“I pushed you away!” she says, dabbing her face with the tissues. “Maybe I was trying to hurt you for what you had done to Dad and to me. Maybe I left you because I thought you had left me. I don’t really know, but I do know I wouldn’t forgive you. I wouldn’t. I chose above anything and everything else to remember that afternoon in the kitchen, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
I hold her then and pat her back and stroke her hair. “It’s okay, honey,” I say. “It’s okay.” And finally her tears subside and her breathing returns to normal.
I go into the bathroom and get both of us cold washcloths to soothe our hot, puffy faces, and Maisey stands up to pull her bottom sheet taut and straighten the top sheet and blanket.
“The bed’s a mess,” she says, fluffing the pillows and laying them on the bed again.
“We’re a mess,” I say.
We pull back the covers on a bed that looks quite inviting now and lie down again, side by side, with the cold washcloths folded across our eyes.
“Here’s what I think, Maisey.”
“What?”
“I think we should try not to fret about what we’ve missed during the last nine years. What good will that do? Let’s just think about what we had, because we had a lot. Your dad and I loved going to your ball games and concerts. And you and I did most of the things we would have done—we just had plenty of company.”
I’m not sure, but I think Maisey laughed at that.
“You spent precious time with your dad, time you might not have spent if things had been different. And chances are you wouldn’t have gone to college in St. Louis if you hadn’t been so upset with me. And while it hurt to have you so far away, I can’t think of anything that could have been more wonderful for my mother. And of course there’s Marcus.”
“There’s Marcus,” she says, and I hear the smile in her voice.
“And there’s this, Maisey: No one can take the splendor of your first thirteen years from us. No one.”
“That’s true. These last two days I have learned and realized and remembered so much. Yesterday Marcus asked me if you were a good mother. I said yes.”
She lifts the washcloth off my eyes and takes it with hers into her bathroom and hangs them side by side on a towel rack. On the way back to bed, she stops to shut her blinds.
“Let’s go to sleep,” she says, “I’m absolutely exhausted.”
“Me too,” I say.
She climbs back into bed and turns to face her window.
She reaches for my hand and draws my arm over her.
“Good night, Mom.”
“Good night, Maisey.”
She yawns, which makes me yawn.
It feels so good to lie here beside my daughter, to know that this night she will finally sleep in peace.
“I love you, Mom,” she says.
I pull her close and kiss the soft skin of her shoulder, remembering the apple smell of her hair. In my heart I pray my psalm: Praise the Lord, O my soul.
Aloud I say, “I love you too, my sweet girl, Maisey.”
She’s almost asleep, but I hear, “More darling than a daisy.”
Yes.
SATURDAY
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Kendy
“Okay, girls,” Luke says, standing in Maisey’s doorway, “you’ve slept long enough! Breakfast is on the table.”
He informs us that he awoke at seven, wondered where I was, finally found me asleep in Maisey’s room, checked on us again at eight, and decided he’d let us sleep until nine. Sleeping so soundly and being awakened by Luke announcing breakfast is a most excellent way to start a day.
We get up with no argument and follow him downstairs.
“French toast!” Maisey and I say in unison when we come into the kitchen, where the table is set and abounds with everything an outstanding breakfast requires. My husband has been busy while we slept.
“Goodness, Luke,” I say, sitting down and taking a sip of my juice.
Both Maisey and I eat three pieces of French toast and split the last piece left on the platter. Overindulging for sure, but we agree we’ll eat only a salad for lunch on our way to meet the girls at the salon at two. The wedding party and families are meeting at the church at five to get ready and to have as many pictures taken as possible—any, that is, that don’t require both the bride and groom.
“So,” Maisey says, looking at her dad and then at me as she cuts her French toast, “Marcus and I will come by to pick up our wedding gifts when we get back from Hawaii. We can open them then if that’s okay with you.”
