“Even Putin’s laughing at that one. Silly cat. . . . Call me, dear. . . . Good-bye.”
Chapter 38
4 Days to the Celebration
Malcolm set down the sander, closed his eyes, and ran his fingers along the gazebo rail. It was so smooth it felt more like ivory than wood. He blew hard and brushed away the remaining bits of sawdust. He’d sanded and painted the rail once already, but when the paint dried, he’d not been satisfied with what he judged were imperfections. But they were blemishes Rain told him Bob Vila wouldn’t have noticed.
The extensive and expensive project had become an escape from the drama of planning something that had traveled a universe beyond what anyone initially envisioned. He told Rain more than once that if it had been anyone but their generous neighbor driving the giant event, he would have pulled the plug long ago.
His creeping doubt about the entire transition made babysitting his pet project even more appealing. The details of the sale, the party, and the transition to their new life were overwhelming at times.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Noah said, holding a digital camcorder in his hand and surprising his father from behind. “We’re here in the backyard spying on . . . What’s the name of the guy from Extreme Home Makeover?”
“Ty Something.”
“That’s him.” Noah turned the camera back on and pointed it at Malcolm. “Here we are with Ty Something, who is working hard on his secret project. How’s it going, Ty?”
“Good,” Malcolm said without looking up. “You hungry?”
“Why? You buying me lunch after the show?”
“Won’t need to,” Malcolm said, picking up a paintbrush to repaint the rail. “I’ll feed that camera to you.”
“And cut,” Noah said. “Good stuff.”
Malcolm tapped the edge of the paint can with his foot. “Stir that paint, Ed Wood.”
Noah did as asked and the men enjoyed a rare conversation without the influence of Rain, A&P, or any of the other self-appointed party planners.
“What are they up to in there this morning?” Malcolm asked.
“Same stuff. Food, talking about getting another tent, finding a new DJ because the other one fell and broke his hand.”
“Lucky guy,” Malcolm said with a wry smile and he dipped his brush in the paint.
“You know, Dad, when Rachel called it off and left, and A&P convinced us to go ahead with this thing away, I thought it would be low-key, you know? But really? This is way more work and way bigger than a wedding would have been.”
Malcolm moved the brush across the rail as if painting a masterpiece, leaning in close and eyeballing every millimeter. “I could have told you this is how it would end. Your mother, A&P, Samantha, plus your uncle Matt getting involved? It’s some weird therapy I think. . . . Toss me that rag.”
“Uncle Matt does seem really excited about the whole thing.”
“Helping makes him feel better, I would imagine. But just between us? Your mom and Anna Belle are only letting him feel like he’s making any real decisions here. He’s just a pawn in their little game.” Malcolm got on his knees and dabbed at a spot on the underside of the rail.
Noah sat on the top step of the elevated gazebo and looked back at Domus Jefferson. “It’s really happening.” He said the words more to the air between him and the Inn than to anyone else. “I wonder how many people in history have ever been raised at a B&B. You know? Basically my whole life here. I just wonder . . .”
Malcolm tapped the excess paint from the brush and set it on the paint can lid. “Not many,” he said.
“Maybe none.”
“Could be.”
“I’m like a pioneer, Dad.”
Malcolm joined him on the step. “You’re something,” he said and he loosened the straps on his kneepads and slid them off. “You’re a different one, that’s for sure.”
“Yeah?”
“You don’t need me to tell you what a good kid you are.”
“Maybe I do.” Noah turned the camera back on, turned it around, and held it out in front of them. “I better get this on tape.”
Malcolm gave him the look.
“Maybe next time,” Noah laughed and put the lens cap back on.
Malcolm noticed a spot of wet paint on his thumb and wiped it on Noah’s arm. “You sure seem to be doing well, all things considered.”
“Am I?” Noah said.
“Look at you. You seem at peace. I can’t imagine coping with this so well at your age. I was a wreck in my twenties.”
