‘‘It’s me,’’ she said.
‘‘I’m glad you called.’’
‘‘Why didn’t you call me?’’
‘‘You told me not to. Last time I pestered you at your office.’’
‘‘You should have ignored that.’’
‘‘You said we were moving too fast.’’
‘‘I take it back. Let’s move fast.’’
‘‘Tonight? I can’t get there until eight.’’
‘‘See you then.’’
She had time to shop and whip up some frozen presauced shrimp in the pan and make noodles. She even had time to take a bath. By seven-thirty she had started on the wine. She began to think, always a danger sign.
By eight-thirty, when Collier knocked on the door, she had talked herself into calling it quits with him. Poor guy, he had no idea she’d been conversing with him in her mind for an hour before he arrived with a potted evergreen and another bottle of wine. That was fine, they would soon all be potted.
He held out the presents, smiling. ‘‘In honor of December third,’’ he said. ‘‘I believe it may be a holiday in the Azores.’’ He wore his Norwegian sweater and corduroy slacks. With his beard, he looked like a European writer with irresistibly important things to say. She tried to ignore the impact this had on her.
Without a word, she led him to the table set in front of the fire and poured out what was left of the first bottle. ‘‘We need to talk,’’ she said.
He drank deeply from the glass, exhaled, and leaned back. ‘‘Eventually,’’ he said. ‘‘Sit down. Drink with me. It’s Friday and we’ve made it through another week. Reason to celebrate. Hear anything from Bob?’’
‘‘I called last night and talked to him. Kurt took him to Paris for the weekend. Imagine! Kurt got on the phone afterwards and I could tell how much he’s enjoying Bob.’’
‘‘Bob’s living it up,’’ Collier said.
‘‘He’s growing up too fast!’’
‘‘He’ll be home soon.’’
‘‘The sooner the better.’’
‘‘How was your week?’’ Collier said.
‘‘I can’t talk about my work with you, as you well know.’’
‘‘Let me just say one thing. I got your motion. It’s very well written. As for the specifics, I can’t comment until next week.’’
‘‘No comment, no comment, no comment. It’s driving me crazy! We can’t go on like this!’’
Collier looked sharply at her. Then he said, ‘‘I’m going to open this bottle I brought now. And I’m going to drink another glass of wine. Then I want you to come over here and sit on my lap.’’
‘‘No. Not until we talk.’’
‘‘Come on, now,’’ Collier said in a wheedling tone which made her laugh and come over to him and park her bottom on his lap.
‘‘That’s my girl,’’ he said. ‘‘Put your arms around my neck. Like this. My goodness, you smell good. Herb-y. Shampoo-ey.’’ He nuzzled at her.
‘‘But we have—to talk!’’
‘‘Very soon, very soon the talking time will come. Now, up you go. I’d like to carry you up to bed, but those stairs are mighty steep, so you’ll have to be content with me following behind and pushing.’’
They went upstairs, Collier herding her like a sheep-dog. In her attic bedroom, Collier said softly, ‘‘And now I’m going to undress you, my pretty. Very slowly. Resistance is futile.’’ He pulled her sweater off, said, ‘‘Breathtaking. I like lace. Take it off. Take it all off. Ah.’’
They got into bed and he began kissing her. The kisses were a balm on her troubled soul. She began kissing him back, and it became clear that the talking time wouldn’t come just then.
Midnight. They ate reheated shrimp at the coffee table. Collier looked rakish in Nina’s green silk kimono, his knees and elbows sticking out. He had adopted a pedantic expression. ‘‘So what did you want to talk about?’’ he asked her, licking his fingers.
‘‘Oh, about—you know.’’
‘‘About how we’re on opposite sides of the fence and have to fight in court?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘About how we have fundamentally different viewpoints on the role of prison as a deterrent and as a punitive measure? Not to mention our divergent views on the death penalty.’’
‘‘Correct.’’
‘‘About how our home life would be full of strange pauses as we tried to remember if we were about to divulge confidential information?’’
‘‘Precisely.’’
‘‘It’s a lousy career move, as well,’’ Collier said. ‘‘Complications everywhere.’’
