by Bryan Mooney
She softened and moved closer to him. “Uncle Bob, you could never do that, and I would be honored to have you wear the full Macgregor colors. Besides, Angus was wearing his Black Watch plaid colors, his Campbell kilt.”
“He was?”
“Aye.”
“Give us a few minutes to get ready, and we’ll be down shortly.”
“Hurry, we don’t have a lot of time.” This was not quite how she had envisioned her wedding day starting off, but she was glad that everybody was here. That was the important thing. Now let’s get to the church before something else happens. Let’s get this over with.
Chapter Fifty-One
The Chapel-by-the-Sea was a small, very quaint, hundred-year-old building set back and secluded from the street, under a huge ancient magnolia tree. In traditional Palm Beach style, the walkway was lined with perfectly trimmed hedges of sea grape bushes. The rear of the chapel overlooked the rolling waves of the Atlantic Ocean. Inside was a small and intimate church with high marble arches. The beautiful blue-and-red stained glass windows cast their wonderful colors on the old stone floor as they caught the warm rays of the Florida sun. It was perfect for a small, intimate wedding.
Angus, dressed in his kilted outfit, walked his wife, Claret, down the aisle, her arm draped over his. She smiled at the assembled crowd. The groomsmen looked handsome in their tuxedoes, as did the bridesmaids in their lovely coral dresses.
Robert strode down the aisle with Coleen on his arm. They looked like the perfect couple. He looked so dashing in his traditional but very formal Highland regalia, his subdued red-plaid Macgregor kilt with his belt and ornate silver clan buckle, his fancy hand-tooled leather sporran, the white kilt shirt, and his traditional brogue shoes. Women turned to watch him walk down the aisle.
At the sight of the traditional Macgregor colors, Angus Campbell’s eyes flashed red, and his wife noticed the change in his demeanor. As they sat in the pew, she patted his arm to calm him down. But Claret knew him too well, and she most likely would have little effect on him. No one else noticed . . . except for Robert.
The organist began the wedding march music, and Mary Katherine Macgregor walked down the aisle with her father, holding tightly onto his arm until he lifted her veil at the altar. He hugged her and kissed her on the cheek, whispering, “I love you, pumpkin. Your mom would be proud of you.” It nearly brought her to tears. Her arms and legs began to shake.
Mickey stood there patiently waiting for her at the altar. She wished her mother could have been there to see it all—she would have been so happy. The wedding was a blur to her; it seemed as if it were over in mere minutes. She remembered the flowers, the scents, the people in attendance, but soon the only person she had eyes for that day was—Mickey.
When Mary Kate reached for Mickey’s hand—the trembling stopped. Just from the touch of his hand. She felt safe and secure. Everyone knew her as a strong and independent woman, which she was, but she felt safe with him. Always did. The only thing she remembered was saying the words, “I do.”
She felt happy when it was over and then shot a quick glance at her new wedding ring. Touching it made her feel warm. Married. “Mrs. Mary Katherine Thompson,” she said softly to herself. It had a nice ring to it.
The photographer kept them for more than an hour taking photographs, but soon they were on their way. When they walked inside the reception hall and were introduced for the first time as husband and wife, the room went wild with clapping and shouts of congratulations, as the band began to play. These were memories she would always cherish, for the rest of her life.
The MC stood with the microphone. “And now we will have the father-and-daughter dance. A waltz.”
Ryan took her in his arms, and they waltzed around the dance floor. He held her for one last time in his arms. He never wanted to let go of his little girl.
“Thank you, Daddy, thank you for everything. I love you,” she said, nearly in tears.
“I love you too, pumpkin. He’s a good man.”
When they finished their dance, Ryan returned her to her seat and took the microphone in his hand. “Aye, girl, this is your day, the day of your wedding for both you and Mickey. I give you the ancient traditional Scottish blessing:
May the best you’ve ever seen
Be the worst you’ll ever see;
May a mouse never leave your pantry
With a teardrop in his eye;
May you keep whole and hearty
Till you’re old enough to die;
May you be just as happy
As I wish you to be.
Today, tomorrow, and ever be.
“Cheers,” the crowd thundered.
Robert stood and took the microphone from his younger brother. “I too have a toast for the two of you, in health and happiness. It’s an old Celtic blessing upon you:
May the blessing of light,
Be with you always,
Light without and light within,
And may the sun shine
Upon you and warm your heart
Until it glows
Like a great fire
So that others may feel
The warmth of your love
For one another.
“Cheers to Graw and Mickey. May you live long and love forever.”
The crowd clapped and the band began to play again. Now everyone was dancing, including Rose and Eian. Robert and Coleen were lost in each other as they danced around the floor.
As the night progressed, Ryan danced and danced with Alexi, then finally led her to their table. Alexi held his arm and said, “You did real well dancing tonight. I am very proud of you.”
“Thank you, my dear.”
An old family friend who had had a few too many cocktails during dinner dropped by their table and said, “Nice wedding, Ryan. Like yours and Gracie’s. Remember?”
“Yes, I do, Sam. It was a good time. Good to see you again.”
