After dessert Noah excused himself for his return to the city.
“You sure you can’t stay?” his mother asked.
“Wish I could. I’ve got to pick up A&P’s painting tomorrow at the frame shop. I’ll be back in time though. I wouldn’t miss a second.” He didn’t add the much more pressing detail: he still had a letter he needed to deliver to Rachel.
Stephanie was the first to retire for the evening. She thanked everyone for welcoming her back and including her in their excitement. “I don’t know how my story will end,” she said, standing in the doorway, “but I’m thankful for you.” There was more she’d wanted to say, but fatigue—emotional and physical—won the moment and she gracefully withdrew for the night.
Later, during a heated game of rummy in the living room, Allyson asked why she hadn’t yet seen A&P.
“We haven’t seen her much either,” Rain said. “She’s probably preoccupied with arrangements for the next few days. You wouldn’t believe how much she’s poured herself into this.”
“Sure I would,” Allyson said. “She’s a Cooper at heart.”
They exchanged stories and memories for another hour. Allyson learned for the first time about Matthew’s troubles and promised half-in-jest to “beat him down” when he arrived for the festivities. Rain and Malcolm learned that interest in Allyson’s stand-up act had skyrocketed with the success of her memoir. “I’m doing two nights a week at a club on Fremont Street.”
More stories followed, then some laughs and a few tears from Allyson. When Malcolm couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, he bid a tired good night.
Alone as midnight neared, Rain retrieved one of Noah and Rachel’s two books full of letters and shared it with Allyson.
They sat close on the couch and together read the notes of congratulations, poignant advice, and humorous accounts of honeymoons and anniversaries from some people they knew and many they didn’t.
Allyson wished someone had done the same for her when she married her fourth and final husband.
Rain wished one day they’d become real Wedding Letters, not just thoughtful words on pretty stationery.
Chapter 42
1 Day to the Celebration
Monday morning began with a flurry of activity on the grounds of Domus Jefferson unlike anything it had ever seen. Huge white reception tents were erected and flowers from two local flower shops began arriving. A&P had shipped in roses from Colombia and pounds of chocolate from Sweden. Both filled the air with smells that would intoxicate the crustiest of curmudgeons.
Rain made breakfast for those staying at the Inn and lingered over the cleanup longer than she ever had. The weight of the week and the emotional farewell was more bittersweet than anything she’d ever experienced. She told Malcolm she’d prayed and cried more than she had since she’d buried her own father in 1975.
A company from Winchester delivered two inflatable moon bounce castles and set them up on the side of the house opposite the tents and gazebo. Another company delivered two port-a-potties, and a sign maker strung a banner by the road that would have been visible from Rachel’s apartment in Fairfax.
The caterer delivered boxed lunches for that afternoon and filled five wooden barrels with ice and hundreds of bottles of bottled water and soda. Another crew began setting up for a light dinner to be served that evening for those already in town for Tuesday’s official good-bye.
The DJ set up a sound system and showed Malcolm how to operate it in case he wanted to use it before the celebration day. He also installed a portable all-weather dance floor and small platform stage. Malcolm almost choked when he signed the invoice and reminded himself A&P was covering many of the expenses.
Guests who’d been staying at the three local hotels began arriving and catching up with the Coopers. Some of the men carpooled to the river to fish; others, including some of their wives, formed foursomes and went to Shenvalee Country Club for a round of golf. Those remaining at the Inn fought for the chance to hold Baby Taylor.
Several of the visitors asked Rain what to do with their Wedding Letters. A&P had encouraged them to mail the letters or bring them to the party, but she was nowhere to be found. Rain tried her cell phone and again worried aloud to Malcolm that something was wrong.
“She’s been a fixture here for weeks, but the last couple days I’ve seen her for maybe ten minutes—that doesn’t worry you?”
Malcolm shook his head. “Stop worrying. She’s up to her eyeballs with stuff. I bet you anything she’s just taking a deep breath before tomorrow.”
“I hope so.”
What Malcolm didn’t mention was that he’d seen their family attorney, Alex Palmer, pulling out of A&P’s driveway earlier that morning. He reminded himself he wasn’t worried because she was also a longtime client of Alex’s.
Besides, he thought, she promised not to meddle.
“Still on for a mid-afternoon date?” he asked Rain.
“You sure we have time?”
“We have all the time we want. It’s our party.”
“You’re cute,” Rain said, then she patted his cheek and kissed him. “It’s not our party. It’s A&P’s and my party. You know how these things work.”
“Yeah, yeah, so the date?”
“I suppose.”
“Pick you up later? All right?”
“Right as Rain.”
Malcolm put Angela in charge of the Inn at 3:00 p.m. “Back soon, keep everyone happy, OK?” Then he and Rain slipped out the back door, into his truck, and down the driveway. They rode through Woodstock and waved at a pack of old friends in town for the celebration who were on a walking tour of downtown. They waved back, and the couple continued down Main Street.
He took her exactly where she’d predicted he would: The Woodstock Tower. Malcolm stood behind her atop the metal platform and wrapped his arms around her waist.
