by SJD Peterson
“I can’t stop wondering what this is all about,” Mary Grace said. “Charles made it sound so urgent.”
“And why did he want Hugh and me to come too?” I asked.
“I have no idea. But you might want to move into the other lane.”
I glared at my mother through the rearview mirror. “Would you like to drive? I’d be more than happy to let you.” I held up my hands.
“Benson! You’re going to kill us all.”
“We’re going five miles an hour, I’m quite sure you’d survive,” I assured her.
“Hugh, would you please talk to him,” Mary Grace pleaded. “I swear, I’m so tense I may just faint.
“I should get so lucky,” I muttered.
“What was that?” Mother asked. Hugh on the other hand heard me and covered his mouth to hide his grin.
“Just complaining to the driver in front of me,” I fibbed.
“You do realize they can’t hear you?” Mother said sounding exasperated. I didn’t respond. I didn’t have to—Mary Grace had turned her attention from my driving on to Hugh.
“Hugh, dear. You don’t have to make any quick decisions about selling your home. Take all the time you need. Charles and I have a great deal more to resolve than the simple matter of living accommodations.”
“Uh-oh. Have negotiations crumbled?” Hugh asked.
“We’ve moved past that for the time being. Last night, at Benson’s urging, I told Charles I wished to be swept off by him. Swept off, so to speak, on a white stallion.” Mary Grace paused dramatically.
“A white stallion,” Hugh echoed.
“You get the idea,” I said.
“Oh. Romance, got it,” Hugh answered doubtfully.
I tried to ignore him. “Mother, what did Charles have to say to all this?”
Mary Grace sighed. “Absolutely nothing. He just looked a bit panicked, told me I had a piece of leaf debris in my hair. And then he left.”
My heart ached for her. I knew all too well what it was like to share your feelings with someone, only to have that someone ignore you. I cast a sidelong glance at Hugh. How all too well I knew. “Well, he did call you today. That’s an encouraging sign.”
“I’m not at all sure that it is.” Mary Grace sniffed. “I wish he would have shared his intentions with me. I don’t like surprises.”
“Wait, I’m confused,” Hugh said. “You want romance but don’t like surprises? How can you have one without the other?”
“Not necessarily,” I piped in before Mother could answer. “Sometimes the most romantic thing someone can do for you is simply be there. Listen. Touch. Share their heart.”
“I take it this Collins guy does all those things?” Hugh asked, sounding slightly annoyed.
“Actually, he does. But we’re not discussing Jason. Or romance or any of it—”
“You’re the one who brought up the subject of romance,” Hugh pointed out. “I’m just trying to learn a little about it.”
“I most certainly did not. Mother did. How about we keep the focus on her?”
“You really should listen, Benson. Hugh says he wishes to learn.”
“I doubt he’s serious, Mother.”
“Why? Don’t you believe I’m capable of any romance, Benny?”
My gaze strayed to him again. Was that amusement I saw in his eyes? Or was he serious? That bicycle he’d hauled up to my apartment—that had certainly been a surprise. But romantic, I couldn’t say. With Hugh, who could?
I wasn’t sure how to answer Hugh’s question. I honestly didn’t know if he was capable of romance. Well, I supposed everyone could do something one would consider romantic, but without emotion, it really was a hollow gesture. Luckily, I would have more time to consider it because we’d arrived at the airport.
I pulled onto the tarmac as per Charles’s instructions. And there was Charles himself, coming to open Mary Grace’s door with a flourish. He assisted her from the car.
“Madam,” he said, “your white steed awaits.”
Technically, it may not have been a white steed, but it was a white plane—close enough.
I stepped from the car, coming around to stand next to Hugh. Mother looked shocked. “What in heaven’s name have you done, Charles?”
“I have decided the particulars of our union can be worked out later. The most important thing is that you become my wife.”
“Now?” Mary Grace squeaked.
“Yes, as soon as we touch down in Vegas. I’ve arranged everything.”
