The Wedding (23 page)

“You didn’t eat that much.”

“I have to squeeze into my dress this weekend.”

“I wouldn’t worry,” I said. “You’re as beautiful as the day I married you.”

At her tense smile, I saw that my words didn’t have quite the effect I’d hoped.

Abruptly, she turned to face me on the couch. “Wilson? Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“I want you to tell me the truth.”

“What is it?”

She hesitated. “It’s about what happened at the pond today.” The swan, I immediately thought, but before I could explain that Noah had asked me to take him there—and would have gone with or without me—she went on.
 
“What did you mean when you said what you did?” she asked.

I frowned in puzzlement. “I’m not sure I know what you’re asking.”

“When you said you loved me and that you were the luckiest man in the world.” For a stunned moment, I simply stared at her. “I meant what I said,” I repeated dumbly.

“Is that all?”

“Yes,” I said, unable to hide my confusion. “Why?” “I’m trying to figure out why you said it,” she said matter-of-factly. “It isn’t like you to say something like that out of the blue.” “Well . . . it just felt like the right thing to say.”

At my answer, she brought her lips together, her face growing serious. She glanced up at the ceiling and seemed to be steeling herself before turning her gaze on me again. “Are you having an affair?” she demanded.
 
I blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

I suddenly realized she wasn’t kidding. I could see her trying to read my face, evaluating the truthfulness of what I intended to say next. I took her hand in my own and rested my other hand on top of it. “No,” I said, looking directly at her. “I’m not having an affair. I’ve never had an affair, and I never will. Nor have I ever wanted to.”

After a few moments of careful scrutiny, she nodded. “Okay,” she said.

“I’m serious,” I emphasized.

She smiled and gave my hand a squeeze. “I believe you. I didn’t think you were, but I had to ask.”

I stared at her in bewilderment. “Why would the thought have even crossed your mind?”

“You,” she said. “The way you’ve been acting.”

“I don’t understand.”

She gave me a frankly assessing look. “Okay, look at it from my perspective.
 
First, you start exercising and losing weight. Then, you start cooking and asking me about my days. If that weren’t enough, you’ve been unbelievably helpful this whole week . . . with everything, lately. And now, you’ve started saying these uncharacteristically sweet things. First, I thought it was a phase, then I thought it was because of the wedding. But now . . . well, it’s like you’re someone else all of a sudden. I mean . . . apologizing for not being around enough? Telling me you love me out of the blue? Listening to me talk for hours about shopping? Let’s order pizza and have fun? I mean, it’s great, but I just wanted to make sure you weren’t doing it because you felt guilty about something. I still don’t understand what’s happened to you.” I shook my head. “It’s not that I feel guilty. Well, except about working too much, I mean. I do feel bad about that. But the way I’ve been acting . . . it’s just . . .”

When I trailed off, Jane leaned toward me.

“Just what?” she pressed.

“Like I said the other night, I haven’t been the best husband, and I don’t know . . . I guess I’m trying to change.”

“Why?”

Because I want you to love me again, I thought, but I kept those words to myself.

“Because,” I said after a moment, “you and the kids are the most important people in the world to me—you always have been—and I’ve wasted too many years acting as if you weren’t. I know I can’t change the past, but I can change the future. I can change, too. And I will.”

She squinted at me. “You mean you’ll quit working so hard?” Her tone was sweet but skeptical, and it made me ache to think of what I’d become.

“If you asked me to retire right now, I would,” I said.

Her eyes took on their seductive gleam again.

“See what I mean? You’re not yourself these days.” Though she was teasing—and wasn’t quite sure whether she believed me—I knew she’d liked what I said.

“Now can I ask you something?” I went on.

“Why not?” she said.

“Since Anna will be over at Keith’s parents’ house tomorrow night, and with Leslie and Joseph coming in on Friday, I was thinking that we might do something special tomorrow evening.”

“Like what?”

“How about . . . you let me come up with something and surprise you.”

She rewarded me with a coy smile. “You know I like surprises.”

“Yes,” I said, “I do.”

“I’d love that,” she said with undisguised pleasure.

Chapter Fourteen

On Thursday morning, I arrived at Noah’s house early with my trunk packed. As it had been the day before, the property was already crowded with vehicles, and my friend Nathan Little waved to me from across the yard, pantomiming that he’d join me in a few minutes.

I parked in the shade and got to work right away. Using the ladder, I finished removing the boards from the windows, so that the pressure washers could have complete access.

Again, I stored the boards under the house. I was closing the cellar door when a cleaning crew of five arrived and began to lay siege to the house. Since the painters were already working downstairs, they hauled in buckets, mops, cloths, and detergents and scoured the kitchen, the staircase, the bathrooms, the windows, and the rooms upstairs, moving quickly and efficiently. New sheets and blankets that I’d brought from home were placed on the beds; meanwhile Nathan brought in fresh flowers for every room in the house.
 
Within the hour, the rental truck arrived and workers began unloading white foldout chairs, setting them in rows. Holes were dug near the trellis, and pots with preplanted wisteria were sunk; the purple blooms were wound through the trellis and tied in place. Beyond the trellis, the former wildness of the rose garden gave way to vivid color.

Despite the clear skies predicted by the weather service, I’d made arrangements for a tent to provide shade for the guests. The white tent was erected over the course of the morning; once it was up, more potted wisteria was sunk into the ground, then wrapped around the poles, intermingled with strands of white lights.

The power washer cleaned the fountain in the center of the rose garden; a little after lunch, I turned it on and listened to water cascading through the three tiers like a gentle waterfall.

The piano tuner arrived and spent three hours tuning the long unused piano. When he was done, a set of special microphones was installed to route music first to the ceremony, then to the reception. Other speakers and microphones enabled the pastor to be heard during the service and ensured that music could be heard in every corner of the house.

