Married by June (15 page)

“Do the lights come on?” she asked.

“The door is this way,” he answered, misunderstanding her question.

“No, I mean, if you stay in here, do the overhead lights come on? I want to see the whole thing.”

“It’s better if you don’t,” Cooper said. “It kind of ruins the magic.”

“I’m over my disappointment about Santa Claus. I can take it.”

He pressed one hand on her shoulder. “Stay here for a second. I know where the switch is.”

He was gone and the room seemed big and empty as she stood alone in the dark. When the lights switched on, it took her a few seconds to adjust.

“Wow,” she said.

“I know.”

The room was a maze of low plywood tables covered by thick Plexiglas. On each were scenes from the story they’d just heard. Cooper was right. With the lights on, the drama of the presentation was gone, and the jumble of electrical cords and duct tape made everything look homemade. On the other hand, he was completely wrong.

“It doesn’t ruin the magic,” Jorie said as she leaned down to examine the Harpers Ferry scene. “It’s a whole different kind of magic.”

He pointed at a scout positioned behind a tree on the road leading away from the ferry. “This guy look familiar?”

She squinted. “Is that Hamburglar?”

Cooper started to laugh. “Sure is.”

“Oh, no,” Jorie said. “I thought they were all those fussy miniatures you can buy. That’s why the army guys are in the donation box.”

“Yep.”

Now that she looked closer, she realized the entire diorama, all six or seven tables were made from junk. Toys? She wasn’t sure what to call them. Someone—Marty, she supposed—had painstakingly painted each figure to disguise its origins and turn it into a Union or Confederate soldier, cavalry horse or civilian. She couldn’t imagine the investment of time this must have taken.

They stayed longer in the room with the lights on than they had with the lights off, because every time Jorie thought she’d seen the last bit, she noticed one more detail. And Cooper had an infinite amount of information to share with her.

“How many times have you been here, exactly?” she asked.

“Too many to count. The first time I was a sophomore in high school. Hey, want to see what I contributed?”

He led her back to the scene at the beginning showing Lee poring over maps in his tent. “I drew the map. Pretty awesome, isn’t it?”

She’d need a magnifying glass to confirm, but she knew even without checking that the map, done in Cooper’s meticulous printing, was historically accurate and probably drawn to scale. On the way out, he flicked the lights off again.

“Marty doesn’t like it when the atmosphere is spoiled.”

“Marty should be proud of the work he did in there. I bet if he made turning the lights on part of the show, right at the end, he’d get more donations.”

Cooper leaned past her to push open the door to the outside. She shivered again in the shade of the alley.

“Does Marty have a job?” she asked.

“He won’t answer that question,” Cooper said. “But I think he must.”

“It’s too bad he can’t make a living with the museum. Imagine having that kind of crazy creative passion for something and being stuck working at something else.” Jorie shook her head. “Money sucks, doesn’t it?”

“Is the bakery that bad?”

“It’s not the bakery. But I didn’t give up my wedding planning business so I could box cupcakes and listen to Eliot tell jokes.” She pulled him to a stop and put her arms around him so she could hide her face in his chest. “When is that stupid governor going to make up his mind, Cooper? Everything is on hold until he gives the okay for your appointment.”

“We’re not on hold,” he said.

But they were. Under the surface of every minute they spent together was the knowledge that they were only together because of his brother. She did
her level best to forget that, but she couldn’t because they were living and breathing politics twenty-four hours a day.

If she didn’t find some way to carve out her own life, she was going to lose her mind. The bakery really wasn’t so bad, but she wasn’t engaged by it. Alice did all of the real work—planning what to make for the week, ordering, baking, color schemes. She ran the tastings herself unless she was absolutely pushed, and then she let Jorie help.

The bakery was a great place for Alice, but for Jorie it was marking time. She needed something of her own, and soon.

J
ORIE WAS JUST GETTING
out of the shower the next morning when Miriam called in a panic.

“Grace Blackwell is coming in this morning,” she said. “She wants to donate three wishes, but she said they’ll be of significant size so we’d better prepare press coverage.”

“Sorry about that. I figured she might donate something if she was getting her picture taken. I bet Rachel knows someone who would come by and take pictures. We’ll get them posted somewhere.”

“Thanks, Jorie, but that’s not why I called,” Miriam said. “Or not entirely. Can you come in and volunteer for a few hours this morning?”

