Second Time Around

by Nancy Moser

  He loved being able to wave a hand, giving his consent. “Do it. My Millie deserves to have a dress every bit as nice as a socialite senator’s wife.”

  Millie’s eyebrows dipped. “This is your surprise?”

  David leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “It’s all yours, dear one. I’ve spared no expense.”

  Lydia set the drawing down and draped the silky fabric across Millie’s lap. “Feel the lusciousness of the silk organza.”

  Millie pushed it away and stood. “I don’t want it! I don’t even like it!”

  Lydia stepped back. David stepped between them. “Millie. Don’t be silly. This is Jackie Kennedy’s gown. It’s—”

  “It’s her gown. Not mine. I don’t want someone else’s gown.” She was crying. “I want to choose my own wedding dress. It’s not your place, David. It’s not your place!” She ran out the lakeside door, running toward the dock.

  David was mortified. How dare she embarrass him like this?

  Lydia bit a fingernail. “What do you want me to do, Mr. Stancowsky?”

  He pointed to a chair. “Sit. I’ll be right back.”

  He marched out the door and down to the dock. Millie stood at the farthest point, her back to him, arms crossed. He was surprised when she turned around to face him. “You’ve hurt Mrs. Peters’ feelings, Millie. You need to go apologize.”

  Millie’s jaw dropped. “Me? Me apologize?”

  “You certainly don’t think it’s her fault. She’s gone to a lot of work to create—”

  She pressed a hand to her forehead. “David, you have to stop doing this.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Planning everything without me. Taking charge.”

  “Someone has to.”

  Her face crumpled into its pre-cry mode. “That’s not fair. You haven’t given me a chance to make any decisions. Just because I don’t know exactly what I want… It’s still seven months before the wedding. This is supposed to be a special experience. When the time comes, my mother and I are supposed to work together to create a wonderful wedding.”

  He snickered. “Well, there’s your problem. Your mother couldn’t decide to have cream or sugar in her coffee. If I waited until the two of you made a decision, we wouldn’t get married until 1960. But maybe that’s what you’re striving for… Is that it? Or are you getting cold feet?”

  She didn’t say anything and once again showed him her back.

  He felt a sudden swell of panic. Did she have doubts? Was she wanting out of the engagement? This couldn’t happen. His—their—entire future depended on this marriage. All his plans would be ruined…

  He slowly approached and put his hands on her upper arms. He placed his mouth near her ear. “Don’t do this, Millie. Don’t throw away what we have. Our future is bright. Your father is grooming me to take over Mariner. It’s a good move. We’ll be very well off. Don’t ruin everything by giving in to childish doubts.”

  She swung around so violently he nearly lost his balance, coming within inches of falling off the dock. “It’s all about Mariner, isn’t it? You don’t love me. You love the business— which you can only get by marrying me.”

  “That’s not true.”

  She laughed and pushed past him, walking toward the house. When she didn’t go inside but started walking around the side toward his car, Mrs. Peters opened the back door. “What about the dress?”

  Millie didn’t stop walking. “It’s officially on hold.” Then, suddenly, she backtracked to the door. “It seems I’m in need of a ride back to Bangor. Can you take me, Mrs. Peters? I’ll pay you for your time.”

  Mrs. Peters looked to David. “I… I suppose I could.”

  “I appreciate it.” She turned to David. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  She stood her ground by the door. “I don’t want to talk to you anymore today, David. I don’t want to be with you.”

  His heart pounded against his chest. “You don’t want to talk to me? You don’t want?”

  She turned to the older woman. “May I come inside for a few minutes before we leave, Mrs. Peters?”

  The woman looked as if she’d been asked to strip naked. And no wonder. She was forced to choose between this emotional woman or the man who was paying the bills for her hard work. It was no contest, but David regretted the fact she’d been put in this position.

  But then, suddenly, she opened the door fully and stepped aside so Millie could go in.

  “Mrs. Peters!”

