A Wedding At Two Love Lane

by Kieran Kramer

  His parents were quite somber about the whole situation, as he expected they’d be. They didn’t want him going back to Teddy, whether there were children involved or not. His family stayed away from the hospital, including Anne. Rupert hadn’t even bothered to get in touch when Ford came back and had neglected to return his texts or phone calls.

  One busy day he took time out to visit the outskirts of London to see his brother. His flat was a mess. Rupert’s eyes were bloodshot. They sat at the kitchen table, strewn with old newspapers and beer cans.

  “Got nothing to tell you,” Rupert had said. “Nothing.” And he’d stared at Ford as if he didn’t know him.

  “I’ve just come back from America, Roo. It’s lovely there.”

  Rupert lifted one shoulder and dropped it.

  “Mum and Dad are well,” said Ford. “Anne, Edward, and the kids, too. Everyone sends their love.”

  Still Rupert said nothing.

  “Are you hungry?” Ford suspected he was. He was far too thin. “Can I buy you a curry?”

  “I can buy my own curries,” Rupert said.

  There was a protracted silence.

  “So,” Ford said, “have you read any good books lately? I’m on a Dick Francis bender. Third time around, but I never tire of him.”

  Rupert sighed. “I told you, I got nothing for you.”

  “I don’t need anything,” Ford said, trying to stay calm. Part of him was angry. Another was terrified. “I’m on your side, Roo. We’re brothers. Is there anything I can do for you? Would you like to go back to the center?” The treatment center. The one Rupert had been to twice. “If you don’t like that one, I can find you another.”

  Rupert stood then on shaky legs. “Get out,” he said.

  Ford complied, but at the door, Rupert asked for money.

  “All out,” Ford had said, and walked down the steps with a string of epithets following him.

  Things hadn’t changed there.

  At any rate, it was understood that he’d handle the Teddy crisis on his own now that he was back. Teddy wasn’t a family member. No one even knew if Ford was the father. Anne had fulfilled any obligation his loved ones had to Teddy, which was exactly none.

  He’d finally journeyed home to Surrey after that first trying week at the hospital. He’d unpacked, set up the portrait, and was looking at it—simply looking at it—not able to decide if it was the portrait itself that made him sad because it was not all it could be, or the absence of Greer in his life that made his heart ache. He decided it was both.

  Not a word had passed between him and Greer since he’d come home. And he had no one, really, to call in Charleston to check up on her. Wesley and Serena were no longer an option. He supposed he could contact her work colleagues—Macy, Ella, and Miss Thing—but it seemed too early for such an effort. They might hang up on him. He wasn’t sure if they’d ever be willing to speak to him again, and quite frankly, he knew he had no right to ask for any attention from them.

  One person that came to mind—and it was a long shot—was Henny, at the La Di Da shop. Surely she’d be able to tell him something of what had happened to Greer after the contest. He picked up the phone. It was only four P.M. Eastern Standard Time. Henny was likely still at the store.

  “Well, hello,” she said, when she picked up. “How are you, Mr. Smith?”

  They exchanged a few pleasantries. He’d got used to how slowly conversations began in Charleston. Once underway, however, they picked up speed at an alarming rate.

  “I’m back in London,” he said. “Just wondering how the contest turned out.”

  “You’re not still engaged to Miss Jones,” Henny said. It wasn’t a question.

  “No, I’m not. It was a temporary thing. We were clear about that.” He’d offer no excuses. The whole world knew it had been an impetuous decision. He and Greer hadn’t hidden a thing from anyone.

  “I know,” Henny said, “but you two were such a cute couple.”

  “Um, thank you,” he said. “Henny, let’s get beyond polite chitchat, shall we? Are you alone? Because I want honest answers, please, not platitudes.”

  “Well, I…”—she fumbled with the phone—“let me take this outside.” There was some silence, followed by, “Girls? I’m calling my granddaughter. I’ll be outside a few minutes.”

