The Wedding

by Nicholas Sparks

  "I can do that," I volunteered. "I'll be on the phone anyway."

  "You sure?"

  "It's no big deal," I said. On the river, I could see a boat moving past us, a black shadow with a glowing light out front.

  "So what else do you and Anna have to do?" I asked.

  "More than you can imagine."

  "Still?"

  "Well, there's the dress, of course. Leslie wants to go with us, and it's probably going to take at least a couple of days."

  "For a dress?"

  "She has to find the right one, and then we have to get it fitted. We talked to a seamstress this morning, and she says that she can work it in if we can get it to her by Thursday. And then, of course, there's the reception. If there is one, I mean. A caterer is one thing, but if you can pull that off, we still need music of some kind. And we'll need to decorate, so you'll have to call the rental company. . . ."

  As she spoke, I let out a quiet sigh. I knew I shouldn't have been surprised, but still . . .

  "So while I'm making calls tomorrow, I take it you'll be off dress shopping, right?"

  "I can't wait." She shivered. "Watching her try them on, seeing what she likes. I've been waiting for this moment ever since she was a little girl. It's exciting."

  "I'm sure," I said.

  She held up her thumb and forefinger in a pinching motion. "And to think that Anna was this close to not letting me do it."

  "It's amazing how ungrateful children can be, isn't it."

  She laughed, turning her gaze toward the water again. In the background, I could hear crickets and frogs beginning their evening song, a sound that never seems to change.

  "Would you like to take a walk?" I asked suddenly.

  She hesitated. "Now?"

  "Why not?"

  "Where do you want to go?"

  "Does it matter?"

  Though she seemed surprised, she answered. "Not really."

  A few minutes later, we were making our way around the block. The streets were empty. From the homes on either side of us, I could see lights blazing behind curtains and shadows moving around inside. Jane and I walked on the shoulder of the road, rocks and gravel crunching beneath our feet. Above us, stratus clouds stretched across the sky, making a silver band.

  "Is it this quiet in the mornings?" Jane asked. "When you walk?"

  I usually leave the house before six, long before she wakes.

  "Sometimes. Usually there are a few joggers out. And dogs. They like to sneak up behind you and bark suddenly."

  "Good for the heart, I'll bet."

  "It's like an extra workout," I agreed. "But it keeps me on my toes."

  "I should start walking again. I used to love to walk."

  "You can always join me."

  "At five-thirty? I don't think so."

  Her tone was a mixture of playfulness and incredulity. Though my wife was once an early riser, she hadn't been since Leslie moved out.

  "This was a good idea," she said. "It's beautiful tonight."

  "Yes, it is," I said, looking at her. We walked in silence for a few moments before I saw Jane glance toward a house near the corner.

  "Did you hear about Glenda's stroke?"

  Glenda and her husband were our neighbors, and though we didn't move in the same social circles, we were friendly nonetheless. In New Bern, everyone seemed to know everything about everyone.

  "Yes. It's sad."

  "She's not much older than I am."

  "I know," I said. "I hear she's doing better, though."

  We fell back into silence for a while, until Jane suddenly asked, "Do you ever think about your mother?"

  I wasn't sure how to respond. My mother had died in an automobile accident during our second year of marriage. Though I wasn't as close to my parents as Jane was to hers, her death came as a terrible shock. To this day, I can't recall making the six-hour drive to Washington to be with my father.

  "Sometimes."

  "When you do, what do you remember?"

  "Do you remember the last time we went to visit them?" I said. "When we first walked in the door, and Mom came out of the kitchen? She was wearing a blouse with purple flowers on it, and she looked so happy to see us. She opened her arms to give us both a hug. That's how I always remember her. It's an image that's never changed, kind of like a picture. She always looks the same."