  She gave him a look of regret. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stancowsky.” She closed the door.

  David was left standing in the yard. Surely this was a dream. It had to be a dream. The past few days were like someone else’s life. Up to now, he’d had everything carefully planned. Every detail. Why had Millie suddenly changed from his charming, agreeable fiancée to this woman who found fault in everything he did?

  He saw a curtain being pulled aside. Millie peeked out, then stepped back.

  He got in the car and drove home. She’d come to her senses.

  David was not expected back at work that day. He’d taken time off to finalize the wedding dress.

  His secretary, Dina Edmonds, looked up from the filing. “Mr. Stancowsky.” She glanced at a clock. “Did everything go all right?”

  David handed her his coat and hat and nodded to the opposite side of the office. “Is he in?”

  “Yes. Of course.” She took a step toward the intercom. “Let me tell him you’re—”

  “No need.” He headed to Ray’s office.

  Millie’s father stood at a drawing board, leaning over a set of blueprints. “What are you doing back so soon?” he asked.

  David had spent the entire trip back stewing over Millie’s disturbing new attitude, plus planning what he would say to her father. Although he and Ray had a good relationship, nothing could be taken for granted. His position as CEO-in-waiting was directly linked to his marrying the boss’s daughter. And there was nothing David wanted more than to be the head of Mariner Construction. Under his tutelage, it could move from a fledgling company into a Northeastern powerhouse. He had big plans and he couldn’t let something as minor as a domestic spat sabotage them.

  The question was how to approach Ray Reynolds about his daughter’s wedding mutiny. The father-daughter relationship seemed complicated. Millie was Ray’s only child, yet as far as David could see she was not a daddy’s girl. Ray was not subject to her every whim. If anything, just the opposite. Millie went out of her way to please her father… the obedient child. It bode well for her being an obedient wife.

  At least that had been the plan. Until now.

  The two alternative tacks were to tell Ray exactly what was going on and seek his advice—in which case, Ray might think less of David for letting things get out of control. Or David could state the facts plainly, but assure Ray things were still under his control—which all in all might be more advantageous.

  David motioned to the desk. “Can we sit? I have something to discuss with you.” Discuss was a good word. A sharing of the power.

  Ray moved to his executive chair. “This sounds serious.”

  “It’s a concern, but under control.” David waited until Ray was seated, then sat across the desk from him. “I need to inform you that I may have to take some fairly strong action regarding the wedding. Millie is not cooperating with the plans.”

  “In what way?”

  “No need to bother yourself with the details. But it’s imperative we stay on schedule for the May date. With the push of the construction season starting in June, it’s a necessity for things to continue on schedule. I’ve promised you I would be back from the honeymoon in time to dig into our summer work, and I will not break that promise.”

  Ray sa
t back, making a tent with his fingers. He nodded. “Anything I can do to get Millie in line?”

  Here was the clincher, the ace in the hole that would bond father-in-law and son-in-law. “Millie mentioned a desire to involve your wife in the wedding plans, but I have a concern…” Tread delicately, David.

  “Your concern is valid. If Rhonda gets involved…” He sat forward. “Let’s just say I, above anyone else, am aware of my wife’s lack of decision-making capabilities. She is a follower and needs a stern and steady hand to make it through life. In truth, I fear Millie is much the same.”

  He couldn’t have said it better himself. “I knew you’d understand. So I’ll take care of Millie.”

  “And I’ll let Rhonda know what’s what.” He stood. “Don’t worry, David. Between you and me, this wedding will come off as planned. On schedule.”

  One last soothing of the ego… “I knew I could count on you.” David cocked his head toward the blueprint. “Is that the new elementary school?”

  Since the plan for the women in their lives was firmly in place, they moved to the drawing board.

  David did not call Millie that night. He’d let her think she was in control. She’d know the truth soon enough.

  Ten

  The end of a matter is better than its beginning,

  and patience is better than pride.

  Ecclesiastes 7:8

  Decatur—1976

  “Welcome, welcome! Come in!”

