Chapter 18
INGRID
Rush, rush, rush—I feel like I’m racing the clock right now. So many last-minute details when every second is precious. If only I were as organized as Jenny. Her brain actually seems to think in a straight line, where I tend to run around like a headless chicken at times. Even so, I am good at putting on a confident exterior. And somehow I convince people that things are under control. And it almost is.
Finally it all seems tied down, and it’s time to round up everyone for the photo shoot. I’m doing a quick head count to make sure they’re all here when I feel a little tap on my shoulder. I turn to see Jason standing behind me, wearing his best suit and a bright smile on his face.
“I made it, babe!”
I try not to look as irritated as I feel. And why is that? I remind myself once again that this guy is my fiancé and I’m supposed to be nice to him. “Oh, hi, Jason,” I say in a cheerful tone that sounds pretty fake to my own ears. “I’m so glad you made it.”
He leans down and pecks me on the cheek. “Yeah, me too.”
Then I lower my voice. “But, uh, you’re not supposed to be in here for the photo shoot. Wedding party members only, you know.”
He frowns. “I just wanted to say hey and to let you know I got here all right. I thought you might appreciate that.”
I force another smile and nod. “Yeah, thanks. But you better beat it before the photographer’s assistant tries to put you in one of the photos.” Or just beat it altogether. I blink and wonder if I actually said that last line. But he seems okay, so I guess I didn’t. Watch yourself, Ingrid!
“See you later then.” He turns and leaves, and I feel incredibly guilty.
“Is that the lucky guy?” asks Patrick as he makes a bad attempt to pin his boutonnière on his lapel. It ends up going sideways.
“Yeah, that’s Jason.” Without even asking, I reach up to help him with the rosebud. But as our hands brush, I feel a warmth running through me. I quickly adjust the pin, then step away “Yeah, that looks good now.”
“Thanks.” Then he walks over to join the other groomsmen and ushers. The guys are clustered around Michael, joking and teasing and basically acting like a bunch of middle-school kids. But I have to admit it’s kind of cute.
“Are you okay?” Lana asks me. “You look a little flushed. Coming down with something? Or just too much sun by the pool?”
“I’m fine,” I tell her. Then I go over to help Jenny with her veil. It seems to have come undone on one side.
“It’s weird,” Jenny tells me as I replace the loose hairpin. “I don’t feel nervous.”
“Seriously?”
“Not really. Oh, I’m a little tingly and slightly lightheaded, but—”
“When did you last eat?” I ask suddenly.
“What?”
“When did you last eat, Jenny?”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Right.” I turn to Lana. “Go get Jenny a soda—and not a diet one. She needs something with a little sugar in it. We don’t want her passing out when it’s time to say ‘I do.’”
“I won’t faint,” Jenny assures me.
“Hey, I’d rather be safe than sorry.”
Jenny hugs me. “You’re such a good maid of honor, Ingrid. I can’t wait to pay you back at your wedding.”
I have no idea what expression I’m wearing, but whatever it is makes Jenny look a bit worried. “What is it, Ingrid?” she asks.
I shrug. “Not now, Jenny. This is your day.”
“You and Jason?” Her eyes look troubled. “Is something wrong?”
“No, no.” I actually lie to my best friend. But it’s only to spare her from being distracted by my troubles. “Were fine, really. It’s just that I want to focus on you today.”
She smiles again. “Thanks.”
I mentally thump myself in the forehead. Do not do that again. What was I thinking—allowing myself to be so transparent? Obviously I wasn’t thinking at all. Flaky, flaky, flaky.
I continue to help the assistant round up the right candidates for the right photos, and I’m amazed at how many ways you can arrange various groups of people. I’m sure there must be some mathematical formula for all the variations, but I have no idea how it works. I’m just glad that so far we’re on schedule. I’m also glad to stay so busy that I can’t focus on my own problems. And before long, we’re heading outside for the larger group shots.
As I walk across the grass, I spy Jason, sitting by himself in the shade near the lodge. And for a moment I feel sorry for him. I mean, after all, I am his fiancée, and he came here today mostly for my sake, and then I go and brush him off like that. What is wrong with me? Then I study him a bit longer, and I feel another emotion rising in me. Irritation. But why is that? It’s like I really don’t want him here today, like I think he’s an interference or a nuisance or something. What’s up with that? And when did I turn into such a horrible person?
“Ingrid,” calls one of the bridesmaids, “I need help with this bouquet.”
So I hurry over, to discover that the ribbon has disengaged itself from the flowers. I fiddle with it until I finally get it back into place. “There,” I tell her. “That should hold it together for a couple of hours.”
“How about you?” says Patrick.
“Huh?”
“You going to be able to hold it together for a couple of hours?”
I’m sure my face looks stunned as I stare up at him. How on earth does he know what’s going on inside me?
“Just kidding,” he says with a teasing grin.
“Oh yeah, right.”
Then he pats me on the back. “Hang in there, Ingrid. It’ll all be over before you know it.”
And maybe he’s right. Maybe it will all be over before I know it. But I’m not sure if I’m thinking about Jenny’s wedding or my engagement.