  Jane nodded. "I always remember my mom in her studio, with paint on her fingers. She was painting a portrait of our family, something she'd never done, and I remember how excited she was because she was going to give it to Dad for his birthday." She paused. "I don't really remember the way she looked after she started getting sick. Mom had always been so expressive. I mean, she used to wave her hands when she talked, and her face was always so animated when she told a story . . . but after the Alzheimer's set in, she changed." She glanced over at me. "It just wasn't the same."

  "I know," I said.

  "I worry about that sometimes," she said in a low voice. "Getting Alzheimer's, I mean."

  Though I too had thought about this, I said nothing.

  "I can't imagine what it would be like," Jane went on. "To not recognize Anna or Joseph or Leslie? To have to ask their names when they came to visit like Mom used to do with me? It breaks my heart to even think about it."

  I watched her silently, in the dim glow of the houselights.

  "I wonder if Mom knew how bad it was going to get," she mused. "I mean, she said she did, but I wonder if she really knew deep down that she wouldn't recognize her children. Or even Daddy."

  "I think she knew," I said. "That's why they moved to Creekside."

  I thought I saw her close her eyes momentarily. When she spoke again, her voice was full of frustration. "I hate it that Daddy didn't want to come live with us after Mom died. We have plenty of room."

  I said nothing. Though I could have explained Noah's reasons for staying at Creekside, she didn't want to hear them. She knew them as well as I did, but unlike me, she didn't accept them, and I knew that trying to defend Noah would only trigger an argument.

  "I hate that swan," she added.

  There is a story behind the swan, but again, I said nothing.

  We circled one block, then another. Some of our neighbors had already turned out their lights, and still Jane and I moved on, neither rushing nor lagging. In time I saw our house, and knowing our walk was coming to an end, I paused and looked up at the stars.

  "What is it?" she asked, following my gaze.

  "Are you happy, Jane?"

  Her gaze focused on me. "What brought that up?"

  "I was just curious."

  As I waited for her response, I wondered if she guessed the reason behind my question. It wasn't so much that I wondered whether she was happy in general as happy with me in particular.

  She stared at me for a long moment, as if trying to read my mind.

  "Well, there is one thing . . ."

  "Yes?"

  "It's kind of important."

  I waited as Jane drew a long breath.

  "I'll be really happy if you can find a caterer," she confessed.

  At her words, I had to laugh.

  Though I offered to make a pot of decaf, Jane shook her head wearily. The two long days had caught up to her, and after yawning a second time, she told me that she was going up to bed.

  I suppose I could have followed her up, but I didn't. Instead, I watched her head up the steps, reliving our evening.

  Later, when I did at last crawl into bed, I slipped under the covers and turned to face my wife. Her breathing was steady and deep, and I could see her eyelids fluttering, letting me know that she was dreaming. Of what, I wasn't sure, but her face was peaceful, like that of a child. I stared at her, wanting and not wanting to wake her, loving her more than life itself. Despite the darkness, I could see a lock of hair lying across her cheek, and I stretched my fingers toward it. Her skin was as soft as powder, timeless in its beauty. Tucking the strand of hair behind her ear
, I blinked back the tears that had mysteriously sprung to my eyes.

  Chapter Eight

  Jane stared at me openmouthed the following evening, purse dangling on her arm.

  "You did it?"

  "So it would seem," I said nonchalantly, doing my best to make it seem as though finding a caterer had been a simple feat. Meanwhile, I'd been pacing excitedly, waiting for her to come home.

  "Who'd you get?"

  "The Chelsea," I said. Located in downtown New Bern across the street from my office, the restaurant is housed in the building where Caleb Bradham once had his offices when he formulated a drink now known as Pepsi-Cola. Remodeled into a restaurant ten years ago, it was one of Jane's favorite dinner spots. The menu was extensive, and the chef specialized in exotic original sauces and marinades to accompany typically southern meals. On Friday and Saturday evenings, it was impossible to be seated without a reservation, and guests made a game out of trying to guess what ingredients had been used to create such distinctive flavors.