‘‘That’s what we need to talk about.’’
‘‘Well, then, it’s settled.’’
‘‘What’s settled?’’
‘‘We want to be together, don’t we?’’
‘‘Y-Yes.’’
‘‘We do not wish to return to our previous lonely and loveless existences?’’
Nina laughed. ‘‘No,’’ she said.
‘‘We need to present a united front, to strengthen our position. Am I making myself clear?’’
‘‘No.’’
‘‘Oh, yes I am.’’
‘‘You can’t be saying—that.’’
‘‘Oh, yes I can.’’
A pause. ‘‘Get down on your knees, then,’’ Nina said.
Instead, he got up and rifled through his jacket pocket, which was hanging on a kitchen chair.
He came back and knelt in front of her. ‘‘Nina, will you marry me? I love you and I want to be with you forever.’’ He popped open a black silk box. Inside, sparkling orange in the firelight, was the largest diamond solitaire Nina had ever seen.
She raised her head up and looked into his gray eyes. There was a lot of hope there.
‘‘But I’m afraid!’’ she said.
‘‘I’m terrified.’’ But very gently, he took her hand and slipped the ring on her finger. ‘‘A perfect fit,’’ he said. ‘‘We were meant for each other. So what’s it to be?’’
‘‘Yes! The answer is yes!’’ She threw her arms around him. ‘‘And Collier—why, this ring is magnificent! You’re magnificent! You planned all this?’’
‘‘From the minute I saw you again, I hoped for it.’’ He pulled her into a long kiss.
Eventually, they ended up on the couch, sitting close together. He covered Nina’s bare legs with a soft afghan. ‘‘Now, the logistics,’’ he said. ‘‘Think anyone’s open at this hour?’’
‘‘Are you serious? I mean, it’s past midnight. And we just got engaged.’’
‘‘I hate long engagements, don’t you?’’
‘‘You’re right. What are we waiting for?’’ Nina twisted her hand, slipping the ring up and down, watching it shoot glitter around the room. ‘‘We could go to Reno and just do it. The registrar is open twenty-four hours a day, every day, including Christmas.’’
‘‘You checked?’’
‘‘A client told me.’’ Misty Patterson had told her that. Misty and her ill-fated husband had been married at a chapel at the Reno Hilton. ‘‘We could do it at the Reno Hilton,’’ she said aloud.
‘‘I think I have one clean suit in the closet. And I have a collection of silver dollars I’ve been saving for a lucky day.’’
‘‘Wear your sweater,’’ Nina said. ‘‘I like it.’’
‘‘But—Bob?’’
‘‘He’s not here, and the time is now. He likes you. He’ll be relieved at not having to go to a wedding.’’
‘‘You should call him.’’
‘‘Good idea. It’s about nine A.M. there, I think.’’ She got out the phone and called Germany. Kurt’s answering machine came on again. Bob was the only one who could have talked her out of it.
‘‘No luck,’’ she said. ‘‘What about your mother?’’
‘‘Afterwards,’’ he said. ‘‘First thing in the morning, then? No more talk?’’
; ‘‘You ever noticed how talking takes the life out of things?’’ Nina said.
They got up late. ‘‘Now you’ve slept,’’ Collier said. He was drying off in the bathroom. ‘‘You’re sane again. So?’’
‘‘So, I’m still crazy.’’
‘‘You’re sure?’’
‘‘Very sure.’’
‘‘Let’s get going, then, before another storm hits.’’
‘‘You will have to wait just a minute while I try on everything in my wardrobe.’’ She hurried him out of the room and began to pick through her closet, settling on a soft cream wool dress that floated down from her hips. She had bought it once in the midst of an amnesia attack about the fact that that sort of dress did not belong in her sort of office. She was very glad she had hung on to it, thinking someday she would wear it to a wedding. Humming, she brushed her hair, tried a few ways of pinning it, and decided to let it float, too, which it did, all the way down her back in one big fluff.
He stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting patiently.
They took Collier’s Subaru. Stopping at the florist shop near Nina’s office, they picked out white and red roses, which the florist deftly fashioned into a bouquet. In Reno, they stopped at the county clerk’s office and registered and paid a fee to the indifferent clerks. They escaped with their piece of paper.