Christ, no wonder Mother was so surprised—hell, I was surprised. It wasn’t every day that your ex-fiancé whisked you into a chartered jet and flew you off to get married, just like that. It was certainly a surprise. It was certainly romantic. I couldn’t deny either.
Now Mary Grace stood at the altar of the small wedding chapel, Charles by her side. Of course, the wedding chapel wasn’t to Mother’s taste. It was done up entirely in pink—pink walls, pink chairs, pink carpet. Even the flowers massed everywhere were pink. I thought it looked like some giant had spewed Pepto-Bismol.
As son of honor—stupid title—I stood beside my mother. Hugh, the best man, stood beside Charles. Filling the chairs behind us were many of Charles’s and Mary Grace’s friends. His chartered jet had taken on quite a load of passengers, including almost everyone they knew from Charleston. When Charles decided to do something romantic, well, apparently, he went all the way.
“Do you, Charles Henry Egan, take Mary Grace Winthrop to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish all the days of your life?”
“I do,” said Charles. He was starting to look dazed, as if the magnitude of this adventure was only now starting to sink in.
“Do you, Mary Grace Winthrop, take Charles Henry Egan to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish all the days of your life?”
Mary Grace seemed incapable of speech. She just stood there, an awestruck expression on her face. The silence was starting to become noticeable. I wanted to offer her moral support but couldn’t think of a discreet way to do it. I ended up giving her a nudge, and that seemed to do the job.
“Oh! Yes… yes, of course. I mean… I do!”
“I pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride,” said the officiant.
Charles embraced his wife, as pink helium-filled balloons were released into the air. Then the newly married couple went down the aisle, arms linked. Hugh and I followed, our arms not linked. The wedding guests trooped after us.
Charles had rented practically the entire hotel where the chapel was located. Everyone congregated in the ballroom, and the band struck up a waltz. Charles escorted his new bride onto the floor, Mary Grace still looking a bit stunned. She’d asked for romance and perhaps received more than she’d bargained for.
I sank down at one of the tables, frowning at the pink napkins, the pink mints, and the pink crepe-paper streamers.
“What’s wrong, Benny?” Hugh asked as he pulled out a chair beside me. “This is supposed to be a celebration. Aren’t you happy about it?”
I chewed one of the pink mints. It tasted like chalk. “Of course I’m happy. As long as my mother is happy.”
“You don’t look happy.”
“You know, there are lots of appealing people here. Don’t let me slow you down.”
“I can’t neglect my duties,” Hugh said. “I’m the best man, remember? That means supervising the rest of the wedding party.”
“Supervise somewhere else.” I propped my chin in my hand, unable to explain the melancholy drifting over me. Maybe weddings always made me feel that way. They were occasions where so much was promised, so much expected of the future. But could the future ever live up to all the hype?
“Perhaps if you get your feet moving, your mind will follow.” Hugh pulled me to my feet and out onto the floor. Another song had started, and several couples were dancing. Hugh pulled me close. I knew I ought to resist
him. Certainly, I ought to resist the romantic music, tinged with its own sweet melancholy. But then I found my hands moving up over his shoulders. I pressed my cheek against Hugh’s. Being in his arms brought magic. It also brought torment because I would always require more than Hugh could give me.
Hugh knew how to hold ne when we danced—just as he did when we made love. But why didn’t he know how to do it at other times? Last night, at his parents’ house, he hadn’t been able to hold me. I closed my eyes, wishing I didn’t feel that ache inside, an ache of desire and disappointment that only Hugh seemed able to inspire in me. But I didn’t let go of him. I just twined my fingers in his hair and went on dancing, wishing the music could go on forever.
The song ended, of course, the rhythm dying down. I clung to Hugh just another moment.
“You two certainly seem to be having a good time” came the cheery voice of Mary Grace Winthrop Egan.
With a start, I opened my eyes and pulled away from Hugh. Mother seemed to be making a recovery. She no longer looked dazed. She looked… sparkly. There was no other word for it.
“Excuse me, Hugh, while I borrow my son for a moment.” Mary Grace propelled me off a little way, leaving Hugh to talk with the groom.
