“Why don’t we someday?”
Mark turned in his seat. “Damn it, man. I heard that. We don’t volunteer for things like that. We pretend to go reluctantly. To make them happy.”
“Sorry,” Tom said solemnly. “I’m new at this. Won’t happen again.”
Suzanne punched his arm. Sophia giggled.
A woman seated herself at the organ to one side and began to play. Tom thought he recognized Handel. Behind them, the shuffling of feet suggested a few people were still seating themselves.
Finally, the minister appeared at the front, beatific smile in place, joined by Gary’s bulky, bearded friend and by the groom himself, expression so reserved he was probably wishing himself not on display. On the other side, a blond woman with cropped hair stepped to the front. Apparently the maid of honor wasn’t coming up the aisle with the bride.
Suzanne gave a soft sigh. “Gary’s so handsome. He looks eerily like my father in my parents’ wedding pictures. I wish…” Her voice faded away.
Tom knew what she wished. He took her hand, but she didn’t look at him. He heard her give a small sniff.
A murmur through the crowd made them turn to see Rebecca coming down the aisle beside her mother. Tom gave a nod of approval. He was glad she hadn’t asked a male friend to take the part of the parent who had been both mother and father.
“She’s so pretty,” Sophia exclaimed.
Jack rolled his eyes and slumped in his seat.
Once upon a time, Tom would have done the same. Today… Damn it, today he was getting a lump in his throat. More even than Christmas, this day represented the extraordinary reunion of a family that would have been forever lost if not for the determination and steadfast love of the woman beside him.
Love he wanted for himself.
He glanced at the groom, to see the way his face had relaxed at the sight of his beloved. Gary Lindstrom had had a crummy life, abused by his adoptive father and abandoned by his adoptive mother. Now, dozens of people who were family crowded his side of the aisle to celebrate his marriage, his ability despite everything to trust to a future and to the beautiful, copper-haired woman gliding toward him.
Only a seven-year-old boy could not feel something.
Tom waited for Suzanne to turn her glowing smile on him, the one that said, Soon, that will be me. And you will be waiting for me, your hand out.
Disquiet crept beneath his breastbone when that didn’t happen. He tried to ignore it.
Rebecca reached Gary, who kissed her mother’s cheek and took her hand.
The ceremony proceeded, a more traditional one than Tom might have anticipated. Was Gary a churchgoer? Tom didn’t know, but guessed Rebecca, at least, must be.
Some of the words struck home.
“…and therefore is not by any to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God.”
Light-headed, Tom thought, I can do that.
But could she?
“Gary, will you have this woman to be your wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health and, forsaking all others, keep only unto her, so long as you both shall live?”
Gary found a smile for his bride. “I will,” he said clearly.
“I will,” she said in turn, when asked.
They repeated their vows in steady voices. The bearded friend—Jagger?—produced a ring, which Gary slipped onto Rebecca’s finger.
With this ring, I thee wed.
What was Suzanne thinking? He stole a glance at her, to see her watching raptly, tears flowing apparently unnoticed down her cheeks.
Of course she would cry at her brother’s wedding. She was that kind of woman. She’d probably cry at any wedding.
Tom laid his arm over the back of the chair. She gave him a distracted, watery smile, without ever quite tearing her gaze from the bride and groom.
“I pronounce you man and wife,” the minister said with a smile. “You may kiss the bride.”
“Eew!” Jack buried his face in his hands.
Everyone else sighed and murmured when Gary swept his wife into his arms and kissed her passionately. A laugh began when they didn’t surface for a good minute.
Finally, the organist played a beautiful, delicate piece of music and the two of them, flushed from their kiss, walked down the aisle to applause and smiles.
Suzanne swiped at her cheeks. “That was lovely.”
Face wet, too, Carrie turned in her seat. “It was, wasn’t it?”
The two hugged over the back of Carrie’s folding chair, and then, talking, they all joined the exodus.
