by Beth Flynn
"I've never been more sure about anything in my life, Mom." And I meant it.
"I know it's been a few months now, but you and Christian haven't been together the whole time. Are you still sure this isn't just infatuation, Mimi?" Her eyes were warm as she reached for my hand.
Squeezing her hand, I said, "When I think of infatuation, I think of immediate desire." I shook my head. "I read somewhere that it's like one hormone calling to another."
She smiled at me.
"But, love. Love is friendship that has caught on fire. And Christian is my best friend, Mom. He always has been. I just didn't let myself remember it. I don't know if many married couples can call their spouse their best friend." She nodded her understanding. "The article also said that infatuation is filled with insecurity, whereas love is a mature acceptance of our defects. It allows you to be yourself, and know that you are unconditionally loved. Flaws and all. I totally agree."
I watched as she waged a battle within herself. She was genuinely happy for me. She'd even admitted that considering our family's secret, and long history with the Bears, Christian was the best choice for a husband. She just needed to make sure I wasn't settling because of it. A moment passed before a wide smile broke out on her face, and she pulled me toward her. "I'm happy for you, Mimi." She squeezed me tightly. "Truly happy."
"Thanks, Mom," I whispered in a hoarse voice as a wave of unexpected grief descended on me.
She released me and stood up. She was smoothing out her dress when she saw my face.
"Mimi, what's wrong, honey?"
She reached for my hands after I laid down my bouquet and stood up to face her. "He should be here, Mom. He should be part of this day."
"I miss him, too," she admitted.
We were talking about the man who'd raised me until his untimely death in 2001. Tommy.
"My heart hurts, Mom. I just wish he could be part of this somehow," I explained.
"I already anticipated this, Mimi. And Rachelle and I have a surprise for you. It's why she agreed to play the piano. I hope you don't mind, but we've changed up the music a little bit. I'm afraid it's not going to be very traditional," she said somewhat sheepishly.
My tears threatened, but didn't spill over as my father came in the room and told us, "Ginny, you need to let Jason escort you down the aisle. Everything is ready." I was relieved. I didn't want to ruin my makeup before the ceremony even began.
Her eyes got wide as she remembered something. Turning to me she asked, "You said that after Micah starts with the traditional vows, you and Christian are going to say your own. Do you have them written down?"
I shook my head. "I didn't need to write them down, Mom. They're permanently etched on my heart."
She gave me a curious look before I added, "Just like Christian is permanently etched on my soul."
* * *
I looked up at my father, and admired his strong profile as we stood in the church vestibule and waited for Rachelle to play the piano to announce our entrance.
Without looking at me he said, "I love you, Mimi. There isn't much I can give you except my blessing. I hope that means something."
"It means more than you could know, Dad. And you'll see. Christian will prove himself. I know he will."
He looked down at me and his smile was genuine, but his eyes conveyed that Christian better.
I clutched his arm tighter and whispered, "And I love you too."
So much for not wanting to ruin my makeup. Mom was right. The piano selection she had chosen wasn't traditional, but was exactly what I needed to feel like my other father was with me on this special day.
I glided down the aisle on Grizz's arm to the piano interlude at the end of “Layla” by Derek & the Dominos. It had been Tommy's favorite song, and after his death in 2001, I'd played it in tribute to him at my piano recital. Rachelle had slowed it down a bit for today’s occasion—perfect.
When I got to the altar, Christian was waiting for me. He stepped over to shake Grizz's hand, and wiped my tears with his thumbs. I'd purposely asked my grandfather to leave out the part that asks who gives this bride, because like I'd already explained to my father, he wouldn't be giving me away. I would always be his daughter.
Before I knew it, we'd gone through the first part of the traditional marriage ceremony, and Micah was telling the guests that it was now time for Christian and me to recite our vows.
I looked up at Christian, and swallowed the lump that had started to form at the back of my throat.
Without removing his eyes from mine, he began: "I, Christian Bear, take you, Mimi, as my wife." He smiled, and my heart melted.