“Mother, is everything going all right? Is this what you wanted?”
“Goodness, dear, Charles could not have done a better job of sweeping me off my feet! I never imagined he had it in him. Not that it’s easy for him either, you know. He’d much rather be in his gardens. The fact that he would do all this for me….” Mary Grace gave a tender little smile. “Well, I have my answer, Benson. Even when Charles decides to lose himself for hours in his greenhouse, I’ll never again doubt his love for me.”
“I’m glad for you, Mother. Very glad.”
Mary Grace gave me a quick hug. “You were right all along, dear. I just had to ask Charles for what I needed. Now if only you and Hugh—”
“Mother, it’s not always that simple.”
“Isn’t it, dear?”
“No, Mother, I’m sorry to say it isn’t. Sometimes you ask for what you need and the other person just can’t come through for you.”
Mary Grace seemed ready to protest, but it was time for the toasts. As best man, Hugh raised the first glass.
“To Mary Grace and Charles. May their lives together always be filled with… surprises.”
No one could accuse Hugh of wasting words. He looked right at me as he spoke, his expression seeming to carry some sort of challenge. I turned away from him and picked up my own glass of champagne.
Unfortunately, the rest of the toasts weren’t as concise as Hugh’s. They became progressively more long-winded and silly. The bridal couple began sneaking toward the door.
“Wait!” someone exclaimed. “What about the bouquet? You can’t leave without throwing the bouquet!”
Mary Grace glanced down at the cluster of begonias and dahlias still clutched in her hand. She gazed around the ballroom, drew her arm back. After a moment of hesitation, she walked over and handed me the bouquet.
CHAPTER TWENTY
I AWOKE to the smell of warm flesh and stale champagne. I yawned, then winced at the pounding in my head. I tried to convince myself I was dreaming. It had to be a dream. The gust of snoring close to my ear, the masculine hand resting possessively on my thigh…. I sat up straight, and my head pounded all the more. Holy shit, I’d had this dream before. My heart seemed to beat in a tempo to match that in my head. A sense of foreboding engulfed me. What had I done? Oh, for fuck’s sake, what had I done?
I stared at the sleeping form next to me. Hugh, hair rumpled on the pillow, snored in that restless manner of his.
A sense of dread growing, I glanced around the room. What I saw wasn’t reassuring—the nearly empty bottle of champagne on the heart-shaped nightstand, the bouquet of begonias and dahlias tossed onto the floor, the discarded clothes strewn everywhere, the flocked wallpaper with its pattern of hearts.
Stomach clenched in dismay, I scrambled out of the bed. I grabbed my crumpled clothes, then hurried into the adjoining bathroom. I examined the place a bit wildly. Heart-shaped soaps, heart-shaped mirrors. Even the damn sinks were heart shaped.
I splashed cold water onto my face, hoping it would wake me from my nightmare. It did no good. I tried to put on my clothes, but somehow my briefs had become entangled in Hugh’s boxers. Fuck! I finally managed to yank on my clothes, then sat on the edge of the tub and instructed myself on how to breathe. It had to be a dream. C’mon, man! Please let it be a dream.
Once again, I’d overindulged in alcohol—champagne this time. So had Hugh. That part I was willing to admit. But the rest of it—surely it couldn’t really have happened. Hugh couldn’t really have swept me off my feet and taken me into the wedding chapel. And the tall lady in pink surely hadn’t performed another ceremony. Do you, Benson, take Hugh….
I moaned, got to my feet, my legs trembling, and went to stare at my ex, who was still slumbering. Except that maybe he was no longer my ex. Maybe I really had done the unthinkable. Maybe I’d actually married him!
I gazed at Hugh a moment longer, with all the heartache and longing and confusion inside me. Then I grabbed my shoes from the floor, took one more glance at Hugh, and fled.
Whether it was a dream or not, I planned on fixing it. I was going back to New York and carrying on with my plans as if this night had never happened.
“WRONG,” SAID Joyce in a weary tone. “All wrong.”
I gritted my teeth.
