According to Jane

by Marilyn Brant

  I step back from this second kiss, my lips and heart both trembling, and stare at him.

  Anyone but him, Jane urges. Please, Ellie, promise me you will not enter into an engagement with that man. Promise me this and…and I shall tell you a secret.

  What kind of a secret?

  One you long to know. One I have kept from you all these years. She hesitates, obviously debating, before adding, The identity of my one true love.

  The Clergyman By The Sea? The Mystery Man? I say to her, stunned.

  The possibility of this more than intrigues me, I admit, but is the knowledge worth my giving up the chance to find out what might happen next with Sam?

  There is more than my love’s name at stake, Ellie. It involves you directly. And your family.

  I gasp and my heart pauses mid-beat. Is it as I’ve always hoped? Oh, God, Jane! Am I a relative of yours after all? Was there a secret baby somewhere and now I’m —

  Dear heavens, no. You are not an Austen or a descendant of one. But in a way you are like my child, one I vowed long ago to guide and protect. There IS a reason I chose you, beyond the lessons we needed to learn. And I shall tell you what it is, but only if you leave Mr. Blaine this instant.

  I breathe in. I breathe out. I twirl my hair and shuffle my feet while sneaking glances at Sam, who’s staring at me strangely.

  “Ellie?” he says, eyeing me as he might a psych-ward escapee.

  Ellie? Jane says.

  But I can’t do it.

  I’m sorry, Jane. I can’t promise to stay away from Sam. Not even for you. Not even for a secret like that.

  Because, see, as much as I want to know what Jane has to reveal, the truth is smacking me in the face today. It won’t be denied, although I’d all but tramped down my own deep, dark secret and buried it: I’m an optimist.

  Still.

  Even though it isn’t the ’80s anymore. Even though I’ve been hurt by romantic warfare time and again. Even though I’m not a fifteen-year-old geek with my nose buried in a book who, for some mysterious reason (that I’ll probably never know now), has Jane Austen as my Personal Spiritual Guide.

  Hey, I waited almost twenty years for an answer to that question, what’s another decade or two?

  But here I am at this moment, a thirty-four-year-old geek, and against my will and against my reason (although, okay, not against my character), I still want that fucking Cinderella story for myself.

  More than an amazing, no-one-else-on-the-planet-knows-this secret.

  More than anything else.

  I want that happily-ever-after ending I imagined, as a teen, I’d get someday. That daydream I held on to as my prize for surviving those sucky years of adolescence.

  Dammit, I deserve that ending.

  It’s just that, if I’m truly honest with myself, I can no longer tell if it’s Sam, specifically, I want or if it’s the nearly two-decade-old fantasy featuring him as the heroic lead.

  So, at the last second, I cop out.

  “I need to think about this,” I tell him. “But I’m glad you came back so we could talk.” I nod ever so reassuringly and begin to back away.

  He squints at me, perplexed. “But Ellie? Wait — where are you going?”

  “See you at the wedding, Sam,” I say. Then I turn and run back home, as though the magic were about to wear off and the naked simplicity of my desires revealed.

  Chapter 17

  Oh! how heartily did she grieve over

  every ungracious sensation she had

  ever encouraged, every saucy speech

  she had ever directed towards him.

  — Pride and Prejudice

  Three days later, at the wedding, we have forty-five minutes to go before the ceremony….

  Di is freaking out over some Cover Girl Orange Crème nail polish. (It matches her original sardonyx engagement ring and it looks great, but she chipped a nail, so now what’s she gonna do?) Our mother is trying to calm her down.

  Angelique and Nadia are in their bridesmaids’ dresses, helping their respective husbands straighten their respective groomsmen ties.

  Cousins Aaron and Andy show up late for their ushering duties (because the Twin Terrors may have grown taller, but they never grew up), and neither of them have their tuxes on yet. My father and my Uncle Craig are chewing them out in the dressing area.

  The groom is soothing his pre-wedding jitters (with the help of his brother, Nick, and a well-concealed flask of bourbon) in the men’s bathroom.

  And Aunt Candice is put in charge of corralling the youngsters into the church playroom. I hear one of the triplets shriek in terror at the sound of her voice.