Chapter 19
LAURA
Why isn’t Amy here?” asks David as we stand together on the grooms side for another one of the big family photos. “I didn’t think babies were welcome,” I say quietly as I force a continuous smile that is making my face ache.
“She’s part of the family,” he shoots back without turning his head. “She’s the groom’s only niece. She should be in the photos, Laura.”
“Yes, I know that, David.” But my words sound like a hiss as I hold my lips together and grin like a gargoyle.
I see his head turn slightly, then back forward. “You okay?” he whispers.
I don’t say anything. I just stare directly ahead with that sorry excuse for a smile pasted across my lips. I’m not sure why exactly, but something he said, or perhaps it’s the way he said it—anyway, it hurt my feelings. And suddenly I feel like it’s me against them again. As if David has suddenly switched sides, changing allegiance from Amy and me to his family. And now I feel as if this could be a very long night after all.
It’s times like this when I wonder why I married David Fairbanks. Oh sure, I loved him, and I was idealistic enough to think it could all work out in the end. But my friends and family warned me that it might be a challenge to fit into that kind of a family with that kind of money.
“David’s not like that at all,” I had assured everyone with great confidence. “He’s not into money. He just wants a simple life and to be happy. That’s all.” And that’s what I thought we both wanted when we first started dating back in college. We were education majors, fully aware that you don’t become a teacher to get rich. But we both loved kids. And we loved the idea of investing ourselves in the next generation, including a family of our own. We both believed this was possible to achieve without a lot of money. I still believe it—well, mostly.
And why shouldn’t I? After all, it’s the way I was raised. My parents worked hard to support our family. And we had a pretty good life. Things weren’t perfect, but for the most part I had what I still consider a fairly normal childhood. Wasn’t that good enough?
But as I obs
erve David with his family today, I’m getting worried. I’m afraid he’s being pulled back in by their money, their influence, their hold on him …and soon it really will be them against me.
“Lets get just the men in this next shot,” directs the photographers assistant.
So I move away, along with the rest of the women, but Jenny and the bridesmaids are clustered together, and the two mothers-in-law have paired off. So I go off to the sidelines by myself and just watch. And while I’m watching, I give myself a stern little lecture, telling myself I will not do this; I will not stand here feeling sorry for myself.
The truth is, I really did struggle with the baby blues after Amy was born. Call it postpartum depression or flip-flopping hormones or whatever, but I had a pretty severe case of it. At one point my doctor even suggested antidepressants, but that would’ve meant no more nursing Amy, so I decided to pull myself up by my bootstraps and just toughen up. And until this weekend, I thought I was doing fairly well. And, really, shouldn’t I be beyond the baby blues by now? After all, Amy is almost two months old. It’s time to move on. So what is going on here? Why am I feeling so down? Why do I suddenly feel so certain that David is turning his back on me? Is it reality or just a delusion? I almost wish someone would smack me across the side of the head and tell me to shape up!
But as I stand here watching David with his brother and father and all the guys in the wedding party, I realize how well he fits in with them. I can’t deny how perfectly he fits into their culture. After all, it’s how he was raised.
And I can’t deny that I am a total misfit. I find myself looking at the other women in this crowd, going over the pretty bridesmaids and wondering which of them would be more suitable for David. I’m sure that Catherine has done as much, at least in the past. And maybe she still does it. Perhaps she’s hoping David will discover how incompatible I really am, for him and his fancy family, and eventually dump me. Maybe there’s an impressive young woman waiting in the wings even now. Someone who’s been specially approved by Catherine. Maybe she’s here today.
“Are you all right, dear?”
I turn to see Jenny’s grandma studying my face. “I guess so,” I say.
“You seem a bit sad.” She looks concerned now. “Are you missing that sweet little girl of yours?”
I nod. “Yes, I think that’s part of it.”
She pats my arm. “Well, why not bring her down here? Why not show the pretty little thing off?”
“I plan to do that but not until the wedding is over. Catherine is worried she might cry and disturb things.”
“Oh yes, I see …”
And for some reason, I think she does see. Somehow I think she might understand how I feel. To my surprise, I confess, “I feel so out of place here, Margaret. Like such a fish out of water.”
She smiles now. “Oh, I think most people feel like that …at least some of the time.”
“Really?”
“Certainly. I know I do or rather I used to. Then I got older and perhaps a bit wiser, and I realized that all my fears and worries were mostly things Pd conjured up in my own mind.” She laughs now. “The sad truth is most people spend more time thinking about themselves than about others. Oh, you might imagine they’re thinking about you—perhaps judging you or even criticizing. But I think most of them are concerned about themselves, wondering whether that dress makes her look fat, or whether his tie color is quite right, or if something is stuck in their teeth.”
This actually makes me laugh. “Maybe you’re right.”
“And so I’ve learned to just let things go.” She sighs. “Let go …and let God.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that instead of fretting over things—like what someone may be thinking about you—it’s much more beneficial to pray about it. Hand it over to God, and get on with life.”
I nod. “That actually makes a lot of sense.”
“Let go and let God.”
“Now let’s get a shot of ladies only,” calls out the photographer’s assistant with the authority of an army sergeant or prison warden.
