The Wedding Chapel

by Rachel Hauck

  Colette’s gaze met her sister’s and there she saw the truth—Peg was scared. As bound as ever. Her wounds from England festering beneath the surface. Colette softened, brushing her hand along her sister’s arm.

  “I’d never hurt you, Peg. Jimmy and I are barely acquainted. If you fancy him, give him a go.”

  “Thank you, Lettie. I knew you’d understand.”

  Colette remained at the table as Peg joined the songs by the fire, squeezing in next to Jimmy, swaying to the rhythm, her lips stumbling over the lyrics.

  A chill of recognition ran through Colette. They’d never be free. She and Peg had been molded by war and those experiences had become their father, their mother, and their guiding force.

  Chapter Nine

  TAYLOR

  Thursday morning the September sun fell in golden pools on the apartment hardwood. There was so much to do before catching a three o’clock to Nashville from LaGuardia.

  Addison, Taylor’s trusty-dusty part-time assistant, packed up camera lenses, blaring “Happy” from the speakers hooked to Taylor’s laptop.

  “AQ sent directions to the chapel. I e-mailed them to you.” Addison set copies of Architecture Quarterly on Taylor’s desk. “For your plane ride.”

  “What would I do without you?” The girl was a genius.

  The melody of “Happy” matched the sunlight, the rhythm, the floating beams.

  “. . . feel like a room without a roof.”

  Yes, please, let her feel like a room without a roof instead of all closed up and dug in.

  The week had passed quickly, both she and Jack working. He came home one evening with purchases from Saks. Shoes he didn’t need, slacks and shirts.

  She challenged him. He defended the purchases by saying he needed to blow off steam. Round and round they went, no one winning. Both losers. And the tone was set for the weekend.

  For a moment last week she thought maybe they could get back to the Jack and Taylor who leapt into love. But Jack worked late and twice fell asleep on the couch with the Buckeye blanket.

  Taylor fixed on her computer screen. No time for regrets.

  She had photos to deliver to Colette from the Always Tomorrow shoot before catching her flight. Ms. Greer got a first look at all images, choosing the ones she preferred before Taylor could make any final selections. Before any editing.

  Fine by Taylor. Save her time. She copied a selection of photos onto a thumb drive.

  The music ended, then started all over again, the bass vibrating through Taylor’s soul.

  “Addison, did you set this song on repeat?”

  “Don’t you just love it?” She wiggled around, waving her hands in the air. “Okay, lenses packed. What do you want to do about lighting?” Addison trained her hazel eyes on Taylor.

  “Call The Video Company in Nashville. Ask for Ryan. Tell him I need two softboxes, two umbrellas, a power source, and some reflectors for an indoor-outdoor shoot. I’ll pick them up tonight. Around six, seven if traffic is bad.”

  Addison pulled out her phone. “What if he doesn’t have them?”

  “He will. If not, he’ll find them. He’s an old friend.”

  “An old friend?” Addison sang her reply to the “Happy” melody. She was young, but the second-best thing to happen to Taylor since she landed in New York. Barely twenty, Addison was a New York City native—savvy and in the know. The perfect girl Friday.

  She worked as an assistant for another photographer yet somehow found time to audition for off-Broadway shows. Her goal? “Have fun!” Neither fame nor fortune mattered to her.

  But it did to Taylor. She wanted to make a living at her craft. She wanted to be a name in the business.

  It was her dream since she was a teen. Though it was a wonder she stuck with it after that incident with Daddy. She had needed a candid shot for her black-and-white photography class with Mr. Ellison. Well, she’d gotten one, all right.

  So candid she flunked the class.

  “You’re all set to work on your granny’s place?” Addison said. “Are you going to sell it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What’s Jack say?”

  Taylor shrugged. “We’ve not really talked about it.”

  “What? You’re kidding. What do you two do all the time?” Addison slammed her palm in the air. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

  “Please. We work, we shop. Well, some people shop.”

  “I noticed a new shoe box in the trash.”

  “Only one?”

  “Okay, three. Italian leather. Very nice.”