  I grin and say under my breath, “I know the feeling, kid.”

  I put the finishing touches on my makeup and smooth out my somewhat racy maid-of-honor dress. It’s scandalously clingy and lusciously purple, the kind of dress I always wanted to wear but needed a tad more nerve. I have more than nerve today. I have my sister’s direct orders.

  “I’m the bride,” Di reminded me a few months ago when we were selecting gowns. “I want you to look hot on my wedding day, and that’s final.”

  A note to all wise wedding attendants: What the bride wants, the bride gets.

  Thirty-two minutes before the ceremony…

  I leave the dressing area to locate where the florist left our bouquets, corsages and boutonnieres and to make sure everything we need to have on hand is waiting for us. I find them on a table near the back of the church and count out the number of items. I compare this figure with the number of attendants, ushers, parents, etc. in need of floral adornment. Fortunately, there are roses for all.

  Early-arriving guests begin to flutter in. I pause in the foyer to say hello to Terrie and her boyfriend Everett (I knew they were a serious couple), several friends of the family and Reverend Jacobs, who’d officiated at Di and Alex’s last wedding.

  “This time it’ll be forever,” the Reverend says to me with a hearty laugh.

  I’m about to chime in with my agreement when a shrill “Oh, my God!” interrupts us.

  It’s my mother. She’s standing three yards away, looking at her cell phone like it just mooned her.

  “What’s wrong, Mom?”

  “They have food poisoning,” she says, her voice a shocked whisper.

  “Who? The caterers?” I’m seriously praying it’s not the caterers.

  “The band. Three out of the five members. Something about tainted shrimp at their gig last night.” She covers her mouth with her hand, her chest heaving hard. I’m worried there’ll be hyperventilating soon if I don’t do something quick.

  I snatch her cell phone. “Just relax, Mom,” I say, although I’m on the verge of panicking myself. “I’ll make some calls and see if we can get a last-minute replacement for the reception.” But I know this’ll be next to impossible. You just don’t try to book a live band a few hours before they have to start playing.

  Reverend Jacobs beats a hasty retreat, Mom continues to stand in place and gulp air, and the pews begin to crowd up as the well-wishers fill the church.

  “What’s going on?” says the most recognizable American male voice on the planet.

  I swivel around to face Sam. “We’re having a little problem.”

  Sam stares at me, but doesn’t speak. He’s stunning to behold in his navy suit but, then, he always did clean up nice. I watch him scan my hair, my dress, my mouth. Then he shuts his eyes and bows his head.

  “What?” I say.

  “Nothing. I mean, you look incredible, but we’ll discuss that later.” He glances up at me and grins faintly. “How can I help with the ‘little problem’?”

  I shake my head and glare at Mom’s cell phone. “You can’t.” Then I turn to my mother. “I’m going to need a phone book.”

  Mom runs off to snitch one from the Reverend’s office and almost collides with Di, who’s sprinting toward us in full (albeit low-cut) ivory-and-lace bridal regalia.

  “Oh, m
y God. Oh, my God,” Di says, panting. “We’re so screwed!”

  “Shhh, we’re in a church,” I tell her. “Keep your voice down, but don’t worry. I’ll find another band.”

  “A band?” Sam says, his eyes widening. “For the reception? Tonight?”

  Di gives him a fretful nod. “Can you play Billy Idol’s ‘White Wedding’ on electric guitar?”

  Sam shakes his head.

  “Shit,” Di mutters.

  “What about Alex’s musician friends?” I ask. “Could some of them pull together and do it?”

  “Most of them are either out-of-state now or not speaking to each other anymore,” Di says. She pauses, her cheeks flushed, her eyes feverish with alarm. “Wait. How about Andrei? He can play anything!”

  “What?” I say. Then, “Absolutely not.”

  “Oh, c’mon, El. He’d do it for you. The guy’s still in love with you, you know.”

  I conclude that Wedding-Day Malaria must’ve set in or Di would never ask this of me. I open my mouth to contradict the love thing, but Sam interrupts.

  “Who’s Andrei?” he says.

