The Wedding Letters

by Jason F. Wright

  She ate a small sandwich and an apple and packed a snack for later in the afternoon. Then she set off for a long ride along the C&O Canal bike path. She rode all the way to Great Falls, soaking in the colors of the changing leaves along the trail, feeling the wind burn her cheeks and the hills burn her legs. She considered calling Noah and having him come to the rescue and save her the long ride home. But the idea of returning on her own and collapsing on her couch, completely spent, having given herself an entire day independent of the world and dependent on no one, was simply too appealing to ignore.

  This is my day, she thought.

  She sat on the river overlook and marveled at the view. Other bikers and hikers came and went. Some offered a friendly hello and Rachel returned the greeting with a warm smile that felt natural and genuine. The forced politeness and mandated professionalism of her daily routine didn’t apply. She hadn’t felt so at ease and powerful in a long time.

  An old-fashioned telephone ring startled her. She pulled her Blackberry from her bike pack and checked the caller ID: Mom.

  This is my day, she thought again. She pressed a button and watched the screen send the call to voice mail.

  She continued watching the screen and waited for the voice mail alert. This is my day. But the alert never came. “What are you up to, Mother?”

  A gaggle of joggers passed behind her and called out more hellos and good afternoons.

  Rachel didn’t answer them, and even though she held the phone in her hand with no one on the other end, she heard her mother’s voice rushing in the white water below. We’re different; he’s different.

  Rachel finished the familiar phrase, “We’re better; he’s better.”

  She toggled through her directory and stopped on her mother’s name. Am I ready? she thought.

  Rachel pressed call before allowing herself the time to talk herself out of it—again.

  “Rachel?”

  “Hi, Mom.” Rachel could already tell her mother’s voice was breaking like the water below in the Potomac.

  “Thank you, Rachel.”

  Rachel took a few breaths as her mother sniffled. “For what?”

  “For calling.”

  She sighed. “You don’t need to thank me, Mother. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to talk.”

  “If I don’t need to say thank you,” she paused to blow her nose, “then you don’t need to apologize.”

  Rachel stood up and brushed bits of gravel from the back of her Spandex bike shorts. “How have you been?”

  “I’ve been all right,” Stephanie said as she stood, stepping away from her recliner and standing in front of her thimble collection. “Daniel visited last week.”

  Rachel felt her peaceful day of empowerment floating past. “That’s nice.” She forced the words out as routine demanded.

  “He wasn’t alone, dear.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “He wasn’t alone. He brought someone. A woman.”

  Rachel moved the phone from one ear to another and moved away from the railing. “He did?”

  “Her name is Isabella. She was very sweet.”

  “I know,” Rachel said softly.

  “I know you do.”

  Neither spoke and Rachel paced along the trail, struggling for words.

  “Rachel, you might not care to hear this, maybe not, but I’m doing better.”

  “That’s good, Mother.”

  “I’m getting help again.” Stephanie put a hand on her heart, even though she knew Rachel couldn’t see it. She gave her daughter a chance to respond, and when she didn’t, Stephanie put a finger on the side of her head and continued. “I’ve needed help . . .”

  Rachel remained quiet.

  “Sweetheart, I’ve said I am sorry every day since I saw you last. I’ve said it as I watch television alone in my bedroom late at night. I’ve said it to Daniel. To your father. I’ve said I’m sorry to my friend, Arianna. I even said I’m sorry to the delivery boy from the bagel shop who meets me at the gate. I’ve said sorry over and over again hoping you’d hear one of them.”

  Rachel didn’t know when it had started, but rain was beginning to drizzle and her shirt was stuck to her back. She protected the phone from the rain as best she could as she removed a poncho from her bike pack.

  “You might not be ready to hear one of my sorrys. I know. And I also know you have a lot of other things besides me on your mind. Who knows, maybe I’m not on your mind at all. . . . Daniel told me about you and Noah. I’m sorry for that, too. I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it. If there is one thing I would wish for you, Rachel, it would be for you to have him and leave me. He’s a good man from a good family. You don’t need my opinion though, do you? You already know what kind of family you could have with them. If you can’t hear me now, and if you never ever hear me again, I pray to God you hear that man and how much he loves you. You could have something in your soul forever that I only got to taste. . . . I want that for you.”