“I guess I hide it better than you.” Noah’s eyes went to the swing. “It stinks, every day still stinks. But what am I going to do? I just keep on going, you know. Working on my art, doing this thing for A&P, getting ready for the big day here, keeping busy. I think all that helps.”
“Good for you. That’s why you’re a unique kid. This thing would eat a lot of people up.”
“Thanks, but you had your heart broken a few times and you survived pretty well, right?”
“Survived, yes. Pretty well? That’s up for debate.”
“You’re here, and the woman you love is right inside there, so I’d say that’s doing pretty well.”
Malcolm smiled and nodded slowly. “But it was close. I think back on how I almost lost your mother. What a fool I was. A few things go differently and I’m not here today. And neither is she. And neither are you.”
“You don’t think it was meant to be?”
“Meant to be? I don’t believe in meant to be.”
“Hold up now—you don’t think you and Mom were meant to be together?”
Malcolm looked at his son. “I hate to rock your belief system right here and now, but no, I don’t.”
Noah playfully punched his dad in the leg. “Don’t make me turn this thing back on.”
Malcolm slid away from Noah and turned his hips to face him. “Let me ask you something. Was I meant to punch Nathan Crescimanno that night he disrespected your mother?”
“Like was it meant to happen?”
Malcolm nodded.
“I guess. He was a jerk and you flattened him. You did what anyone would do.”
“But it put me in a world of trouble, didn’t it?”
“I guess so.”
“I’d say two years in Brazil avoiding the law and not being there for my parents is a world of trouble.”
“I guess. But you were there in the right place to defend her. And I’m glad you did.”
Malcolm thought a moment. “But I chose to hit him, yes?”
“For sure.”
“What if I hadn’t? What if I’d walked away, driven your mother home, and begged her not to marry that creep. What if I’d said, I’ll do anything to win you back.”
“She might have had second thoughts about that loser. Especially after that night.”
“Exactly. And we might have been married even sooner.”
Noah sat confused before asking, “You have regrets then?”
“Of course I do. I wish things had gone differently. I love Brazil and the memories I made there. And I love your mother. But the choices I made gave me less time with her than I might have had. And it was all so close. Do you know how close she was to marrying that man? How lucky I am she didn’t? I almost lost her, son.”
“This is what I’m saying, that you guys are meant to be together.”
“No, we were not meant to be together. It looks that way now, and I love her with all my heart—I am thankful every day she’s mine—but we made it happen. We worked and worked and fought through tough times when other people might have given up.”
Noah looked away again. “Huh, you’re seriously killing romance for me, Dad.”
Malcolm stood, stepped off the gazebo, and faced his son. “Listen to this, Noah. I know it’s not what they say in the movies, and it’s not terribly romantic or poetic. But it’s the truth. We don’t just fall in love through magic. We don’t stay married because the stars align. Those things happ
en because we make them happen. Your mother probably could have found happiness with that guy, even if he was a loser. The truth? He was a decent guy mostly, he just didn’t know how to deal with his fear. And I could have married someone else and probably been happy too.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“Because I wanted your mother. I wanted to love her. I wanted to stay married. I wanted to work at it. It wasn’t meant to happen like the sun coming up every morning. I made it come up.”
Noah studied his father’s eyes but said nothing.
“May I ask you an honest question, son?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Do you think Rachel will just show up here one day and say let’s get married?”
“She might.”
“Might?”
“If we’re meant to be, yeah. I think so.”
Malcolm put one foot on the step next to Noah and leaned down. “She won’t, son.”
“You don’t know that. When she’s ready, she might. She’s taking time to sort through everything. Come on, it’s been a tough time for her and her mom. Giving her space is the least I can do, right?”
Malcolm leaned down even further. “Do you still love her?”
“Of course I do.”
“Do you still want to marry her?”
“More than anything.”