  “He has expensive taste.”

  “Then it’s a good thing you’re so cheap.”

  “Ha-ha, very funny. Did you call Ryan yet?”

  “On it.” Addison perched on the edge of Taylor’s desk, listening, waiting. “Funny thing just now. As I was about to tell him who I was calling for, I tripped over your last name. Are you Branson now or Forester?”

  “I-I haven’t decided.” Taylor dropped the thumb drive in her bag. Addison had a way of slicing through the façade to the bare naked truth.

  Was Taylor a Branson or a Forester?

  Addison pooched out her lower lip. “Okay . . . you’re keeping Branson. Very hip. Though I pegged you as one of those take-her-husband’s-name types.”

  “We’ve only been married six months.” Taylor reached for her flip-flops under her desk.

  “Only? My sister stopped by the courthouse on the way to her honeymoon. Hello, can I speak to Ryan, please? Taylor Branson’s office calling.”

  Taylor listened as Addison dealt with Ryan, a twisting sensation in her chest. So she’d not changed her name yet. Fine. She was waiting. Waiting to see how things turned out. Jack didn’t seem eager to make her a Forester. To be honest, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be linked to the Forester name.

  Rise Forester’s shenanigans were legendary in Heart’s Bend. It’s a wonder he could hold up his head around town. Even worse, he was horrid to his own son.

  Addison finished her call, reaching for Taylor’s phone. “Ryan said he’d have the stuff ready. I’m putting his cell in your phone just in case. Is there anything you want me to do while you’re gone?”

  “Check e-mail. Follow up on potential clients and the jobs we have in the queue.”

  “What jobs in the queue?”

  Taylor made a face. They didn’t have any jobs in the queue. “Fine. Let’s get some jobs. I’ll follow up with Melinda House. Maybe we can shoot the spring collection. Oh, and check the PO box. Deposit any checks that come.”

  “What about the Emmys? Doug Voss sent you an expense voucher,” Addison said.

  And there was that . . . Taylor didn’t bother mentioning the voucher to Jack. “I saw it.” Taylor reached for her wristlet, slipping her phone in the front zip pouch. “But no.”

  “It’s a job.”

  “Not one I want.”

  “Have you seen our bank balance?”

  “Addison . . .” Taylor leveled her best I’m-the-boss voice. “No. Besides, Doug doesn’t need me. He can hire anyone he wants out in LA.”

  “He says no one captures people like you.”

  “Doug likes to win. Get what he wants.”

  “Does he want you?” Addison’s voice mellowed from assistant to friend.

  Taylor started for the door, ignoring the question. “I’m heading to Colette Greer’s place. Should be back in a few hours.”

  Then she’d grab her gear and head to LaGuardia.

  At the elevator, the doors opened to reveal Doug waiting.

  “What are you doing here?” Taylor backed toward the stairwell. It was only five flights down.

  “Where’re you going?” Doug followed. “I heard the Always Tomorrow shoot went well. And you’re welcome.”

  “Don’t you have a magazine to run?” Taylor jogged down one fight, then the next.

  “Put it to bed last night. Starting fresh this morning.” Doug’s footsteps hammered behi
nd her. “So you’ll go to LA?”

  She stopped, whirling around to him. “I’m not going. Good grief, don’t you ever take no for an answer? Hire a photographer in LA, Doug.”

  “I want you to go.” He’d eased down the steps toward her, lowering his voice, intensifying his words. “Whatever job you’re doing in its place won’t get you what you want.”

  “And how do you know what I want?”

  “I know you. I used to share a bed with you.”

  She shivered. “Don’t, Doug. Don’t.” There was no taste as bitter as regret.

  He stepped down to where she stood, reaching for her hair, but lowering his hand as she flinched and curled away. “You want influence, a name, a reputation in the business. You’re ambitious and hungry, Taylor.”

  “And look what it netted me. You.” She started back down the stairs.

  When she had first met Doug on Ocean Beach during a volleyball game with friends, he was witty and charming, the big-time New York publisher hobnobbing with lowly photographers. He was generous with his money. And his compliments.