  He heard some vague answers and the rattle of a door and perhaps the whiz of a car going by on the street.

  “All set?” he asked.

  “Sure,” she said. “What would you like to know?”

  “What happened to Greer’s phone? And Kiki’s?”

  “I honestly have no idea,” Henny said. “I’m troubled by it, too. Greer was so convincing when she said she hadn’t written that text.”

  “Yes, she was. Why would Kiki and Pierre have wanted Serena to lose? Greer thinks that was their design.”

  “All I can think is that they wanted Greer to win, and so they knocked Serena out.”

  “But my impression from Greer is that they wanted her to lose. They came right out and told her so.”

  “I hate to sound like a nosy body,” said Henny, “but I heard Kiki talking to Pierre in the back room at the store. He’s returned from Scotland, you know. And they were saying that Greer’s story would bring in the most people to the new bridal department. Pierre said he liked her partnerless bride angle. And then of course everyone loved you. In fact, they put out a press release the day after the contest saying Serena had dropped out for professional reasons and that the new winner is Greer.”

  “How did the public react?”

  “We’ve had people calling us off the hook asking when the bridal department is opening, and nine out of ten of them ask about Greer, too, and whether or not you two officially got together. They don’t even seem to remember Serena, and she was the original winner. There must have been enthusiasm for her at some point. It’s uncanny how no one asks about her.”

  “Props to Serena—she’s lovely—but I wonder if Pierre rigged the contest originally so Serena would win, and then he changed his mind. Maybe she never had the votes, after all.”

  “I-I don’t know,” said Henny, “but I’m sick of his shenanigans and Kiki’s. I’m only hanging on so I can retire with full benefits. I’ve got one more year. I feel like I’m between a rock and a hard place.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Ford said. “Truly. Pierre’s not pleasant. Nor is Kiki.”

  “No, they’re not. I see my role as buffer between them and the public.”

  “You do a fine job,” Ford said. “Did Pierre actually give the gown to Greer? And is she taking on a public role as the winner of the contest?”

  “We did deliver the gown to Greer, and she turned it down. She said she wanted no part of the contest and would be happy for another finalist to have it. What she doesn’t know is that Pierre was under no obligation to find a third winner. The rules specified only a first-runner up was eligible to move into the winning position. So he has the dress in his possession. I have no idea why he hasn’t put it back on the floor to sell. Meanwhile, Greer hasn’t totally backed away from her experience. I’ve heard that she and her colleagues at Two Love Lane are doing their best to get Wesley and Serena back together. At least to talk. Wesley’s still here, and he’s working at the medical university, but Serena turned down her job and took a new one in San Francisco.”

  “That sounds like a permanent rift to me. So how do they propose to get them back together?”

  “I have no idea,” Henny said. “But Two Love Lane has clients across the country. I presume they have some strategy.”

  “I wish them luck,” he said. “Speaking of strategy, I’ve got a proposition for you. Entirely ethical, too. It’s about how to make your final year more endurable at La Di Da.”

  “Oh?” Henny sounded quite interested.

  “Didn’t you say you grew up with Pierre?” he asked her.

  “I did.”

  “Well, I’ve noticed something ab
out him, something maybe we could work with.…”

  When he hung up with her fifteen minutes later, Ford was pleased they were both on the same page. But he couldn’t shake how awful he felt for Greer. No wonder she didn’t want the wedding gown. The whole story was sad.

  What was to become of Royal Bliss? He’d never know. But at least he knew that Greer had returned it, and he was proud of her. He was also sorry he’d been such a lackluster fake groom. He hadn’t rushed to support her in her time of need. No, he hadn’t. He’d thought about himself. She might as well have been a partnerless bride for all the aid he never gave her.

  He looked again at the portrait. And he felt as if he’d fallen down a tunnel, like Alice. Time seemed to stop, and in a very weird way, he saw the portrait for the first time. At initial glance, the painting was of Greer. But the actual person on the canvas was him. He recognized himself in every paint stroke. He’d been constructing a story about himself. It was fear-based, destructive.