‘‘You can still turn back,’’ Collier said as they walked into the shopping mall under the hotel.
‘‘Do you want to turn back?’’
‘‘No. It was only a rhetorical question. Covering my bases in case you regret it someday. I can say that I gave you every chance.’’
‘‘Stop, then. Come on, it’s around the corner.’’
In the basement, just as Misty had described, a store-front studio advertised that it was the Celebration Wedding Chapel. A young lady with stiff hair sat in a small office in front.
‘‘Chapel fee, sixty dollars, plus thirty for the minister’s fee, payable in cash,’’ she said. ‘‘Will you be needing witnesses?’’
They looked at each other. ‘‘We forgot those,’’ Collier said.
‘‘Thirty dollars apiece. Myself and the photographer. Would you like pictures?’’
They arranged for some pictures. Fifty dollars.
‘‘Flowers? A ring?’’
‘‘Nope. We’re all set,’’ Collier said, looking at Nina. They sat down together and held hands while the lady fetched the minister and the photographer. Forever after, Nina thought, taking a deep breath, she would remember that moment and her mad happiness when she smelled roses.
‘‘It’s not just because of Sandy and Joseph?’’ Collier whispered. ‘‘A copycat crime?’’
‘‘No. And it’s not because I’m lonely. It’s because of you that I’m getting married,’’ Nina said, and he patted her hand. ‘‘I’m starting to feel a bit emotional,’’ she added. ‘‘This is a big deal, Collier.’’
‘‘I’ll never leave you,’’ he said.
A CD started up and began playing ‘‘Here Comes the Bride.’’ They walked past the empty pews to the minister, a white-haired gentleman in a blue suit holding a Bible. Behind them, the young lady and the young photographer sat down.
‘‘We are gathered here to—what’s your name again, honey?’’ He had a pronounced Southern accent. Behind him a yellow and blue stained glass panel made it seem like church.
Some stray thought, about church, or her childhood, or her mother, had uncorked Nina and she started to weep. She just couldn’t stay cool. Her mascara was coming down in torrents.
‘‘Nina Fox Reilly,’’ Collier said.
‘‘To join this man, Collier John Hallowell, and this woman, Nina Fix Reilly, in holy matrimony . . .’’
She couldn’t stop bawling. The minister offered his handkerchief. His embarrassed pink face was only inches from hers. ‘‘Do you, Nina, take Collier to be your lawful wedded husband, to have and to hold . . . in sickness and in health, until death do you part?’’
‘‘I—I . . .’’ she blubbered. Floods of tears were punctuated by the occasional loud gasping sob. All she could think of was how she had promised herself never to say the ‘‘obey’’ part. Had the minister said it? She was making so much noise it was impossible to tell.
They were waiting, but she couldn’t catch her breath to say the words. ‘‘Would you like me to say it for you, honey?’’ the minister whispered.
‘‘I do!’’ she wailed.
‘‘And you, Collier, do you take this woman, Nina Fix Reilly—’’
‘‘Fox!’’
‘‘Nina Fox Reilly, to be your lawful wedded wife . . .’’
‘‘I do,’’ Collier said, quite cool-headed, considering the circumstances.
‘‘The ring?’’
Nina began to wiggle the ring off her finger but Collier put up a hand to stop her. A second box, this one in velvet, appeared in his hand. He opened it. Inside, curled together like lovers, two slim gold bands nestled. ‘‘One for me,’’ he whispered. He was looking at her to see if she liked them. She liked them so much that it brought on more joyful sobbing.
‘‘Put it on her finger,’’ the minister finally suggested.
Collier lifted her limp left hand and slipped the gold ring on right beside the diamond. He handed her the other ring, and helped her to put it on his hand, clasping her hands in his, steadying her.
‘‘Ah now pronounce you man and wife,’’ the minister said as soon as he safely could. On an invisible cue, the CD broke into the triumphant Dah da dadada da da da da-dada da DAH song. The minister beamed. Collier held her up and she wiped her eyes on the handkerchief. ‘‘I’m s-so happy,’’ she said brokenly.
