The Wedding Chapel

by Rachel Hauck

“How’s the book coming?”

  “We’re keeping on schedule, if that’s what you mean.”

  “It’s not, but that’s good to know. Do you like Justine?”

  “I didn’t think I would, but I do.”

  “Are we going to have a bestseller at the end of it all?”

  “Now, that I cannot tell you.” Colette changed the conversation and asked about Kate, Ford’s wife, and about their darling new granddaughter, then rang off, sinking into the sofa, zapped of all energy.

  Jimmy was selling her wedding chapel. But when she paused to really consider it, his selling the chapel didn’t surprise her.

  It was the fact he’d actually kept it for all these years.

  She reached for the tissue box. After all these years, tears surfaced for him.

  What was it Jack said? The chapel never saw a wedding. Last she’d heard Jimmy wasn’t married, but that was eons ago. Over forty years. Surely he’d married along the way.

  But she didn’t marry, did she? Though she’d dined with her fair share of suitors. Besides Luciano Diamatia, Spice Keating, and Bart Maverick, Colette had rejected a marriage proposal from a Wall Street broker. She must remember to tell Justine about him. Years later she declined a quick proposal from a younger actor she met ten years into the show. He didn’t love her. He loved what he could obtain with her, from her.

  But she could see the past so clearly now. It had been Jimmy. Always Jimmy. A nervous jitter brought her to her feet. She had to see him. More than the need to breathe. She had to see him.

  When she agreed to the autobiography, she felt sure that all of her sins and secrets, her truest feelings, were tucked away.

  But the journey with the book, along with seeing Taylor and hearing the news of the chapel, excavated her true past.

  Thick tears salted her tired eyes. Then one sob followed another, pressing Colette forward until her forehead rested on her knees.

  Her body tensed with the exorcism of remorse, of pent-up pain.

  For Mamá, for Papá, for Peg, for Jimmy. For herself. For every heartbreaking decision.

  She gave way to the sorrow, sinking from the sofa to the floor, sobbing until she was exhausted.

  “Ms. Greer?” Zoë. Of course she must have heard her. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Colette pushed herself up, collapsing on the sofa.

  “A-are you sure?” Zoe’s tentative voice came from the doorway.

  Yes, she was quite sure. “I’ll have some tea. Ring Justine and ask her to put off for an hour.”

  “I-I’m here . . . if you need me.”

  “I know, love. Thank you.”

  With Zoë off to make tea, Colette made her way to the window where the sun sat high and glorious over the city. The row of red-tipped trees in Central Park put her in mind of Heart’s Bend, and being with Jimmy, her hand clasped with his.

  She decided. She would tell Justine the whole lot. Because somewhere in the mess among the buried things, among the twists and turns, Colette Greer had become the woman she was meant to be. And she wasn’t done with living yet.

  FEBRUARY 1949

  WINTER FORMAL

  Colette hurried alongside Jimmy through the cold for the gymnasium door, her hand warm and secure in his. Her high heels caught on the parking lot pebbles, and she laughed, steadying herself with a good grab of his arm.

  “Aunt Jean insisted I buy these shoes. I feel like I’m walking on stilts.”

  She’d taken the sisters shopping, declaring that at last she had her girls and was treating them as their own mamá would have.

  Peg also wore a new dress and new shoes. Spurning Spice’s advances, Peg attended the dance on the arm of a Vanderbilt college graduate and a Rock Mill High alumnus, Drummond Branson.

  Colette had no idea how they met, or why in the world a chap of twenty-three had agreed to attend a high school formal, but that was the power of Peg. Aunt Jean teased her, saying Peg could talk the devil into attending a revival meeting.

  Nevertheless, Peg’s dashing bloke provided a good distraction. She’d not be bothering Colette and Jimmy.

  “Come on, get in here.” Clem popped round the gymnasium doors, waving for them to hurry. “They’re playing the boogie woogie, Lettie, and my date can’t dance to it, so—”

  “I’m not dancing my first dance with you, Clem. Boogie woogie or not. Oh, gee whiz, these shoes—” Colette stumbled to the door leaning on Jimmy’s arm.