“You didn’t cry at our wedding,” Mark complained.
“That’s because I was so happy.”
“And now you’re miserable?”
“No, I’m crying now because I’m so happy.” She laughed through her tears. “And, no, it makes no sense. It doesn’t have to.”
Tom looked around, to see that darn near every woman was at least misty eyed. He put a hand on Sophia’s shoulder. “Don’t grow up and cry at weddings.”
She lifted vivid, awed eyes to meet his. “But it was so-o beautiful.”
“He looked so much like Dad,” Suzanne said to her sister. “It’s uncanny.”
“I thought he did,” her sister agreed.
“But then, I kept seeing Mom in you at your wedding.” Suzanne wiped her eyes again as they moved slowly toward the stairs.
And so it went. When she met up with her aunt, the two of them hugged and wept some more, Uncle Miles standing by with ill-concealed impatience. When they finally reached Gary and Rebecca, he drew her into a fierce hug.
Tom heard his rough whisper.
“Thank you. If it weren’t for you…”
“This is my happy ending,” she told him tearfully.
Tom’s disquiet sharpened, began to feel jagged.
He congratulated Gary and kissed Rebecca on her cheek.
They stood in line to get plates of food, then began to circulate, meeting a small cluster of Gary’s co-workers from Santa Fe, Rebecca’s maid of honor, an artist who had just been featured in Seattle Magazine, and finally the aunt, uncle and cousins.
Juggling his drink and plate, Tom shook hands with Ray and Roddie and found that his preconceived dislike of Uncle Miles hadn’t been intense enough.
Before Tom had even met him, Miles muttered to his wife, “Taking in kids that age is asking for trouble.” Neither Suzanne nor Jack heard, but Sophia stiffened, not relaxing until Tom drew her a few feet aside and murmured in her ear, “This is the man who couldn’t even find it in his heart to take in his own niece and nephew.”
“Suzanne says he wasn’t that nice to her.”
“Yeah, that’s what I understand. She’s only polite because she loves her aunt.”
“Do I have to…” the girl began.
“Yes. For Suzanne’s sake.”
“Oh.” She scowled. “All right.”
He smiled at her. “Good girl. Oh, and did I tell you how spectacular you look today? You’re going to be breaking hearts before you know it.”
Delicate color crept into her cheeks, and her smile was the softest he’d ever seen from her. “Um…thank you.”
Eventually the party moved back upstairs for dancing, once the chairs had been cleared out. In the middle of the floor, locked together, Rebecca and Gary rocked from foot to foot. Tom got one intoxicating dance with Suzanne before he and Mark switched partners, and then he led Sophia out while Suzanne and Carrie tried to teach their sons a few steps.
Finally, leaving the couples without children to dance the night away, a general exodus began.
Getting Suzanne out the door wasn’t easy, though. First she had to hug her brother and his new wife again, her sister, her aunt, Carrie’s adoptive parents, even her cousin’s wives.
“This is the best day!” she was still excla
iming when Tom pulled up with the GMC and she and the kids climbed in.
“Wasn’t that fun?” she asked them, buckling herself in.
“Yeah, it was. I’ve never danced before.” She had several times tonight, first with Tom, then Mark, and last with a boy who’d looked about fifteen and probably hadn’t realized how much younger she was.
“The food was real, real good,” Jack contributed.
Suzanne laughed. “I don’t know if I tasted a bite.”
“I did. It was good.” Tom had finally realized there was no meat, but the caterers had done such a good job, he hadn’t cared. He wouldn’t mind having the recipe for that mushroom ravioli in a light cream sauce.
Suzanne raved the rest of the way home. Rebecca’s dress! Wasn’t it exquisite? Did he know the processional music had been “Rondeau” by Jean-Joseph Mouret?
No, he’d never heard of Mouret.
