At the Corner of Love and Heartache

by Curtiss Ann Matlock

  It was her mother. “Hello, dear…I won’t bother you but a minute.”

  “You aren’t botherin’ me, Mom. What is it?” Marilee tucked the receiver in her neck and proceeded to save her documents to a separate disk.

  Her mother was saying, “Well, it won’t take me but a few minutes. I know you are busy. Vella called up here this morning to get my list of people to invite to the wedding.”

  Vella had called her mother? Oh dear. Marilee stopped her endeavors with the computer and took hold of the receiver.

  She had not thought about Vella possibly contacting her mother. Not that she had meant to hide the fact that her aunt Vella was organizing the wedding; she just hadn’t intended to purposely tell her mother. Marilee experienced a panic, having the sudden vision of her mother and Aunt Vella vying over control of the wedding plans, something along the lines of World War III breaking out between the women. This scenario included yelling, spitting and hair-pulling.

  “Vella told me she was helping you with the wedding.” That sat there.

  “Yes.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  The line hummed for some seconds. “Well, I told her to be sure and invite the Mathesons and Cora Smith, who I used to live next door to down there. And my pastor and his wife, and of course everyone from Carl’s store.”

  Marilee closed her eyes. “We’re just having a small wedding, Mom. Just immediate family and close friends.”

  “Betty Matheson has been my best friend for fifteen years now. And I’ve known Cora Smith since I was ten years old. She knew Mama. She’ll be hurt if she doesn’t get an invitation. There are manners, Marilee. Probably hardly anyone from the store will come, but it’s rude not to invite them. It would make Carl look bad. And Vella did ask me. I tell you what, that is my list, just do what you want to.”

  “We’ll be keeping it down, Mom, but I’ll make sure and invite the Mathesons, and Cora.”

  “You can’t invite the Mathesons and not Pastor Ames. The Mathesons are members of our church. And Carl will feel badly if you don’t invite the people from his store. I guess if you want to not invite people, don’t invite Cora and the Mathesons, but do include Pastor Ames. And you have to invite Carl’s manager, Roger Gaither.

  “No, on second thought, Invite the Mathesons, Roger Gaither, and Cora and Pastor, but you know Cora won’t come—she hardly gets out anymore—so you’ll still have only the others.”

  Marilee swallowed. “We’ll invite them all, Mom. We’ll need you to provide addresses, though.”

  “I told Vella I’d have them to her by tomorrow. I wish she would have told me earlier.”

  Marilee wondered if she and Tate could elope. They had considered it briefly. Maybe they should reconsider.

  “Well, the other thing I wanted to speak to you about is your wedding present,” her mother said in a more forceful tone.

  “What about my wedding present?” was all she could think to ask. It seemed a little greedy to expect a present, and a little ungrateful to say she did not want one. Oh, this wedding was becoming a thorough nuisance. She had experience with being engaged and calling it off, but no experience with weddings.

  “Carl and I have decided we want to pay for your wedding.”

  Marilee sucked in a breath. “Pay for the wedding? Oh, Mom, I don’t think that is necessary.”

  “Of course it isn’t necessary, Marilee. This is what we want to do. And this way you don’t have to worry about expenses or trying so hard to keep it small.”

  “It isn’t the money, Mom. I want a small, intimate wedding.” Crowds had always made her nervous.

  “How much did you plan on spending?”

  “I don’t know.” She felt silly, not having thought this through. “I’m having Margaret Wyatt make my dress, and then Corrine will have to have a dress, and Willie Lee a suit.” Quite suddenly she began to see that she did need to make a budget. She grabbed a pad and began making notes to consult with Vella.

  “What about your bridesmaids’ dresses?”

  “I’m just having one—Charlotte is standing up with me.” But maybe it was required that Marilee purchase a dress for Charlotte.

  Her mother answered that. “Dear, it is the bride’s part to pay for the dress of her attendant…and there are invitations, and the flowers and the photographer.”