Alexi squeezed his arm in support as he walked away.
“He was a neighbor who lived down the street from us at our old house,” Ryan explained. “He loved to tease Gracie.”
Ryan finished another glass of champagne, smiled, then reminisced, “At our wedding reception, we made a promise to each other that no matter who wanted us to come to their table to visit them, we were going to stay together—no matter what. We had the caterer follow us around with champagne and told him to keep filling our glasses. Our wedding celebration was the best time I’ve ever had in my life. Everybody was there.” He began to talk about his life with Gracie, as he had not ever done before. “I miss her. She would have really enjoyed tonight.”
Alexi felt a twinge of sorrow for him and tried a few times to change the subject, but he continued to talk about his life with her and how perfect it had been for them. She could tell he still loved his wife.
Mary Kate sat at the head table having the time of her life as people stopped by with envelopes and best wishes for the both of them. She looked at Angus and could tell something was wrong and turned to Mickey. “What’s wrong with your father? He looks upset. Should you go talk with him?”
Before he could answer her, their attention was diverted by a loud voice in the center of the dance floor. It was his father yelling. “Macgregor!” he slurred. “Where are you?”
Robert walked slowly to the center of the room and said just above a whisper, “Aye, brother. We’re family now. And I’ll not raise my voice against family.” He seemed to have caught him unaware. “Angus, it’s not Scotsman against Scotsman; it’s Scotsmen against our enemies. We are bound together, like it or not, as family, and I’ll drink to your health.”
“I’ll not drink to no Macgregor’s health. I’ll as soon die as . . .”
The loudspeaker drowned out what he said next, and they both turned to face the head table. The bride stood tall, holding the microphone, eyes and temper flashing. “This ends now! Do you hear me!” she said, looking squarely at the two men. “My name is Mary Kat
herine Macgregor Thompson. I am proud of my family, both of them. We are here tonight by the grace of God.” She paused. “I would like to make a toast to Bobby and Patti Macgregor. And a blessing to all of those who are not here tonight, especially Tess Macgregor, Alice Macgregor, and my mother—Grace Macgregor. And also to Bryce Campbell, may he rest in peace.” The old man began to shake at the mention of his dead son.
She continued, “There is a Scottish belief that as long as someone is still loved, they will never die. My mother said that so long ago and taught me the Scottish blessing for those who are not here, written by Mary Frye. It goes something like this:
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamonds glints on snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
By the time she finished, she was in tears. “We will always remember those who are not here, but the time for feuds is over. Let’s not forget what we are here for today and tomorrow. All shake hands as family, or heaven help me, I will . . .” Her voice rose to fever pitch. Her father was at her side whispering something that calmed her and brought a smile to her lips. She handed him the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I know this is a wedding, but I just got a text and a picture. Robert, I have something for you to see.” He walked down to join the two men. “I just got this text from Bobby, at the hospital. They tried to call you, but your phone must still be off. Patti and Bobby had their baby! It’s a girl. Congratulations, Grandpa.” He gave Robert his phone and showed him the picture of Patti holding the new baby.
“Oh my God. I’m a grandpa! Whoa.” Robert read Bobby and Patti’s message aloud: “Meet your new grandchild—Roberta Tess Macgregor, six pounds, seven ounces.” Robert hugged Ryan and said, “Aye! Strike up the band. Let the celebrating continue!”
He turned to Angus and showed him the picture of the newest Macgregor. “Now this is something worth fighting for, my friend. Our children and their future. And in a few years you’ll know what I mean.”
The old man’s face softened, and in his tears, Robert knew it was over. Angus said, “Aye, let me buy you a drink, Macgregor . . . I mean Robert . . . Bob.”
Mary Kate and Mickey danced the night away. Waltzes, rumbas—they danced them all. At the end of the evening, they were among the last to leave. She put her arms around his neck and said, “Take me home, Michael Thompson, husband. I love you.”
“I love you too, Mrs. Thompson.” They walked hand in hand out the door; they had made and kept a pledge: Hold on tight to each other throughout the night. Life was good.
Chapter Fifty-Two
The day after the wedding, it was late and they were both quiet on the ride to the airport. Ryan managed a weak smile as they pulled into the parking garage. He looked at the sky above; the darkened skies looked threatening, black-and-gray clouds fighting one another, swirling high above them.
Alexi had not known him for long, but she knew him well. “What’s wrong?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“I can’t go to Paris,” Ryan stated bluntly as they walked inside the terminal.
“What?”
“I just can’t, Alexi. As much as I would like to say yes and run off with you to Europe . . . I just can’t. I have my life here, responsibilities. My practice. My family. My brothers. And I have so many memories of . . .”
She let out a painful sigh while still holding his hand. “Ryan, sweetheart, one day you will run out of excuses for why you’re not happy. I guess it’s just not today. Let me know when that day arrives, my sweet. I can’t compete with memories.”
“But, Alexi, you don’t understand . . .”
She placed a fingertip to his lips and leaned in close to whisper, “Be still, my heart.” She kissed him and turned to walk away; she paused to wave good-bye, and then she was gone. Gone from his sight and gone from his life. He missed her already. He ached for her, and for the second time in his life, he had lost someone he truly loved.
