The Second Silence (53 page)

As happy as Noelle looked now. Tears filled Mary’s eyes as she watched her daughter glide to a stop before Hank, who looked as awestruck as a teenager coming face-to-face with a movie idol. The two waited with patient smiles until Emma, looking impossibly adorable in her ruffled organdy dress, had tired of the grand spectacle of strewing rose petals from the basket looped over her arm and had scampered the last few feet up the aisle. As Father Joe launched into the ceremony, Emma stood half hidden by the folds of her mother’s gown, peering out self-consciously at the assemblage of friends and relatives.

There were Hank’s parents all the way from Kansas, both as squarely solid and plain as posts, though looking at Hank, Sr, Mary could see where the twinkle in his son’s eye had come from. They were flanked by Hank’s aunt Mabel and uncle Ned, accompanied by their four offspring, two men and two women, all from the same large-boned, fair-haired, and freckle-faced stock. None of Noelle’s neighbors from Ramsey Terrace had been invited, though several high school friends were in attendance. Lacey Buxton as well, wearing a polka-dot peplum suit, her face nearly hidden by a matching wide-brimmed hat. And Nora Lundquist, along with her sons Everett and Jordy and their wives. Mary thought with a wry smile that it was too bad her mother hadn’t lived to see this; it was just the sort of affair on which Doris loved to offer running commentary.

Charlie discreetly took his place alongside Mary. Without thinking, she tucked her arm into his. He glanced at her in mild surprise, then smiled.
We’re like any proud parents of the bride,
she thought. If several people happen to glance at them in curiosity—Bronwyn in particular—what business was it of theirs? At least Trish, seated beside Mary with her hands folded primly in her lap, was careful to keep her eyes averted. Though that might have had more to do with Father Joe, strikingly dignified in his surplice and collar.

I lost him once. I don’t want to lose him again.
The thought came out of nowhere, as resounding as a note struck on the organ.

Mary refused to pay it any mind. This wasn’t about her and Charlie; all that had been resolved. This was Noelle and Hank’s day, on which no tears but those of joy were to be shed. Any twinges of regret she might feel were perfectly normal, she told herself. She mustn’t give them a second thought.

After a brief reading from the Book of Psalms, Hank and Noelle exchanged vows, then slipped onto each other’s fingers the simple gold bands they’d selected. When they kissed, the entire assemblage seemed to release its breath as one. Louella Carson at the organ, a huge woman in a floral print dress, struck up a chorus of Handel’s
Water Music,
signaling the joyous march down the aisle.

Mary, dabbing at her eyes, leaned close to whisper, ‘Did you ever think we’d see the day?’

‘I had a pretty good idea,’ Charlie whispered back hoarsely.

‘Remind me to consult your crystal ball next time. Mine seems to be out of order.’

‘Hope ain’t the same as being able to see into the future,’ he drawled sotto voce, staring straight ahead with a deadpan expression as they began making their way down the aisle to join the newlyweds outside. ‘Sometimes you’ve just got to wing it.’

Mary stole a glance at his stern, hawk-nosed profile and saw the smile pulling at one corner of his mouth. The warmth that rushed through her was like a current sweeping her off in a direction she hadn’t foreseen. She surprised herself by asking, ‘Would winging it include a return ticket?’

He paused when they reached the vestry and steered her off to one side as everyone else streamed past. ‘I’m a little slow. You know us country boys,’ he said, turning to look her full in the face. He was smiling, but his eyes were serious. ‘Would you mind telling me what this is all about?’

‘I don’t know,’ Mary replied honestly, shaking her head in disbelief at her own sudden change of heart—if that’s what this was. ‘I was just wondering if maybe I’ve been looking at this the wrong way.’

‘Sort of like being too close to the forest to see the trees?’ Charlie, standing with his back to a stained glass window, was bathed in an ethereal glow that made her wonder briefly if she was dreaming. The stream of departing guests dissolved into a blur. They might have been the only two people in the church.

‘Something like that,’ she said, trembling inside.

Charlie regarded her intently. ‘I’m listening.’

Mary took a deep breath. ‘I still don’t know if I could come back here for good,’ she confessed, ‘but one thing I
do
know is that wherever I wind up, I don’t want it to be alone.’

‘I’m here, right where I’ve always been,’ Charlie told her, his mouth flat and unsmiling. ‘Just say the word.’

He was asking for a sign, even if it was nothing more than a lottery ticket to what the future might hold. He was telling her in so many words that such a profound change had to be every bit her own idea, on her own terms. Otherwise, it would be doomed.

He’d already gone as far as he could go. Now it was she who had to take that first step.

Mary felt a sudden sense of buoyancy, like an empty glass being slowly filled with something sweet and cool. She recognized it as a sort of letting go, a release of the tight grip she’d held on her heart.

