Speak Now

by Chautona Havig

  The room slowly emptied. “What flowers would you put in yours?”

  “I don’t know. I think it’d depend upon whom I married. I think that affects those choices.”

  At the sound of a muffled cheer, she smiled. “I hope Linda got it. That’d make her happy.”

  He kept waiting for her to slip. With interest, he noted everything she said, the ease in which she blended into any situation and her comfort with his disinclination for conversation—all things that he’d never encountered with anyone else in his life. Though refreshing, he wondered if it could possibly be genuine.

  She smiled at him as the bride reentered the hall. “That’s my cue. My bride awaits. I have work to do. It was very nice to meet you. I hope I see you again soon, but if not, thank you for a lovely evening.”

  Jonathan shook her hand, holding it a few seconds longer than necessary as he searched her face for a trace of dishonesty. “You mean that. Thank you. I enjoyed myself as well. We’re all happy to have met you.”

  As she slipped out the door behind Julia, Jonathan saw Cara give him one last smile. He searched his mind for an appropriate adjective to describe that smile as he rose and left to retrieve his children. Wistful didn’t seem quite right, but it was the closest he could find.

  Chapter Two

  Jonathan, Bryson, and Riley entered the hotel restaurant. Across the room, Cara chatted animatedly with her family and friends at a large table arranged specifically for the wedding breakfast. The picture she presented appeared to be almost the antithesis of the woman from the wedding. This woman charmed everyone around her, showing a vivacity that appealed but was so different that it confused him. Was she such a chameleon, or had she shown him more pity than he realized?

  His children munched on scrambled eggs and toast while he picked at his eggs Benedict. Ignoring their open mouths as they chewed and chattered, he moved his perfect eggs around on the plate, allowing them to cool into an inedible mess, and watched the scene across the room with more interest than he meant to show. A shriek of excitement from his daughter brought Cara’s eyes to his.

  “Oh, Daddy! Look! It’s pretty Miss Cara!” Riley’s voice carried across the restaurant, prompting amused glances around them.

  With a sweet smile, she held up her index finger, turned back to her group, and continued her meal for a minute or two before she glanced back at them. Seeing Riley’s forlorn face, she sent Jonathan a questioning look and jerked her head at Riley. He nodded, nudging Riley and pointing to Cara, who beckoned the child to come sit by her.

  Bryce watched the proceedings interestedly as he chewed his toast into a Mickey Mouse head. “Daddy, I think Miss Cara likes us.”

  “Why do you say that?” Jonathan wondered what kind of insightful comment Bryson would make now.

  “She doesn’t have to be nice to us today, but she is. She wants to come over and see us, but she doesn’t want to be rude, so she asked Riley to come over so Riley doesn’t embarrass you again.”

  Mortified that his son noticed his embarrassment, Jonathan met his son’s eyes. “Do you understand the difference in being embarrassed by a person and being embarrassed by something they do?”

  Bryson bit off Mickey’s ear. “Like how I get embarrassed when you tell someone how great I did, but I’m really happy too?”

  Jonathan ignored his first inclination to remind his son not to talk with his mouth full. “That’s right. I’m embarrassed that Riley drew attention to us, but I could never be embarrassed about her.”

  “Because you love her.”

  “Yes.”

  As the people at Cara’s table left one by one, Cara led Riley back to her father’s table. Each step closer gave Jonathan a clearer picture of her. In everyday clothes, without the glamor of the formal occasion, he saw much clearer the beauty that enchanted his daughter. Bryson’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Her hair is almost pink, isn’t it?”

  “Strawberry—that’s what they call it. Not blonde, not red—kind of in between.” A few freckles—he’d almost bet she hated them—scattered across her nose as if obligatory with her hair color.

  Cara reached the table and smiled as Riley climbed up beside her father. “Good morning. I’m so glad to see you both again. Are you finished eating?”

  Bryson held up his one eared piece of Mickey-chewed toast. “I’m not.”

  Cara looked at Jonathan’s plate and said, “You haven’t taken more than a bite, is something wrong with it?”

  “Just distracted,” he replied, trying to hide his embarrassment.

  Without hesitation, Cara signaled a waiter and ordered a fresh plate of eggs Benedict, a bowl of fruit, and an omelet for herself. “We were so busy talking and catching up at the other table that I didn’t get to eat anything.”

  By the time the food arrived, Cara had the children drawing on pages from a notepad in her purse, and Jonathan had relaxed again. Between comments and compliments on the children’s artwork, Cara conversed with Jonathan, but only with her eyes. No one had ever been able to be so comfortable with his predilection for silence.

  Riley’s voice broke the hush surrounding their table. “Daddy, can Miss Cara come to Gramma Lyman’s house with us?”

  The awkward silence he’d expected since the moment she joined them finally made an appearance. It hovered over the table, hushing even little Riley, who buried her face into her father’s shirt, visibly confused as to what she said that could be so wrong. Cara glanced at each miserable face and then wiped her mouth. With a look of encouragement for Jonathan, Cara excused herself.