  Yikes! Marilee hadn’t thought at all of the photographer. Maybe Reggie would do it as a favor.

  “There’s the reception hall,” said her mother. “And you could really enjoy a live band. Betty’s daughter had a band at her wedding. It really adds to everything.”

  “A band?” Good heavens. “No, Mom, we aren’t having that elaborate an affair. Just cake and punch. It’s going to be simple and small, like I said, and we’re havin’ the whole thing at the church. We are using china and crystal, though,” she added, knowing her mother would appreciate that.

  “How about if you just send me your bills?”

  “Oh, no. No, I can’t do that.” She imagined her mother poring over every receipt and shaking her head. “How about if you pay for my dress? I’d really like that, Mom.”

  At that particular moment, Vella breezed in the front door. Marilee waved at her, while trying to keep her mind on the conversation with her mother, who was saying maybe she would have her bank simply transfer money into Marilee’s account.

  “Mother, you don’t need to do that. My dress is not terribly fancy. The material is a little expensive, but there isn’t any beading or anything. I’ll find out a cost on it and let you know.”

  “Marilee,” her mother said with unaccustomed firmness, “I want to pay for the entire wedding, just like Vella wants to help you with all she is doing. I want to help, and this is my way. It is what I can do.”

  Her words and tone struck deep into Marilee, who, after a minute got out, “Okay, Mom. I would appreciate it very much.”

  “Good.” She heard the pleasure in her mother’s voice. “I think, then, dear, since you say it will be small, I will have the bank transfer five thousand into your account. That is our present to you. Use it how you will, and if you go over, I’ll send down another two thousand.”

  Marilee sucked in a breath. “Mom, that is way too much.”

  Vella was hovering. “How much?”

  There was a pause on the line, and then, “Dear, I want to do this. Please let me do this for my daughter.”

  Her mother’s sincere tone brought tears to her eyes. “Thank you, Mom.”

  “You’re very welcome.” Her mother was happy again. “And get lots of pictures for me to see when I come back from the cruise.”

  “I will.”

  The two made their goodbyes, and, breathing deeply, Marilee hung up.

  Vella, who had plopped herself on the end of the couch and was kicking off her shoes, said, “However much she is giving you, she can afford it. So how much is it?”

  Marilee, who was considering exactly what to reveal to Vella about her mother’s rivalry, told her.

  “Oh, good. Now we can get a live band.”

  Marilee looked at her.

  “It was your mother’s idea, and I told her that would be a little costly. Isn’t it nice that she took the hint?”

  “Vella!”

  “Marilee, your mother wanted instantly to help, and her way is to give you money. You can use it. Let her do this.”

  Aunt Vella eyed her. “It makes her feel good about herself, sugar. You hardly let your mother do anything for you. You hardly ever let anyone do for you. That is false pride. It is how you keep people from getting close to you.”

  Marilee gazed at her aunt, whose eyes did not waver.

  “Now lay that pride aside. Take this gift from your mother graciously, thank her heartily, and enjoy it. You will be giving her the gift of a part in your life…of being helpful to you for a change.”

  The wedding preparations were well and truly under way. Marilee took twenty minutes to confer with Vella at the kitchen
table.

  “Margaret is set to do the dress and will search out the fabric and bring us samples. I gave Fred Grace a bare-bones idea of what we wanted in the way of vases and flowers, and he’s working up an estimate. Bonita Embree will do the cake—white, with chocolate chips,” Vella said.

  “Tate okayed the invitations, and I’ve ordered them,” she went on. “They will be ready on Thursday. I’m going to ask Belinda to address the envelopes. She has beautiful handwriting.” She tapped her pencil on her lips. “We’ve got to get them in the mail before the end of the week. On second thought, you and I will have to do the addressing. Belinda is too slow.”

  “How many people did Tate come up with?”

  “Oh, with couples, I figure about fifty-five or sixty, give or take a few.”

  Marilee stared at her.