  As much as he’d pored over Greer as she’d posed for him, he’d stood in the way of really seeing her.

  The painting was all about him. All of his paintings were, and he supposed that was natural. Everything he saw was filtered through his perceptions, but there was a way to transcend that. He’d seen it on canvases painted by great artists. It was what set them apart, he realized.

  But his paintings … his were about holding back.

  No, his portraits said over and over. No, no, no.

  He had to sit down. And so he did, on the edge of an armchair. He swallowed once or twice. He breathed. He even coughed, wondering if he’d come back to the reality that had propped him up for years.

  But no, he still saw the real painting. It was glaring to him, in fact, what the problem was. His eyes stung, and even through the blur, he saw the problem: He didn’t believe he deserved the freedom to get outside of himself. He didn’t want it—not when Rupert couldn’t function with freedom. Not when his parents were always bogged down with worry, too.

  He rang Anne. “I’m supposed to go see Teddy tomorrow, as always. Could you possibly fill in for me? The doctors all say the babies are doing beautifully. It’s only a matter of Teddy resting now. I think … I know I have to start Greer’s portrait over.”

  “But you only have eight days until it must be in Manchester.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “Wretched man.”

  “Wiser man. Man who can see. Finally. And I don’t know why. A lot of things, I suppose.”

  Anne gave a little cry of delight. “Go,” she said. “Don’t stop. I’ll take care of Teddy the rest of the week. If there’s even a hint of concern about the babies, I’ll call you immediately.”

  “Thank you. Her parents will think I’m selfish,” he said. “Teddy might throw a temper tantrum.”

  “No, Teddy won’t. This scare has matured her. She understands you’re a real artist, darling. She appreciates your devotion to her in hospital, and I know she’ll say you deserve some time off to work on this project.”

  “Thanks, Anne. Truly. I love you.”

  “You’re welcome. And I love you, too.”

  He stood. He pulled another canvas out of the closet in the corridor, where he kept spares. And as if under a magic spell, he painted Greer as she really was. The truth of her shone like the sun. It was Greer. Fearless Greer.

  Painting her, he was the man who loved Rupert in all his imperfections, who would never turn his back on him. He was the man who accepted that he couldn’t fix his brother.

  And he was the man who loved Greer and would never turn his back on her, either. He would stop saying no to love. He would embrace who and what he had and not destroy it only because the world had too much sadness in it. He wouldn’t let the sadness win. He would see—truly see—and not just what he wished he could see.

  He’d hold the world in his hand and he would find something there of truth and beauty. He would find love shining from it, like flecks of gold in a pan of river silt.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “Greer!” Jill came up behind her on East Bay Street and nearly scared her out of her skin.

  “What?” Greer had literally just finished throwing away her last Perfect Wedding albums.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that.”

  “It’s okay.” Greer had already been feeling a little flustered, so she couldn’t blame Jill for her being on edge. The morning after Ford left town, she’d gotten rid of the Perfect Wedding albums at home, but she’d purposely ignored her newest ones, which she kept at work. Now, two weeks later, she was ready to purge her life for good of anything remotely associated with Perfect Weddings, so she walked up to Roastbusters and slid the bound books, ones she’d labored over with such love, into Pete’s trashcan.

  She was done with fantasies of happily-ever-afters for herself for good. Instead, she’d continue laboring over them for other people. Their love stories—and the spirit of the house at Two Love Lane, which was infused with laughter and love—would keep her from being an utter cynic.

  They started walking down the cobblestone alley to the house that had stood there over two hundred years.

  “I was just coming to see you,” Jill said.

  “Good. You’ve been avoiding me. I’ve been trying to get you to talk about this tech conference and whether you should go.”

  “I know,” said Jill. “But I can’t think about that. I have business problems.”