“That will be fine,” I say, “but I’m going to Mother’s on Monday to spend a few days. I could take them to her condo, or I could even drop them by your apartment.”
“We’ll come home.”
Such lovely words. Luke and I look at each other. We have just heard words to cherish. They will vie with her first word, prized for twenty-one years now, as most memorable.
Maisey stabs another piece of toast and reaches for the syrup. “I want to come home,” she says.
Winner and champion.
“And have I told you—Dad, hand me the bacon—that Marcus is going to try to get a job in Indy when he finishes law school? Gram and St. Louis have us for a few more years; then we’re coming home for good. At least that’s our plan.”
“That’s great,” Luke says.
“We’d love it,” I say.
She looks at us and smiles. “So would I.”
As soon as we finish eating, Luke sends Maisey and me to take showers and otherwise prepare for the day. I tell him he is outdoing himself, making breakfast and cleaning it up.
“I’m just a nice guy,” he says.
Maisey gives him a kiss on the way out of the kitchen and says, “That’s for sure.”
After she leaves the room, Luke looks at me and smiles. “So,” he says, “you and Maisey finally talked.”
I throw my arms around his neck. “We did! We had a wonderful talk.”
If Luke and I were a picture on the front page of the newspaper, we’d surely look like a couple reunited after escaping some tragedy, a tornado maybe, or a devastating fire. I could remain in his arms all morning, but he, having a penchant for the practical, says I need to get ready and he has a kitchen to clean.
It isn’t long before Luke comes into the bathroom and finds me sitting at my vanity, having barely gotten out of the shower. “Kitchen’s clean,” he says.
“I’m not moving very fast,” I say. “I’ve been thinking about how talkative Maisey was at breakfast. She seems happy, doesn’t she?”
“Very,” he says.
Luke has come in wanting the scoop about last night. I’m surprised by his curiosity. I really thought his seeing us in her bed together this morning might have said it all. That, and my confirmation in the kitchen that we had a good talk. But he sits on the side of the whirlpool tub, awaiting the details, and I’m glad to tell him what happened from the time I thought I heard her at our bedroom door until I put my arms around her and we whispered good night, her childhood rhyme a benediction.
“Well, that’s good,” he says when I finish. “It’s like an infected wound has been cleansed, medicated, and bandaged.
I know it was painful, but I predict a healing beyond what we can ‘ask or imagine.’ ”
“My ever-positive, Ephesians 3 husband.”
He smiles, guilty as charged.
“Our daughter has wanted her mom back for a long time,” he says. “I’m not surprised she’s so happy this morning.”
“It’s in her chatter, in her smile and eyes, isn’t it?” I say. “I’m going to help her pack when I finish getting ready. She wants to show me the things she got at her shower and some other things too. Isn’t it wonderful? Such simple things are just too wonderful.”
“Get with it, then,” he says, heading for the door. “I’ll be outside when you and Maisey need help carrying stuff out.”
He leaves and I get
out the hair dryer and straightening iron, thinking that the morning has been as nice as last night was, minus the trauma. Maisey’s wedding will be perfect—even if the ring bearer and flower girl exchange fire walking down the aisle, their weapons of choice a pillow and a basket.
At breakfast Maisey was no longer just a daddy’s girl. She was our girl. That fills me with pleasure.
Maisey
I call Marcus as soon as I come upstairs. I don’t even wait until I take my shower. I want him to hear me happy. Completely happy.
He can’t believe Mom slept with me.
“Well, we just fell asleep,” I say. “We were so tired, but I’m rested now. Dad let us sleep late, and I ate a huge breakfast.”
“Finally hungry?”
“Starved.”
“I’m glad you’re rested. We have a wedding, a reception, and a wedding night ahead of us.”
“I’m good to go,” I say. “Can’t wait. But thank goodness our flight tomorrow isn’t at the crack of dawn.”
“Your grandpa’s idea.”
“Isn’t he smart?”
“Good at his job,” Marcus says. “Now, tell me about last night.”