  “With your mother’s list, that brings us to seventy-five, give or take a few. And you do know it is the custom to invite the entire church? We don’t have to send out invitations, though. We simply have an announcement put in the bulletin.”

  Vella made a note on her pad, then looked up to see Marilee staring at her.

  “Sugar, don’t worry. Only about half of these people will actually show up. And these will be the ones who love you.”

  Leaning forward, she laid her hand over Marilee’s. “I think you should realize that you and Tate do have a certain standing in the town. And these people really care about you. They are happy for you and want to rejoice with you, sugar.

  “You have never let yourself be fully happy. Do so now. Let yourself be happy and celebrate this time, Marilee.”

  It was sprinkling, so she drove to the paper, and just as she pulled into a space at the front sidewalk, it became a downpour. Impatient and determined to make the noon deadline—Marilee was habitually late and frequently taken to task for this by Charlotte—she raced through the rain and in the door, calling out to Charlotte, “I am on time this Monday.”

  Ever since Vella had spoken about allowing herself to be fully happy, she had been trying to see what that felt like. She smiled at Charlotte and produced her computer disk, as well as the folder with the paper copies. She could have sent the files directly from her computer, but she was not as yet comfortable with this. She always had an odd feeling, as if her articles were going off into outer space. She preferred to hand them personally to Charlotte and Tate.

  Charlotte did not look up from her computer monitor.

  “I’m on time,” Marilee repeated as she laid the file folder and disk on the counter in front of Charlotte’s desk.

  “Yep,” Charlotte said. That was all.

  “How are you today, Charlotte?”

  Charlotte glanced at her over her glasses. “In a hurry. It is deadline day.”

  “Yes, it is. I’ll take these on into Tate.” Marilee picked up the disk and folder again, then hurried off to Tate’s office.

  “I brought my pieces.” She went to put the disk on his desk, which she saw was covered with black-and-white photographs. Before she could see what they were, however, he was up, shutting the door, taking her into his arms and kissing her.

  Afterward, she laid her head on his chest. Just for a few seconds. She felt a thorough happiness for those seconds, too. Maybe that was how happiness came, in seconds, and one had to take note or one missed them.

  She looked down to the photographs again. Stuart’s, she thought, her eyes falling on a shot of the Goodnight’s neon sign.

  There were shots of the local motel’s exterior and interior, and pictures of three other motels that appeared to date from the forties and fifties and were still in operation over on State Highway 81, Tate told her. Each had the explanatory text in Stuart’s precise printing.

  “He’s captured the lingering glory under the shabbiness,” Tate said, admiration in his voice. “He’s good at what he does.”

  “He always was.”

  “He’s lettin’ us have these for nothing, except his byline.”

  “That’s generous of him.”

  “Well, it isn’t likely that printing them in a small local paper will keep one of the big magazines from buying his complete article. He’s going down to get some shots from some places in Texas. He’s decided to concentrate on towns along Highway 81—the Meridian Highway. Route 66 has been done to death.

  “Oh, by the way, he wanted me to tell you that he’s goin’ down to Texas for the next couple of days, so don’t look for him.”

  “He’s left town?” She was surprised.

  “Yes. He said he’ll be back Wednesday evening.” Tate studied her, and she averted her gaze downward again, at the photographs.

  Why hadn’t Stuart called her himself? She opened her mouth to ask Tate, but closed it. There was no need to question Tate about her ex-husband’s motives. Of course, there was no particular reason for Stuart to speak directly to her, no need for her to be overly sensitive. Likely he would return, and in any case, it wouldn’t matter if he did not.

  “When are you going to print these?” she asked of the photographs.

  “Starting them on Sunday. Gonna run a series of three. Put them in their own pullout insert,” he said, eager and proud as a boy with a new toy.

  It came as something of a surprise to experience a quiet evening. The children were in bed early, and she and Tate were alone. There was nothing like a good rain to slow things down. There came a pleasant pattering on the windows and roof, while they sat together on the sofa in front of a crackling fire.