“Sure. What do you need?”

“Well, ever since we opened this registry idea up to the public, I’ve been inundated,” Miriam said. “I guess I didn’t realize how much work you and your mom did to get the registry filled. I need help.”

“Sure. Let me know when.”

“You can pick your hours. You’ll be saving my life.”

S
HE AND
M
IRIAM
laid out the two newest registries in the conference room and started to categorize the wishes. Chelsea had worked out a color-coding system and Jorie taught it to Miriam.

Jorie threw herself into the work, determined to get Miriam on a more secure footing before she left for the day. While they were discussing Grace’s three wishes, they came up with a promotional campaign. They’d use Three Wishes to sell the idea that brides could choose their normal registry with a few wishes thrown in for good measure. Jorie sketched a design that looked like a cross between Aladdin’s lamp and a high-heeled shoe. She and Miriam were convinced the brides would love it.

By the time three o’clock came, they’d made huge progress. Miriam perched on the edge of the conference room table with a mug of green tea. Jorie had a paper cup full of water. It was hardly a glamorous setting, but the offices were so familiar to her, she didn’t notice the shabbiness anymore.

“Thank goodness we got so much done,” Miriam
said. “I’ve been getting ready to post a job so I can hire someone permanent to help me, but I couldn’t get far enough ahead to file the paperwork. Isn’t that silly? I’m too busy to hire help.”

Jorie’s skin felt hot. Miriam was going to hire someone to work on her mom’s Wish Registry? Someone would be here full-time doing the things she’d done today? Because she’d opened her own business directly after college, she’d never needed a résumé, but she was going to go home immediately and figure out how to write one. Cooper would know. He’d help her. She held her water cup so tightly it almost collapsed and she had to ease back on her grip. “It’s not silly. The fact you need to hire someone is a great sign, isn’t it?”

“You’re exactly right,” Miriam said.

Jorie took a sip of the water but couldn’t even feel it going down. She couldn’t believe she was this nervous, but it had been a while since she’d asked for something she really wanted. And she really wanted this. “Miriam, will you let me know when you post the job?”

“Do you want to be on the interview committee? We could use your insight.”

“No. I’d like to apply.”

Miriam was quiet just long enough to make Jorie thoroughly nervous. She shouldn’t have said anything. She should have sent her résumé in like
everybody else and then Miriam wouldn’t be in the awkward position she was in right now—having to discourage her. They would need someone with financial experience. Someone who’d done fund-raising before. There must be a million qualifications for a job like this and she’d just exposed her own naïveté.

“Jorie, you wouldn’t have to apply,” Miriam said. “If you want the job, you’re hired.”

“What?”

“This is your idea. You and your mom put the program together. You know the structure from both sides. You’d be my ideal partner.”

“Ideal?” Jorie’s mind could barely keep up with the conversation.

“What about your business?”

“I closed it. I…weddings weren’t fun anymore.”

“Well, we’ll have fun. Don’t worry about that.”

Jorie felt shocked. “Did I just apply for a job?”

“I just hired you, so I think you must have.” Miriam pushed the box of tissues closer to her, but Jorie wasn’t crying. She was ecstatic. “I do have to file paperwork so you won’t be officially hired until we do that. There’s a background check and I’ll need references, but it’s just formalities. Oh, Jorie, wouldn’t your mom be thrilled?”

Jorie nodded. “She would be, I think. She really would be.”

That was the truth, but Jorie wasn’t taking this job for her mom. She was taking it for herself. She wanted to see what it was like to do work that made a lasting change in the world. She wanted to challenge herself to try things she’d never done, like fund-raising and scouting for donors. She wanted to work for herself, rather than be subjected to the whim of strangers. Most of all, Jorie was ready to start fresh.

S
HE STOPPED BY THE
bakery on her way home to let Alice know she’d need to put the Help Wanted sign back up.

“I’m thrilled for you!” Alice said. “And I won’t mind looking for another counter helper. Eliot’s sorted out now so I can try to hire someone to take the full-time hours and let him cut back again. It will work out great for everyone.”

“I can stay as long as you need me,” Jorie said.

“Thanks.”

A text came in just then from Nolan. He wanted her to call him. She excused herself and stepped away from Alice toward the windows to give herself some privacy before she punched in his number.

