Long Time Coming

by Rochelle Alers

  “What do you think is bothering him, Edgar?” she asked when they were alone.

  Edgar’s brow knitted in a frown. “I don’t know. Perhaps we should back off for a while. If he wants to talk, then he’ll come to one of us.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Rosalind mumbled under her breath. She had an idea of what had Micah distracted but decided to reserve comment.

  * * *

  Micah knocked on the door to his father’s study, waiting for him to acknowledge his presence. As expected, he was jotting down notes from his law books. “Dad, can you spare a few minutes?”

  Edgar rose to his feet, waving him in. “Of course I can. Come on in.”

  The two men sat down on matching leather chairs, facing each other. The study had become Edgar’s sanctuary and museum. A number of tables held scaled-down models of sailing ships, from Chinese junks to frigates. Built-in floor-to-ceiling bookcases were packed with law journals, books, copies of briefs. The shelves on one wall were crowded with notebooks, report cards, book reports, papers, theses, a dissertation, drawings, finger-painted posters and doodlings, chronicling his sons’ and daughter’s education from pre-K through college.

  It was in this room that he graded papers, researched arcane laws, conferred with some of the state’s most brilliant legal minds. And it was also where he’d sternly lectured his children whenever they’d broken curfew or failed to achieve the grades equal to their aptitude.

  Pressing his hands together between his knees, Micah stared at the fading pattern of the Turkish rug under his sock-covered feet. “I need your advice on something,” he said quietly.

  Edgar’s impassive expression did not change. “Is it advice or my opinion?”

  Micah’s head came up and he met his father’s steady gaze. “It’s not about the law.”

  The older man’s mouth curved into an unconscious smile. “If it’s not the law, then it must be a woman.”

  A muscle quivered at Micah’s jaw. “It is.”

  Leaning forward, Edgar reached out, resting a hand on his son’s knee. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had to concern myself with matters of the heart. I’m honored you trust me enough to confide in me.”

  “This isn’t about me, Dad.”

  “If not you, then who is it about?”

  “Tessa Whitfield.”

  Edgar’s fingers tightened before he withdrew his hand. “What does she have to do with you?”

  “We’ve been seeing each other.”

  A flash of humor crossed Edgar’s face. “You’re dating Bridget’s wedding planner.” His question came out like a statement. Micah inclined his head. “How long have you dated her?”

  “We met for the first time in October.”

  “You’re talking less than three months. You’re practically strangers. So what’s the problem?”

  Much to his chagrin, Micah laughed. “It’s ironic you say that because tonight she called me a stranger.”

  Edgar sobered quickly, crossing one leg over the opposite knee. “Talk to me, son.” He listened, as he’d done when he sat on the bench hearing cases ranging from petty misdemeanors to felony murder. He’d spent less than a decade in the criminal court before opting for a professorship at a law school.

  “Do you love her, Micah?” Though he didn’t answer, his son’s expression said he did. “Why is it so hard to tell the woman you love her?”

  “It’s because I don’t want it to happen again.”

  “What are you talking about?” Again Micah didn’t answer. Because I don’t want it to happen again. Edgar replayed Micah’s statement over and over in his head, suddenly realizing why his son couldn’t have a healthy relationship with a woman. Despite all he and Rosalind had given him, Micah still did not trust a woman enough not to abandon him.

  Rising to his feet, he walked over to his desk and opened a drawer. He took out an envelope that had yellowed with age and handed it to Micah. “I probably should’ve given this to you years ago, but I felt it wasn’t necessary because I didn’t want to open up old wounds.”

  Micah took the envelope. “What’s in it?”

  “Open it, son.”

  He lifted the flap and removed a single sheet of lined paper. There were four short sentences and a signature written with the broad point of a pencil. The words were barely legible: Please take care of my son. His name is Micah. I cannot take care of him because I am not well and I don’t want to hurt him. He is a good boy who needs a good home. Evelyn Howard.

  Micah closed his eyes, pressing a fist to his mouth. He remembered his mother slipping a piece of paper in his jacket pocket, but at four he wouldn’t have been able to read any of the words.