  Tate, kneeling and poking at the fire, said, “Do you realize we’ve barely been alone since my mother and your ex-husband arrived last week?”

  “Yes. So don’t waste time frittering with that fire, when you can sit here and fritter with me.” She was really becoming bold in her honesty.

  His smile thrilled her. He positioned himself next to her and pulled her into the curve of his shoulder.

  “Oh, this is so nice,” she said, sighing deeply and nestling close.

  He nuzzled her ear and whispered, “Mmm, yes, ma’am, it is.”

  After a few minutes, she said, “What do you think of eloping?” She twisted and looked at him.

  “Eloping?” His eyebrows went up, and the fire-light reflected in his wide eyes.

  “Yes. We could elope and not bother with a wedding.” She again laid her head on his shoulder. He wore a cotton flannel shirt that was worn soft and carried his scent.

  “I will do whatever you want to do, Marilee. The wedding will be nice, but it isn’t essential. But we would have to face Vella, and now your mother.” She had told him about her mother’s gift of the wedding costs. “I don’t know about that. I guess it depends on how badly you want to elope.”

  She sighed and thought of Corrine’s face that evening, when told she would be the flower girl, which was Vella’s idea.

  “I just want it to be peaceful, like right now. This wedding—” she twisted to look at him “—there’s more to it than I had imagined. It’s like when a woman buys a dress. A new dress means one must have new shoes, and the new shoes have to have a bag to match, and sometimes one must have a sweater or coat to match all that. It all just grows.

  “We should have just eloped the day we decided to get married.” She flopped back against him.

  He said, “We could elope, get it over with and still have the wedding.”

  “What would that accomplish? We would still be having the wedding.”

  They fell quiet.

  “Maybe I should tell you,” he said.

  “Tell me what?”

  “No, I don’t think I should tell you. Spoil the surprise.”

  “You have to tell me now.” Again she twisted to look at him.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “Nah…you can wait.”

  “I won’t leave you alone unless you tell me.” She began nibbling on his ear and slipping her hand seductively inside his shirt.

  “I can take it,”
he said, smiling broadly and showing how much he enjoyed her caresses.

  “Oh, tell me, Tate. There, now I’ve begged.”

  He grinned. “Okay. I have a honeymoon booked at Walt Disney World. I don’t have everything finalized, but we’re gonna have the luxury suite, with the kids right across the sitting room from us, and a room for the nanny.”

  “A nanny?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Fully qualified, with references. It’s sleeping late, breakfast in bed, champagne with dinner. Top of the line all the way…if that is agreeable with you. It is all contingent on you accepting the idea, too.”

  “Oh, Tate.” She stared at him. “You planned for the children to come on our honeymoon?” What manner of man was she about to marry?

  “I want their mother’s undivided attention. I’m no fool. And since we’re startin’ this thing out as a family, we might as well get used to the concept.”

  She laughed and hugged him so hard that he had to caution her not to break his neck or wake up the children with her excitement.

  “Boy, I sure wish the wedding date would hurry up and get here.” She was ready to get on with the honeymoon.

  “Anticipation, remember?” he said, with a wicked gleam in his eye, as he pulled her across his lap.

  A while later they broke apart, both breathless and perspiring, gazing longingly at each other.

  “I do want the wedding,” she said in a soft voice, as if hesitant at admitting too great a desire. “I do,” she said more firmly and daringly. “I want to celebrate this that we’ve found, Tate.”

  She could not express what she felt she had found. The single word, love, seemed not to cover it. It was so precious, so far beyond her understanding.

  “I want to honor our marriage, and to share the joy with our friends.” She had wanted this all along but had been afraid to speak of it, as if, once spoken, the powers that were always ready to snatch away dreams would surely snatch this one.

  “We’ll do it,” he said with conviction.

  She sighed and laid her head against him, staring into the fire. Why did she always feel the other shoe was about to fall? Why could she not simply accept the happiness, without feeling guilty or anxious, and that she was in some way going to have to pay dearly for it?