  “Hold the door, Clem!” In stride, Jimmy scooped Colette into his arms, cradling her against his chest, and carried her across the gymnasium threshold into a rainbow of light reflecting from a twirling mirror ball.

  The winter wonderland–themed gymnasium swarmed with bejeweled young women who oohed at Colette’s grand entrance. The chaps in suits hooted and cheered.

  “That’s the way to handle your girl, Jims.”

  Colette squirmed, embarrassed. “Put me down, Jimmy.” But when she looked at him, Jimmy’s expression captured her and she knew then she never wanted to touch the ground again.

  “How’d I get so lucky to be with you?”

  “Jimmy—”

  She was about to let him kiss her when Clem stuck his face in between them and ruined everything, tugging Colette out of Jimmy’s arms, dragging her onto the dance floor.

  “You can swoon later. The song’s nearly half over.” Clem spun her out of her coat, tossing it to the floor.

  With a backward glance at Jimmy, who gave her a thumbs-up as he stooped to pick up her coat, Colette called, “I shall return.”

  He was simply the best. And she the lucky one.

  But for now it was time to boogie woogie. The hours she spent dancing with Clem in the basement made this dance all the more fun. Together Clem and Colette cleared the floor, their classmates standing back, astonished.

  “Go, cats, go!”

  For Colette, the music was a release. A way to speak the unspoken—the words Peg refused to hear, the feelings she refused to express. Colette’s moves practically shouted all of her sorrows and no one was the wiser.

  So she kicked off her shoes and danced, the folds and flounce of her full, cream-colored skirt twisting one way while her legs went another, creating a taffeta and tulle wave.

  Clem brought her around and back, under his arm and out again. Colette’s gaze met Jimmy’s. He grinned and winked, and Colette soared.

  She’d finally found her place. Her home.

  When the song ended, she collapsed in her cousin’s arms. The kids swarmed them, applauding, cheering.

  “You’re the best, Lettie,” Clem said, breathless, returning her to Jimmy, swiping his loose bangs into place. “You cleared the deck.”

  “No, we cleared the deck.”

  “You dazzled them, Colette.” Jimmy drew her in, kissing her cheek.

  “It was Clem. He’s the showman.”

  “But you’re the star.”

  Colette regarded Jimmy, catching her breath. “If I’m a star, then you’re my sun.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  From the bandstand, the bandleader crooned into the mic. “All you lovers, on the dance floor. This is your song.” He began to intone the sound of Perry Como’s “Because.”

  Jimmy held up Colette’s shoes, then bent to one knee, cupped her ankle, and slipped them on. Standing, he gathered her close. “They’re saying this is our song.”

  “So I heard. Oh, Jimmy, are you real? You’re so wonderful.”

  “I’m real. And only for you.” He kissed her and began a slow, purposeful dance. Colette cradled her head against his shoulder, hearing his sweet tenor vibrate through his chest as he sang to her.

  “Because you speak to me in accent sweet.”

  “I love your accent sweet, Colette,” he whispered.

  “And I love yours.”

  Laughing low, he tightened his arms around her waist. “I guess I would have an accent to your ears. But you have the corner on smelling sweet.”

/>   “You smell like clean soap.”

  “Is that good?”

  “It’s very good.”

  As the song played on, there was no need to speak, just sway and move and understand what it felt like when heaven came to earth. She never wanted to leave this moment. Or Jimmy’s arms. Even as the bandleader’s song faded away, Colette remained molded against him.

  With a trumpet blast and drums pounding, the romance ended and the gym hopped with a lively jive.

  Colette shouted over the music, “I liked the last song better.”

  “Me too.” Jimmy cupped his hands around his mouth. “Bandleader, play ‘Because’ again.”

  “Why can’t we dance the way we want?” Colette said, snuggling against him.

  “Fine idea, Miss Greer.”

  With the rest of the kids bopping around them, Colette and Jimmy danced to the song in their hearts.

  Then Peg appeared, dragging Spice Keating by the hand. Oh, bother. “Y’all, the music’s changed. Come on, dance.” She pressed her hands to their shoulders, prying them apart.

  “Where’s Drummond?” Colette asked. What was her sister doing?

