The Wedding (27 page)

“Please,” he said.

Jane hesitated before finally accepting it. She ran her hand over the paper, then looked up.

“But . . . Daddy . . . ,” she said.

“Open it,” he urged.

Jane popped the tape and folded back the paper; without a box, the worn book was immediately recognizable. So was the small bullet hole in the upper right corner, a bullet that had been meant for him in World War II. It was Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman, the book I’d brought to him in the hospital, the book that I could never imagine him without.

“Happy anniversary,” he said.

Jane held the book as if she were afraid it would break. She glanced at me, then back to her father. “We can’t take this,” she said, her voice soft, sounding as choked up as I felt.

“Yes, you can,” he said.

“But . . . why?”

He gazed at us. “Did you know I read it every day while I was waiting for your mom? After she left that summer when we were kids? In a way, it was like I was reading the poetry to her. And then, after we were married, we used to read it on the porch, just the way I imagined we would. We must have read every poem a thousand times over the years. There would be times when I’d be reading, and I’d look over and see your mom’s lips moving right along with mine. She got to the point where she could recite all the poems by heart.” He stared out the window, and I suddenly knew he was thinking of the swan again.
 
“I can’t read the pages anymore,” Noah went on. “I just can’t make out the words, but it troubles me to think that no one will ever read it again. I don’t want it to be a relic, something that just sits on the shelf as some sort of memento to Allie and me. I know you’re not as fond of Whitman as I am, but of all my kids, you’re the only two who read it from cover to cover. And who knows, you might just read him again.”

Jane glanced down at the book. “I will,” she promised.

“So will I,” I added.

“I know,” he said, looking at each of us in turn. “That’s why I wanted you both to have it.”

After eating lunch, Noah looked as if he needed rest, so Jane and I went back home.

Anna and Keith arrived in midafternoon, Leslie pulled up in the driveway a few minutes later, and we all stood around in the kitchen together, chatting and joking, just like old times. While we mentioned the news about the swan, we didn’t linger on the topic. Instead, with the weekend calling, we piled into two cars and headed out to Noah’s house. Like Jane the night before, Anna, Keith, and Leslie were amazed. They spent an hour touring the garden and the house with their mouths agape, and as I stood near the stairs in the living room, Jane moved close and stood next to me, beaming. She caught my eye, nodded toward the stairs, and winked. I laughed. When Leslie asked what was so funny, Jane played innocent.

“Just something between your father and me. Private joke.” On our way home, I swung by the airport and picked up Joseph. He greeted me with his usual, “Hey, Pop,” then—despite all that was going on—added only, “You’ve lost weight.” After grabbing his luggage, he rode with me to Creekside to pick up Noah. As always, Joseph was reticent in my presence, but as soon as he saw Noah, he brightened considerably. Noah, too, was pleased to see that Joseph had come along. They sat in the backseat chatting, both of them growing more animated as we made our way back home, where they were enveloped with hugs the moment they walked in the door. Soon, Noah was seated on the couch with Leslie on one side and Joseph on the other, sharing stories back and forth, while Anna and Jane chatted in the kitchen. The sounds of the house were suddenly familiar again, and I found myself thinking that this was the way it should always be.
 
Dinner was punctuated with laughter as Anna and Jane recounted the details of the mad rush of the week, and as the evening wound down, Anna surprised me by tapping her glass with a fork.

When the table grew silent, this is what she said:

“I’d like to make a toast to Mom and Dad,” she said, raising her glass. “Without you two, none of this would have been possible. This is going to be the most wonderful wedding anyone could ever want.”

When Noah tired, I drove him back to Creekside. The corridors were empty as I walked him to his room.

“Thank you again for the book,” I said, pausing at the door. “That’s the most special gift you could have given us.”

His eyes, going gray with cataracts, seemed to see through me. “You’re welcome.”

I cleared my throat. “Maybe she’ll be there in the morning,” I offered.

He nodded, knowing I meant well.

“Maybe,” he said.

