Speak Now

by Chautona Havig

  “Okay, but—”

  “AAAK! Tell Verna we talked and drop it, okay? Now, one more thing.”

  “What?”

  “Are there any other surprises I need to know about this marriage? Will we be moving in with your mom or your uncle? Do I need to sign some prenuptial this or that? Do women in your family not work or something? I need not to have this kind of shock again.”

  “That’s it!” Relief washed over Jonathan’s features. “That’s why I did something so stupid.”

  “What is? Which stupid?”

  “Funny,” he growled. He reached for her again and pulled back quicker than ever. “Lily didn’t work. We moved around my work needs. I’ve never had to consider another career before, so I just didn’t think.”

  “Now, you do. So think.” She grabbed tissue from her purse and mopped up the last remnants of her makeup. “I think they’re closing. The AC isn’t coming back on, and I’ll run out of tissue if I keep having to mop this stuff up. I need ice cream.”

  He grinned. “That’s my Cara mia. Let’s go. I know just the place.”

  “I’m still mad at you.”

  “I know.”

  “I still love you.”

  He glanced down just in time to see her swallow hard and blink back a few stray tears. “I know. I think I really do know.”

  “And…”

  “I love you, Cara mia.”

  Her smile punched the air from his lungs. “I’m never going to get tired of hearing that. Never.”

  “Good.”

  ~*~*~*~

  Foolishly, Cara thought they’d resolved all of the issues that could possibly arise. The reaction of the children astounded her. Bryce clammed up tighter than Jonathan, and Riley unleashed her wrath upon every person in her path. However, when Verna heard the news, she nodded, excused herself, and went to call her children to inform them of her intention to move to Rockland. Cara watched the melee around her with dismay that nearly broke her heart.

  Her understanding of Jonathan as a parent had never been fully formed, but with their reaction to the news, she saw that wonderful miracle that men work with children. Almost without speaking, he gathered his children together, met their eyes, uttered just a few firm but loving words, and sent them to decide what things they wouldn’t want to take with them. Unable to keep her amazement from her tone, she asked, “How did you do that? You—”

  “They’re used to me. They know I mean business.”

  “Wow.” She frowned. “Verna doesn’t have to come if she doesn’t want to.”

  “No, she definitely wants to come. She’s like family.”

  “But her family is here. How can she leave them?”

  “How can she leave us? She’ll do it because she loves us. We’ll get her home for as many weekends as possible.”

  A new thought occurred to Cara. “What about us? There’s no room for her in my townhouse. We’ll have to move.” After one look at Jonathan’s face, she nodded. “I’ll call Mom and ask her to find me a realtor. Square footage?”

  “I think anything under three thousand will feel cramped to us.”

  “Pool?” His affirmative narrowed the area of their search considerably. “In Rockland, or what about one of the surrounding towns?” Grinning, she said, “I suppose forty-five miles is too much?”

  “If you want Fairbury, then start there.”

  “We’ll need a place for Verna, right? Inside the house or detached only?”

  “Depending on the locale, if it’s within walking distance and has a guest room, we can get her a separate house if necessary.”

  “Too expensive in Fairbury. That’d be excessive. Homes aren’t cheap there, but I’ve always loved it.”

  “Consider it an investment. If there are any small homes near larger developments...” As he spoke, Jonathan whipped out his phone and called his uncle. “Don’t we have a few rentals in Fairbury? Are any of them vacant or vacating in the next three months?” Seconds passed—seconds in which she could only imagine that Weston Lyman had to look up the information. Surely, he wouldn’t know the status of rentals off the top of his head. A minute later, Jonathan asked for a link to the listings they had and disconnected again. “We’ve got options.”

  “Should I use your realtor?”

  “Not necessary. Find someone you want to work with.”

  They strolled outside and sank into a double lounger, as close together as they could be without touching. The evening was hot—muggy. Had Cara not already stripped all traces of her makeup from her skin, she would have looked like a surrealist painting, with her mascara dribbling around her cheeks and her lipstick hanging at an awkward angle at the base of her neck like a warped pendant. She made a mental note. Learn to use mineral makeup.

  As the sun set, she slowly relaxed, the tension of the past days easing from her. “Remember Chicago?”

  “Yeah.”

  His response surprised her. He rarely responded audibly to such questions. Those simple answers were usually left for her to understand. “You know what we talked about at the church?” That time his eyes answered in the affirmative. “Well, I think Chicago is proof that we’re not going to have trouble. It’s really going to be okay—better than okay.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  She entered her home with a lack of enthusiasm she’d never felt since the day she purchased it. Cara loved her little townhouse with the large upstairs master suite, the perfect little kitchen, and her personally-designed craft room. She’d have to sell it. That thought alone overwhelmed her. In fact, she was certain she’d fall apart if she had to think of it yet.

  She left her suitcase in the spare room, kicked off her shoes, and collapsed on the couch with her laptop. According to her mom, half a dozen realtors had taken the possibility of finding a house for Jonathan Lyman as the opportunity of a lifetime.