I offer Margaret my arm as we obediently walk back over to the photo-shooting area, and this time my smile feels a tiny bit more authentic, because Pm trying to remember what she just told me. Okay, maybe I have been obsessing a bit. Maybe David’s family really isn’t trying to pull him back into their fold, harboring some diabolical plan to knock me off and replace me with someone more “acceptable”—some impressive young woman who’s been hidden along the sidelines. This ridiculous thought actually makes me smile for real, and I think I may make it through the day after all.
Chapter 20
MARGARET
My part of the photography session is finally over. There’s no denying—at least to myself—that this event is a bit taxing for my old bones, not to mention my heart. I think I’ve done a fairly good job of concealing my weariness this afternoon. Or so I hope. When my son asked how I was doing, I told him I’d never felt better. And in some ways this is true. My spirit is light and cheerful today. It’s only my body that seems to be dragging.
At the moment, all I want to do is sit down and take a load off. I notice a few wedding guests are already taking their seats, so I slowly make my way across the neatly mowed lawn until I reach the area where row upon row of white chairs are arranged in a gentle U shape, all facing the lake. There are several white arbors in place along the center aisle, with green vines and pale pink, lavender, and white flowers trailing over them, so naturally one might think they’d actually grown there. But I happen to know firsthand that this is the result of clever florists who were already fast at work early this morning.
“Aren’t you one of Jenny’s cousins?” I ask the familiar-looking, handsome young man in the tuxedo as he takes my arm.
“That’s right,” he says as he shows me to some chairs off to the side. “I’m Patrick Anderson. Jenny’s mom and my mom are sisters.”
“Of course,” I say with realization, but I don’t comment on how he’s grown up so quickly, since my own children always hated it when elderly people made those kinds of comments. “Elizabeth is your mom. She’s such a nice woman.”
He grins. “Have to agree with you there. This is where you’ll sit until it’s time for the formal seating. Okay?”
I smile and feel my limbs relax as I gratefully lower myself onto the wooden folding chair. “Wonderful.”
He politely nods to me, then returns, I assume, to his position. There are only a handful of people seated, but I don’t mind. After all, the view is spectacular with the lake and the mountains stretched out in front of me. Really a fantastic setting for Jenny’s wedding. And what a lovely wedding it will be.
Weddings have always been nostalgic for me. And as I sit here, I am flooded with memories of the various weddings I’ve attended. Not excluding my own, although I still feel a trace of sadness as I recall our rather insignificant little affair in the courthouse. I know it’s silly after all these years, but I suppose I still regret not having a bigger wedding. Of course, everyone was getting married quickly and simply back in the war years. I can’t think of how many friends got married at city hall just as we did. Or if they had an actual wedding, it was usually quite small and intimate.
The truth is, I had always dreamed of a big white wedding. I’d seen some lovely ones in the movies while growing up, and I even had a specific style in mind for my wedding gown. It was going to be heavy white satin with a sweetheart neckline, puffed sleeves that narrowed at the wrists, a tiny fitted waist (since mine was much smaller back then), and a long flowing gown. And, oh yes, it would have satin-covered buttons down the back and a long train.
I actually tried to talk my daughter, Karen, into a gown like that when she decided to get married in the early seventies, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Karen and Richard were “flower children” who insisted on getting married barefoot in the park. Her simple dress was of unbleached muslin and looked like somethi
ng a peasant girl might’ve worn a few centuries earlier. Richard wore a full beard and a fringed leather vest. They had a college friend perform the ceremony and even wrote and recited their own vows. In some ways it was quite touching, even if it was a bit unconventional. Unfortunately their marriage lasted only a year. After that, Karen left the country to study transcendental meditation with a guru in Nepal. Her life went in all kinds of unusual directions until she died of leukemia in late 1983. That was a hard year. The only good thing was that her illness forced her to come home to us—the first time she’d spent that much time with her family since she was a teenager. But I would gladly have given up that precious time with her in exchange for her life. Of course, those are not my decisions to make.
Although it was a difficult year, it was also a year of healing for our entire family. So in some ways, I will never regret that era. In other ways, I still find myself grieving at times. Calvin took Karen’s death much harder than I did. I thought the poor man was going to die of a broken heart. He had always blamed himself for Karen’s waywardness. She had become very rebellious as a teenager, and Calvin was always trying to put his foot down. He actually thought he could control her. But not our Karen. She was truly a free spirit, and the world was her oyster. Although her life was short, she did get to do and see a lot—she lived life her way, on her terms. It was only at the end, when she knew it wouldn’t be long, that she got her heart right with God. For that I will be forever thankful.
I glance up at the sky. The truest blue with a few white puffy clouds drifting past. I wonder if Calvin and Karen are together up there right now, looking down on Jenny’s wedding. Karen celebrating for the niece she barely knew and Calvin rejoicing for his favorite grandchild’s big day. And I realize again that it won’t be long until I am with them. What a reunion that will be! Sometimes it feels as if I am living in two worlds, with a foot in the past as I remember my loved ones and a foot in the future as I long to be reunited with them.
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