"I, Mimi Dillon Hunter, take you, Christian, as my husband."
"I felt you in my soul before I knew how to even form words, Mimi. You've always lived there, warming my cold places, bringing light to my dark spaces."
I swallowed thickly now just as I had done that night under the stars and snow.
Filled with emotion, I began: "I never knew how lost I'd been until you found me, Christian. My world wasn't one of darkness or light, but somewhere in between. Dull and without color. You've brought me into the sunshine and made everything bright."
"I will always love you, Mimi." He reached for my left hand. "I will always cherish you, protect you, listen to you, be faithful to you, put your needs before my own."
"I will always love you, Christian." I squeezed his hand. "You'll always have my love, my loyalty, my faithfulness, my heart." I paused and brought his hand to my chest. "My soul."
"I’ll never lose you again, Mimi. Never."
"I'll never be lost again, Christian."
Micah continued with the traditional vows, and I drifted in a dreamlike state for the rest of the ceremony. My grandfather had just told Christian it was time to kiss his bride when Abby, who'd been sitting quietly on Aunt Christy's lap, made her way up to the altar and wedged herself between us. We broke from our kiss to look down at her smiling face. It couldn't have been more perfectly timed if we'd planned it. My grandfather saw his opening and took it.
Addressing the congregation, he said in a booming voice, "And now, I present to you, Christian, Mimi, and Abby." He paused for comedic effect. "The three Bears."
Chapter 50
Fort Lauderdale, Florida 2007
I sat at my desk and casually perused the old photo album. I reached for a carrot and crunched loudly as I turned the page, getting lost in local history as I thought about the last few months.
After our wedding, I returned to Florida with Christian and began a new chapter in my life. The summer had been fraught with challenges. Abby's mother, Autumn, was one of them.
Christian and Aunt Christy's suspicions that Autumn had intercepted my letter to him and sent that hateful reply had been accurate. She'd denied it at first, but after finding out that Christian and I had reunited, she couldn't hide the disappointment that her wickedness hadn't worked. She'd been livid, and her first tactic had been to lash out at me. I knew how to deal with mean girls. I laughed at or ignored her nasty comments and snide remarks. And of course, her crude insults were directed at me when nobody else was within earshot. Autumn immediately slipped into the role of dutiful mother, showing up at the appointed time to take Abby every other weekend. After finding out the day we'd planned to get married, she went so far as to ask her lawyer to petition a judge so she could get special permission to have Abby that weekend. She'd made up some stupid reason, but her petition had been denied.
I'd asked Christian once, "What is behind her obsession with you?"
He'd shrugged his shoulders and said, "She must be into guys who treat her like shit, because I don't think I've ever been nice to her."
"Do you have any friends you could introduce her to?" I'd asked sarcastically. "Someone who would treat her worse than you did? Maybe it'll distract her enough that she'll back off." Christian knew she'd mouthed off to me, but he also knew I was adamant about him not interfering. I wasn't afraid of Autumn
. Annoyed, yes. But she wasn't a real threat.
"Isaac Brooks," he'd said, interrupting my thoughts. "I could introduce her to Isaac. He treats women pretty crappy."
After hearing sordid tales about Isaac’s love life, and then finally meeting Jonas and Lucy Brooks's son, and seeing him in action, I had to agree. I shook my head. "I could never do that to the mother of your child. Even if it's Autumn, nobody deserves him," I confessed. As much as I wanted to make Autumn go away, putting her in the hands of Isaac Brooks was tantamount to putting a bull’s-eye on her forehead and sending her into a shooting range. Isaac was a notorious womanizer who left a trail of broken hearts everywhere he went.
The phone rang with a loud shrill and I jumped. Reaching for it, I picked up the receiver and said, "Bascom-Little Family House and Historical Museum. This is Mimi."
"Why aren't you answering your cell?" Christian asked, frustration oozing from each syllable.