‘They’re waiting for us outside,’ she said, nodding in the direction of the double doors that stood open to the sun-washed steps, where a receiving line had begun to form. Her throat was tight. ‘Can we get together later on and talk this over?’

‘You know where to find me.’

‘That’s never been the problem.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘The problem is I haven’t always known where to find
me.’

‘Maybe you haven’t been looking in the right place.’

‘I wish I knew where that was. God, how I wish it.’

‘In that case, allow me.’ Charlie took her arm. As they crossed the vestry, side by side, she felt his heart thumping and for an instant mistook it for her own.

Through the open doors just up ahead, she could see the bride and groom, poised on the front steps, surrounded by friends and family, not to mention a number of Hank’s patients. Their daughter—
their
daughter!—shimmered in the sunlight like something newly minted, which of course in a way she was. At that precise moment Noelle caught sight of them and broke into a smile so blinding that everyone else looked up, too.

‘Don’t let go,’ Mary murmured in a sudden panic. ‘I don’t think my legs will hold me.’

‘I’ve got you,’ he said, holding her pressed so close she could feel the flutter of his warm breath in her hair. He smelled of soap and shaving cream and the freshly laundered shirt he wore, size large, light on the starch, please.

Together, they strode out of the church into the sunlight.

Acknowledgments

M
ANY THANKS
to the following for their support and guidance: Susan Ginsburg and Maja Nikolic at Writers House. Molly Stern at Viking. Louise Burke at Signet. My good friends Catherine Jacobes, who designed my Web site, Kathee Card, whose daily E-mails bring a smile and keep me going.

And last, but not least, my dear husband, Sandy, who’s proven to be as good an editor as he is companion, helpmate, and navigator … and who brought home dinner every night while I was working round the clock.

A Biography of Eileen Goudge

Eileen Goudge (b. 1950) is one of the nation’s most successful authors of women’s fiction, beginning with the acclaimed six-million-copy bestseller
Garden of Lies
.

Goudge is one of six children, and the joys and strife that come with a large family have informed her fiction, much of which centers on issues of sisterhood and family. At eighteen she quit college to get married, a whirlwind experience that two years later left her divorced, broke, and responsible for her first child. It was then that she started writing in earnest.

On a typewriter borrowed from a neighbor, Goudge began turning out short stories and articles. For years she had limited success—selling work to
McCall’s
,
Reader’s Digest
, and the
San Francisco Chronicle
—but in the early eighties she took a job writing for a new young adult series that would become the phenomenally successful
Sweet Valley High
.

Goudge moved her family from California to New York City, where she spent several years writing young-adult fiction, creating series such as
Seniors
,
Swept Away
, and
Who Killed Peggy Sue?
In 1986 she published her first novel of adult fiction,
Garden of Lies
, inspired by a childhood anxiety that, because she did not resemble her brothers and sisters, she had been secretly adopted—a suspicion so strong that, at twelve, Goudge broke into her father’s lockbox expecting to find adoption papers. (She did not.) The tale of children swapped at birth was a national sensation, spent sixteen weeks on the
New York Times
bestseller list, and eventually yielded a sequel,
Thorns of Truth
(1998), which Goudge wrote in response to a decade of fan mail demanding she resolve the story.

Since then, Goudge has continued writing women’s fiction, producing a total of thirteen novels to date. Her most popular works include the three-book saga of Carson Springs—
Stranger in Paradise
(2001),
Taste of Honey
(2002), and
Wish Come True
(2003)—a small, secret-ridden town that Goudge based on scenic Ojai, California. She has also published a cookbook,
Something Warm from the Oven
, which contains recipes that Goudge developed as a reprieve from the stresses of writing novels.

Goudge met her current husband while conducting an interview over the telephone. Entertainment reporter Sandy Kenyon was so taken with the author that he asked if he could call her back when the interview was done, and after weeks of late-night conversations they met in person and were married in 1996.

Goudge lives with Kenyon in New York City.

  Goudge at age two, sitting on her father’s shoulders at the San Francisco Zoo. Goudge’s father was a talented painter. In the 1940s he painted caricatures at county fairs though once his family grew he focused on his insurance agency and self-taught skill at architecture.

  Goudge, age three, and her sister, Laura, in a playhouse built by their father. In addition to being a painter and insurance agent, Goudge’s father also designed and built houses.

  Goudge at seven years old, before her First Communion. The photograph was taken in the backyard of her parent’s first house in San Mateo, California. One of six children, Goudge loved being singled out from her brothers and sisters.

  Goudge, second from right, smiling with her three sisters in matching dresses. Goudge’s mother used to make clothes for her children. By the time Goudge entered high school, she had picked up sewing from her mother and begun to make all of her own clothes.