Joseph, Leslie, and Anna were still sitting around the table when I got home.
 
Keith had gone home a few minutes earlier. When I asked about Jane, they gestured in the direction of the deck. Sliding open the glass door, I saw Jane leaning against the rail, and I moved to join her. For a long moment, we stood together enjoying the fresh summer air, neither of us saying anything.
 
“Was he okay when you dropped him off?” Jane finally asked.

“As good as can be expected. He was tired by the end, though.”

“Do you think he enjoyed tonight?”

“Without a doubt,” I said. “He loves spending time with the kids.” She gazed through the door at the scene in the dining room: Leslie was motioning with her hands, obviously caught up in a humorous story, and both Anna and Joseph were doubled over with laughter, their hilarity audible even outside.
 
“Seeing them like this brings back memories,” she said. “I wish Joseph didn’t live so far away. I know the girls miss him. They’ve been laughing like that for almost an hour now.”

“Why aren’t you sitting at the table with them?”

“I was until just a couple of minutes ago. When I saw your headlights, I snuck outside.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to be alone with you,” she said, nudging me playfully. “I wanted to give you your anniversary gift, and like you said, tomorrow might be a little busy.” She slid a card toward me. “I know it looks small, but it wasn’t the sort of gift that I could wrap. You’ll understand when you see what it is.” Curious, I opened the card and found the certificate inside.

“Cooking lessons?” I asked with a smile.

“In Charleston,” she said, leaning close to me. Pointing to the certificate, she went on. “The classes are supposed to be top-notch. See? You spend a weekend at the Mondori Inn with their chef, and he’s supposed to be one of the best in the country. I know you’re doing great on your own, but I thought you might have fun trying your hand at learning some new things. Supposedly, they teach you how to use a carving knife, how to know when the pan is properly heated for sautéeing, even how to garnish the dishes you serve. You know Helen, right? From the choir at church? She said it was one of the best weekends she ever spent.” I offered a quick hug. “Thank you,” I said. “When is it?” “The classes are in September and October—both the first and third weekends of each month—so you can see how your schedule’s shaping up before you decide.
 
Then, all you have to do is call.”

I examined the certificate, trying to imagine what the classes would be like.
 
Worried by my silence, Jane said tentatively, “If you don’t like it, I can get you something else.”

“No, it’s perfect,” I reassured her. Then, frowning, I added, “There’s just one thing, though.”

“Yes?”

I slipped my arms around her. “I’d enjoy the classes more if we could take them together. Let’s make a romantic weekend out of it. Charleston’s beautiful at that time of year, and we could have a great time in the city.” “Do you mean it?” she asked.

Pulling her close, I stared into her eyes. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do. I’d miss you too much to be able to enjoy it.”

“Absence might make the heart grow fonder,” she teased.
 
“I don’t think that’s possible,” I said, growing more serious. “You have no idea how much I love you.”

“Oh, but I do,” she said.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the kids watching us as I bent to kiss her, feeling her lips as they lingered against my own. In the past, it might have made me self-conscious. Now, however, it didn’t matter at all.

Chapter Eighteen

I was less nervous on Saturday morning than I anticipated.
 
Anna swung by after everyone was up and about and surprised us with her nonchalance as she ate breakfast with the family. Afterward, we all lounged on the back deck, where time passed almost in slow motion. Perhaps we were quietly bracing ourselves for the frenzy that would follow later that afternoon.
 
More than once, I caught Leslie and Joseph watching Jane and me, apparently transfixed by the sight of us nudging each other playfully or laughing at each other’s stories. While Leslie looked almost misty-eyed—almost like a proud parent—Joseph’s expression was harder to decipher. I couldn’t tell whether he was happy for us or whether he was trying to figure out how long this new phase might last.

Perhaps their reactions were warranted. Unlike Anna, they hadn’t seen us much lately, and no doubt each of them remembered how we’d treated each other the last time they’d seen us together; indeed, when Joseph had visited over Christmas, Jane and I had barely spoken at all. And, of course, I knew he still remembered her visit to New York the year before.
 