  Rachel sat on the overlook again and rested her forehead against the metal rail, the phone still pressed against her ear under the yellow poncho.

  “Rachel, I hear you there. Please hear me: I’m sorry. Every day since we left Kansas City, I have been full of regret. I regret not staying and facing whatever would come. I regret not telling you. I regret letting Daniel send those postcards and leading you to believe your father was alive somewhere living out a better life while we did the same. I regret not being the mother you deserved on the day I held you in my arms for the first time and promised you the world. I have not given you the world. I am sorry for that, too.”

  Rachel’s throat was tight and sore from fighting the chokes and sobs that threatened to escape. She put her hand between the rail and her forehead and felt a raindrop drip down the end of her nose until gravity pulled it to the river below.

  “I have asked Daniel to leave me be. He hugged me a final time and left me a final thimble. It has the seven bends of the Shenandoah River hand-painted around it. It’s quite special. He has her now to care for, and I will care for myself. That’s what I’m doing for myself. A small step . . .”

  In her quiet condo two thousand miles away, Stephanie turned her back on her thimble display on the wall. “There isn’t much I can give you that you don’t already have. But I offer it anyway. You leave me be, too. Go find what I didn’t. Go be what I wasn’t.”

  Chapter 40

  “Running out of nights like this one.” Rain rolled over on her pillow and faced her husband. Malcolm was sitting up in bed with his laptop balanced on his knees; the light from the screen was the only thing keeping their bedroom at Domus Jefferson from being coal-mine black.

  “Not many at all.”

  Rain put her hand up his T-shirt sleeve and lightly scratched his upper arm. “Isn’t it nice, though?”

  “Isn’t what nice?” Malcolm said but didn’t turn away from his work.

  “It’s a full house,” she said. “The Inn is booked to the closets.”

  Malcolm gave a little snort. “If we had had more nights like this maybe we wouldn’t have sold out in the first place.”

  Rain pushed herself up. “Where did that come from?”

  Malcolm continued tapping away on his keyboard. “I’m just frustrated. I’ve gotten four e-mails from the Van Dams today and I’ve only answered two. More questions, more ideas, more concerns, more lists, all in the name of due diligence. Well, I’ve got some due diligence for you, Captain Coast Guard—this place is still mine.”

  Rain put her hand on the top of Malcolm’s laptop and began to shut it, pausing briefly for him to nod his approval. When he did, she closed it and put it to the side. “Wouldn’t you rather work out your frustrations on my back instead?”

  Malcolm couldn’t have objected if he’d wanted to because Rain was already backing into him and pointing to her shoulders. He obliged and kneaded her shoulders with his knuckles before working down the spine.

  “This i
s what we wanted,” Rain said. “A fresh start. And we knew from the beginning the family moving in wouldn’t be the same as the family moving out. It’s like Alex said, we don’t get a choice in a market like this.”

  “I know all that. But now that it’s here and it’s happening and they’re so . . . so not like us, it’s hard to get used to.”

  “Little lower,” Rain said, reaching behind her and touching her lower back.

  “We were so busy this afternoon I didn’t even tell you they came by, did I?”

  “Today?”

  “When you and Sammie were gone. Shawn was helping outside and they just pulled up like they own the place already. Walking around, taking pictures, asking questions he’s now asking me again by e-mail. I know it’s not right, or kind, but I’m at the point where I hope they don’t show up Tuesday. Maybe they could have a car accident on the way—”

  “Malcolm!”

  “Nothing serious, just a fender bender, stuck on the road, maybe a broken arm or something.”

  “You. Are. Terrible.” She turned and faced him. “Spin around.” They switched places and Rain massaged Malcolm’s shoulders. “Just think, in a few weeks we’ll be in our new place with our new view of the river. No breakfast to make unless we want it. We could actually go to Candy’s or Sun Rise, wouldn’t that be nice?”