“Jorie, there’s a dinner tomorrow night at the Smith House and Cooper’s going to need to be there. It’s black-tie. We’ll send a car for you at six. You’ll be ready?”

It wasn’t really a question and both of them knew it. “I’ll be ready.”

“I mentioned black-tie, right?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Right. Six o’clock.”

“Bye,” she said, but he’d already hung up.

Alice had gone into the tasting room to set up for a family who were coming in for christening cake possibilities. “Can you believe they’re bringing six children with them? I hope they like tiny pieces of cake.”

“Remember Theresa Hogan? With the twelve bridesmaids and the gluten issue? They all came to the tasting.”

“Right. And one of them brought her own container for leftovers.”

“And then they didn’t hire me anyway. Something Blue stole them away after the trunk show at The Gown Shoppe. You didn’t even get the cake, did you?”

“Thank goodness. I wanted to poke a fork in my eye after the tasting. Sometimes it’s better to turn a gig down before it ruins your life.”

“Wiser words…” Jorie said. She picked up the stack of napkins and started rolling them to go into the silver rings. “Nolan just ordered me to make myself presentable for some dinner tomorrow at the Smith House. He mentioned it was black-tie twice,
and not because he thought I didn’t hear him. He just wanted to be sure I knew what that meant, I’m sure.”

She put the first napkin down on the table and moved onto the next.

“You think he was always that overbearing or does it come from being in power for so long?”

“I don’t know. Cooper’s not like that. Thank God.”

“So, the Smith House. That’s probably the opera fundraiser. I wonder why they want you to go?”

“I have no idea, but it must be important. I wasn’t given the option of begging off.”

“You have a dress?”

“I do.”

“Got some bling? Those opera ladies do it up. You’re going to need to sparkle if you want to fit in.”

Jorie finished the last napkin. “I have bling,” she said.

J
ORIE WENT UP THE STAIRS
and into her house without turning on the lights. Nolan’s phone call had poisoned the triumphant feeling she’d had about her job. No matter what she did, she couldn’t escape the feeling that this arrangement with Cooper was wrong. She didn’t want to be trading perfect deportment for his ring on her finger.

In the living room, she switched on the lamp on the sideboard and retrieved the key for the drawer where she kept her mother’s jewelry. The key was hidden in an envelope taped inside her copy of
Wuthering Heights.
When the drawer slid open, she ran her hand over the pieces. They were beautiful even if they represented failure. Every time one of her mom’s guys rejected her, Jorie had felt the rejection, too. She grew up with the idea that the most important thing in the world was to be picked by a man.

Her mom had made sure that Jorie got picked. She’d found Cooper and then spent her last wish on a fairy-tale wedding. Of course, the ending wasn’t turning out exactly the way fairy tales did. Her mom was gone, and even if Jorie did, by some miracle, wind up walking down the aisle, Chelsea wouldn’t be with her. Cooper had broken up with her once, and now they’d gotten back together for business reasons.

She was being ordered around by Nolan—told where to go and how to dress. She might as well sort through these pieces her mom had given her and find the one that would suit her charade at the black-tie dinner.

C
OOPER HELD THE STACK
of stapled pages up in front of his mouth to hide his yawn.

“Am I boring you, son?” Nolan asked.

“No,” Cooper lied.

He and his dad were sitting in upholstered chairs on either side of the desk in Bailey’s office. He supposed at some point he was going to have to get familiar with sitting in the big leather chair behind the desk, but not yet, thank goodness. He’d never been comfortable being the center of attention, so he’d put that ordeal off as long as he could.

He, Bailey and Nolan had spent the morning going over the legislation likely to come up for a vote while Cooper was the acting senator. He was familiar with some of it, but there were a few pieces he’d never seen before. The part he really needed help with was understanding the power structure surrounding each item. Bailey and his dad had given him a cheat sheet outlining the main players and their positions.

When they finished that, Bailey was dismissed and Cooper and his dad stayed to go over details of how he was supposed to vote in each case.

“You can’t walk around this town blind,” Nolan said. “When you were writing speeches it was okay if you didn’t have the details on all of Bailey’s work, but if you’re going to be the point man now, you have to have all of this at your fingertips.”

“I know.”

“Good.” Nolan pointed to a bill halfway down
the page. “Let’s go through the school funding again.”