The honeymoon! Did everyone know Gary was taking Rebecca to New Zealand? She’d always wanted to go, and of course it was summer there right now, and wasn’t that romantic? They were going to be gone for a month!
Sophia ate it up. Jack began to hum tunelessly and stare out the side window. Tom felt a headache begin squeezing his temples.
“I want a wedding like that,” Sophia declared. “Only with lots, lots more people. Like maybe six hundred. So I have this long way to walk with everyone looking at me.”
Suzanne laughed. “Honey, you’d better start making friends now.” She turned to Tom. “You weren’t bored, were you?”
He sent her what he hoped was a significant smile. “No, I found it inspirational.”
No blush, no meaningful flash of those big, smoky dark eyes. Nope, all she did was gush, “It was uplifting, wasn’t it? The way Gary looked at Rebecca…”
Blah blah blah.
Tom made his good-nights short. As the garage door rolled down behind his pickup, the headache tightened and his earlier disquiet became flat-out heartburn.
Either Suzanne was incapable of thinking about her own wants and needs, so focused was she on the happiness of other people, or her thoughts hadn’t even begun to turn to marriage—at least, not with him.
Oh, yeah, or choice number three: she’d gone out of her way today to make sure he didn’t start hearing wedding bells of his own.
Shoulders slumped, he sat in the empty pickup in his dimly lit, silent garage, making no move to get out.
Was he the one jumping the gun? Or did love come quick if it was going to come at all?
He wished he’d had to work today and could have bowed out of the wedding. Wished he weren’t putting pressure on himself and Suzanne.
Tom finally got out and went into his house, turning on the TV just to hear voices that weren’t full of doubt.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
EVER SINCE THE WEDDING Tom had been different. Quieter, more withdrawn. Sometimes Suzanne caught a fleeting look of…something. Frustration, irritation, more anger? She wasn’t sure.
She’d given hardly a thought to his past, to the dysfunctional childhood and the years as a soldier. Not just a regular soldier, but an Army Ranger. Weren’t they trained in all kinds of horrible things? Tom had seemed so nice, so gentle, she’d taken him at face value, forgoing any analysis of what she’d learned about his past.
But now…now she was starting to wonder. Was he not quite what he seemed? Or had he just been in a bad mood for some reason?
She didn’t want to think he had a capacity for anger and violence she hadn’t seen, but knew he must. He’d spent ten years as a soldier. The gentle, considerate man she knew would be a really bad soldier. He must have hidden layers.
She felt silly even thinking that, because of course everyone did. But it did make her realize how much she didn’t know about him. For example, he’d never once talked about his experiences in the Army. Wouldn’t it be normal to at least tell funny stories? They hadn’t shared first loves, first kisses, that kind of thing. Really, when she thought about it, he was awfully close-mouthed.
What would his Army friends be like? Would they be hard, crude men? What would she talk to them about? And would she ever have the chance, anyway? He hadn’t introduced her to any of his friends from work, even though he’d mentioned having drinks after work, or bowling with some of the guys.
The week after the wedding, they didn’t see quite as much of him as they had been, although he had dinner with them a couple of nights, and she did slip out onto the porch several times for late-night rendezvous.
Even though she was nervous about the next step, Suzanne was beginning to find it frustrating that they couldn’t do more than make out like a pair of teenagers. Maybe it was time she asked Carrie to take the kids again. Not this week—she and Mark were driving over to Leavenworth, leaving Michael with his grandfather. But next weekend, Suzanne decided. Saturday at the shop was especially boring for the kids anyway.
She hadn’t asked Carrie yet when, on Monday night, Tom declined her invitation to dinner. Was he offended because, on Sunday night, she’d been distracted when he’d called because Jack had had trouble going to sleep?
On Wednesday he asked them all out for pizza, and at first she felt a wave of relief. But then, in the noisy pizza parlor, they never really had a chance for private conversation, even when the kids played arcade games. They kept running back for more quarters, or to exclaim about how great some game was, or to get a drink. Tom talked about checking out lumber for the backyard climber he was planning, about features he could add. Suzanne wanted to hear about something deeply meaningful to him, not the difference between putting bark and some kind of shredded rubber down beneath the monkey bars.
