The Wedding Thief

by Mary Simses

  “Oh, is it? You really think so? I wonder. Maybe it’s time for you and your sister to start acting your ages. At least you ought to. You’re the older one.” His forehead was full of furrows. “You ought to be glad you have a sister. Be a grown-up for a change. Maybe if you act like one, she will too.”

  Be a grown-up. He thought I wasn’t being a grown-up. What right did he have to say that? What right did he have to say anything? “I thought we were friends.” I blinked back tears. “But I can see I was wrong.”

  He called out to me just before I walked inside. “Real friends can be honest with each other.”

  I kept going.

  Chapter 23

  Dinner

  I stopped in front of a mirror to dab at my mascara, which was running, then walked into the Tree House. I hadn’t been there since the family dinner we’d had on the evening of my high-school graduation. I remembered running into Deedee Huffman and Bridget Kay, two of my friends, and going into the ladies’ room to down airline-size bottles of Captain Morgan Spiced Rum they’d snuck in. The good old days.

  The décor looked a lot more modern now, with white chairs and tablecloths and lime-green wallpaper printed with clusters of plump white trees. The place was full of people and buzzing with conversation.

  “The other member of your party is here,” the hostess told me. Tingles went up my arms. It felt like a first date and that was exciting. But something bothered me. David’s words lingered in the air: What about your sister?

  The hostess led me to a table in a little nook in the back, just what I’d hoped for when I’d requested something private. A single candle glowed like a beacon in a small hurricane lamp, and a vase held the large blossom of a pink cabbage rose. Carter sat on a banquette, looking handsome in his white shirt and blue blazer, the light of the candle illuminating his face.

  “Sara.” He stood up. “You’re wearing that dress. You look great.”

  He liked it. He really liked it. I felt my knees rattle as I took a seat across the table. “You look nice too.”

  A waiter approached and asked if he could start us off with cocktails. Yes, he certainly could. I ordered a Long Island iced tea, and Carter ordered a martini.

  “You know, you never told me about your job,” he said. “How’s it going? Do you like it?”

  I told him what I was doing, what I liked and what I didn’t, and he listened patiently. “It keeps me busy, which is good,” I said. “But I’m still undecided about Chicago. I don’t feel I fit in there. Not yet, anyway. What about you? What’s going on these days at Bingham Keith?”

  He shrugged. “The same. You know, different day, different crisis.”

  I did know. There was always a crisis. I never understood how he handled his job, his clients. So many big egos to deal with. So many problems.

  “Toby Keith’s son joined the firm,” he said as the waiter returned with our drinks. He removed his martini olive from the toothpick and let it drop to the bottom of the glass. “And we had a big shake-up in the employment law department. Six attorneys left. Started their own firm. Took a couple of paralegals with them too.”

  “Yikes,” I said, knowing that was pretty much the whole department.

  He took a drink. I took a drink. We glanced around. We were out of small talk. My foot bounced under the table. “I hope you don’t mind,” I said, “but I already ordered for us. I looked at their menu online and saw a couple of things I thought you’d like.”

  “I really didn’t want you to go to any trouble.”

  “It wasn’t any trouble. Honestly. I couldn’t let you skip dinner. That’s the whole point.”

  As if on cue, the waiter arrived with our salads—red and orange slices of tomato, chunky croutons, and pale yellow champagne vinaigrette dressing drizzled on top. “Bon appétit,” he said, setting the plates in front of us.

  Carter had always appreciated good food, and I hoped the old saying that food was the way to a man’s heart would hold true. “Yes, bon appétit,” I said. I cut off a piece of tomato, savored its sweetness, the tangy taste of the dressing. We ate in silence while I built up the courage to shift gears in the conversation.

  “Are you really leaving tomorrow?” I asked.

  He looked up. “I don’t know. It depends on when I can talk to your mother. I don’t want to leave until I can see her.”

  “So I guess you weren’t able to do that today.”