  Vanessa was wrapped in a hug. When her mother let go, she spotted one of the other guests. He was an overweight man her mother’s age, wearing a Hawaiian shirt adorned with yellow hibiscuses. He held out his arms. Vanessa braced herself for another hug.

  “So this is Dorian’s little Nessa. Not so little anymore, are you?”

  As Vanessa was captured by the man’s arms, Dorian laughed. “Nessa, meet Harry Cleese.”

  The man let her go and winked. “Cleese. No relation to John.”

  She didn’t get it. “John?”

  “John Cleese? Monty Python and the Holy Grail?”

  Ah. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Harry teaches sixth grade at my school.”

  “Dorian breaks them in and I shove them along their way.”

  “Nudge is a better word, Harry. You nudge them.”

  The man’s laugh was loud and boisterous, making the hibiscuses shake. “No, I shove. Both hands sometimes. What’s with kids today, anyway?”

  “Ah, the question of every generation.” The other guest stepped forward and Vanessa was taken aback. He was a gorgeous black man with a wide smile and kind eyes. He held out his hand, yet oddly, Vanessa found herself disappointed that he wasn’t a hugger like the others. “Lewis O’Neal. No relation to Ryan—or Tatum. Nice to meet you.”

  Mother put her hand on his shoulder. “The three of us go to the same church. Lewis is the maintenance man there.”

  Vanessa wondered if “maintenance man” was a fancy name for janitor.

  “You should hear our Lewis sing,” her mother said. “Man, what a voice. Praise the Lord!”

  Praise the Lord? This was not the Pruitt style. Church was a place to be seen, to make business contacts.

  Her mother must have seen her confusion. “This is not the type of churchgoing we used to do, Nessa. This is real.”

  She felt a wave of defensiveness. “Ours was real. Is real.”

  “That’s what I thought, too, but let me tell you, the faith your father and I had was as deep as a wading pool.” She smiled at Lewis. “But now… I’ve taken the plunge and have jumped into the deep end!”

  Harry raised a fist. “Off the high board!”

  Lewis laughed. “Splashing all the way.”

  “Dog paddling for the Lord!”

  No. It couldn’t be. Her mother was a Jesus-freak?

  Dorian suddenly stopped laughing and made a curlicue in front of Vanessa’s eyes. “Uh-uh. Don’t give me that look. I’m right about this God stuff and your father’s wrong. Together, we were wrong in how we brought you up in the church— sitting in the church but never being of the church, never being people of faith.”

  Harry pulled her under his arm. “I’m the one who invited her to come with us. She’s been there ever since. Jesus got a good one when He captured your mother’s heart.”

  Captured her heart?

  Her mother’s voice softened. “While I was going through the divorce, I realized I needed something more than myself to get through the hard times. You should know that being kicked out of your life was the worst time in my life, Nessa.” She turned to her friends. “Yardley has been telling her I was the one who left them!”

  Harry shook his head vehemently. “No sirree, little lady. Dorian was the hurt one. Your father didn’t think she was good enough for his climb up the ladder to be one of Atlanta’s elite. He called her an embarrassment because she’d gained a social conscience that looked beyond the establishment. Plus, she was just a lowly teacher.”

  Her mother shrugged. “And I did refuse to wear that awful orange knit dress to a fancy dinner.” She made a clutching motion at her bosom. “It was pulled together right here with a yellow daisy pin. Awful. Just awful. Not me at all.”

  Harry laughed and stepped aside, showcasing her current caftan made from scarves. “So speaks Miss Couturiere 1976.”

  “Oh pooh. The clothes were just part of it,” Mother said. “Though Yardley and I started out on the same page when we were married, he was blind to the changes in the world, the things that needed changing. All he cared about was his stupid bank. I became an activist and he didn’t like it. He wanted me to turn back into something I wasn’t anymore, something I could never be again.” She found Vanessa’s eyes. “And when I couldn’t—and wouldn’t—he dumped me. After twenty years of marriage, he dumped me like an old shirt in the giveaway pile. And then, as the cherry on the cake, he took you away from me—physically, mentally, and emotionally.”