  He lowered his hand. “What did she mean that she didn’t want to hurt me?”

  “I don’t know—and I guess we’ll never know.”

  “Was I physically abused?”

  Edgar shook his head. “There was never any evidence of physical abuse. When Rosalind and I first brought you home you were much smaller than most children your age, but within a year you were in limits of all the milestones.” Shifting his chair, he moved it closer to Micah’s. “Your biological mother loved you, and because she did she left you in a safe environment. She could’ve taken a bus, gotten off in the middle of nowhere and walked away, leaving you in harm’s way. Before your adoption was finalized I had an investigator check out every Evelyn Howard who’d given birth to a baby boy in the entire state of New Jersey with the birthdate and address you’d given the social worker, but he came up blank. I wanted to reassure Rosalind that once she got her son there wasn’t going to be someone who’d come to claim you.”

  Micah didn’t know why, but he felt like shouting at the top of his lungs. Evelyn Howard or whoever she was hadn’t abandoned him after all. She’d left him at the hospital because she couldn’t care for him.

  He returned the note to the envelope and handed it back to Edgar. “Thanks, Dad.”

  Edgar stared at the envelope. “What do you want me to do with it?”

  “Shred it, burn it. I don’t care.”

  “Where are you going?” he asked when Micah stood up and headed for the door.

  “I have to make a telephone call.”

  Taking the stairs two at a time, Micah marched into his bedroom to retrieve his cell phone. Scrolling through the directory, he punched in Tessa’s number, counting off the rings until he heard her voice-mail greeting. Not bothering to leave a message, he called her cell phone. Again he got her voice mail.

  A knowing smile deepened the lines around his eyes. There was no doubt she was avoiding him, but she couldn’t elude him forever. There was just a little matter of Bridget’s wedding.

  * * *

  Tessa felt a lump in her chest where her heart lay as she identified herself, speaking into the microphone attached to a post outside the gates leading to the Sanborn property. It’d taken a little more than a week of telling herself to get over Micah Sanborn. What they’d had was a fling, a very passionate fling based on friendship with a few fringe benefits. She couldn’t deny she had fallen in love with him, yet unlike her association with Bryce, she’d gone into the relationship knowing what to expect. However, in less than four hours she would come face-to-face with Micah Sanborn again for the very last time.

  The gates opened and she drove through. Several vans were parked alongside the house. The vendors she’d hired to decorate the house and set up the tables had arrived. There hadn’t been a need for her to arrive early to oversee their work because they knew exactly what she wanted and expected for her clients.

  Rosalind, her hair coiffed for the evening’s festivities, was waiting for her when she alighted from her truck. “Welcome, Tessa. You look beautiful.”

  Tessa gave her the first genuine smile she’d been able to summon in days. She’d shared Christmas dinner with her family in Mount Vernon, smiling and responding when necessary. She’d become the consummate actress, because no one suspected that she’d
banished from her life a man she had fallen in love with.

  “Thank you, Rosalind. Your hair is exquisite.” Rosalind’s silver hair was styled to feather around her small, round face.

  Tessa wore one of her “wedding” uniforms: black silk tunic with silk frogs running diagonally from neckline to hem, quilted cuffed sleeves and side slits, over a pair of matching slacks and low-heeled suede quilted pumps. Her stylist had cut her hair, applied a gel and lifted the remaining curls with her fingers to give it a modified spiked appearance. At first Tessa thought it too extreme, but the next day she’d discovered she liked her new look. In a matter of hours she would celebrate a new year, and what better way than with a new look?

  Her smile in place, she stepped into the entryway. All of the furniture in the living room had been removed, leaving only a table that would double as an altar for the ceremony.