  Thinking she could manage his advances, Taylor never calculated she’d fall for him.

  “Come on, Tay.” Doug grazed her arm with his fingertips. “Come to LA. It’ll be like old times. And if you want, no one has to know—”

  “That suggestion is beneath even you, Doug.” She rounded down the final flight of stairs.

  “Come on, you can’t be in love with this guy. You were with me for a year and never once hinted for a commitment. You leave me and—”

  “We were a mistake.”

  “—two months later run off with this ad man.” He scoffed. “I’m telling you I don’t believe it.”

  In the building vestibule, Doug cut off Taylor’s exit. “You’re too cold to warm up to another man so quickly.”

  Jaw tensed, heart careening, she shoved him back one step. “Get. Out. Of my way.”

  “Fine,” he said, using his velvet bass, brushing his fingers through the ends of her long, loose curls. “I’m not giving up.”

  “You should. You really, really should.”

  “Look me in the eye, Taylor. Tell me you don’t have feelings for me. That you’re not bored with this up-and-comer. He’s too consumed with his career, his own upward mobility, to care for you. I know you, and being noticed is what you need, what you want.”

  Taylor glared at Doug, wrestling with an irritating awe over his boldness. “If I leave him, how do you know I won’t do the same to you?”

  He grinned as if he’d won. “Because I can give you what you want, what you need. I’m set in my career. I’ve made my money. Gossip runs like a well-oiled machine. I could honeymoon for a month in Bora Bora and come home to find sales had increased. I have room for love. Room for you.”

  The silk thread of his confession slipped right through her. “You don’t have room for love or me. For anyone but yourself. This is about you getting what you can’t have.”

  “So you think he loves you? Really?”

  The fragrance of Doug’s cologne trapped her in their past and she couldn’t breathe. But it was the lingering truth in his question that made her tremor.

  Did Jack really love her? Try as she might, she could not recall one profession of love. Desire, yes. Want, certainly. But love?

  “You don’t know whether he really loves you, do you?” Doug’s arrogance rained on her doubt.

  Taylor sidestepped him and exited the building. In the street, she hailed a passing taxi.

  He loves me. He does. In his way.

  In the moment, that one small confession brought enough confidence to keep her back to Doug, not venturing a response to his accusations as she slipped into the taxi and headed to Colette Greer’s.

  “Taylor, come on in.” Zoë, Colette’s assistant, led her through the penthouse, her ponytail swinging from side to side. “She’s expecting you.”

  On the ride uptown, Taylor had composed herself, mentally scrubbing Doug from her psyche. But she could not so easily dislodge her own words.

  “How do you know I won’t do the same to you?”

  The notion pinged around, looking for a response. Was that it? Did she fear she’d be like her father? That she couldn’t go the lifetime-commitment distance? Jack deserved better. Despite his flaws, he didn’t deserve his wife abandoning him.

  He’d had enough of that in his life.

  It was a mistake to marry him when she had so many unresolved issues in her heart.

  “Ms. Greer, Taylor Branson to see you.” Zoë ushered Taylor into a study where elegant wood floors met with clean, white walls.

  “Taylor, lovely to see you.” Colette sat behind a heavy, dark wood desk, neatly arranged with a laptop, a pencil tin, and a small Tiffany lamp.

  “Here are the proofs.” Taylor handed over the thumb drive. “I hear you get first dibs.”

  “I like to look before some poor photographer wastes his, or her, time editing. Invariably, the network picks all the wrong pictures. Do have a seat.”

  Taylor picked the closest chair and sat, legs crossed. “This is a beautiful room.”

  “I think so. I spend most of my time here.” Colette studied the photos through narrowed eyes. “You’re quite good. I’ve never seen so many good shots in one setting.”

  Taylor smiled. “It’s a knack.”

  “You capture expression well.”

  “So I’ve heard.” It was more than a knack, it was a gift, to make the lens see what she wanted it to see. “Of course, I had experienced subjects.”