  “I wanted to, but I haven’t heard that Mariel’s talked to her yet.”

  “I know Mom is going to be disappointed. She’s always really cared about you. Ever since the days when you and I…” I looked away. I didn’t bother finishing my thought.

  Carter seemed pleased with the seafood paella. And the pinot noir. He poured more wine into our glasses, squinting at the label.

  “We went to that winery,” I reminded him. “The time we were in Sonoma. A hundred and five degrees, tasting wine all morning.” I could have added that we’d made love all afternoon, but I didn’t. He tells you his marriage to your sister is off, and you’re going in for the kill.

  “I remember,” Carter said. “That little hotel we stayed in was beautiful.”

  “Yes, the hills, those olive groves…the whole place was straight out of a movie.”

  He put the bottle on the table, sat back, and gave me an appraising glance. “I can’t believe you did all this.”

  “Did all what?”

  “Ordered everything.” He gestured toward the dishes. “Planned this whole thing. But then, you were always the planner, Sara.” He picked up his wineglass. “Here’s to great plans.”

  “To great plans,” I said, and we toasted.

  A group of musicians arrived and began tuning up, playing keys, plucking strings, rattling drums. A few minutes later they opened with “Witchcraft.”

  “My father loved this song. Especially when Sinatra sang it.” I picked up my wineglass and twirled the stem. I’d heard the song a million times, but one particular occasion came to mind. “Do you remember that opening we went to? I think it might have been a Johnny Depp film. Where that crazy guy was singing ‘Witchcraft’ and trying to walk down the red carpet?”

  “He was drunk.”

  “You told him to leave. I was afraid he was going to punch you. I couldn’t believe you did that.”

  “I probably shouldn’t have. Anyway, it didn’t do much good. It was the cops who got him out of there, not me.”

  I remembered when the police came. “Yes, but you did get him off the carpet. You were pretty cool about the whole thing.”

  He sat back, gazed across the room for a while. “You hated those things.”

  “What things?”

  “Premieres. Award shows. All of that. I was just thinking about how you hated them.”

  “I never hated them.” I knew they were things Carter had to do. We had to do. Go to movie openings, to parties, make small talk, mostly with people I didn’t want to be around. And nobody really wanted to talk to me anyway. Nobody cared what I had to say. I was just an extension of Carter. “Okay, I hated them.”

  I poured us some more wine and we listened to the music, the band moving on to “Let’s Fall in Love.” My head felt light, wispy, as if it weren’t fully attached to the rest of me. But there was a leaden feeling in my stomach, and I wondered if the food wasn’t settling right.

  “You knew how to make decisions,” Carter said. “I never realized what an asset that is in a partner. Being decisive. Looking back, I think part of the reason I fell for Mariel was that she seemed a little unsure of herself. And I liked being the person she looked to for advice. It made me feel as if she needed me. I think that’s what I was attracted to. Her need for me.”

  “Wait a minute. You think I didn’t need you?” It felt like a slap in the face.

  “Well, kind of. Yeah.”

  “But that’s crazy. Of course I did.”

  He raised his hands. “Okay, maybe that’s not exactly what I meant. I mea
nt you didn’t need me as much. That Mariel never had your confidence.”

  How could he say that? Mariel was so beautiful that when she walked into a room, everyone noticed her. She was like the sun and we were all planets in orbit around her.

  “She depended on me for things,” he said. “Things you would never need to depend on anyone for. She called me her anchor.” A wistful little smile crossed his face, and there was a tender look in his eyes.

  Her anchor. She called him her anchor the same way I’d called him my rock. But now she didn’t think of him that way. He wasn’t her solid, dependable guy, the one who made her feel secure.

  “She said she could always count on me,” Carter went on. “And that made me feel…” He looked as though the word he was searching for might be written on the tablecloth. “I don’t know. Important, I guess.”

