The Wedding Chapel

by Rachel Hauck

  Jack slipped his phone out of his pocket. “Taylor, could you put this on the charger for me? I don’t want to lose juice on the trip.”

  “Y-yeah, sure.”

  Her quiet hesitation raised his attention. Was she all right? “A-are you ready for your trip?”

  “I think so. Hey, why don’t you come down to Heart’s Bend and stay with me for a few days? I’ll be at Granny’s. Emma insists we finish with the house.”

  “No can do. If I win FRESH back, no, when I win FRESH, I’ve got to get back here and roll up our corporate sleeves. We’ve got work to do. Not to mention hiring Carmen’s replacement and showing some love to the accounts I’ve neglected this week.” Jack tossed his Dopp kit on the bathroom counter. Toothpaste, toothbrush, shaving cream . . . “What time is your flight?”

  “Three.”

  He glanced over at her. “I got the last seat on a two forty-five direct flight.”

  “LaGuardia?” Taylor ducked into the bathroom, taking a small packet of Dramamine from the medicine cabinet.

  “No, JFK.” Jack wedged his toiletries in the suitcase. “Otherwise we could’ve shared a cab.”

  “I’ve got a cab on the way, Jack. There’s plenty of time to drop you off and get me over to LaGuardia. I’m prechecked so it’ll save me time.” Taylor tapped his shoulder. “Don’t forget your Dramamine or you’ll get motion sickness.”

  His fingers grazed over hers. “Th-thanks, babe.” Their gazes locked. “Hey, why don’t you come up to Nashville? Stay with me at the Hermitage.”

  She shook her head. “You’ll be working and golfing. I have the chapel shoot tomorrow, with time reserved on Saturday in case I want to go back. And I’m working on the house. Speaking of . . . what should we do with Granny’s house?”

  “Whatever you want.” Jack glanced around the room. Taylor could see him running through a mental checklist. “When do you come home?”

  “Saturday next. Jack, we need to talk about Granny’s house. Are we keeping it?”

  “Why would we?” He zipped his suitcase. “It’s not like we want to live in Heart’s Bend ever again.”

  “Look, I know we both had to escape for a while, but never?”

  “Not in the big-picture plan, Taylor. I thought you knew that.”

  “Then why’d you marry me? I’m Heart’s Bend, a piece of what you want to forget. We have to go home sometime. To see my mom, my sister and her girls, Sam and Sarah.”

  “Okay, fine, but we don’t have to do that now, do we? And you’re not Heart’s Bend. You’re”—he shrugged—“different. A New Yorker.”

  He couldn’t tell her because the words were all jumbled in his chest, but knowing her, watching her in high school, made him believe the world was a better place. He couldn’t explain it. But he’d always been drawn to her.

  “A Yankee?” Taylor grinned. “Granny would roll over in her grave.”

  “Like she was a true Southerner? Coming from England?”

  “She adapted. Hey, by the way, I saw Colette today. She had some deal where she approved the photos from the shoot. I tried to get her to talk about Granny, but . . .” Taylor waved her hand past her face. “Ice.”

  “You’re surprised?” He brushed past her for the kitchen. “Did I see Pop-Tarts?”

  “Yeah, I guess. I mean, I know they didn’t see each other much, but I thought she’d wax sentimental or something.”

  “My gut tells me whatever went down between the two of them left no room for sentimental waxing.” Ah, cherry. His favorite. Jack tore open the foil wrapping. Creative work and dashing to the airport made him hungry. This would hold him until he arrived in Nashville. “How did Colette like the photos?”

  “She liked them. All of them. Which is weird. No one ever likes all the shots.”

  “You’re good. I’ve told you that before.” Didn’t she believe him? He’d told her before. “Why do you think I gave you the AQ job?”

  “To one-up Doug.”

  “What? No.” Did he sound convincing? Because he refused to be that kind of husband. Motivated by jealousy. “Because I thought you’d do a good job.” Jack consumed the Pop-Tart in a few bites. Eating fast was practically his superpower.

  Growing up, moving from house to house every year, and from family to family, he’d learned to eat fast. At twelve, he did a few odd jobs for neighbors and earned enough money to keep a food stash under his bed. It was a good plan until that particular foster mother discovered a trail of ants leading right to it. When Jack came home she was waiting. Popped him in the face before he could offer one word of explanation.