“Joyce,” Jason put in, “Ben and I are going to take five. You don’t mind?”
“Of course I don’t mind. Why would I mind? Just because we’re opening a week from tonight and nobody has a damn clue about what we’re doing here—”
Lindsey slapped down her script. “I’ve had it. This time I’ve really had it.”
Jason took me off to one of the small dressing rooms, where mildew spotted the walls and a dead cockroach lay feet up in the corner. The atmosphere fitted my mood, so I didn’t protest. Jason closed the door, sat me down on a bench, and then stood back to survey me.
“Mind telling me what’s going on? You’ve been avoiding me ever since you came back from visiting your mother two days ago. You won’t go out to eat with me, you’ll barely answer my phone calls, and during rehearsal, you won’t even look at me. Ben, please tell me what’s wrong?”
I had been waiting for just the right opportunity to tell him my problem—that I’d flown to Las Vegas, had too much champagne, and then married my ex. I really did want to tell Jason about all that, but somehow the right opportunity hadn’t presented itself. This certainly wasn’t it.
“Look, Jason, after rehearsal, we’ll talk. Not now.”
“When a man tells you ‘not now,’ you know you’re definitely in trouble.”
“Put a lid on it.”
He looked injured. “You won’t even let me come near you. What have I done?”
“It’s nothing to do with you. It’s just… I’ve made a monumental mess of my life, and I have no one to blame but myself.”
I still couldn’t believe I’d done it. What had possessed me? I couldn’t just blame the champagne. Some craziness in me had taken over, and I’d done absolutely the worst thing possible. I’d committed myself to Hugh Bayard for the second time around.
I couldn’t stop myself from leaning against the makeup table and burying my head in my arms. If this action bore any similarity to an ostrich burying its head in the sand, I chose to ignore the fact. I’d been so overwrought since returning to New York, I’d barely rested at all. I hadn’t eaten much either, what with my stomach being clenched all the time. Somehow it didn’t help matters that my new husband had made no effort to contact me during the past few days. The last time I’d seen Hugh, he’d been snoring in a rumpled Las Vegas hotel bed. I had caught a commercial flight back east, rather than face him again. I had inflicted the worst sort of pain and humiliation on myself by marrying him. But it
hurt all the more, knowing that Hugh hadn’t made even one effort to contact me. Never mind that I had made no effort to contact him.
Jason stroked my hair in a comforting manner. “You know you can tell me anything, don’t you? Whatever’s wrong, I’ll understand.”
Jason’s understanding was going to be just a little stretched by what I had to tell him. I straightened and did my best to compose myself.
“Jason, I will tell you about it. But first we have to go out there and rehearse, try to pull this play together somehow.”
Jason didn’t look convinced, but he went out onstage with me. We ran through a scene with Lindsey/Lori. It went fairly well, although Joyce still complained about my interpretation. I just wanted the wretched rehearsal to be over.
At last it was. Jason and I were left alone, but that of course only presented me with another difficult situation. How did I tell Jason? How did I explain something I couldn’t possibly understand myself?
We stood on the stage, facing each other, the stifling heat of the footlights upon us. I blotted the perspiration from my forehead.
“Jason… I’m sorry—”
“Maybe you shouldn’t tell me,” Jason said abruptly. “Maybe this is something I don’t want to hear.”
“I wish I didn’t have to say it—”
“No, Ben.” He stepped toward me, just as he had when we’d rehearsed our scene. He looked worried and suddenly quite a bit younger than his twenty-six years. “Don’t tell me. For just a little while, let things be the way they were before. Just pretend that everything is perfect.”
“Jason, it never was perfect for us,” I said gently. “You know that. I wish it had been, though. I wish somehow it could have worked out.”
Every emotion always showed on Jason’s face. It was one of the reasons he was such a good actor—his ability to express the nuances of emotion even without words. And right now, what he was feeling was painfully clear to me. I saw the hurt I’d inflicted on him.
When he took a step closer and kissed me, I didn’t pull away. It was a kiss of farewell. I knew it, and surely Jason did too.