He ran up the stairs, up one level to the darkened observation room high above the airport. The lights on the runways and the control tower were an array of different colors, like a kaleidoscope. A soft rain pelted the glass windows. He could see her plane below pull away from the terminal and slowly taxi toward the runway. It was dark as he saw his reflection in the glass looking out over the bustling activity before him and saw the heavens clearing, showing the stars in the sky. Then he thought of his Gracie. He remembered how they would sit on the porch and watch the stars come out at night. He was torn.
She came from the shadows and eased beside him, dressed in her white jeans, pink T-shirt, and sandals. He always loved her in that outfit, so sexy. It was his Gracie.
“Hiya, Mac,” she said, kissing him on the cheek while her hand rested gently on his shoulder.
“Hey, baby,” he said softly without taking his eyes off the plane. “I’ve missed you.”
“I know. Me too. I will always miss you and love you, but . . . it’s time for you to get on with living.” They watched together as the plane lifted smoothly into the South Florida sky. “I’ve come to say good-bye. Get on with your life, Mac. Go find her and hold on to her as tight as you can. Go get her.” She kissed him tenderly on his cheek and walked away. Gone. From the darkness he heard her whisper, “And, hey, take your brothers with you.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
The sun shone bright and warm as the midmorning traffic roared to life on the springtime streets of Paris.
He first saw her strolling down the avenue toward him as he glanced over the top of his newspaper. She was beautiful. He closed the paper, folded it in half, and set it on the table next to his coffee cup, all the while admiring her. She was walking with purpose toward him as if in slow motion, her beret cocked to one side, her high heels accentuating her strong, athletic legs, a feast for his eyes. She was dressed as fashionably as any of the other Parisians on the street that day, in her sculpted French skirt and patterned silk blouse. He loved the way her skirt clung to her curves, gently swaying with her every movement as she walked.
When their eyes met, Alexi smiled that coy smile of hers, and her hand whispered a gentle wave to him that only he saw.
“Good morning, my sweet,” she said as she slowly kissed him on both cheeks, French-style, with her lips lingering longer than for a mere tender hello.
“Morning,” he responded as he caught a faint hint of her new French perfume. He noticed the top button on her blouse straining, nearly undone, as she leaned forward to kiss him.
She sat down next to him, smiled, and placed her hand gently on his leg.
He saw a flash of her thigh as she slowly crossed her legs, and he heard the unmistakable sound of her sheer stockings rubbing against each other. He thought of her, all of her. So tempting.
Their regular waiter, jovial François, as they called him, dressed in his usual black-and-white uniform and carrying a white towel draped over his arm, approached her as soon as she was seated.
“Bonjour, madame,” he said, smiling broadly, eyeing her.
“Bonjour, François.”
“Coffee, madame?”
“Oui. Café au lait, s’il vous plaît.” She looked at Ryan’s nearly empty cup and held up two fingers. “Deux, s’il vous plaît.”
“Oui, madame.”
They sat outside at their favorite corner table on Rue d’Orléans just off Avenue Charles de Gaulle on the Left Bank, sipping their coffee and watching the daily life of Paris slowly meander by.
She had finished her classes early, and now she had him all to her
self. She leaned close and kissed his neck.
He felt her pressing against his arm as she leaned over to kiss him. He placed his hand on her leg and was amazed at the warmth of her body; he shivered, hoping she would not notice.
“What time is our lunch today?” he asked in a nonchalant manner.
Everyone was to meet for lunch; they would have a wine-and-cheese picnic along the banks of the Seine. Robert and Coleen would be there after their tour of the Louvre. Eian and Rose would arrive early, as usual, to secure their wonderful picnic spot under the graceful weeping willow, after visiting Notre-Dame Cathedral.
“Not until one o’clock,” she said calmly. Then she turned to him, smiled, and whispered with a gentle kiss while squeezing his leg, “We have time, plenty of time . . . my love. Let’s go. I wasn’t that hungry anyway,” she said as he reached for her hand.
He laid some coins on the table and waved good-bye to François, who returned the gesture with a knowing smile. “Au revoir, François.”
He looked at her and said, “Time to go.”
Robert and Coleen walked up the steps to enter the museum on that warm and sunny day in Paris.
“I have been waiting my whole life to come here,” Coleen whispered in anticipation as they walked down the quiet, wide hallways of the famed Louvre. “And now I’m here, with you. Robert, I’m so excited. I can hardly wait.” They walked around the magnificent museum, and then they saw her, under a soft light, highlighting her ever-present smile. The Mona Lisa.
“She’s beautiful,” he said as they stood there looking at her, frozen in time and space.
Coleen hugged his arm, bringing him closer. “Can you believe she is over five hundred years old?”
Bob leaned in closer, tilting his head as he studied the famed portrait. “You know, she doesn’t look a day over four hundred.”
They both laughed and soon reluctantly walked away to explore the rest of the museum.
“I’m so glad we came,” Coleen said. “I’ve always wanted to come to Paris.”