“Then go get her. Don’t trust that she’ll be led back out to the valley by some magic force. Life is a game of inches, Noah. If you blink, if you take too many breaths waiting for the universe to change her mind and deliver her to you on some shooting star, she’ll be gone. . . . Trust me, son, I almost lost your mother, and I have luck—in part—to thank for giving me another chance with her. You might not be so lucky.”
Noah stood and gazed off. Enough time passed for Malcolm to walk back up into the gazebo, put the lid on the paint, set the brush down, and return to his son’s side.
Malcolm put his arm around Noah and said, “Do you want to read something, son?”
Malcolm invited Noah to make himself comfortable inside his office and wait for him.
Noah slouched on the couch and let the cool air dry the sweat beads on his sideburns. “Bring a drink, Corn Pops,” he shouted into the hallway.
Malcolm found Rain and A&P sitting at the smaller table in the kitchen and poring over a list of RSVPs. Malcolm whispered something in Rain’s ear and she met the words with a smile, then a kiss. Malcolm grabbed two bags of chips from the counter and two bottles of IBC Root Beer from the refrigerator.
Malcolm had returned to the office and shut the door behind him before Noah had time to wonder what his father was up to. Malcolm handed his son a drink and a bag of chips and retrieved a yellowed envelope from a small box in the bottom drawer of his desk. “Guess how many people have read this letter? Two. Two people. Your mother, who wrote it, and me.” Malcolm handed the envelope to his son.
“Uh, I don’t know. I shouldn’t.”
“Yes, you should. Your mother sent me this letter while I was in Brazil running from my life. I didn’t open it then. I didn’t open it until I came home for Grandma and Grandpa’s funeral.”
“No way, I can’t read this. This is too private.”
“It’s all right, Noah. Your mother knows. She’s always known one day I’d share it with you.”
“I don’t know.” Noah extended the letter back toward his father.
“Noah Cooper, read the letter.” Malcolm added the look for effect.
• • •
September 1, 1987
Dear Malcolm,
It’s been over a year since I’ve heard from you. Truthfully, I know the exact number of days since you left, but admitting that doesn’t make me feel proud. If anything, it makes me feel guilty.
I’m writing because I want to thank you for defending me that night at Woody’s. It was the most terrifying thing for me. Ever. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there. No, we do know what would have happened, don’t we?
Mostly I’m writing to tell you that I miss you.
I want you to know that Nathan and I are engaged and are planning to get married soon. I finally have a ring, even though we haven’t set a date yet. Thinking about it, I bet you’ve heard the news by now from Sammie or your mother. It’s really going to happen this time.
I know you don’t care for Nathan. And I am aware that Nathan isn’t perfect, but is he perfect for me? He might be. He’s offering a safe life and a future without fear or uncertainty. That is what I like about him, that is what I’ve always liked about him. He doesn’t have secrets. No secret past or secret dreams. I know his thoughts and I know where he stands on everything.
But what about you? I have never known for sure. I’ve only known that we move at different speeds and have wanted different things at different times. You said once we were two ships passing in the night. That’s not us at all. We’re not passing in the night; we’re in different oceans.
Malcolm, I wish I knew what you were doing at this very moment. Instead I can only imagine your days in Brazil writing and traveling. You’re making friends with everyone because that’s what you are so good at. You’re speaking the language like a native by now. I imagine your hair is long because your sister isn’t pestering you to cut it. Am I right?
I know where you are. But where is your heart? Do you think of me? Do you wonder about the “what if” questions that I think of every day? Are you afraid?
Or have you met someone who has given themselves to you in ways I would not yet. Are you in love?
Sometimes I look at the sky and wonder what time it is where you are. I like to imagine that you wake up wishing you hadn’t run off.
Why? Why did you run off? Was it me? Was it Nathan? Was it the fight? Or was it just time to do something new and exciting and be somewhere exotic far from this boring life in the valley?
Are you ever coming home?
I am going to finish this letter and rush to seal it and send it with your mother’s care package. Please use the phone she’s sending. Call her, please. She worries about you constantly.