  “Well, either way, I’m on my way.” Taylor brushed her hand down his arm and his desire for her stirred. “You never told me your great plan for FRESH.”

  He pulled another Pop-Tart from the box. “My plan is brilliant. Begging.”

  She laughed, and the melody loosened the tension in his gut. He loved eliciting her laughter. He didn’t know he possessed such a power until they started spending time together. He had never laughed so much as their first month together.

  “At least my idea was better than begging,” she said.

  “Your idea?” Jack poured a glass of milk and glanced at his phone, checking the charge. “I’m going to appeal to our relationship with them. I’m not going to overwhelm them with ideas, just sincerity about our history together. Besides, it was all I could do to talk Lennon into letting me address the team.” Jack swigged down a gulp of milk. “So what’s this idea of yours?”

  “Don’t you remember? Last week, when you were falling asleep on the couch, I landed on an episode of Always Tomorrow, and Colette, I mean Vivica, splashed some dude in the face with water. Right in the courtroom. It’s her infamous move. I said Colette would be a great spokeswoman for FRESH—”

  “You said that to me?” Jack sobered, trying to remember.

  “Yes, right after you muttered something about me being hot.”

  He wrinkled his brow. “When I was asleep? Because hiring Colette is actually a great idea.”

  “Of course.” Taylor flirted over her shoulder as she slipped back into the bedroom.

  Hey, and for the record, you are hot. He’d shout it from the rooftops if she asked him to. But he wasn’t good at intimate confession, at sharing the deepest feelings of his heart. When he was awake. A year ago he’d added “work on compliments” to his personal to-do list.

  But it was hard to harvest words that were never sown.

  Jack finished off his third Pop-Tart, walking back to the bedroom. “Do you think she would actually do it?”

  Taylor shrugged. “Now that she’s retired, she might want a new project.”

  “Hmm . . .” He’d thought about Taylor all day, whispers, impressions, fleeting images drifting across his heart. And he missed her. Missed the light in her blue eyes. Missed the floating sensation she inspired in his middle, like drifting across a glassy sea, baking in the sun’s rays, his fingers intertwined with hers.

  When she looked at him, he was free, his cares floating away on her current.

  “Do you want to call Colette?” Taylor stood in the doorway, holding up her phone. “Ask her before you go down there? Just in case.” Taylor tossed her phone to him.

  “Really? Yeah, why not. Let’s see what she says.” Jack caught her phone. “Thanks, Tay.”

  He’d not considered an aging soap star for his pitchwoman, but why not? Colette Greer was an icon. A legend.

  He tapped the screen to navigate to Taylor’s contacts, pausing when her display showed five missed calls from Doug Voss. He glanced up at her, the familiar dark wave crashing over him. “Taylor, what—”

  “Yeah?” She looked up from where she packed her laptop, her gaze clear. Innocent.

  “N-nothing.” He smiled. If she intended for him to see Doug’s calls, she was a better actress than her aunt.

  He found Colette’s number and dialed, walking over to the window, peering out, a gnawing in his gut. He hated that D
oug Voss was in her world. Even a little bit. Colette’s voice mail answered and Jack fumbled for words.

  “Colette, Jack Forester, Taylor’s husband.” The word resonated through him. He liked that word. He liked all it implied. “I was wondering how you’d like to be a spokeswoman for FRESH Water? Let me know.” He rattled off his number, then handed the phone to Taylor.

  “Did you get ahold of Colette?” Taylor dragged her gear to the door, her shoulder loaded with her laptop and camera bags.

  “Voice mail.”

  “Keep it. Try her again on our way there.” She fumbled to open the door, catching her laptop case as it slipped from the top of her suitcase. “Let’s go down. The cab will be here any minute.”

  “Here, let me help you.” Jack tucked Taylor’s phone in his pocket, reaching for her suitcase. “You get the elevator. I’ll grab my stuff.”

  “Jack, don’t forget your phone. You’ll go crazy without it.”