"Because it didn't ring," I told him while simultaneously reaching for my phone. "Oops," I said before he could reply. "I forgot I turned the ringer off while I was adding up receipts."
Upon arriving back in Fort Lauderdale, I'd immediately started looking for a full-time job, but Christian was against it. He told me to use the summer to settle in. I could work full-time if I wanted, but he'd rather I use the time to take care of priorities. I knew what he was talking about and finally relented.
I needed to find someone to talk to about my eating disorder. It had gotten out of control in the months leading up to my graduation and our wedding. I couldn't continue to ignore it. I hadn't yet made any new friends in Florida so I reluctantly approached Aunt Christy for help. She listened to the same story I'd told Christian, and had the same reaction. No judgment, only concern. She helped me find not one, but three therapists.
"You should make an appointment with all three, Mimi," she told me. "And keep seeing whoever you make a connection with." She'd been right. The first two were strikeouts, but the third was a charm. Not only did I like her, she'd given me the lead for the part-time job opening at the museum.
"Are you?" Christian asked.
"Uh...hmm?" I'd been daydreaming and only half paying attention to what he'd said.
"Are you going to yoga after you see your therapist tonight?" he repeated.
My dislike of formal exercise had never waned. And even though I still enjoyed sparring regularly with Christian at his friend’s gym, I found that I craved something else. My therapist had suggested yoga, as there was a small workout center where they held classes in the same building as her office. Unfortunately, after only taking a few lessons, it had closed. I'd yet to find a new place.
"I know it's been weeks, but I haven't found another place yet. At least not one that I like."
"Yoga classes are a dime a dozen." His word were confident. "You'll find another one."
"Yeah, I know." I paused before asking, "Why did you ask?"
"I know it's not our regular night, but I was wondering if you minded if we got Abby tonight? She could come to our house instead of going to my parents'."
I smiled. "I never mind, Christian. You know that."
"I know," he answered. "But, if you go to yoga then we can't have dinner together. It'll be too late for her."
"That's okay. It's not like I was planning on it. I can start looking for a new place another time."
"There's something else." His voice floated through the phone with an air of apology. "She's at Autumn's mother's place, and you'll have to pick her up. I have to work later than usual."
I'd forgotten that instead of getting Abby on Friday night and returning her to Aunt Christy and Uncle Anthony's home on Sunday night, Autumn had asked to pick her up on Saturday night and return her tonight, Monday. Ugh.
There was a loud chime indicating that someone had come into the museum.
"It's not a problem. I'll pick her up, Christian," I assured him. I let him know someone had walked in before hanging up.
I closed the photo album, tucked it under my arm and made my way to the front of the museum. The Bascom-Little Family House and Historical Museum was exactly what its name implied. It was one of the oldest homes built in Fort Lauderdale, passed down several generations. The entire home still contained furnishings from as far back as the early 1900s.
I smelled moth balls before I saw her. I approached the elderly woman with a smile on my face and said, "Welcome to the Bas—"
"You must be Miriam Bear," she interrupted. She was hunched over and leaning on a cane. She cocked her head to one side, looking me up and down.
"Yes, I am. Please call me Mimi. And you are?" I tried to raise the inquisitive eyebrow that never cooperated.
"Mrs. Winifred Truncle," she cackled. "The Truncles have been in Fort Lauderdale longer than the Bascoms. I'm on the board that approved your employment." She paused for effect. "Miriam."
She spoke with an air of superiority that amused me. It was ninety degrees outside yet she wore an antiquated lavender dress that fell to her ankles, and a mink stole that had obviously been retrieved from a closet that had been doused in moth balls.
I started to thank her when she said, "It's hot in here!"
It wasn't hot, more like stuffy, but it wasn't due to the temperature.
"What kind of last name is Bear, Miriam?" she asked me.
"It's Native American," I replied proudly. I placed the album on the table next to her, and opened it to a random page to better display it. She peered down, then looked back at me. "That's what I thought when I voted to approve your application. But you don't look Native American."