  The Chelsea was also known for its entertainment. In the corner stood a grand piano, and John Peterson--who gave Anna lessons for years--would sometimes play and sing for the patrons. With an ear for contemporary melodies and a voice reminiscent of Nat King Cole's, Peterson could perform any song requested and did well enough to perform in restaurants as far-flung as Atlanta, Charlotte, and Washington, D.C. Jane could spend hours listening to him, and I know Peterson was touched by her almost motherly pride in him. Jane, after all, had been the first in town to take a chance on him as a teacher.

  Jane was too stunned to respond. In the silence, I could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall as she debated whether or not she understood me correctly. She blinked. "But . . . how?"

  "I talked to Henry, explained the situation and what we needed, and he said he'd take care of it."

  "I don't understand. How can Henry handle something like this at the last minute? Didn't he have something else scheduled?"

  "I have no idea."

  "So you just picked up the phone and called and that was it?"

  "Well, it wasn't quite that easy, but in the end, he agreed."

  "What about the menu? Didn't he need to know how many people were coming?"

  "I told him about a hundred in total--that seemed about right. And as for the menu, we talked it over, and he said he'd come up with something special. I suppose I can call him and request something in particular."

  "No, no," she said quickly, regaining her equilibrium. "That's fine. You know I like everything they cook. I just can't believe it." She stared at me with wonder. "You did it."

  "Yes." I nodded.

  She broke into a smile, then suddenly looked from me to the phone. "I have to call Anna," she cried. "She's not going to believe this."

  Henry MacDonald, the owner of the restaurant, is an old friend of mine. Though New Bern is a place where privacy seems all but impossible, it nonetheless has its advantages. Because a person tends to run into the same people with regularity--while shopping, driving, attending church, going to parties--an underlying courtesy has taken root in this town, and it is often possible to do things that may seem impossible elsewhere. People do favors for one another because they never know when they might need one in return, and it's one of the reasons New Bern is so different from other places.

  This isn't to say that I wasn't pleased with what I'd done. As I headed into the kitchen, I could hear Jane's voice on the phone.

  "Your dad did it!" I heard her exclaim. "I have no idea how, but he did!" My heart surged at the pride in her voice.

  At the kitchen table, I started sorting through the mail I'd brought in earlier. Bills, catalogs, Time magazine. Because Jane was talking to Anna, I reached for the magazine. I imagined that she would be on the phone for quite a while, but, surprising me, she hung up before I began the first article.

  "Wait," she said, "before you start, I want to hear all about it." She drew near. "Okay," she began, "I know Henry's going to be there and he'll have food for everyone. And he'll have people there to help, right?"

  "I'm sure," I said. "He can't serve it all himself."

  "What else? Is it a buffet?"

  "I thought that was the best way to do it, considering the size of the kitchen at Noah's."

  "Me too," she agreed. "How about tables and linens? Will he bring all that?"

  "I assume so. To be honest, I didn't ask, but I don't think it's that big of a deal even if he doesn't. We can probably rent what we need if we have to."

  She nodded quickly. Making plans, updating her list. "Okay," she said, but before she could speak again, I held up my hands.

  "Don't worry. I'll call him first thing in the morning to make sure everything is just the way it should be." Then, with a wink, I added, "Trust me."

  She recognized my words from the day before at Noah's house, and she smiled up at me almost coyly. I expected the moment to pass quickly, but it didn't. Instead, we gazed at each other until--almost hesitantly--she leaned toward me and kissed me on the cheek.

  "Thank you for finding the caterer," she said.

  I swallowed with difficulty.

  "You're welcome."

  Four weeks after my proposal to Jane, we were married; five days after we were married, when I came in from work, Jane was waiting for me in the living room of the small apartment we'd rented.

  "We have to talk," she said, patting the couch.

  I set my briefcase aside and sat beside her. She reached for my hand.

  "Is everything okay?" I asked.

  "Everything's fine."

  "Then what is it?"

  "Do you love me?"

  "Yes," I said. "Of course I love you."

  "Then will you do something for me?"

  "If I can. You know I'd do anything for you."

  "Even if it's hard? Even if you don't want to?"