  “Are you saying I never made you feel important?” This was a revelation. I couldn’t believe that’s how he felt. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” I could have done something. I could have changed. Been different. Let him do more for me. Done less for myself. “Of course I needed you. Of course I thought you were important. We should have talked about this. We could have straightened it out.”

  “Yeah, I guess we should have,” Carter said. “Maybe we missed an opportunity there. I don’t know. Everything’s so confusing right now. I’m trying to get my head around what happened today, put it in perspective.” He stared at the candle as it flickered. “Maybe Mariel was never meant for me. Long term, it probably wouldn’t have worked out.” I couldn’t tell if he was serious or if he was trying to talk himself into the idea.

  He tilted back his glass and finished his wine. Then he pushed the glass to the side. “You and I were good together, weren’t we, Sara?”

  He reached across the table and put his hand on mine, looked into my eyes. The band was still playing, people were talking and laughing, servers were moving around. But all that stopped for me. It was just Carter. He’d opened a little door, one I could push open further. I didn’t know if he really believed his relationship with Mariel wouldn’t have lasted or if he was just saying that. But if I took this as an invitation for something more to happen, who knew where it could lead? It might lead to the two of us being a couple again.

  I thought about that, but as I sat there, my mother’s words and David’s words kept running through my head, reminding me that when Carter and Mariel became a couple it hadn’t been all Mariel’s fault, telling me what I’d been determined to ignore. And now I had to face the truth. The things that hadn’t worked the first time Carter and I were together wouldn’t work the second time. I couldn’t change the basic chemistry that existed between us. In a few months or maybe even a few weeks, we’d be back to dealing with the same issues that had split us up before. The events I didn’t want to attend, the small talk I didn’t want to make, the crisis calls at two and three in the morning, the canceled vacations. I realized I didn’t want to go back to Carter.

  But I also knew there was another reason I wouldn’t pursue him, a more important one: my sister. The heavy feeling in my stomach had more to do with her than anything else. She needed him. And he needed her. And everything I’d done to try to get between them and ruin their wedding had been selfish and childish and awful. David was right about something else as well. My sister and I did need to start acting our ages—or anyway, I had to start acting mine. I could set an example and hope she’d follow. And even if she didn’t, at least I’d be able to get my own house in order.

  I pulled my hand away.

  Chapter 24

  Father-Daughter Time

  It was sunny and warm the following afternoon as I drove past the Spencers’ farm. Three horses were in the field, their fly masks on, and I remembered that day I’d gone to Carl’s with David and he’d said he’d never ridden a horse. That seemed like a hundred years ago.

  I turned onto Coventry Road and a couple of miles later took the right onto Sugar Hill. The road cut a steep track upward past woods and fields. At the top, a wall and two pillars marked the entrance, and I turned there onto a narrow road. It could have been a park inside that entrance, all that green, the grass neatly trimmed, the ancient elms and maples providing shade with their graceful, leafy branches.

  When I saw the giant cross with GRANT on it, I slowed the car. That monument had always been my landmark, my way to find Dad. I pulled over to the side and stepped out of the car. The scent of something sweet blew by on a warm breeze. Honeysuckle, maybe. I could see the valley below and the top of the next ridge in the distance, a patchwork of green.

  Walking between the rows, I gazed at the headstones and crosses, the obelisks and pillars. Granite, marble, limestone. Slate and red sandstone for the older graves, the ones from the Civil War, the Revolutionary War. Some of the stones were so worn, the names and dates had faded, evaporated, leaving only ghostly traces.

  I found my father’s grave, the arch-shaped slab of rose granite shining in the sun.

  BELOVED

  JOHN HARRINGTON

  I ran my hand over the stone, tracing the words, then I touched the birth and death dates inscribed below his name and the space between them. Such a small space for such a large life.

  “Hi, Dad,” I said, sitting down in the grass.

  I stared at the letters, the numbers, grooves carved into granite. I pictured us dancing around the sunporch when I was a child, Sinatra playing, my little feet on Dad’s shoes, my small hands in his.