I tell him to put his feet up, because I want to tell him everything. I even tell him about going down to Mom and Dad’s room and turning back at the last minute. “But Mom didn’t turn back,” I say. “She came in and crawled right into bed beside me. I needed that so much, Marcus, and finally I was ready for it.”
“I’m glad you got things settled. You sound happy. You sound free.”
“Yes! That’s how I feel. Free. And I can’t seem to quit smiling. Things are going to be all right, Marcus. And I have you to thank for that—at least you deserve a lot of the credit. Honestly, if you hadn’t confronted me Wednesday, the anger would still be there, pushing Mom away. You were right; that has taken the edge off my happiness, and for a long time now.”
“You can show me your appreciation tonight.”
I laugh. “I plan on it. You can be glad Dad was here watching out for your interests, letting me sleep late, calling me to the kitchen to energize me with thousands of calories. But really, can you believe I slept until nine?”
“Can you believe my brother had me up at seven to run three miles?”
“Which one?”
“Max. He’s a fanatic. Rain or shine or my wedding day— every morning must start with a run.”
“Did you keep up with him?”
“Sort of.”
“Are you recovered?”
“Reasonably.”
“Good,” I say. “I need a big favor.”
I tell him what I want him to do, carefully explaining it. He asks questions and clarifies details, and I know I can count on him to take care of things.
“Go as many places as you have to,” I say. “As many as you have time for anyway. I want this to be outrageous!”
“I will. Max will help; he owes me big time. But this is going to take a while, so I’ve got to get going.”
“Okay,” I say, “but do you realize that the next time I talk to you, we’ll be exchanging our vows? Unless you stand me up. Then I’ll never speak to you again.”
“You know something? I’ll bet you would. But we’ll never know, because I won’t be standing you up. I have loved you since you hand-mixed concrete under a Mexican sun, no makeup, a bandanna tied around your forehead, sweat drenching your entire body.”
I assure him that’s when I began loving him too. And then he is off, running an errand I can’t, doing for me what I can’t possibly do myself, not today. And I’m off to the shower. I hurry because Mom is coming up to help me pack when she finishes getting ready. I have a lot of things to show her before we leave this afternoon, my suitcases in the trunk of my car. Dottie will transfer Marcus’s suitcases there when they get to the church.
This is too, too exciting.
I look at the clock on my bedside table. Only a few hours now, and I’ll be Maize Anne Laswell Blair—Maisey Blair for short.
After taking a shower and getting ready in record time, I grab one of the suitcases I need out of the closet and open it on my bed just as Mom appears in the doorway, looking refreshed.
“Ready?” she asks.
I smile, so happy to see her standing there.
“Ready.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Kendy
It is done.
Maisey and Marcus are married at last.
Whatever we paid for Maisey’s dress was worth it. She took my breath away. It was a delight to see that she took Marcus’s breath away too. I was enchanted by everything else as well: the fabulously dressed wedding party, the string quartet, the abundance of candles and flowers, the minister’s words, chosen with love for just the two of them. Because I knew so little of what Maisey had planned, I experienced the full impact of it all, and I understood why the audience broke out in spontaneous applause when the bride and groom were introduced as “Mr. and Mrs. Marcus and Maisey Blair.”
As I walked up the aisle with one of the handsome ushers, I saw smiling people everywhere I looked. And the reception was as delightful: tasteful décor, a wonderful variety of music, delicious food. The atmosphere—whether people sat at tables, clustered in small groups to talk, or crowded the dance floor— was joyous.
The festivities started with dinner and ended with a dance. As Luke and I took to the floor and danced beside Maisey and Marcus, tears of gratitude hovered, threatening to spoil my makeup. I blinked them away, though; I had replaced my makeup after the wedding ceremony and didn’t intend to do it again. Eventually most everyone was on the dance floor: couples as diverse as Jackie and Sam, recent college graduates, and Miller and Anne, on the brink of retirement.