  “Ellie’s rock-star ex-boyfriend,” Di explains. “He’s got an incredible voice and a Top Twenty hit on Russian radio right now. He still lives in the Chicago area and she has access to his private cell number.” My sister jabs a finger in my direction. “So, call him. For me. Pleeeeassse.”

  “I don’t think — ” I begin to say, then stop. I do have Andrei’s number — memorized, even. I could call him. He’ll probably rush right over to do this for me if he’s available. But I don’t want to. I don’t want to use him when I know nothing will ever happen between us again.

  “You were dating a…uh, Russian rock star?” Sam’s brow scrunches up.

  “We dated some years back,” I explain with a shrug, “before he hit it big. But I go to watch his band perform downtown every now and then.”

  I don’t tell Sam the rest, though. That Andrei sends me the tickets. That he’s mentioned — repeatedly — us getting back together and even hinted at marriage and kids. That the certainty of seriously hot sex (in addition to the husband and child thing) makes his proposition tempting, but that emotionally I moved on a long time ago. He was great, yes, and I learned a lot about myself from being with him, but it turned out he wasn’t The One after all. And I’m not settling for anything but a Forever Love now.

  Still, my sister’s eyes are pleading with me to do something, and I figure for her sake I can deal with all the awkwardness and personal discomfort later.

  I sigh and say, “Okay, Di.” I punch in the first couple digits of Andrei’s number, but Sam’s hand closes over mine. He clicks off the phone.

  “Hang on,” he says to me, his expression cautious but compassionate. Then, to Di, “Do you and Alex have to have a band? Or would a really good DJ do the trick?”

  “At this point, if that DJ has a decent copy of ‘White Wedding,’” Di says, “I’m fine with it.”

  Sam nods. “I’ll see what I can do.” He reaches for the cell phone just as the organist strikes the first few chords of the pre-ceremony music.

  “Oh, crap!” Di says, her eyes darting wildly around the church foyer.

  I glance at my watch. Eight minutes before the ceremony and counting down…

  Mom comes rushing toward us. “I found the Chicago Yellow Pages.” She thrusts the fat phone book at me. “Will this be enough?”

  I glance at Sam. He squints at the phone book then holds out his open palm for it. I can tell from his determined expression that he’s deep in planning mode.

  “Why don’t you let me take care of this?” he whispers to me, flipping rapidly through the crinkled pages of the book, looking so much like that music-loving teenage Sam that I get a vivid flashback of our sophomore-year dance. “I’ll figure something out.”

  “No, Sam. You’re here as a guest. I should be the one to — ”

  But Angelique races up to us and interrupts me. “Where are all the flowers, Ellie? I’ll pin the boutonnieres on the guys and the corsages on the moms, but we’re going to have to get started soon. The men are almost ready to walk in.”

  I point her toward the table of roses and tell her to grab the bridesmaid bouquets, too. She’s about to leave when my dad and brother jog in, read the nervous expressions on our faces (it’s hard to miss) and halt in place.

  “Diana,” Dad says quietly. “Is everything all right? Do you still want to do this today?”

  “Get married?” my sister asks. She looks shaken from the stress, but she still manages to snort. “Hell, yeah. But it might be a freaking boring reception if we don’t have any music.”

  “What?” Dad and Gregory say together.

  Mom explains the problem to them while Di turns to Sam. “The dance is supposed to start at seven-thirty,” my sister says. “Can you help us?”

  Sam studies my family members huddled around him. I see him look at each and every one of us until, finally, his blue eyes return to me. “I promise I’ll take care of it,” he says, meeting my gaze. “Trust me.” Then, to Di, he adds, “I’ve got a favor I can call in, but I’ll probably have to miss most of the ceremony to do it.”

  “Hey, you can watch the video later if you really wanna see it.” She leans in and gives him a peck on the cheek. “Thanks, Sam.” Then she arches a brow at me, and I can see the familiar deviousness dancing in her eyes. “Ellie, find Sam a quiet spot to make his phone calls and then get your butt back out here. Pachelbel’s Canon is gonna start any second.”

  Sam and I step away just as Aunt Candice emerges from the playroom.

  “What do you want me to do with these smart little rugrats?” she says, unable to contain the pride in her voice, however unwillingly bestowed. “When do we release them on the public?”