Suzanne knew she wasn’t in the world’s best mood because of business being so slow. She loved to knit, but that was pretty much all she was doing. All day. Every day. It was beginning to scare her, and they were hardly into January. Gary’s money would go really fast, if that’s all she had.
Tom did kiss her good-night, after shooing the kids in the door, but as troubled as she felt, she wasn’t as responsive as she could have been.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
The gentleness in his voice, the reemergence of the Tom she knew, brought tears to her eyes. “I’m sorry. Things haven’t been the same, have they?”
His expression just…closed. He might as well have pulled a mask over it. Voice just as expressionless, he said, “We need to talk.”
Apprehension burned in her chest. Was it her tears? But he’d seen her cry before. Plenty of times. And she hadn’t said anything. Had she?
“I…”
“You say business is slow. I can get away at lunchtime.”
“But…”
“If you’re busy, I’ll just wave and we can find another time.” He opened her front door and said, “Good night, Suzanne.”
What could she say but “Good night, Tom.”
She closed the door slowly, not even having to turn off the porch light—she left it off when they met out there, so they didn’t become the talk of the neighborhood. She turned the dead bolt, then sank down on the sofa.
How had everything gone so wrong?
Their friendship had blossomed so naturally. She enjoyed his company, he was great with the kids—Jack would be crushed if Tom suddenly didn’t have time for him—and Suzanne had loved feeling herself revive as a woman.
What could she have done wrong? she wondered in a panic, hating the necessity of asking the question. How many times had she asked it during her marriage? Searching, searching for the magic answer that would make her be what Josh needed.
Two years out from her divorce, she had almost convinced herself that she wasn’t at fault for the failure of her marriage. It had taken her a long time to start looking at Josh and thinking, I didn’t do anything to deserve this. Even on the day she’d carried his stuff out to the driveway, barricaded the door and waited breathlessly inside for him to come home and find it, her confidence had been no stronger than t
all grass that flattened under a strong wind.
She’d really begun to believe in herself this past year, after reuniting with Carrie and then Gary, and when business had seemed to be going so well despite her lack of know-how. She was making a success of her new life. She was.
But maybe…maybe she didn’t know how to read men. Maybe she was boring Tom…
If so, she couldn’t change herself. She was who she was.
Maybe he’d assumed they’d fall right into bed and he’d run out of patience…
But then why hadn’t he invited her to a romantic weekend getaway or something like that?
Maybe the wedding had scared him off. Starting with the fact that she’d made sure he’d been invited. Had he seen it as a hint?
She let out a strangled sound and covered her face with her hands. Maybe, maybe, maybe. She had no idea!
But an insidious thought emerged.
Maybe something about her was lacking. Maybe she wasn’t meant to have what her sister and brother had both found. Maybe Josh had been right, when he’d blamed so much on her.
She slept poorly that night. How could she help it?
The next morning, she dropped the kids at school, then opened Knit One, Drop In. The day started off slightly better than the last few. She had a ten o’clock class that was better attended than the ones last week, and several of the students made purchases. Otherwise—she knit.
She’d meant to work out some new patterns, but hadn’t started one yet. She found herself too tense, always lifting her head when shoppers went by outside but didn’t come in. So she was knitting a whole bunch of sweaters for children in sizes 2T to 6T. The few she’d offered for sale had sold well.
No customer had darkened her door in almost an hour when Tom entered to a tinkle of the bell.
So few men ever came in here, he looked immediately out of place. Too big, too masculine. He wore a suit, and her first, heart-squeezing thought was how handsome he was in it.
How far she’d come, to think handsome. No, he’d never really be that, not with his blunt features and crooked nose, but he was always compelling.
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