Maisey and Marcus, after beginning their married life enjoying their family and friends, kissed all of us good-bye and left for Indy around eleven. We all stood in the parking lot, throwing birdseed and waving them on their way. The party began breaking up shortly after that. Jackie and Sam stayed until they could catch Luke and me alone so that Sam could make his presentation. As he put a John Deere tractor in my hand, Jackie looked a lot like Maisey did when she first came home and told us about Marcus.
“Are you asleep?” Luke asks from the driver’s seat.
“Just resting my eyes,” I say. I open them to see where we are. Familiar landmarks tell me we are ten minutes from home.
“I was thinking about the tractor in my purse.”
“Jackie may be the next one down the aisle.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“To change the subject,” Luke says, “Dottie said she’s coming by the house to see Pete.”
“Tonight? It’s midnight, Luke!”
“Well, she said she was, but Doug said they were going straight to their hotel room.”
“Doug Blair is a dear and prudent man. They both seemed glad to marry off son number five, didn’t they? And they seem to love Maisey as much as we love Marcus.”
“I think they do.”
“Maybe Maisey will enjoy her mother- and father-in-law as much as I enjoy mine,” I say, patting Luke’s leg. “It’s so nice when that happens.”
“Dottie and Doug are good people. By the way, you did hear they’re meeting us at church tomorrow, didn’t you? They will probably go out to eat with us, but Dottie wants to retrieve Pete and be on the road by three.”
“Good, we’ll have some time to ourselves before I head for St. Louis Monday morning.”
“Want me to take some days off and come with you?”
“I don’t think so. I’d like to have some girl time with Mother . . . as much as Phillip will allow anyway.”
“Phillip?”
“It’s only a suspicion, but I do believe Mother has found a man she actually enjoys.”
“Her boss?” Luke seems shocked.
“Wouldn’t that be something?” I say. “I’ll take a DVD of wedding pictures to show Mother while I’m there. She’ll
be glad to see how nicely everything turned out. I hope to be home by Thursday, since the kids will be back here Saturday. I may go back to Mom’s a few days after that. Then I’ll have a week or so before school starts. Pardon me while I rest my eyes again.”
I think I might have actually dozed off, because we are pulling into the garage. We come into the kitchen and turn on the light.
“What in the world!” I say.
The sight is glorious.
“Did you do this, Luke?”
“Don’t look at me!”
On the bar are two large vases filled with daisies. There is another vase on the kitchen table. I walk over and look for a card, but none of the vases has one.
“I can’t believe it,” I say.
Luke has turned on a light in the living room and is calling for me. I walk in, and the living room and the dining room have been transformed. Vases of daisies are everywhere. Three sit on the piano, two are on the large coffee table, and every other table in the room boasts a vase full of the darling daisies. Another vase graces the dining room table, and two more are reflected in the mirror over the sideboard.
“They’re amazing,” I say.
I check each vase for a card, finding nothing. But of course I know who is responsible for this daisy wonderland, and overwhelmed by this offering, I sit on the couch, my face in my hands, and sob.
Our daughter has done a wondrous thing.
Luke sits beside me and dries my tears with one of the Kleenexes he had neatly folded and put in his jacket pocket for emergencies.
He smiles, and I smile back.
“Come on,” he says, and he takes my hand and we go into the bedroom, where daisies overflow vases on the dresser, our bedside tables, and the table by the chaise longue. I can even see a vase on my vanity in the bathroom. It is propped against this final vase that I find a card.
It is one of Maisey’s gold-embossed thank-you cards. I read it, smiling through the tears once again gathering in my eyes.
I hand the note to Luke and he reads it while I walk through the house once more, looking at this astonishing display of forgiveness and honor and love. I examine the flowers, wondering how Maisey could have orchestrated such a thing, how she could have found so many flawless flowers so quickly, how she could have afforded such extravagance.
Things Worth Remembering Page 23