  "Of course," I repeated. I paused. "Jane--what's going on?"

  She took a long breath before answering. "I want you to come to church with me this Sunday."

  Her words caught me off guard, and before I could speak, she went on. "I know you've told me that you have no desire to go and that you were raised an atheist, but I want you to do this for me. It's very important to me, even if you feel like you don't belong there."

  "Jane . . . I--" I started.

  "I need you there," she said.

  "We've talked about this," I protested, but again Jane cut me off, this time with a shake of her head.

  "I know we have. And I understand that you weren't brought up the way I was. But there's nothing you could ever do that would mean more to me than this simple thing."

  "Even if I don't believe?"

  "Even if you don't believe," she said.

  "But--"

  "There are no buts," she said. "Not about this. Not with me. I love you, Wilson, and I know that you love me. And if we're going to make it work between us, we're both going to have to give a little. I'm not asking you to believe. I'm asking you to come with me to church. Marriage is about compromise; it's about doing something for the other person, even when you don't want to. Like I did with the wedding."

  I brought my lips together, knowing already how she'd felt about our wedding at the courthouse.

  "Okay," I said. "I'll go." And at my words, Jane kissed me, a kiss as ethereal as heaven itself.

  When Jane kissed me in the kitchen, the memories of that early kiss came flooding back. I suppose it was because it reminded me of the tender rapprochements that had worked so well to heal our differences in the past: if not burning passion, then at least a truce with a commitment to working things out.

  In my mind, this commitment to each other is the reason we've been married as long as we have. It was this element of our marriage, I suddenly realized, that had worried me so during the past year. Not only had I begun to wonder whether Jane still loved me, I wondered whether she wanted to love me.

  There must have been so many disappointments, after al
l--the years when I returned home long after the kids were in bed; the evenings in which I could speak of nothing but work; the missed games, parties, family vacations; the weekends spent with partners and clients on the golf course. Upon reflection, I think I must have been something of an absent spouse, a shadow of the eager young man she had married. Yet she seemed to be saying with her kiss, I'm still willing to try if you are.

  "Wilson? Are you okay?"

  I forced a smile. "I'm fine." I took a deep breath, anxious to change the subject. "So how did your day go? Did you and Anna find a dress?"

  "No. We went to a couple of stores, but Anna didn't see anything in her size that she liked. I didn't realize how long it takes--I mean, Anna's so thin they have to pin everything just so we can get an idea of what she'll look like. But we're going to try a few different places tomorrow and we'll see how it goes. On the plus side, she said that Keith would handle everything with his side of the family, so that we don't have to. Which reminds me--did you remember to book Joseph's flight?"

  "Yes," I said. "He'll be in Friday evening."

  "New Bern or Raleigh?"

  "New Bern. He's supposed to arrive at eight thirty. Was Leslie able to join you today?"

  "No, not today. She called while we were driving. She had to do some additional research for her lab project, but she'll be able to make it tomorrow. She said there were some shops in Greensboro, too, if we wanted to go there."

  "Are you going to?"

  "It's three and a half hours away," she groaned. "I really don't want to be in the car for seven hours."

  "Why don't you just stay overnight?" I suggested. "That way, you'll be able to visit both places."

  She sighed. "That's what Anna suggested. She said we should go to Raleigh again, then Greensboro on Wednesday. But I don't want to leave you stranded. There's still a lot to do here."

  "Go ahead," I urged. "Now that we have the caterer, everything's coming together. I can handle whatever else needs to be done on this end. But we can't have a wedding unless she gets a dress."

  She eyed me skeptically. "Are you sure?"

  "Absolutely. In fact, I was thinking that I might even have time to squeeze in a couple of rounds of golf."

  She snorted. "You wish."

  "But what about my handicap?" I said in feigned protest.

  "After thirty years, my feeling is that if you haven't improved yet, it's probably not in the cards."

  "Is that an insult?"

  "No. Just a fact. I've seen you play, remember?"