  “Out back getting a smoke.” Peg slipped her arm through Jimmy’s. “Let’s dance.”

  Before he could protest, Spice stepped up, took Colette’s hand, and led her onto the floor.

  “Come on, trip the lights with me. You’re the heppest gal here.” He twirled her away and started the jive. “Come on, doll, relax.”

  She tried to dance, trembling, missing Jimmy, missing his warmth, his heart.

  “Come on, get with it.” He spun her about so fast she had to start dancing or fall off her heels and break an ankle.

  But all she could do was go through the motions. Because somewhere among the kids, Jimmy danced with conniving Peg.

  At the song’s end, Spice trapped her, wrapping his arm around her and walking her toward the punch bowl. “Ever think of dancing onstage or TV?”

  “Not really.” She scanned the room for Jimmy.

  “I’m getting out of here as soon as we graduate. I have big plans for my life.”

  “G-good for you.” Where did Peg get off to with her date?

  The microphone squealed across the gymnasium. “All right, everyone. It’s time for the dance-off. On the floor with your partner. If you get tapped on the shoulder, you’re out. Move off to the side.”

  Colette excused herself. “I’d better find Jimmy.” There were only a couple hundred juniors and seniors, but in the small gymnasium, it seemed like thousands.

  “No time, doll.” Spice held on to her hand. “The dance has started.” He nabbed her at the waist and started swinging and singing, twisting and twirling, pressing the tip of his tongue beyond his lips.

  Really, Spice was as comical as he was handsome. So Colette gave it a halfhearted go, glancing round when she caught the scent of soap. But it wasn’t Jimmy.

  “Hey, what’s that cool move?” Spice mimicked her head jerk, grinning, looking so ridiculous she had to laugh. “I like it, doll. Here’s a new move.” He snapped his head around, then his body, his feet tapping the entire time. “They can’t tap us off the floor now.”

  “You’re crazy, you know that?” Hesitating, Colette figured the move in her head and mimed Spice just as the judges came around. They nodded their approval and moved on.

  “What’d I tell you? I got a nose for what’s good.”

  Colette continued to jerk and jive, scanning the dancers for Jimmy. She finally spotted him dancing with Peg. He waved, giving her a thumbs-up.

  “Want to win this, Spice?” She would win for Jimmy, and to spite Peg.

  “You know I do, doll face.”

  “Then shall we?” Colette kicked her shoes to the side and took his hand, adding flair to their new signature move.

  One by one, the chaperones tapped couples off the floor. But Spice and Colette remained, creating new moves out of the boogie woogie, the Charleston, the jive, and the jitterbug, with a little bit of the catwalk thrown in.

  When they were the last ones on the floor, the bandleader rang a bell. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have our Winter Formal Dance-off winners.” He read from a card. “Come on up here . . . Colette and Spice. Let’s give them a round of applause.”

  Spice led her to the bandstand, hand on her waist. After hoisting her up onto the stage, he joined her, both of them breathless.

  “That’s my girl. The winner of the dance-off!” Jimmy’s voice powered across the gymnasium as he stood on top of the bleachers.

  The bandleader awarded them pint-sized trophies, inviting the kids to applaud one more time. Then just like that it was off to the next song. “Here’s a song made popular by the great Doris Day.”

  Spice tried to help Colette off the stage, but she brushed past him and ran up the bleachers into Jimmy’s waiting arms. “You showed ’em, Lettie.”

  “I did it for you.”

  “Good, ’cause you know I couldn’t help you win the dance-off.” He led her back onto the dance floor, spinning her around under a shower of sparkling stardust.

  “Would you be mad if I said I think I love you?”

  Colette peered at him through the lights, through her own vision of love. “It’s not just the night? The music, the mirror ball?”

  “No, it’s not. It’s you.” He brushed his finger along the curve of her jaw. “I have a confession. Before you moved here, Clem showed me a picture of you and Peg.”

  “What picture?”

  “You were with a bride by a stone chapel.”

  “Ah, the wedding of our friend in the village. It was such a happy time in the middle of war.”

  “You looked so happy and, well, I think I fell in love with you that day.”