  Vanessa’s throat was dry. What could she say? “I didn’t know.”

  Her mother nodded and squeezed her arm. “Enough of this. Let me grab the fondue and Fresca, and we’ll get down to some serious card playing. Harry and me against you and Lewis.”

  As she moved to the kitchen Lewis leaned close. “Let’s kick some butt.”

  He didn’t sound like any churchgoing man Vanessa had ever met—which, all things considered, was a good thing.

  Vanessa screamed. Then she high-fived Lewis over the table.

  “We are the champions!” Lewis jumped out of his chair and did a Rocky victory dance. Then he came around the table and pulled Vanessa up to join him. She wasn’t used to such exuberance, but gave it a shot.

  Lewis clapped. “All right, Vanessa! Get down!”

  She stopped her dance and felt herself redden. But it was a good blush. She liked Lewis’s approval. In fact, she liked everything about him. Of course, what wasn’t to like? He was charming, funny, intelligent, and had a smile that could melt a brick. And eyes… When he looked at her, she was torn between wanting to look right back and be drawn into a wonderfully soft place, or look away in case he saw too much of who she really was.

  Harry tossed his cards into the center pile. “That should have been our victory dance, Dorian. I shouldn’t have played that jack. I should’ve played the queen.”

  “Yup,” said Mother. “I hereby declare it all your fault.”

  Vanessa laughed and loved the real feeling it gave her. As if tonight she’d finally awakened from a long bout of sleepwalking.

  “Who wants tea?”

  “I’ll help,” Harry said.

  “I’m going to the little boys’ room,” Lewis said.

  Vanessa was left alone in her mother’s dining room. It was as different from the dining room in the Pruit
t home as Frankie’s Cafe was to Tavern on the Green. And though the lack of wealth had initially hit her as a negative, after spending time within its four walls it seemed an attribute. There was no china cabinet displaying silver and crystal, no twelve intricately carved chairs sitting on a hand-tied oriental rug. None of those lovely things that screamed status but somehow seemed hard to grasp. Even when a crystal goblet was in Vanessa’s hand, it was as if there was a distance between object and holder.

  Here, in her mother’s dining room, stood a round oak table with a piece of the veneer missing on the side and four straight-lined chairs with yellow polka-dotted cushions. Instead of a buffet or cabinet, there was a bookshelf stuffed with books. Vanessa let her fingers walk across the covers. Shakespeare, John Jakes, Jane Austen, C. S. Lewis, Tolkien, Solzhenitsyn. She remembered her mother reading books to her at bedtime. Vanessa couldn’t say she’d read many since. She didn’t have time.

  She shook her head at the lie. She had time; she chose not to read. Why was that?

  She looked at the avocado-colored fondue pot on the table and gathered up the crumpled napkins and plates. Her father never would allow such fare. Vanessa had become an expert at setting a proper table: a brocade tablecloth complete with a padded liner to protect the tabletop, cloth napkins, china on gold chargers, Grandmother Pruitt’s sterling flatware, water goblets, wine glasses, and bread-and-butter plates. Luckily—after one disastrous dinner when Vanessa had burned the cordon bleu—her father began to hire in a cook. Vanessa was left to the hostess duties, which entailed looking pretty, offering second helpings, and being the foil for her father’s conversation. She was an expert at nodding and smiling.

  Quite a contrast to tonight: clinking fondue forks together to commemorate the beginning of the card game, catching the drips of cheese with their fingers, drinking Fresca from the bottle, and Harry pointing a fork at her mother, saying, “En garde!” and making her mother laugh.

  Her mother’s laughter was another surprise. Each time Vanessa heard it, her mind zoomed back to other times, old times, when Dorian Pruitt and daughter used to play Go Fish or swing in the park. “Higher, Mommy, higher!”