The lady came up and gave her a tape cassette. ‘‘Congratulations and here’s your precious memory,’’ she said.
‘‘Thank you,’’ said Nina, her voice quavering.
‘‘I’m afraid we have to clear out, now folks. There’s another couple waiting.’’ The photographer took a photo of the four of them, the lady and the minister still beaming in back, Nina smiling tremulously, feeling the makeup smearing on her face but not caring at all, standing with Collier in front.
On the way out, she dumped the cassette in the nearest trash can. The only sound would be sobbing, anyway. Collier carefully folded up the marriage certificate and put it in his wallet. The instant photos he carried in one hand. ‘‘Feeling better?’’ he asked her.
‘‘Yes.’’ She removed the last of her mascara with a long wipe.
‘‘You like the rings?’’
‘‘You know I do.’’
‘‘We can always go together and choose something else.’’
‘‘No,’’ she said, looking at the two rings that fit so snugly together on her finger, and then admiring the gold band that now encircled his. ‘‘I love them. And Collier, you are an amazing man. I never expected this, any of this. Being married to you is going to be a real adventure.’’
‘‘Can I kiss the bride? It didn’t seem like such a good idea in there.’’ He put his arms around her and she murmured into his shoulder, ‘‘I’m sorry I cried. I’m such an idiot. I always cry when I feel really happy.’’
‘‘Let’s go have a drink and drop a few hundred,’’ Collier said. ‘‘It’s a casino, after all. You don’t feel sorry? About not having a party like Sandy?’’
‘‘This is our party, Collier,’’ Nina said. ‘‘A private wedding, an intimate one, for just the two of us. Nothing else matters now, except that we are together.’’ She slipped her arm through his, absorbing the strength that the two of them had.
‘‘Feel like a winner?’’
‘‘Roulette,’’ Nina said. ‘‘That’s how good I feel.’’
‘‘Red and odd.’’
‘‘Number three.’’ They went up the elevator.
They spent the night at the Reno Hilton on a round bed, enjoying the kitsch and the champagne provided by the management. Nina finally got home aro
und four in the afternoon and invited herself and Hitchcock over to Matt’s for dinner.
‘‘So we went to Reno and did it,’’ she finished. ‘‘I called Dad before I came over. He’s fine with it.’’ Matt didn’t bat an eyelid. He got up, went into the kitchen, and came back with another Coors. He popped it, poured some down his gullet, and set it on the table.
‘‘So what do you think?’’ Nina said, spooning a second helping of peas onto her plate.
‘‘Can he chop wood? Can he shovel snow and put on his own tire chains? Can he unfreeze the pipes and most importantly, can he play stud poker?’’ said Matt.
‘‘I’m sure he can.’’
Andrea said, ‘‘My turn. Can he pick up his own socks, cook something besides frozen pizza, and keep the TV off when guests come over?’’
‘‘Absolutely.’’
‘‘Then bring him on over, and we promise we won’t tell him about your teenage years,’’ Matt said. That was it. They were so accepting, so kind.
‘‘I bet you were nervous about calling Bob,’’ Andrea said.
‘‘Oh, he knew. He’d been around us quite a bit. I’d talked to him before. He’s having such a good time with Kurt that I doubt it sank in right away. We’ll do some adjusting when he gets back. The thing is, though— Collier is great with him. He really loves kids.’’
‘‘How about Jack?’’
‘‘Jack?’’
‘‘You know, the guy you were married to for five years. I bet he’d want to know. ’’
When Jack walked out on her only a few years before, she had thought she would never recover. She could look back on that now and realize she’d passed through it, passed through the shock and grief and loss and come out the other side. As Wish had said, people leave, but if you’re lucky, new people come.
‘‘I’ll be darned,’’ she said. ‘‘I forgot about Jack. I’ll call him tomorrow.’’
‘‘I guess Collier will move in with you,’’ Andrea said. ‘‘Since he’s renting.’’ She started gathering up the plates. Matt got up to help. Hitchcock followed them, hoping a crumb would fall. Troy had already left to work on his homework. Even little Brianna had some sort of project that required many sheets of construction paper.
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