  Malcolm made a sound that could have either been a signal he agreed or a moan that she’d found the right spot on his back.

  “There’s a lot to miss, but it’s a little exciting, too, right? Just us for the first time in our entire marriage. We can travel without making arrangements. We can be gone for more than a night or two. A week in Brazil? Two weeks in Rome? You’ll wake up whenever you want to and work on your novel. I’ll wake up whenever I want—”

  “Which will be an hour before me.”

  “True. But who cares? I’ll read, I’ll walk, I’ll make a mess and not clean it up.”

  “You? Not clean up?”

  “I know, rebellious, right?”

  “Mmm, more like a big-time turn-on.” He tried to turn and face her with his lips already puckered, but she stopped him with her index finger on his cheek.

  “Easy big fella. There will be time for that, too, and without an audience in every room.”

  “When do we move out again?”

  Rain wrapped her arms around him from behind and rested her head on his upper back. “I know it’s been a lot—to put it mildly. Between the Inn and Noah, it feels like I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since spring. But this was right when we made the decision and it’s still right.”

  Malcolm kissed her arm. “I know it is. It just needs to happen already. Sometimes I feel like we’re losing someone, like it’s Mom or Dad slowly dying and we’re saying a long good-bye, you know what I mean? Makes me realize what a blessing it was that my folks went the way they did.”

  “I know,” Rain said, nodding behind him.

  “And A&P? I can barely be around her without feeling guilty.”

  Rain sat up again. “Speaking of A&P, did you see her after she dropped off Angie and Jake?”

  Malcolm turned and once again they faced each other. “No, she didn’t even come in. I went to help them in and she was headed out in a hurry.”

  “Huh. Hope everything’s all right,” Rain said. “They took forever getting back here.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine.” Malcolm moved the laptop to his nightstand and lay down. “That little Taylor is a doll though. Makes me want a grandkid.”

  Rain slipped under the covers and snuggled up next to him. “Look at you, Mr. Softie.”

  In the September blackness, Rain mentally ticked through the final preparations for the last two days before the very public good-bye to Domus Jefferson. Aunt Allyson, Laurel’s younger sister, was due to arrive from Las Vegas. Pastor Robinson, still saddened that the wedding was off, remained committed to attending the revised celebration anyway. He’d also agreed to share some remarks and offer the prayer at the luncheon. Matthew, still managing a divorce and a business-in-flux, would be the last to arrive. Though Monica wouldn’t be attending, she had sent a thoughtful e-mail to Rain wishing them well in the new phase of their life.

  As the final minutes of the day drained away, Malcolm and Rain snuggled silently in the bed that once belonged to Jack and Laurel Cooper, in the same room that held their final breaths, and in the Inn that since 1968 had held them all together.

  Chapter 41

  2 Days to the Celebration

  The second he pulled into the parking lot, Malcolm was grateful he’d warned the pastor. Many of the guests who’d already arrived in town decided to attend Sunday afternoon services in the same Mount Jackson church that had held Jack and Laurel Cooper’s funeral on April 17, 1988.

  Malcolm sat next to Rain in their usual spot. He thought of the night they buried his parents and of the highly emotional service beforehand. He could still see Uncle Joe, a different man than he’d ever known, standing humbled and brokenhearted at the pulpit.

  Rain remembered that night as well, but as the end of her long engagement with Nathan and the beginning of a life she cherished with Malcolm. In between the sweet reminders of all they’d survived together and all the adventures yet to take, she worried about the most minor of details for the celebration bearing down on them.

  Noah skipped the service and made a trip to Reagan National Airport to pick up Rachel’s mother, Stephanie. She’d agreed to come only the day before, and only on the condition he not tell Rachel she would be there. “If she comes,” she’d told him on the phone, “I want her to come for her, or for you, and not because she feels obligated to me.”

  Noah agreed—reluctantly—to honor her request.

  “Mostly,” Stephanie added, “I’m coming as much to thank your family as anything. To thank them for bringing me out of the past.”