“How many times have we been up here?” Malcolm asked.
“Oh, wow, I don’t know—a lot. More than I could count.”
“Exactly. More than we could count. They all blend together, don’t they?”
“Uh-huh.” She leaned into his chest and put her arms on top of his.
“But some stand out. The night you rescued me from myself after I found out about Mom and Dad. The time on Noah’s birthday when I told it all to him for the first time. The day after you had your last miscarriage.”
She nodded and he felt her exhale.
“I want you to remember this one, too.”
“How could I not?” Rain said. “Everyone we know is back at the Inn wondering where we are.” She pulled lightly on his arm hair.
“They’re in good hands. Plus I want you to remember it for another reason.” He spun her around. “May I see your ring?”
“Why?”
“May I?”
She twisted it from her finger and handed it to him. He dropped it in his pocket and then dropped to one knee. “Rain Cooper, will you remarry me?” As he said the words, he slipped a stunning diamond ring on her finger.
“What in the world?” She studied the ring and counted the tiny, individual diamonds.
“Let’s renew our vows. We’ve talked about it; why not now?”
Rain was still counting the diamonds and admiring the weight of the broad band. “But we were going to wait until our thirty-year anniversary.”
“I know.” Malcolm stood and put his hands on her hips. “I know we were. But why? Why wait? We have everyone we know here, plus a lot we don’t, all hanging around the Inn right now. Our family is here, the people we love most are all here to say good-bye to Domus Jefferson.”
“True.”
“And there’s food and seating for everyone in the county. And there’s a DJ and a dance floor. And we’ll even have a pastor tomorrow.”
“Also true.” Rain smiled.
“Plus I spent a fortune on that ring and built a stupid gazebo. So let’s use it. What do you say?”
“When you put it li
ke that,” Rain giggled, “how could a girl say no?”
“So that’s a yes?”
“Yes, Mr. Malcolm Cooper. I will most definitely remarry you.”
“Whew.” Malcolm swiped his forehead.
“But don’t think for a second you’re getting out of a big second honeymoon.”
Chapter 43
Good-bye to Domus Jefferson Celebration
Noah went to bed Monday night praying for one thing: overcast skies. When he woke up in his apartment on the morning of September 27 and looked out the window, he wasn’t disappointed. Threatening clouds, no sign of the sun, and a gloomy weather forecast.
He sent a text to Rachel before he’d even climbed out of bed.
Noah: morning!
Rachel: Hey you.
Noah: at work?
Rachel: Home.
Noah: :)
Rachel: What are you up to?
Noah: nothing, why?
Rachel: Team wouldn’t let me come in today.
Noah: weird
Noah: everything ok?
Rachel: Boss says I need a day off.
Noah: :)
Noah: i have something for you
Noah: bring it by?
Noah: that ok?
Rachel: Sure. See you soon.
Noah showered, shaved, packed a bag with enough clothes for a few days, and reread his letter to Rachel, rewritten a final time the night before in a booth at IHOP. Before licking and sealing the envelope, he had included a napkin drawing, also created over pecan pancakes and chocolate milk.
With the painting A&P generously commissioned framed, doubled boxed, and loaded in his truck, Noah drove to Rachel’s apartment and parked in the closest open visitors’ space, almost two full buildings away. He looked in the rearview mirror and checked his hair and teeth. Then he picked up the envelope from the passenger’s seat and stepped out of the truck.
The walk to her door felt like a mile hike with a fifty-pound pack. He said hello to a couple leaving their apartment and nodded at a woman getting in her Smart Car. He carried the letter in one hand, wishing he’d thought to bring flowers or another stuffed squirrel as well. At the bottom of the stairs he actually considered leaving again to visit the closest florist. The thought flew away and was replaced by fresh nerves.
He rang the bell and waited so long he wondered if Rachel had left. He rang it again.
Finally the door opened and there stood Rachel in jeans and a T-shirt that read, i took the pledge.
Noah thrust the letter at her. “Don’t say anything, not even hello. Just stand there for a second.” He marveled at how beautiful she was even without makeup, even wearing something she’d yanked from the drier. He tried not to count how many times he’d missed seeing her in recent weeks.
“Read this. Not now, not until I’m gone. But read it. It’s not long. It’s my first Monday Letter. Whether I see you later today or not, I’m going to write you one next Monday, too. And the Monday after that. Writing is not as easy for me, and maybe it’s silly and childish, but here it is. It’s a start. It’s my start.”
She held the envelope in her hands and turned it over and over again.
Noah looked into her eyes and craved a moment like all those he’d seen in the romantic comedies she’d made him sit through or like a scene in one of her guilty-pleasure novels. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her, or for her to do the same to him.
Neither did. Instead he pointed at the letter and said simply, “Read the letter. Check the weather.” Then he spun on his heel and dashed down the stairs before his heart could win an argument with reason.
Rachel whispered a good-bye, shut the door, and sat at her kitchen table.