  “You used to tell me how proud of me you were,” I said. A bee droned; a bird warbled a three-note call. “I remember the first time I took grand champion at a horse show. The time I raised five hundred and twenty-two dollars for the animal rescue league. The day I got an A on a chemistry test. You were so proud of me.”

  I plucked a piece of grass from the ground and twirled it between my fingers. “You wouldn’t be proud of me now, though. I’ve done some really bad things. I wanted to get Carter away from Mariel. To ruin their wedding. And now the wedding’s off because of these photos that have gone around—Carter in a fountain with shaving cream and…”

  I gazed at the hills across the valley, purple in the distance. “Dad, I know I’ve gotten off track the past year and a half. Especially the past couple of weeks. A friend told me I was acting like a selfish child. And he’s right. I have been. But I’m trying to make amends. I’m trying to do the right thing.

  “Last night I called a guy I know in LA, J. P. List. He’s got a big public relations firm there. I thought he might be able to figure out a way to put a positive spin on the photos. If anybody can work miracles, J.P. can. He checked out the pictures and said, ‘Three almost-naked guys, a fountain, and a whole lot of shaving cream looks like fun to me. What’s the big deal?’ I’m really hoping he can help, Dad.”

  The breeze blew against my face, ruffled the grass, shifted the silhouette of branches on a nearby oak. “I wish you were here. I wish I could talk to you.” I wondered what he’d say. And then I realized I already knew. He’d say what he’d said many times: That people make mistakes. That it’s impossible not to, because we’re human. That the key is to take responsibility, pick up the pieces, do everything you can to make things better, and move on, smarter for the experience.

  “I have to rescue the wedding, Dad. That’s what I need to do. Talk to Carter, talk to Mariel, convince them they should get married, remind them how much they love each other.” They needed to get beyond the momentary distraction of the photos and think about why they’d wanted to get married in the first place. “I’ve got some work to do.”

  I took a deep breath. The air was sweet, as if the memories of the people buried there had bestowed some magic. As I inhaled the scent of summer, I began to feel a little lighter, more optimistic, almost happy. Maybe the right man for me wasn’t going to come along for a while. Or maybe he was never going to come along. But whether he did or didn’t, as Mom would say, The show must go on. Besides, I was
n’t alone in the world. I had Mom and maybe I’d have Mariel and Carter if I could straighten things out with them.

  I stood up and brushed the grass from my pants. “Dad, I’ve got to go. I’ve got stuff I need to do. But thanks for the talk.” I touched the top of the gravestone, the rose granite warm from the sun. A tiny pair of iridescent wings flickered toward me, and I heard a soft buzz as the dragonfly veered away at the last second. It touched down briefly on the headstone where my hand had rested. Then it took off into the sky.

  Chapter 25

  Shaving Should Be Fun

  I stood in the doorway of Mariel’s room on Thursday morning, watching in silence as she flung clothes into an open suitcase on the bed. Dresses and sweaters, skirts and pants, went zinging across the room. “What are you doing?”

  Her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks mottled. “What does it look like I’m doing?” She sent a lacy bra winging by me and then retreated into the closet. I heard the jangle of hangers.

  “Where are you going?”

  She reappeared in the closet doorway, a pair of black jeans in her hand. “Back to LA. Where else would I go?”

  “I don’t think you should leave.”

  “I don’t care what you think. Or what anybody thinks. I’m going to see if I can get my old job back at YogaBuzz.” She pitched the jeans toward the bed. They landed on the floor.

  “You shouldn’t leave,” I repeated, picking up the jeans and folding them. I set them on the bed, away from the suitcase. “You should stay and marry Carter on Saturday.”

  “I’m not going to marry Carter.”

  “Mariel, listen to me. He was just having a little fun with the guys, letting off some steam. Something he never does. So cut him some slack. Don’t let those stupid photos get in the way of the rest of your life. The rest of your lives together.”