Tables were set throughout the main room—with the exception of the dance area in front of the fireplace—and linen tablecloths were spread on each. Fresh candles and flowering centerpieces appeared as if conjured so that when the crew from the restaurant arrived, they had only to fold linen napkins into the shape of swans to put the finishing touches on the place settings.
 
I also reminded everyone about the single table I wanted set up on the porch, and within moments it was done.

The final touch was potted hibiscus trees decorated with white lights and placed in each corner of the room.

By midafternoon, the work was winding down. Everyone loaded their cars and trucks, and the crew in the yard was in the final stages of cleanup. For the first time since the project began, I was alone in the house. I felt good. The work over the past two days, though frenzied, had gone smoothly, and while the furniture was gone, the house’s regal appearance reminded me of the years it had been occupied.

As I watched the trucks pull out of the driveway, I knew I should be heading out as well. After having had their dresses fitted and shopping for shoes in the morning, Jane and Anna had made afternoon appointments to get their nails done.
 
I wondered whether Jane was thinking about the date I had planned. Given all the excitement, I thought it unlikely—and knowing me as she did, I doubted she was expecting much in the way of a surprise, despite what I had intimated last night. I’d been wonderfully adept at setting the bar rather low over the years, but I couldn’t help but hope that it would make what I had planned even more special.

As I gazed at the house, I realized that the months I’d spent preparing for our anniversary would reach fruition. Keeping the secret from Jane had been anything but easy, but now that the evening was at hand, I realized that most of what I’d wanted for Jane and me had already happened. I’d originally thought my gift a token of a new beginning; now it seemed like the end of a journey I’d been on for over a year.

The property had finally emptied, and I made one final tour through the house before getting in my car. On my way home, I swung by the grocery store, then made a few other stops, gathering everything else that I needed. By the time I got home, it was nearly five o’clock. I took a few minutes to straighten up, then hopped in the shower to wash off the day’s accumulated grime.
 
Knowing I had little time, I moved quickly over the next hour. Following the list I’d crafted at the office, I began preparations for the evening I had planned, the evening I’d thought about for months. One by one, items fell into place. I’d asked Anna to call me as soon as Jane had dropped her off, to give me a sense of when Jane would arrive. She did, alerting me to the fact that Jane was only fifteen minutes away. After making sure the house looked perfect, I completed my last task, taping a note to the locked front door, impossible for Jane to miss:

“Welcome home, darling. Your surprise awaits you inside. . . .”

Then I got into my car and drove away.

Chapter Fifteen

Almost three hours later, I gazed out the front windows of Noah’s house and saw headlights approaching. Checking my watch, I saw that she was right on time.
 
As I straightened my jacket, I tried to imagine Jane’s state of mind. Though I hadn’t been with her when she’d arrived at our home, I tried to picture her. Was she surprised that my car wasn’t in the drive? I wondered. Surely she would have noticed that I’d drawn the drapes before leaving—perhaps she had paused in the car, puzzled or even intrigued.

I guessed her hands were full when she exited the car, if not with the dress for the wedding, then no doubt with the new shoes she’d purchased that day. Either way, there would be no mistaking the note as she approached the steps, and I could just see the look of curiosity crossing her features.
 
When she read it on the steps, how had she reacted to my words? This, I didn’t know. A baffled smile, perhaps? Her uncertainty was no doubt heightened by the fact that I wasn’t home.

What, then, would she have thought when she unlocked the door to reveal a darkened living room lit only by the pale yellow glow of candles and the plaintive sound of Billie Holiday on the stereo? How long had it taken her to notice the scattered rose petals on the floor that trailed from the foyer through the living room and up the staircase? Or the second note I’d taped to the balustrade:

Sweetheart, this evening is for you. Yet there is a role you must play to fulfill it. Think of this as a game: I’m going to give you a list of instructions, and your role is to do as I ask.

The first task is simple: Please blow out the candles downstairs, and follow the rose petals to the bedroom. Further instructions will await you there.

Had she gasped in surprise? Or laughed in disbelief? I couldn’t be sure, yet knowing Jane, I was certain she would want to play along. When she reached the bedroom, her curiosity must have been piqued.

Inside the bedroom, she would find candles lit on every surface and the soothing music of Chopin playing quietly. A bouquet of thirty roses lay on the bed; on either side of the flowers lay a neatly wrapped box, each with a note attached.
 
The card on the left was labeled “Open now.” The card on the right was labeled “Open at eight o’clock.”

I pictured her moving slowly toward the bed and bringing the bouquet to her face, inhaling its heady scent. When she opened the card on the left, this is what she read: “You’ve had a busy day, so I thought you’d like to relax before our date this evening. Open the gift that accompanies this card and carry the contents with you to the bathroom. More instructions await you there.” If she glanced over her shoulder, she would have seen still more candles glowing in the bathroom—and upon opening the gift, she would have found the package of bath oils and body lotions and new silk bathrobe right away.
 
Knowing Jane, I’m guessing that she toyed with the card and package on the right, the one she couldn’t open until eight. Had she debated whether or not to follow the instructions? Had she traced her fingers over the wrapping paper, then pulled back? I suspected as much but knew that ultimately she would have sighed and headed for the bathroom.

On the vanity was yet another note:

Is there anything better than a long hot bath after a busy day? Pick the bath oil you want, add plenty of bubbles, and fill the tub with hot water. Next to the tub you’ll find a bottle of your favorite wine, still chilled, and already uncorked. Pour yourself a glass. Then slip out of your clothes, get in the tub, lean your head back, and relax. When you’re ready to get out, towel off and use one of the new lotions I bought you. Do not dress; instead, put on the new robe and sit on the bed as you open the other gift.