  I check my watch once again. Clifton and the triplets are scheduled to scatter rose petals down the aisle, shepherded by Lyssa, the official flower girl. “In three minutes,” I tell her as I pull Sam away from my family.

  He follows me to Reverend Jacobs’s office, strides inside and points to the door. “Get out there,” he tells me gently. “You’ve got a wedding to go to.”

  My heart is trying to hammer its way out of my rib cage. “Sam, this is awful. First you get a last-minute invitation to this wedding, and now you’re going to spend the next hour trying to fix our mess for us. I’m so sorry we roped you into this — ”

  “I’m not,” he says. “I’m not sorry at all.” He looks deep into my eyes. “If I can’t always keep from hurting someone, Ellie, I can at least try to fix a few things sometimes.” He kisses my hand. “Now, get going. I’ll see you soon.”

  And the way he says this lets me know his promise is as much a certainty as the sun shining and the earth revolving around it.

  Twenty seconds before the ceremony…

  I glance over my shoulder and see Sam grinning at me. Then I scurry back to the foyer where everybody is lined up and waiting to walk down the aisle. Here we go.

  Forty-two minutes later, I’m strolling back toward the front doors on the arm of Alex’s brother, Nick. Alexander Sinjin Evans has been united in holy matrimony — again — with Diana Lynn Barnett Evans, and the two of them lead us out of the church.

  I catch a glimpse of Sam in the hallway as the procession heads outside. He’s leaning up against a marble pillar, the cell phone still in one hand and, in the other, a stray pink rose that must’ve escaped one of the bouquets.

  I mouth, “Well?”

  He nods, raising the rose like a champagne flute in my direction, toasting me. “It’s done,” he mouths back.

  We exchange weary smiles before Nick escorts me to my place in the receiving line. I give Di the news via a thumbs-up, and my sister whispers, “I’m thinking maybe you should marry this Sam guy. I know you said he can be a pain in the ass, but he’s hot, and I kinda like him.”

  High praise indeed.

  I laugh at her suggestion, but a tiny niggle of
hope begins to tango within me, kicking at the dust in my soul and stirring up all sorts of things it probably shouldn’t.

  I open myself up to the feeling anyway, and I find I’m overwhelmed by a happiness I can’t sweep away.

  If you can overlook Mr. Blaine’s endless infractions toward you merely because he rushed to your aid at long last, Jane complains, you are ridiculously forgiving. Either that or incredibly foolish.

  And you, Jane, are unbelievably prejudiced against him, I retort, unable to contain the silly grin that’s found its home on my lips. Sam’s grown up. I believe he really —

  Is unchanged, Jane interrupts. For all your romanticism, you must realize the gentleman has done nothing worthy of note. He has not saved your family’s reputation or partaken in any pursuit that requires his specialized skill or resources —

  What do you mean? He DID use his resources. He called in his contacts to get us some music for tonight.

  Perhaps he may have acquired the musical entertainment for your sister’s wedding dance, but this hardly indicates a grand commitment of time or effort. It fails to show an improvement in his character or his temperament or —

  Sure it does. Jane, you’re being absurd!

  After a long, silent moment she says, It has been my private mission to see you happily settled in this life, Ellie. Because I care about you and…and because you are the descendant of someone very dear to me. There. I have said it at last. She pauses. But I fear I have failed you.

  No, you haven’t! You’ve been amazing. You tried to direct me away from hurt and harm even when I seemed determined to screw things up, and I — Then it hits me. Wait, your Clergyman By The Sea? He’s a relative of MINE?

  Yes. He died, of course, but his brother the doctor — an arrogant man, similar in temperament to your Mr. Blaine and an individual I confess I did not much like — DID marry and have children. You come from the last branch of that family’s line.

  I cover my mouth with both palms and close my eyes as I try to process this. Oh, Jane.

  She sighs softly. Ellie, I waited almost two centuries to find just the right one of his ancestors with whom to share what I know of human nature, what I recognize to be true about love and passion. I waited to try to connect with his one descendant that I felt shared an outlook on life most like mine, in hopes of making her life better. Perhaps it is a small gift. Perhaps it has been hopelessly ineffective, but it is the only one I have left to give to the memory of the man I loved. And to you.