  They walked through the wrought iron gate, the one with the entwined hearts and secretly embedded lovers’ initials, then continued up the steps of Two Love Lane and sat on the new porch swing. They swung back and forth, and the rhythm, Greer hoped, was as soothing to Jill as it was to her.

  “Tell me what’s going on,” said Greer.

  Jill shrugged. “I quit Erospace.”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “I have to,” Jill said dully. “I can’t find enough clients.”

  “You have to keep trying,” Greer insisted. “Maybe you should switch up your marketing practices.”

  “I’ve tried.” Jill wiped away a tear.

  “Starting up a business is hard,” Greer reminded her. “Have you thought about getting some partners instead of doing this by yourself?”

  “No,” Jill whispered.

  “Well, let’s talk about that. You need a support network. And I’m your biggest fan.”

  “You are?”

  “Apart from your family. What do they think of your issues with Erospace?”

  “I’m afraid to tell them,” said Jill. “They know I’ve put all my savings into it. And the nonnas aren’t even sure they approve of what I do. They tsk a lot when I talk about it. So I quit talking about it.” She sighed. “I’m usually such a fighter. But I find I’m giving up so easily. It’s not the Mancini way.”

  “It’s not,” said Greer, “and I think I know why Erospace is losing steam. Let’s go into my office. I have some news for you.” She’d spent the past two weeks seriously distracting herself from missing Ford by immersing herself in her job.

  “I’m not sure I want news,” Jill said meekly when they got to her desk.

  Greer turned to her. “You can’t keep hiding from your old boyfriend,” she said. “How’s Harry?”

  Jill brightened. “Oh, he’s great. He went on a golf trip to Myrtle Beach, and—”

  “I know you like him,” Greer interrupted, “but you shouldn’t be texting your boyfriend’s old bodyguard. He’s not the person you really need to talk to. Don’t you want resolution? I promise you—you’ll have way more energy to tackle your Erospace issues if you can iron out other areas of your life, including the romantic side.”

  She should know. She was in a rut romantically herself. So she was focusing every bit of determination she had to make sure she was more successful than ever at Two Love Lane. No way was she going to fall apart on all fronts.

  Jill hesitated, then nodded. “You’re
right.”

  Greer pulled up a file on Jill’s business baron. “He’s in New York this entire week at the conference. Let’s get on a plane, rent a hotel room. I’ll take you all the way to the door of where he’s staying or lecturing, and then you’re going to march in and say your piece.”

  “But … what’s my piece?” Jill asked, her face pale.

  Greer shrugged. “I don’t know. But it will come to you on the plane ride. That’s your metric, Jill. Maybe you’ve been using your flying phobia as an excuse not to face whether you want to commit to this guy.”

  “That’s not fair. It’s a real phobia.”

  “And if your love for him is real, it will come to a head, and you will choose one over the other.”

  Jill made a face. “I thought love advisors would be soft, gentle people.”

  “Nope,” said Greer. “Not always.”

  “What about your own love life?” Jill asked, a bit of accusation in her tone. “Twice I’ve tried to chat with you about it, at Harris Teeter by the produce section—but you ran away—and at Roastbusters, where you managed to change the subject. I asked Ella, too, and she told me you’re freezing everyone out.”

  “Right now, we’re focusing on you,” said Greer, feeling prim and defensive. “And you can tell your sister my door at work is open at all times if she’d like to chat.”

  “Except for the times you’ve had it locked the past two weeks, which she said you’ve done every day, pretending you’re too busy to talk.” Jill grinned fondly. “Hey, I’m just giving you a taste of your own medicine.”

  Greer released the tension in her shoulders and shot Jill an apologetic smile. “You’re right. Maybe we can help each other. You’re unlike any client I’ve ever had, and I’m learning a lot from you.”

  “You’re the best.” Jill gave her a hug. “I’d love to help you, too.”

  “All right, then. I’m going to buy our plane tickets, courtesy of Two Love Lane, and you need to clear your schedule for the next two days. We’re headed to New York.”