  The railing to the elaborate winding staircase was entwined with white calla lilies, cosmos, orchids, gardenias and deep magenta roses, the same flowers that made up Bridget’s bridal bouquet. A four-tier wedding cake, with layers of red velvet, carrot, mocha and hazelnut fillings, sat on a lace-covered table in a corner. Delicate piping adorned the sides of the stunning white fondant-covered creation that gave it a look of heirloom quality. Bouquets of white and black roses, softly curling white ribbon and green leaves, all made with piped royal icing, surrounded the first layer and remaining three layers. Nestled cozily amidst the pastillage flowers between the top two tiers was a charming miniature of a bride and groom. On closer inspection Tessa saw that the bride wore an exact replica of Bridget’s wedding gown. Cake designer Faith Whitfield had gotten every detail right. All of the guests would receive souvenirs of the cake with their favorite filling presented in pale gray boxes tied with black satin bows.

  Tessa followed Rosalind into the formal dining room. She’d ordered white, black and silver paper lanterns be suspended from specially constructed scaffolding that created a beautiful canopy over the dining room and connecting ballroom. It was the first time she’d suggested using the lanterns, and the effect was stunning.

  “I like it.”

  “Bridget and Seth like them, too,” Rosalind confirmed. “Come check out the seating arrangements.”

  The bridal table was set on a raised platform in the ballroom with a rectangular table with seating for eight. Bridget and Seth had requested that their parents sit at the bridal table.

  Family members and guests would sit at five rectangular tables that were surrounded by the same number of round tables, each seating ten. Straight-backed chairs swathed in alternating black and silver organza repeated Bridget’s Art Deco color scheme. After dinner, some of the tables and chairs would be removed to allow room for dancing.

  Workers were covering the tables with tablecloths and centerpieces of stalks of bamboo held together with red satin ribbon in delicate cylindrical vases set in the middle of a quartet of small rectangular glasses filled with black shiny marbles and white votive candles. Everyone worked in silent, practiced precision, putting out place settings with crystal stemware, silver and china.

  Tessa followed Rosalind down a hallway that led into the smaller of the two kitchens, where the caterer and her staff were preparing dishes for the cocktail hour.

  “How is Bridget holding up?”

  Rosalind clucked her tongue behind her teeth. “I hope she’s better tonight.”

  Tessa’s eyes grew wider. “What happened?”

  “She was so nervous at the rehearsal last night that she kept forgetting her lines. I found a masseuse willing to work on the eve of a holiday. Of course, I had to pay him three times his hourly fee, but it was worth every penny. Right now she’s sleeping sitting up in a chair so she won’t ruin her hairdo.”

  Tessa wanted to ask Rosalind about Micah.

  How was he? Where was he?

  Was he angry because she hadn’t taken his calls?

  “Where’s Edgar?”

  “The menfolk are camped over at Abram’s. Seth and his best man are staying at the hotel with his parents and out-of-town relatives.”

  “Is Melissa here?”

  Rosalind nodded, smiling. “She’s upstairs with Bridget.”

  Pushing back her sleeve, Tessa noted the time. It was four-fifteen. The guests would begin arriving at six for an extended cocktail hour. Seth and Bridget were scheduled to exchange vows at eight, followed by a sit-down dinner and reception.

  The musical program included prerecorded music for the cocktail hour and dinner, while a live band would alternate with a DJ for nonstop music during the reception. Bridget wanted her special day captured on tape and film, so Tessa had to contract with two photographers, one to capture images with his digital camera and the other on videotape.

  An hour later the bartender arrived with his staff, the band with their instruments and sound equipment, followed by the DJ and his electronic equipment.

  Tessa went completely still for several seconds when she thought she heard Micah’s voice behind the closed pocket doors to the dining room. Forcing herself back to the task at hand, she checked and double-checked the names on her clipboard with the place cards at each table. The wedding menu was eclectic. Aside from the ubiquitous prime rib, roast chicken and sole, the caterer offered a white asparagus soup with Tsar Nicoulai sturgeon caviar, Thai-style lobster with grilled black mussels, Kaffir lime-coconut milk infusion, fried Thai basil, bok choy and baby carrots. There were other seafood dishes: chilled marinated lobster with fresh lychee; a mock ravioli of wild salmon carpaccio and avocado topped with caviar and roasted beets; wild-caught prawns with watermelon, Hami melon, serrano ham and watercress; and a smoked salmon roll wrapped in English cucumber with lemon cream and salmon caviar. A raw bar, set up in the living room, offered grapefruit-infused gin, lemon-verbena-and-red-currant-infused vodkas, mignonette-and-lemon gelée, littleneck clams and oysters on the half shell, rock shrimp ceviche and crab-and-celery-root salad.