  As she opened her inbox, it flooded with everything from questions about shoes for bridesmaids to a house not five blocks from hers. Pictures of every house nearly choked her, but Cara scrolled through them, waiting for Jonathan to return her text saying that she’d arrived home. One promising house in Marshfield intrigued her enough that she forwarded it to Jonathan. It seemed reasonably priced—just barely the required three thousand square feet. It even had a pool.

  ~*~*~*~

  Jonathan’s email stunned her. The dismissive words, “I’m afraid it won’t suit,” seemed cold—clipped. He requested three thousand square feet. He wanted a pool. He insisted on four bedrooms. The house filled the bill. She stared at the words. They looked like something she’d hear on a British TV show.

  Cara glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes and she could leave. Just twenty minutes. Twenty minutes ago she’d cleared her desk. Anything she started now would mean staying late.

  She clicked on her personal email account and scrolled through the dozens of property offers. Three more options flew across the information highway to an Atlanta office. Almost simultaneously, two property suggestions arrived in her inbox—followed by a housing budget. Her eyes bugged.

  When opinion on all three properties arrived in her inbox, Cara stared at it, trying to absorb the ramifications of what he’d said. The short note left no doubt about his opinions.

  I think we should keep looking—maybe in a different area. I don’t want to have to move twice when we find something we really want. Is there undeveloped property in Fairbury? Maybe we could take rooms for Verna at a hotel until something is built. Love you, Jonathan.

  “Rooms at a hotel. Seriously?” Frustrated, Cara stared at the budget he’d given her again. It seemed excessive. Curiosity prompted her to look up Jonathan’s property in Georgia, and she gulped at the price. Grabbing her purse, and ignoring the ten minutes she still owed her company, Cara rushed from the building and into her car.

  It took twice as long to get to her parents’ house as it ever had, but she managed to make it in one piece. She wandered through the empty kitchen and stood, sp
inning in a circle in the living room, until the sound of the sewing machine told her where she’d find her mother.

  “Mom?”

  “Aak! Cara? What are you doing here?” Diane didn’t turn around to see. Instead, she groaned. “Oh no!”

  “What?”

  I just stabbed myself with the seam ripper. There’s blood on the dress!”

  Cara grabbed tissues and shoved them into her mother’s hand and then grabbed the dress, trying to save it from further drops. There, in the middle of the skirt, three large blobs of blood stained the pale ivory fabric. “What do we do? Is it washable?”

  “I don’t know. I—” Diane groaned. “I just don’t know.”

  “Call a dry cleaner?”

  Diane nodded.

  Cara draped it over the chair, her heart sick over all the work her mother had put into something that was likely ruined—particularly with so little time left. The dry cleaner promised to look at it if they brought the dress in immediately. Cara rushed back into the room with the news. “I’m going to take it over right now.”

  Diane grabbed shoes and her purse. “I’m going to go to the fabric shop and get content/wash information. I never write it down when I’m going to dry clean later. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  “I’ll come right back here. We have housing issues.”

  Cara rushed to the dry cleaner’s who promised to try to get the blood out as soon as they heard the content information. Diane called her immediately upon reaching the fabric store. “It’s 65% polyester, 20% rayon, and 15% acetate.”

  The look on the dry cleaner’s face sent another wave of nausea over her. He shook his head and said, “I’ll try, but you need to sign this waiver. I can’t be responsible if the process ruins the garment.”

  “Well, it’s ruined as it is. I’ll try anything.”

  All the way back to her mother’s house, Cara fought back tears. First the argument in Georgia, then the housing situation, and now her dress was ruined? She had two options. She could consider it God’s way of telling her not to marry Jonathan or Satan’s way of trying to prevent a good marriage. Cara opted for the latter—and she planned to stomp Satan’s hopes. Cara Laas would marry Jonathan and be very happy too.

  Diane arrived minutes after her, ready to deal with a distraught daughter, but Cara sat in her father’s chair, his Bible in her lap, and a new look of peace and excitement on her face. Diane frowned. “Are you okay?”

  “I wasn’t, but I am now.” Her eyes rose and met Diane’s. “Mom, I’m going to be a Lyman. I am going to be one of the Lymans. I’ll have money. I mean, the money I earn is totally unnecessary. It could be my allowance for all he cares. Allowance!”

  “This isn’t news to you. You knew he had money when you met him.”

  “Well, that part never sank in. I mean, when things had to be expensive and he took care of it, I got it. It made sense. However, it never really hit home that I would have access to that money. Mom, he invests in jewelry! Jewelry! I’m going to have the most amazing pieces of jewelry you’ve ever seen in my little safe in my bedroom.”

  Cara stared at her mother. “Mom, I’m going to have a safe in my bedroom. No wonder the houses I found weren’t good enough for him. I was still shopping for expensive for my budget, not for reasonable for his. It’s unreal. I have money. I can afford to buy whatever fabrics I want for whatever outfits I want. I can take some of those classes I’ve always wanted to take. I don’t have to choose between manicure or pedicure. I can have both! Both!” She swallowed. “Mom, I can have them as often as I want.”

  “Yeah...”

  Cara shook her head. “I have to call Jonathan.”