• • •
September 26, 2011
Dear Rachel,
I’ve lost count which draft this is. Let’s just say there have been a lot. Some long. Some short. All of them lame. Until now, right? If you’re reading this then I’ve decided it’s finally worth giving to you.
For a long time after you called us off, or called off the wedding, or postponed the wedding, or whatever it all was, I tried to put myself in your shoes. I thought I needed to understand what you were going through to know why it was happening. I went from hurt to angry to hurt to confused to depressed and to confused again.
I know now how useless it all was. I will never know what you’ve been trying to deal with. I won’t. How can I? I feel dumb for thinking I could at all.
What I should have done is to tell you what my own experience is instead of trying to get inside yours. I told you back at my folks’ place that my grandma Laurel had been attacked. Not just assaulted or beaten up. She was raped by a sick man high on drugs. It happened when my grandpa was out of town, and she didn’t tell him right away. She was confused, too. And scared. She found out she was pregnant and she had the baby, but she didn’t tell Grandpa about the attack for a year. I guess only she knows exactly why.
I think you figured this, but that baby was my dad. Yes. My dad came of that. The man went to jail and became a pastor. He even came to my grandparents’ funeral. But that’s another story.
When my dad found all this out, he felt like he didn’t know who he was anymore. He and my mom got married, but Dad had it tough for a while. Anyone would. He was depressed and felt guilty for not getting along better with my grandpa when he was alive.
It took time, a lot of time, but my mom and dad got through the worst of it. He started to understand that he didn’t have to be anything he didn’t want to be. He made his life. Not his history. He told me when I was a kid that history is dangerous if you pay too much attention to it, because tomorrow hasn’t happened yet.
Tomorrow hasn’t happened yet, Rachel. You decide what happens tomorrow—not your mother, not Daniel, not your biological father, not your boss. Not even me. Just you. You decide what tomorrow’s history will look like.
When I set out to write this letter I wanted you to know how perfect we are for each other. I thought you would read this and think God meant for us to find each other in a world of ten billion people. But that’s a lie.
You’ll find someone else if you want to. Someone special who maybe will treat you better than I do. Someone smarter, someone richer, maybe even someone better looking. (Though I doubt that last one.)
I could do the same thing. I’ll start looking at other girls again at some point in time. One of them will catch my eye and maybe it’ll be her, or maybe it’ll be the next one, or maybe it’ll be after ten more girls that I’ll give someone a ring and we’ll make a happy life. Just like you did with your life.
But why? I don’t want to settle, even though I could. I don’t want you to settle either, even though guys will line up for the chance to be with you. Sure we could be happy with other people, but why?
You’re my best friend, and I want to be married to my best friend. I want to argue about how cold the house should be in the summer. I want you to be there when I give my Caldecott acceptance speech. I want to sleep on the couch when you get mad at me for saying something stupid, because trust me, I will say something stupid.
Being together is going to be a lot of work. But it’s a job I want. And it’s a job I’m qualified for because I love you.
Love is a choice and I choose to love you.
Forgiveness is a choice, too, and we’ll need to do a lot of it to make a life work.
How much do I love you?
If you asked me to never paint again, I’d stop.
If you asked me to move to the Arctic, I would.
If you asked me to walk to the ends of the earth for your favorite flavor of ice cream, I’d ask what time you needed me home.
Rachel, you are the same person today that you were the day I met you. Your mother is the same person today as the day she had you, as the day she left Kansas City with you, as the day she met Daniel, as the day she told you the truth. The soul doesn’t change, just our understanding of it.
Rach
el, nothing about yesterday matters. Even this letter, if I fail to honor it, means nothing down the road. All that matters right now is today. And today I want to marry you.
Go outside and look up. Then imagine where I am, where I’m going, and where I’ve always been. Whether you see me or not, I’m here.
I love you, Rachel Kaplan.
Noah
Chapter 44
A&P started her Tuesday with another meeting with Alex Palmer and Angela’s husband, Jake. She felt guilty that she hadn’t been around to help more during the final hours of planning for the celebration, but it was obvious Jake and Angela needed her help more. Still, she couldn’t wait for the meeting to end so she could get across the hill to Domus Jefferson and begin making up for lost time.
She decided to check the mail a final time before taking Noah and Rachel’s third book of Wedding Letters to the Inn. She knew without Rachel there, the letters wouldn’t be celebrated or shared with the other guests, but this was the day appointed for their delivery, and she’d convinced Noah he needed to read them and keep them, at least until it was clear they had no long-term meaning. She’d also committed to him that no matter who he married, or when or where, she’d do the same thing all over again.
A&P and Putin walked to the mailbox on the edge of Route 11 below her home. She pulled open the creaky metal door and removed half a dozen last-minute additions to the collection. She opened and read them as she walked back up the hill. The first four were from people she’d nudged in the last week to get their letters in on time, just in case. The fifth made her drop the other four to the ground.
She gathered the letters, staggered to the porch, and sat on the steps. Then she read that last letter again to be sure she understood. Across the hill children ran around the Inn playing tag, and she heard their faint laughs and shrieks. Putin crawled onto her lap and licked the envelope.
The Wedding Letters Page 21