  The wait staff in white tunics and black slacks filed out of the kitchen carrying cloth-covered trays of risotto-stuffed calamari with black trumpet mushrooms, quail eggs with crème fraîche and caviar on rye-bread crackers. They were followed by others with trays of crab cakes, chilled shrimp with accompanying sauces, puffed pastries and dim sum.

  Rosalind and Edgar had spared no expense to give their daughter a wedding to remember.

  * * *

  Tessa, standing off to the side of the crowd that had gathered in the living room to witness Bridget Sanborn exchange vows with Seth Cohen, caught a glimpse of Micah as he cradled Marisol to his shoulder. Her gaze caressed his broad shoulders under his tuxedo jacket, the stark white collar against the darkness of his throat and the ruggedly handsome profile that she knew with her eyes closed.

  Her gaze shifted to Bridget and Seth as they exchanged vows. Her Signature bride was ravishing with her dark hair pinned up in an elaborate hairdo under her veil. Chandelier diamond earrings dangling from her ears matched the diamond fringe necklace around her neck. Seth’s uncle, a jeweler, had given Bridget the exquisite jewelry ensemble as a wedding gift, while the platinum-and-diamond bangle on her right wrist was an estate piece she’d inherited from Rosalind’s mother.

  There was a strange hush as Seth turned to face Bridget. He’d cut his mop of dark, unruly curls and covered his head with a white yarmulke. “I was not looking for love, but I knew the moment I saw you it became obvious that love had found me. And it took only a matter of weeks for me to tell you that I loved you, I needed you and that I wanted you in my life to make it complete.”

  Tears were streaming down Melissa’s face as she struggled not to break down completely. However, she wasn’t the only one in tears.

  Bridget’s voice was amazingly clear when she looked into the eyes of her groom. “A quote from Helen Keller is most appropriate at this time. ‘The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt in the heart.’ Seth, you’ve touched my heart as
no other man has or ever will. I knew you were the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with because you knew every word to ‘Fields of Gold.’” A smattering of laughter followed her admission. “Love was not on my schedule either, nor was it a necessity. You have come so quickly into my life and have completely taken my heart. I vow on this day before God, our families and loved ones to love you forever as my husband and friend.”

  Tessa, who’d lost count of the number of weddings she’d witnessed, didn’t know what was wrong with her. She, who never cried at weddings, was practically sobbing. Reaching into the pocket of her slacks, she withdrew a tissue to blot her face. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and found Micah staring directly at her. His gaze widened before narrowing. An expressive eyebrow lifted slightly before he averted his eyes to see his sister slip a ring onto Seth’s finger. The minister, the rabbi and the priest placed their hands over the couple’s joined hands and blessed their union.

  Seth and Bridget Sanborn-Cohen turned to face the assembly as husband and wife, their bright smiles mirroring the vows that had come from their hearts as the videographer paused to change a cassette. He and the photographer had begun taking pictures as Rosalind and Melissa had helped Bridget into her gown and accessories while her guests were downstairs eating and drinking.

  The younger children were permitted to witness the wedding and eat at the reception but knew they would have to retreat to the upstairs bedrooms once the dancing began.

  Tessa slipped out of the living room to find the DJ and instruct him to turn on the prerecorded music. The soft selections would play throughout the time when Seth and Bridget would circulate to greet their guests and would continue throughout dinner.

  She hadn’t gone more than ten steps when she felt someone grasp her upper arm. She didn’t have to turn around to know the man holding her was Micah. His warmth and the familiar fragrance of his cologne swept over her.

  “I have to talk to you,” he whispered close to her ear.