  “Jimmy, you can’t really mean it.” But when he stepped toward her, she knew his intention. “No one falls in love with a girl in a photo.”

  “I knew you’d be swell, Colette. And I was right. I love you.”

  “Well . . . I mean . . .” His confession burned away her fears, her walls. “Y-you’re only seventeen. We’re kids.”

  “I don’t care.” He lowered his face to hers. “When I’m eighty-three, I’ll love you. What I need to know is if you think you could love me someday. D-do you think you could? Someday?”

  So vulnerable. So sweet. “Yes.” She smoothed her hands over his stiff blue suit jacket. “Perhaps someday. Perhaps today.”

  He touched her chin, lifting her face to his, looking at her in a way that inspired all sorts of delicious, romantic feelings. Then lowered his lips to hers, kissing her so sweetly that it sealed everything that was right and lovely about this night in her heart.

  Chapter Twenty

  TAYLOR

  Seriously, Taylor, what are you going to do with this place?” Emma came into the bum room carrying a box and dropped it to the dull, thirsty hardwood.

  “You keep asking and I keep saying ‘I don’t know.’ ” Taylor turned from the record shelf, a stack of vinyl LPs in her arms. “Do you want to buy it?”

  “No, I like my house. It’s new, modern . . .”

  Emma took off work Wednesday to spend time with Taylor going through the bum room. The one room she’d not really cleared out. And the attic.

  “I wanted to wait for you.”

  Otherwise, Emma had taken care of her duty, ridding the house of furniture and clothes, cleaning out the cupboards, stacking the remaining dishes in the dining room, contacting estate sale agents.

  “Why don’t you and Jack keep it?”

  “He says he never wants to live here. Doesn’t want to see his father. So, what about the attic?” Taylor flipped through the albums. Jack might like some of these. He bought a turntable on a whim a few months ago but had nothing to turn on it.

  “I went up there, but it’s hot and dusty so I’ve been putting it off.”

  “Yeah, well, if I sell, you know the attic goes with it.” Taylor didn’t like the attic either. Emma turned i
t into a haunted house one Halloween when they were kids and Taylor hadn’t been up there since. “And by the way, you need to clean out Granny’s kitchen drawer by the fridge.” Taylor opened it last night to find it full of nothing but sauce packets from every restaurant in town. There had to be a thousand of them.

  “I know, I saw it.” Emma brushed dust from the book in her hand. “I sort of hate to throw them away. They remind me of Granny more than just about anything.”

  Taylor laughed. “She was a hoarder.”

  “Either that or forgetful.”

  Taylor set the albums in the box, then faced Emma. “I’m hungry. I’m going to get last night’s leftover sub.”

  “Hungry?” Emma made a face. “We just ate lunch two hours ago.”

  “I know, but we’ve been working like dogs. You’re not hungry?” Taylor jogged downstairs and retrieved last night’s leftovers from the fridge, then grabbed the bag of chips Emma brought over this morning.

  Sitting at the kitchen table, she glanced up at her sister, sinking her teeth into the delicious London broil on wheat. “You should keep this table.” She knocked on the Formica table trimmed in fifties chrome. “It’s vintage.”

  “I might. Mama had her eye on it last time she came by.” Emma sat in the chair opposite Taylor. “So, you’re feeling better, I take it.”

  “Much.” Taylor shoved the sandwich at her sister. “Want a bite?”

  “No thanks.” She got up for a bottle of water. “I’m single again. Have to watch my figure.”

  Taylor motioned for Em to grab her a water too. “Hey, one of the benefits of being married. I can eat whatever I want.”

  “Ha! That’s what I said when I was pregnant,” Emma said, passing Taylor a water. “Then I had a heck of a time dropping sixty extra pounds.”

  “I’m not gaining sixty pounds. Besides, I didn’t have breakfast so two lunches is allowed.” Taylor twisted the cap from her water and took a long swig. “Hey, do you want to go to Taco-Taco tonight? Bring it back here and watch Frozen with the girls in the bum room?” She’d been craving tacos, like, all day.

  “How are you thinking of tacos with half a sub stuck in your mouth?”

  “You know me, I plan ahead.”