scary.
Of course, I’ll only go if Garrett wants to go too. But what if he doesn’t? What if I talk to him about it and he says he won’t go? Will I resent him forever? Or what if I talk to him about it and he says he will go and we do, but then it turns out like Kerry’s sister and her husband, and Garrett ends up resenting
me
forever? What then?
This job offer in Chicago is the chance of a lifetime. At least, I think it is. That’s what everybody says. But Garrett’s the chance of a lifetime, too, isn’t he? You don’t get two chances of a lifetime in one lifetime, so what do I do? How do I choose? And what if I choose wrong?
I can’t decide—about anything.
Last night, Abigail handed me the room service menu, the kind you hang on the doorknob of your hotel room at night so they know what you want for breakfast the next morning, and I just couldn’t make up my mind. Should I have pancakes? Or oatmeal? Or the fruit plate? I don’t like poached eggs but, finally, I just put another checkmark next to what Abigail had ordered.
It’s never been easy for me to talk about my feelings. I know I should talk to Garrett about Chicago. I have to. This is the first moment we’ve had alone in weeks. Maybe now would be a good time. The way things have been going, maybe it will be our only time. Maybe. But maybe not. Professor Williams said she didn’t have to have an answer for a while yet. Would it be better to wait until we’re somewhere more private than a noisy coffee bar? Some time when we’d have more time? I’m not sure. And I want to be sure. I want to get this right. I want to get
everything
right.
Four months ago I was just a student. I went to class. I painted. I went out with my friends. On weekends I either went home to New Bern or I didn’t. That was it. There was plenty of room in my life for screwups. Now, practically overnight, everything is for keeps. Every choice I make matters, every door I walk through means there are ten other doors I walk past, doors that may stay closed to me for life. How can I know which is the right one?
I should talk to Garrett about all this; I know I should. But I can’t. Not today.
After taking a long drink from his coffee cup, Garrett said, “So where do you want to go for our honeymoon?”
“Abigail says we should go to Bermuda. She’s booking a suite for us at a hotel on Elbow Beach. She says it’s the perfect honeymoon spot.”
Garrett put down his drink with a soft thump and pushed back from the table. His smile was gone.
“Then Abigail should go there—on
her
honeymoon. I’m only interested in our honeymoon, yours and mine, which
I
will be booking, by the way. The groom pays for the honeymoon, Liza, and I’m paying for ours. So where do
you
want to go? Not Abigail. You.”
“I…I don’t know. Where do you want to go?”
Garrett’s shoulders drooped. He tucked his chin closer to his chest and just looked at me, not saying a word.
“What?” I said. “I don’t know. I really don’t. Why don’t you decide?”
“Because this is my gift to you and I want this to be special,” he said, trying to keep the exasperated edge from his voice. “Look, I want the first days of our married life to be exactly what you want them to be. I don’t care if we go to the Caribbean, or on a cruise, or camping. Anywhere you are is fine with me. That’s where I’m happy.”
“Well, I feel the same way, so why do I have to be the one to decide? Why not you? If you’ll be happy anyplace, then why not Bermuda? Why
not
let Abigail decide? If she says Bermuda will be perfect, then I’m sure it will be.”
“Because it seems to me that Abigail has been pushing you around plenty these days,” he grumbled, shifting in his chair. “I guess, since she’s paying for the wedding, there isn’t a whole lot we can do about it. But the second we leave the reception, we’re in the driver’s seat—you and me. After all this time, I’d think you’d be happy to get out from under her thumb, have things your own way.”
“I am,” I lied.
Initially, Abigail’s bulldozer approach to wedding planning had gotten on my nerves. Now I was happy that she was in charge and that all I had to do for this wedding was show up. It was too much for me to deal with.
“Let me think about it, okay?”
“Okay. Anywhere you want.” Garrett’s mouth bowed into his customary smile. “Anywhere but Bermuda.”
I smiled back at him. He was so sweet. There wasn’t much in my life that I was sure of right now, except that I loved Garrett. No matter how bad things were, I felt better when Garrett was around.
I pushed away the plastic cup with my barely touched drink and wiped my lips with my napkin. “I’ve got to go.”
Garrett’s smile disappeared. “Already?”
“Yeah,” I said, taking my purse off the back of my chair and putting it on my shoulder. “I’ve got a fitting. Well, not a fitting, really. They finished the alterations to the dress a month ago. This is for accessories. Abigail and Byron want to see what shoes, veil, and jewelry look best with the dress.”
“What about that necklace? The one you made, the one you wore on New Year’s Eve? You looked beautiful that night.”
He was talking about the night I’d refused him, or rather, the night I’d pushed him off, telling him I needed time to think. It hadn’t been a good night for him, but he didn’t remember that now. He only remembered the good things. Maybe, someday, I’d be more like him.
“I think Abigail is talking diamonds.”
“Who cares what Abigail is talking? She’s not going to be waiting for you at the end of the aisle, I will. And I like the necklace you made. It’s beautiful, just like you, and there’s only one in the whole world, also just like you.”
I laughed. “You just want me to wear it because Abigail doesn’t.”
His eyes became serious. “No, I don’t. I want you to wear it because, in this whole insane circus performance that has become our wedding day, I’d like there to be one thing, just one, that is about you and me. Something that reflects our history, our love, and the things that matter to us. At least think about it, okay?”
“Okay.” I got up and kissed him on the top of his head. “I’ve got to go.”
“Don’t.”
I smiled. “I have to. But I’ll see you tonight. It’ll just be a little while.”
He sighed and got up from the table. “Come here.” He put his arms around me, pulled me close, bent his head down, and kissed me like there was no time, no appointments, nowhere else we had to be, no people in a crowded coffee bar watching, wishing they were us.
When he finally lifted his lips from mine it was all I could do not to pull him to me again.
“Do you have any idea how much I want to get you alone?” he breathed.
I dropped my head forward, resting it against his chest, blushing, not with embarrassment but from the heat of my own desire.
“Me too.”
“Honeymoon,” he reminded me. “Think about where you want to go. Don’t forget.”
I nodded. I wouldn’t forget. I couldn’t.
He bent down toward me, ready to kiss me again, but I turned my head and offered him a cheek, knowing that if I let him kiss me again I wouldn’t be able to leave.
“I have to go.”
“I love you.”
“I love you more.”
His eyes followed me to the door. I turned to get one more look at him before I walked out onto the busy Manhattan sidewalk and disappeared into the throng of people hurrying on their way to work and appointments and a million mundane meetings, the tyrannically urgent nothings that drive us through our days but pale in the light of love.