Am I being unfaithful by writing this letter? I’m not even going to reread it because I don’t want to lose my nerve.
Malcolm, I still love you. I know that’s wrong to say because I love Nathan, too. Truthfully I have no idea what will happen in the months ahead, but I know I will wonder every minute if you’re coming back. If you don’t come back I will marry Nathan and make a good life. I know I can.
But what would life be like with you? I won’t know if you’re in Brazil and I’m in Woodstock and in between us are miles and miles of questions and doubts.
I’ve seen you fight. I watched you fight in high school when you thought it was the only way to right a wrong. I’ve seen you fight because it was the only way you knew how to express yourself.
Come fight one more time, Malcolm. Not with your fists. Not with anger. Come fight with your heart. Walk to my door and tell me you and I can make a life, too, but a better one. A scary, amazing, unknown life. An adventurous life.
Maybe nothing changes. Maybe you stride back into town and our futures remain unchanged.
But maybe we make it work. Maybe your heart wins. Maybe my heart wins, too.
Waiting,
Rain
Chapter 39
3 Days to the Celebration
When Angela and Jake said they hoped to save money and avoid getting a rental car from Dulles Airport, A&P insisted on picking them up and loaning them a car to drive while in town. “The break away will do me good,” she told Samantha and Shawn. “Please let me do this. I’ll get them safely home.” Then she snickered, “And I’ll try not to eat that little granddaughter of yours.”
They relented and Samantha used the unexpected downtime to kidnap Rain for some long-overdue fun with her sister-in-law. “No planning this morning. No phone calls. None of that. If you say the words hors d’oeuvre or guest list I’ll arrest you and lock you in t
he county jail until Tuesday morning.”
After the ladies disappeared from the Inn for a Saturday morning adventure, Shawn apologized for his hectic work schedule and volunteered to help Malcolm finish the gazebo. All that was left was the cupola, and Malcolm appreciated another set of hands. While the two men worked and shared stupid jokes their wives wouldn’t appreciate, the Inn’s new owners pulled up and surprised them with a visit to check on the property and the transition.
Mr. Van Dam took pictures of the gazebo and quizzed Malcolm about the value of the materials and potential uses. Across the grounds, his wife walked alone and enjoyed the comfortable fall valley air. They stayed an hour and left when Malcolm said he and his brother-in-law needed to run into town for supplies.
“You’re coming Tuesday?” Malcolm said as he shook Mr. Van Dam’s hand.
“We’ll be here,” Mr. Van Dam said. “It’s a valuable opportunity to let people know the good-bye is for your family, not the Inn.”
Malcolm bit his tongue, wished them well, and followed them down the driveway in his pickup truck.
“Supplies?” Shawn asked as Malcolm pulled onto Route 11.
“Slurpees.”
Noah spent Saturday morning writing and rewriting his first letter to Rachel. Finding the right words was difficult when his mind was trained to think in colorful images, not verbs and nouns. When the words failed him, he took breaks to put finishing touches on the painting A&P was expecting to be presented on Tuesday.
In the early afternoon he walked with a notepad to the Giant Food on Braddock Road. He sat on the curb in the back of the lot near the fading white spray-painted X where he’d proposed to Rachel, his back brushing lightly against a boxwood bush. He wrote another draft, read it back silently, then read it back out loud. He walked into the grocery store for a Kit Kat and a Sierra Mist. He tossed the note in the trash as he left the store and returned to the curb to once again attempt to write what his mind so clearly saw.
Rachel wanted nothing out of her Saturday except to stay busy. She cleaned her apartment, did laundry, and answered half a dozen work e-mails, all before lunch. She checked her Facebook account, which she hadn’t touched in weeks, and smiled that it still showed her relationship status as Engaged to Noah Cooper. She left it unchanged, wished one of her very first roommates a Happy Birthday, and logged off.
The Wedding Letters Page 19