  “Right, right.” He came from the bedroom, unplugged his phone, and coiled the cord in his laptop case. His phone slipped from his hand, banging on the floor. Taylor jumped to pick it up. “Hold on to that for me.” Jack reached for her suitcase, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. “Can you do that? Do you mind?”

  “I can hold on to anything you want, Jack.” Taylor regarded him for a moment, then disappeared into the hall. “Elevator is here.”

  He followed her out, locking the door, his heart on fire. About to lean in to kiss her, the elevator doors pinged open and she stepped in.

  “You coming?” she said, a soft laugh in her words. “I promise to give you back your phone before the airport.”

  Jack swallowed, stepping into the elevator. “I wasn’t worried about my phone.”

  “Then what?”

  “J-just thinking.”

  He wanted to bonk his head against the side of the elevator, frustrated at his inability to say three simple words, “I love you.” Words he longed to say but couldn’t.

  As the car descended, he rode to the bottom of his heart, to where his thoughts settled in the sludge of his own truth.

  He loved his wife and if he didn’t find a way to tell her, he could very well lose her. And he could blame no one but himself.

  Chapter Eleven

  JIMMY

  SEPTEMBER 25, 2015

  For more years than he cared to remember, Jimmy had started his Friday mornings in the same corner booth of Ella’s Diner. With his date. The doc.

  Sipping his coffee, he stared out the window, monitoring traffic—what little bit still came through downtown these days.

  He hoped the city council’s plan to beef up the old city center panned out. He had a great affection for the old town. Spent many a happy weekend at Millson’s drugstore and soda fountain.

  But those days had long passed. Time was like spilt milk. It could never be put back in the bottle.

  “Refresh your coffee, Jimmy?” Tina, owner of Ella’s, stood poised over the table with a full pot of black brew.

  “Naw, I think I’ll wait for the doc. But if’n you don’t mind, I could munch on a donut.”

  “Plain or chocolate?”

  “Got a plain with chocolate icing?”

  “Now, you know I do.” She turned to go, saying over her shoulder, “Doc’s late, isn’t he?”

  “It’s all the rain. I told him to pave that road out to his place, but noooo, he never listens.”

  It rained a gully washer last night, thunder clapping, lightning flashing. Power went out for a good hour or two. But it didn’t bother Jimmy none. He just went to bed, the evening song of rain on the rooftop his favorite lullaby.

  The sun glinted off a passing car windshield and Jimmy squinted through the brightness. Thunder in the night, but sunshine in the morning. Wasn’t that a metaphor of life?

  The whole town looked washed. Clean. And the Cumberland flowed with gusto.

  “Here you go.” Tina set two donuts in front of him. “One’s on me.” She freshened Jimmy’s coffee without asking and moved to the next table.

  With a chuckle, Jimmy took a bite of his sweet breakfast. Tina was a good gal. She’d taken over after Ella died back in the early 2000s. She kept this place going like Ella would’ve wanted.

  That tough ole broad survived the postwar construction boom, staying put when all the other businesses were bugging out and taking up residence in suburban strip malls and shopping plazas. Ella alone could be credited with keeping the center vein of Heart’s Bend pumping.

  As for Jimmy, he’d been coming here for sixty-five years. He stored a lot of good conversations with Dad, the doc, and others within these walls.

  “You’ll live to be a hundred.” Dr. Nick Applebaum tossed a manila envelope on the table, slid into the booth across from Jimmy, and waved to Tina, pointing to the spot in front of him. “Black coffee, please.”

  “A hundred?” Jimmy emptied the envelope’s contents onto the table. “Have trouble getting out this morning, Nick? Was your drive washed out?”

  “Don’t start with me.”

  “I told you to pave the road back to your place.”

  “Tina,” Nick said, reclining against the booth as the fifty-something redhead set a cup and saucer in front of him. “Tell me why I’ve been having coffee with this know-it-all for the last twenty-five years.”

  “Don’t drag me into this.” Tina gave Jimmy a wink. “Besides, I agree with him. Pave that ole road, Doc.”

  “Oh, I see where your loyalties lie.” Shaking his head, Nick leveled a spoonful of sugar into his coffee, then tapped the papers in front of Jimmy. “Your cholesterol is good, your blood pressure, sugar, heart. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the lab mixed up your blood work with that of a younger man.”