  Minutes later, Diane strolled down the hallway to change into cooler clothes and overheard her daughter say, “Jonathan, you’re going to have to give me a budget. I’m going to like this much too much.”

  Yeah. So would he if she’d seen in him what she thought she had. Her heart swelled with happiness for her daughter. Then a new thought hit her. She poked her head in the doorway and interrupted. “I just realized something.”

  Cara covered the phone with her hand. “Yeah?”

  “On the nineteenth, I’m going to be a grandmother!”

  ~*~*~*~

  The call came a couple of hours later. The dry cleaner’s verdict: ruined. Despite all their efforts, the man could not remove all of the blood from the skirt. While Cara spoke to a realtor in Fairbury, Diane hurried off to get the dress. Cara came out of the bedroom, ready to work out how to hide the blood and found the living room empty. Frustrated, she dialed Jonathan.

  “The dress is ruined.”

  “What?”

  “My dress. I startled Mom and she jabbed the seam ripper into her thumb. There is blood all over the front now.” She sighed. “Okay, so there are three big blood spots, but it feels like all over the front.”

  “Dry cleaner?”

  “Nope. They tried, but they couldn’t get it all out. I feel so bad. She’s put so much work into it and now she’ll have to take the whole skirt apart.”

  “Does she have time? Does she need help? Can I hire someone or—something?”

  Happy to have a sympathetic ear, Cara talked about the hours of labor put into that skirt that would now have to be redone until she’d nearly talked herself into a flat A-line design. “I think I should do that. It’s just a dress. Mom will be up all night for days if I don’t figure out a way to convince her to make it a simpler design.”

  “What is it—I mean that you can tell me—that makes this more elaborate?”

  “Well, she’s been hand embroidering, machine embroidering, adding tucks and all kinds of things. The work in that skirt is astronomical. I told her not to do it, before she even started, but...”

  “Your mother’s only child is getting married. She wants to do what she can to make it a perfect day for you. Don’t take that away from her.”

  Their roles reversed. For the first time since meeting Jonathan, Cara listened to the cadence of his voice as he soothed and encouraged her. Her throat choked, amazed at the self-sacrifice he showed even with such a simple thing, and somehow he spoke the exact words she needed to hear. For a man disinclined to speak, no one would ever accuse Jonathan Lyman of being inarticulate. In fact, his eloquence nearly overwhelmed her. He encouraged in gentle, almost poetic tones, and then he grew firm.

  “I know you, Cara mia. You will do what you can to relieve what you perceive as a burden on your mother. And in doing so, this time, I think you will create a new one. You do this for me often. You take away the burden of conversation and carry it. It’s a ‘labor of love’ of sorts, and I cherish it. However, I can see that the day may come when I need to talk to comfort you, much like we’re doing now, and you won’t let me then. Remember today. I can carry it too. It’s a gift that we give the people we love—we shoulder their burdens and we allow them to shoulder ours.”

  “You are amazing,” she whispered after several seconds of near silence. “I love you.”

  “Good. That was kind of the point when I started this thing.”

  “Since I have you, I should tell you that I spoke to a realtor. There’s a house that I think you should see. I’m going to email it. Hold on.”

  They chatted as she logged onto her email from her mother’s computer, found the correct one, and zipped it to him. “Look at the property, it’s right on the water, but there’s a fenced yard in front and on the side so the kids have a safe place to play. There isn’t a mother-in-law suite on site, but she says there are several smaller houses that are crawling on the market right now. Two need extensive remodeling and one only has a single small bedroom. That one is within a five minute walk if you stroll and sniff the roses.”

  “I like that kitchen. Verna would too. What about—yeah, look at the master suite. There’s a bedroom attached—probably meant to be a nursery—but you could put an office slash craft room in there, couldn’t you?”

  “I could. Wha
t do you think?”

  “I like what I see, but I can’t tell how large it is. Those pictures always make things much larger than they are.”

  “Coming on Saturday?”

  “Friday night. I’m thinking about bringing the kids to stay until the wedding. That way, Bryce can get started at a school there and have less interruption. If we take a place this weekend...”

  “Where will they stay until you all move?”

  “My mother’s house. She’ll drive them back and forth to school. It’ll work.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Mmm hmm…” Jonathan sounded distracted. “It’ll give Verna a chance to make decisions around here, uninterrupted.”

  The mention of Verna reminded her of a question she’d been meaning to ask. “How are her kids handling the idea of her moving?”

  “It’s no surprise to them. They’ve known it was coming. She’s excited—thinks they’ll quit planning their weekends around entertaining her. ‘Once a month,’” he quoted in her southern drawl, “‘is more than enough for these old bones.’”

  “She can’t be fifty!”

  “She is—barely.” Jonathan sighed. “I just love that her kids want to keep her involved in their lives. So many get busy with their own and forget their parents.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  A text arrived during a budget meeting the following week. Cara paled as she saw the words. TROUBLE. CALL ME. TRENNA.

  “Do you have something to add, Cara?” Derek stared at her pointedly.

  “Everything is in my report. We need to plug the drain in the disconnect between internet options and the actual contract, or we’ll weaken our profit margin.”