Cooper hoped he wouldn’t yawn again, but he was beyond bored and closing in on comatose. It wasn’t that he found the subject tedious. He’d been working in politics for years and was highly successful at writing motivating, creative speeches about issues very similar to the ones Nolan was discussing.

The difference was the speechwriting was his work…his craft. The studying he was doing with his dad was more like cramming for a test than actually doing work. He needed to memorize predetermined votes and absorb his dad’s point of view. He wasn’t bringing anything to this process. He supposed it made sense that no one was asking his opinion, since he was supposed to be only a temporary appointee, but in the meantime, his relationship with his dad was starting to suffer. Every time he tried to add his own input to the discussion, Nolan reminded him that he was just a placeholder for his cousin.

Theo couldn’t get elected soon enough.

T
HE FRONT OF THE HOUSE
was dark when Cooper got there. He should have called, but he’d expected Jorie to be home. Or to tell him if she wasn’t going to be there. He almost turned around and went to his own place, then decided to go in and wait. Maybe
she’d run to the market or stopped for a drink with Alice and Eliot. After the day he’d spent pretending to be a senator, he really wanted to see Jorie and try to get his sanity back. He scanned the sidewalk in both directions and told himself he wasn’t looking for creeps like the guy who attacked Jorie, but he didn’t believe himself.

The street was empty, so he went up the steps and let himself in. When he flipped on the light in the living room, he saw that the top drawer was missing from the sideboard. That drawer was usually locked—he’d tried to open it once when he was looking for a corkscrew.

He didn’t like the way this felt. Jorie should have been here. She should have cooked dinner or gotten takeout a couple hours ago and he should smell it, but the apartment was completely clean. There was no evidence she’d been there all day. So why was the drawer missing from the sideboard?

The guy he’d beaten up was still in jail—charges of resisting arrest and assaulting an officer would keep him there for a while—but that didn’t mean some other snarling lowlife couldn’t have forced his way into Jorie’s home.

Where the hell was she?

He dropped his laptop bag on the couch and picked up the heavy marble bookend from the shelf near the window. He called out, “Jorie?”

She didn’t answer.

“Jorie!”

When he poked his head around the corner, her bedroom door was closed and he didn’t see a light underneath. His cell phone was in his pocket and he pulled it out, holding it in his left hand with his thumb over the emergency speed dial button while he hefted the bookend in his right.

“Jorie?” he called again, willing her to answer.

“In here.”

He dropped the bookend, narrowly missing his toe, and let out a perfectly satisfying curse. She’d scared him half to death. What the hell was she doing?

Leaving the bookend on the floor, he pushed her door open. “Why didn’t you answer me when I yelled for you? Why are all the lights off?”

He was all set to be righteously angry until he got a look at her, and then it was impossible to be mad because she had clearly lost her mind. “Are you playing pirates?”

She was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, the drawer from the sideboard in front of her. She was wearing eight or nine necklaces, a ring on every finger, and had bracelets lined up her arms. Earrings were scattered in front of her. She looked exactly like a pirate queen counting her booty.

“It’s my mom’s jewelry,” she said quietly. “Mine
now, I guess. She called it my inheritance. What was that noise? Did you drop something?”

“My weapon.” She didn’t respond. “I thought you’d been robbed. I wasn’t sure if you were okay. I was going to bean the perp with your marble bookend.”

He’d been ready to laugh, but she looked sad. Lost. He realized that whatever this was, it was serious to her. He sat gently on the edge of the bed.

She touched his wrist. “That was sweet, Cooper. Thank you.”

“If I knew what you’ve been hiding in the drawer, I might have been even more worried. That’s a lot of stuff, you know? Is it real?”

“Most of it. My mom got a lot of gifts over the years.” She shoved a pile of papers toward him. “There’s a stock account, too. She kept it for me.”

“I don’t know what to say. That’s amazing.”

“It makes me ashamed. I don’t like to look at it.” She started to take off the rings, lining them up on the felt in the bottom of the drawer one by one. “I was going to give it all away after she died. Just get rid of it, so I wouldn’t have to think about her or how we lived. I couldn’t, though, because she wanted me to have it. So I stuffed it in the drawer and hoped I could forget about it.” She fumbled with the clasp of the diamond tennis bracelet she wore and he reached for her wrist. The clasp was
complicated, but he found the spring release and it snapped open. He pulled the bracelet down over her fingers and put it in the drawer. She turned away from him and lifted her hair.