  “All those TV dinners Dad fed me as a kid preserved my insides.” Jimmy reviewed the numbers that didn’t make a lick of sense, so he’d trust the doc’s word.

  Nick sipped his coffee. “Whatever you’re doing, keep it up. No need to resign yourself to the retirement home yet.”

  “I’m going to die in my place, Nick. I’ve kept it up. Don’t see a need to move. I’ll hire a nurse to come in to change my diapers if I have to, but I’m staying put.”

  “That so? Rumor is you’re selling your place. Heard Keith Niven talking something about it at church Wednesday night.”

  “Did you now?” Big mouth. “He weren’t talking about the house.”

  Nick regarded him over the rim of his coffee mug. “Selling some property?”

  “I thought I might.”

  “You hitting the skids? Running out of cash? Don’t know how, since you’ve worn the same shirt to breakfast since I can remember.”

  “What?” Jimmy smoothed his hand down the front of his blue plaid snap button. “This ain’t more than ten years old.”

  “Jim, buy a new shirt. What’s an old bachelor got to spend his money on?”

  Jimmy squirmed under Doc’s honest observation. He’d tried not to imagine how the townsfolk saw him. An old bachelor, living alone in the house he grew up in. It might seem kind of sad to those on the outside. But he’d made his choices. He was used to the way things were, right or wrong, good or bad.

  “I don’t need to spend money and I’m far from hitting the skids. This is just a square of land I don’t need no more.”

  “With all the development going on around here, you should get a good price for it.”

  “Well, it won’t be going to any development group. It’s got a right nice building on it.”

  The doc made a face. “Buildings can be knocked down, Jim.”

  “Not this one.” Selling his chapel was one thing, but destroying it was another. No, no, no, he’d never let someone knock it down. “So I’m in good health?” He slipped the papers back into the envelope and set them aside. “I was thinking of taking up golf. Seems like all the fellas are playing.”

  “Come on down to the club. I’ll teach you—”

  “Good
, you’re still here.” Keith Niven beelined for the table, interrupted Doc, and slid in next to Jimmy, taking a bite out of his donut. “Coach, I’ve got great news.”

  Jimmy made a face, raising his hand to flag down Tina. “Need another donut over here.” Then he glared at the interloper. “Keith, I’m having coffee with the doc.”

  Jimmy arched his brow and tensed his jaw, trying to communicate without words. Later.

  Discussing the chapel felt personal, though once it hit the market his secret would be out. Nevertheless, he didn’t feel like chatting in front of the doc. He was a clever man. And being as he was Jimmy’s doctor and had seen him naked, Doc would not hesitate one wink to pry into his personal life.

  “Of course you are. You always have coffee with the doc on Friday mornings,” Keith said, reaching for a napkin. “We listed the place online yesterday and bam, we’ve had over two dozen queries.”

  “Well, fine. I’ll meet you at your office in an hour. How’s that?”

  “We don’t have an hour. We need to move fast.” Keith smiled up at Tina as she set a fresh donut in front of Jimmy. “Could I get some coffee and a donut?”

  “You sure can.” Tina slid Jimmy’s former donut in front of Keith before walking off.

  Jimmy grinned at the doc.

  “Listen, Coach, the pictures Lisa Marie took with her phone are okay, but we can do better. Didn’t you say you had a photographer coming?”

  “Meeting her around ten.” Jimmy peeked at Nick, who was watching the whole thing rather amused.

  “Perfect. Mind if I tag along?” Keith rubbed his hands as Tina set down his coffee. “Thank you, darling, you’re the love of my life.”

  “Shall I tell your wife or shall you?”

  Jimmy laughed. That Tina. She’d held on to more than Ella’s the last fifteen years. She’d held on to her spirit, her gumption. Raised three boys alone while working here as a waitress, then as owner. Just sent the last one off to college.

  Keith slurped his coffee. “So, what about the photographer?”

  “No, you can’t come. Don’t go posting a For Sale sign on the property until she does what she’s got to do.”

  “Why not? You’re killing me here, Coach. I’m trying to make a sale, land us a pot of gold. Besides, it’s too late. Put up the sign last night before the rain set in. Shew, that was something. Had my dog trembling like a reed.”