I wondered if Jane noticed her children’s puzzled scrutiny. If she did, she paid no attention to it. Instead, she regaled Joseph and Leslie with stories about the wedding plans, unable to hide her delight at how well it had come together.
 
Leslie had a hundred questions and nearly swooned over each romantic revelation;

Joseph seemed more content to listen in silence. Anna chimed in from time to time, usually in response to a question. She was seated next to me on the couch, and when Jane got up to refill the coffeepot, Anna watched her mother over her shoulder. Then, taking my hand, she leaned toward my ear and whispered simply, “I can’t wait for tonight.”

The women of the family had appointments at the hair salon at one o’clock and were chatting like schoolgirls on the way out the door. As for me, both John Peterson and Henry MacDonald had called in midmorning, asking if I would be willing to meet them at Noah’s. Peterson wanted to check how the piano sounded, while MacDonald wanted to take a look at the kitchen and the rest of the layout to ensure dinner went smoothly. Both men promised to keep the visit short, but I assured them it wasn’t a problem. I had to drop something off at the house—something Leslie had left in her trunk—and was heading over anyway.
 
Just as I was leaving, I heard Joseph enter the living room behind me.

“Hey, Pop. Mind if I come along?”

“Not at all,” I said.

Joseph stared out the window and said little on our drive to Noah’s. He hadn’t been there in years and seemed to be simply soaking up the view as we wound along the tree-lined roads. While New York City was exciting—and Joseph now regarded it as home—I could sense that he’d forgotten how lovely the low country could be.

Slowing the car, I turned up the drive, then parked in my usual spot. When we got out of the car, Joseph stood for a moment, gazing at the house. It was radiant in the high summer light. Within hours, Anna, Leslie, and Jane would be upstairs, dressing for the wedding. The procession, we’d decided, would begin from the house; staring up at the second-floor windows, I tried and failed to imagine those final moments before the wedding, when all the guests would be seated and waiting.

When I shook myself from my reverie, I saw that Joseph had moved from the car and was heading in the direction of the tent. He walked with hands in his pockets, his gaze roaming over the property. At the entrance to the tent, he stopped and looked back at me, waiting for me to join him.
 
We wandered silently through the tent and rose garden, then into the house.
 
While Joseph wasn’t visibly excited, I could sense that he was as impressed as Leslie and Anna had been. When he completed the tour, he asked a few questions about the mechanics of what had been done—the whos, whats, and hows—but by the time the caterer pulled up the drive, he’d grown silent again.
 
“So what do you think?” I asked.

He didn’t answer right away, but a faint smile tugged at his lips as he surveyed the property. “To be honest,” he admitted at last, “I can’t believe you pulled it off.”

Following his gaze, I flashed on how it had looked only a few days earlier. “It is something, isn’t it?” I said absently.

At my answer, Joseph shook his head. “I’m not just talking about all this,” he said, gesturing at the surrounding landscape. “I’m talking about Mom.” He paused, making sure he had my attention. “Last year, when she came up,” he went on, “she was more upset than I’d ever seen her. She was crying when she got off the plane. Did you know that?”

My expression answered for me.

He pushed his hands into his pockets and looked down at the ground, refusing to meet my eyes. “She said she didn’t want you to see her that way, so she’d tried to hold herself together. But on the flight . . . I guess it finally got the best of her.” He hesitated. “I mean, here I was, standing in the airport waiting to pick up my mom, and she walks off the plane looking like someone who’d just come from a funeral. I know I deal with grief every day at my job, but when it’s your own mom . . .”

He trailed off, and I knew enough to say nothing.

“She kept me awake until after midnight the first night she was there. Just kept rambling and crying about what was going on between you two. And I’ll admit that I was angry with you. Not just for forgetting the anniversary, but for everything. It’s like you always viewed our family as a convenience that other people expected you to maintain, but you never wanted to do the work required.
 
Finally, I told her that if she was still unhappy after so many years, she might be better off alone.”