"I'm not," I answered kindly. "My husband is half Cherokee and half Seminole."
"A mixed marriage!" she spat.
Her uppity nature had amused me. Her nasty reaction to my mixed marriage shocked me.
"I had no problem giving my approval for a Native American employee. I believe in that, you know? Giving opportunities to minorities." She raised her chin in indignation. "But I don't believe in mixing the races. That's how King Solomon fell out of grace with God. He married women outside of his own ethnic group. It was displeasing to God." She took in a deep breath and waited for me to react. Did she think I was going to throw myself on the mercy seat of Winifred Truncle and pray for her forgiveness for marrying a Native American? It was laughable.
Like I'd told Christian that night at the rental house in South Carolina, I wasn't good at Scripture memorization, but I had studied the Bible. And I knew that God's command for King Solomon not to engage in an interracial marriage was not because of skin color or ethnicity. Rather, it was because God didn't want the Jewish people to intermarry with cultures that worshipped other gods. What a sad and twisted interpretation of God's Word Madam Truncle had used to fuel and justify what could only be summed up with one word—racism. I was beginning to wish there had been a job opening at the Stranahan House instead of here.
Apparently, she considered my delay in responding as acquiescence, and she focused on the album I'd returned to the table. "You should know Fort Lauderdale's history if you're going to be of any value here."
I'd been doing my best to bite my tongue. I liked this job, and because I hadn't seen Mrs. Truncle before, I highly doubted she came by regularly. I started to tell her that I'd been familiarizing myself with all of the literature and historical items in the home when she thumped her finger on the album.
"That used to be a family-owned mercantile. It's a furniture store now," she huffed. I peeked down and saw that it was a page toward the back of the book that I hadn't seen. She flipped to the next page and let out another disgusted breath. "A gentleman's club that's now a gas station. Not even a regular gas station. It's one of those that has a restaurant inside. If you can even imagine!"
I glanced down at the beautiful building and nodded in agreement. The architecture couldn't be appreciated with gas pumps and a hamburger sign that screamed for attention. She flipped another random page and I saw her face redden.
Looking down at what had incited her, I had to blink twice to see if what I was looking at was real or a figment of my imagination.
I knew the history behind the picture, but clamped my jaw shut and let Mrs. Truncle ramble. With a bony finger she thumped the black-and-white photo several times before sneering, "There's a car dealership there now. It's just as well. It's one landmark I was glad to see go. Should've been called the hotel of horrors."
I knew why she thought that, but the word was out before I could stop it. "Why?" I squeaked.
I stooped lower to inspect the picture while she spoke. It was in black-and-white but I could imagine the colors of the sign that boasted The Glades Motel. Below it stood a balding old man, his pants high on his waist and a cigarette dangling from between his lips as he tried to smile for the camera. The picture was obviously taken by a tourist who'd wanted a memento of where they’d stayed. But the man and the sign weren't what caught my attention. Winifred Truncle's rant rattled around my head as I focused on another figure. Standing behind the old man, off to the right, with a rake in his hand, was a young boy. He looked like he'd been caught unaware and had been prepared to turn his head away, but the picture had been snapped before he could. I had no doubt I was seeing Grizz as a child. I also had no doubt there was no other picture anywhere in existence like it.
"Are you listening to me, Miriam?" she snapped.
"Yes, I've been listening," I said, shaking my head. "I'm sorry, actually, I didn't hear the last thing."
She gave me a hard stare and repeated, "I was saying that my dear friend had a granddaughter who fell in with that bunch of miscreants. They drugged her up, used her, and killed her."
I looked back at the picture and gulped.
"Her name was Miriam. Just like you." Her voice sounded softer.
I knew who Miriam was. Moe, my namesake, silently screamed through my head. Yes, she'd died, but it was from an overdose. Of course I hadn't had anything to do with it, but I felt a wave of sadness and shame.