  Colette laughed. “We’ve been through a lot of photo shoots together, the cast and I. Though I daresay yours was one of the better ones. All sentiment aside, mind you.” She carried a hint of her English childhood in her voice.

  Taylor’s eye drifted to the mantel over the fireplace, the red brick another sharp contrast to the walls. Framed photos watched the room. From the colors and composition, Taylor knew they were personal, private images.

  “Who is in these pictures?” She scanned the faces, recognizing none of them.

  “Friends, my TV family.” Colette continued to inspect the digital contact sheet.

  Taylor examined each one, noting there was not one shot of the family on the mantel. “We missed you at Granny’s funeral.”

  “Yes, well . . .” Colette’s expression contained no regret or sorrow. Or emotion. “Peg and I said our good-byes quite a long time ago. Taylor, these pictures are splendid. I’m happy with all of them.”

  “All of them?”

  “The network can choose whichever one they want.” Colette offered back the thumb drive and pressed a button on the windowsill behind her desk. Standing, she smoothed the lines from her skirt. “Shall we have some tea?”

  “I’d love to but I can’t stay. I’m flying to Nashville this afternoon.” Taylor scanned the mantel photos one last time. So very different from the images Granny had in her home. Two sisters, with the same blood in their veins, lived very different lives. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Go on . . .”

  “What happened between you and Granny?”

  “We chose different paths.” Colette’s assessment was quick and purely matter-of-fact.

  “But you never visited. Didn’t you want to be near her, reminisce about your childhood in England? Or Heart’s Bend, for that matter. My sister, Emma, and I have our moments, but at the end of it all, we’re the only ones who can remember our childhood, our parents.”

  “Peg and I did not get along.”

  “Are you telling me all the space between you and Granny was simply because you didn’t see eye to eye on a few things?”

  “Peg and I rarely saw eye to eye. So, you’re off to Nashville?”

  “Actually, to Heart’s Bend. I have a shoot there. Colette, Granny’s left her house to me.” Taylor hesitated. What was that dark shadow flickering across Colette’s features? “Is there anything you want from her house?”

  Zoë
interrupted, and Colette ordered tea for one. Then . . .

  “I need nothing from Peg’s home. I’ve got everything I need right here.”

  Taylor would never classify Colette Greer as warm, but in the moment she seemed to drop one cold degree.

  “Well, if I find a childhood memento, I’ll let you know. Maybe a photo or teacup.”

  “Taylor, mark my words, there is nothing in your granny’s house for me.”

  Chapter Ten

  JACK

  He had forty-five minutes to pack and get to the airport. Jack tossed his laptop on the counter and made a beeline for the bedroom, bumping into his wife as she exited the closet, rolling her carry-on behind her.

  “Jack? What are you doing here?”

  “Heading to Nashville. I have a meeting tomorrow with the FRESH team. I got them to all come in on a Friday, so I need to be on my A game. Despite what Hops wants.”

  “What did Hops want?”

  “He wants me on another job.” Jack yanked open the closet doors and pulled his roller bag from the top shelf. Hops could go to London himself if he thought that job was so important. But Jack didn’t want to run a foundation for WhiteWater Media, a cutting-edge social media group. The CEO was two years younger than Jack.

  He wanted his own client back. FRESH Water.

  “How long will you be there?” Taylor asked.

  Jack tossed his suitcase to the bed. He didn’t need much. “Until Sunday. Getting in a game of golf with the CEO, Lennon, on Saturday.” Socks, underwear, T-shirts, jeans, a nice button-down, and some golf gear.

  “What about seeing Sam and Sarah? We told them we’d visit when we called to tell them we eloped.”

  Sam and Sarah were Jack’s last foster parents, who treated him more like a son than anyone ever had. They were his mentors, saviors, guiding light. But he didn’t like going home. Even to see the people he loved most. Because there was always the off chance he’d run into his father. And that he would avoid at all costs.

  “Let’s plan another trip to see them. No time this go-round.”

  “Your call.” Taylor leaned against the door frame. “So how do you plan to win back the account?”