  Noah kept his promise. He did, however, tell his parents because he suspected they would want Stephanie to stay at the Inn. He was right, and they reserved one of the guest rooms for her stay. Though he didn’t yet know whether Rachel would show, Noah worried that if she did she’d resent not being told in advance. Her unwillingness to commit one way or the other convinced him it was a chance worth taking in order to get Stephanie there. Staying connected to the woman he still prayed would be his mother-in-law, especially amid the uncertainty of his relationship and future with Rachel, was comforting.

  On their drive to the valley, Stephanie and Noah talked about everything but the topic that most interested him. He longed to pry for details on Rachel, for any shred of insight into her personality, how she thought, and how those thoughts affected her decisions. Instead they spent mile after mile talking about the Virginia weather, Stephanie’s new therapist, and Indian reservation casinos.

  Noah was so excited when they stopped in the Domus Jefferson driveway that he didn’t even think to open Stephanie’s door or offer to carry her bags. He sprinted up the walk and took the porch steps two at a time. “Aunt Allyson!”

  “Noah! How’s my little prophet?” Allyson stood up from the rocking chair on the porch and wrapped her arms around him.

  When they separated Noah examined her from head to toe. “You look exactly like you did the last time I saw you. Crazy rhinestone dress. Hat bigger than the sky. Same boots?”

  “Same boots? Not even close. These are five hundred dollar Hornback American Gators. I’m a bestseller now; I have to keep up appearances.” She hugged him again, even tighter. “I missed you, boy, and Jesus isn’t happy about all this going on for you, all this drama, what that girl has done to you. He’s not happy at all.”

  “He’s not?”

  “No. He told me the other night at bingo.” Allyson noticed Stephanie approaching the porch. “Is this her? Is this Rachel?”

  “No!” He hadn’t meant to sound so offended. “No, this is Rachel’s mother, Stephanie Kaplan.”

  Allyson reached out with both arms, oversized charm brac
elets dangling from each wrist. She beckoned her in for a hug with a wriggle of the fingers. “Come on now.”

  As they hugged, something Stephanie was no more comfortable with on this trip than her last, Allyson said, “You’re too young to be a mother with a child that old. Look at you. You’re just gorgeous. You’re model gorgeous. You’re Zsa Zsa gorgeous.”

  “Thank you. No one has said that in . . . I don’t remember when.”

  “Then you, my new sister, are hanging around idiots.” Allyson removed her hat and fussed with her hair. Stephanie’s brow furrowed at the sight of the thick, bright pink stripes in Allyson’s otherwise dark hair. “What are we going to do with that daughter of yours? I’ve heard so much about her. Does she know what she’s got here? This boy is magic.”

  “Alrighty then,” Noah said, raising a hand. “Why don’t we head inside?”

  “And,” Allyson continued, “I’ve heard all about you, too.”

  “You have?” Worry frosted Stephanie’s voice.

  “Not all about you,” Noah assured her as he quickly ushered them through the door.

  Inside the Inn Malcolm, Rain, and the others greeted Stephanie warmly, as if no one knew the past or worried about the future. “Our home is your home for the next few days, all right, Stephanie?” Rain meant every word.

  Over an early dinner, Allyson shared with her customary dramatic flair a round of stories about her campaign for president of the HOA in her planned retirement community. “I trampled the guy. Tripled his vote count.”

  Malcolm gestured at her with a fork full of country-fried steak. “How many votes were cast?”

  “Couple hundred. Final tally was 129 to 39. Beat some retired baseball player—old guy never saw it coming. I printed campaign posters, hosted free breakfasts, did stand-up routines in the community center. I crushed Spencer. Spencer, Spencer,” she said, mocking his name. “What’s worse than Spencer? And his goofy nicknames. They call him Deezer or Weezer or some nonsense like that. Who runs for HOA president with a name like that? Nice guy, but no match for all this.” She extended her arms and shook her newly enhanced chest. The room erupted in laughter. “Yes, I’ve had some work done. Not bad, am I right or am I right?”