  Minutes passed as he waited for her to return. Riley begged to go find her, but Jonathan assured his daughter that their new friend wouldn’t slip out the back door. As if to prove his words, Cara appeared, smiling. In her eyes, he saw that she knew he’d reissue the invitation.

  Jonathan cleared his throat. “If you don’t have other plans…”

  “I don’t.”

  His eyes questioned; hers answered. Riley’s head twisted back and forth as though watching the tennis match he had dismissed as non-existent the previous night. “I want to know!” she wailed.

  Bryson’s confident voice answered before either adult could speak. “Of course she is. She just said so.”

  “She did?” Confusion flooded the little girl’s face.

  “His eyes asked her if she would come after she said she didn’t have plans, and her eyes said yes.”

  “They have talking eyes?” Riley exclaimed, several decibels louder than necessary.

  Jonathan led them all outside as the entire restaurant turned toward them for the second time that morning. “Do you have a car here or—”

  “It’s in the parking garage. I’m staying one more night before I go home.”

  “Where do you live, Miss Cara?”

  “In Westbury.”

  Cara explained to Bryson where Westbury was and why she’d gotten a hotel room when her home was only twenty miles away. Meanwhile, Jonathan led them to the lobby where a valet brought his car to the portico. As he buckled Riley into her car seat, Jonathan processed this information. She was a local. Usually, that kind of information would be encouraging, but he had a problem.

  He wasn’t.

  ~*~*~*~

  “So where did you meet our Jonathan?”

  Cara couldn’t remember one name from the next. Her natural weakness in remembering names and faces was compounded after a long weekend full of strangers. “At the wedding. Riley seemed to take to me.”

  “You’re the maid of honor!” the woman exclaimed, recognizing Cara at last. “I’m astonished that my nephew brought home a girl he just met.” Her voice lowered slightly as she murmured, “You must be an amazing woman.”

  Cara’s eyes swept the room and found Jonathan sitting in a window seat stroking Riley’s hair as she slept with her thumb sliding slowly from her mouth. His eyes never left Cara. They seemed to follow her everywhere she went.

  As he stood and moved t
oward her, she turned back to Jonathan’s aunt. “I think I’d say that I’m an amazed woman.”

  Mrs. Lyman couldn’t respond. Jonathan reached Cara’s side, and his hand slid comfortably under her elbow. He leaned in and murmured, “Care for a walk?” To Jeanette Lyman, he said, “Aunt Jeanie? Will you all keep an eye on Bryson and Riley?”

  “Go have fun, Jonathan. We’re not going anywhere. This is your vacation. I don’t want to see you until after the kids are in bed for the night.”

  Jonathan asked again, “A walk?”

  She followed him to the door. “Certainly.”

  “Dinner?”

  Amused, Cara nodded, agreeing. “Dinner.”

  “Then maybe a movie?”

  She squeezed his hand lightly before she dropped it. “I’d love it.”

  ~*~*~*~

  They entered a packed theater. Jonathan, preferring not to climb over people to get to middle and back seats, led her to the center front row. They sat for several minutes, watching advertisements flashing and rolling on the screen until Cara glanced at Jonathan and sighed. “I need to move. I’m already getting dizzy. I can’t sit too close or...”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” He stood, offering his hand, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  “I thought I’d try it since we’re early. I’m sorry.”

  Once Jonathan settled them in the seats near the back, he turned to her. “Please don’t apologize. It’s my pleasure to find a way to make you comfortable after the way you cared for my family.”

  A certain amount of shyness existed between them—one that seemed to feed an almost electrical undercurrent of burgeoning attraction. Jonathan recognized it and wondered why he met her now when he’d just have to go home at the end of the week. His heart pounded at that idea. Since when did he have the time or inclination to develop an interest in any woman? As a grieving widower, he had rejected any attempts for others to “set him up” with someone. How was this any different? Doesn’t matter, he thought to himself. It just is.

  The movie tugged at their heartstrings, the plot revolving around two people meeting on an airplane, living on opposite ends of the country, and the impossibility of such a relationship. A happy-ending both encouraged and frustrated him. The sci-fi thriller would have been gentler on their hearts, and if he could trust the expression on her face as an indication, she felt it just as keenly as he did.

  Outside the cinema, Jonathan spoke, no longer hiding from the topic he had intended to avoid. “Ouch.”

  “Yes.”

  Jonathan couldn’t help but marvel how much could be said with only one word. He led her along Rockland Boulevard, to Eastbrook, and toward Rockland City Park. The park would be empty on a late Sunday evening, but it didn’t close for another hour or two. As he’d hoped, the gazebo stood empty. They sat on opposite sides of it, their feet stretched toward the middle, not speaking.

  After struggling within himself for several minutes, Jonathan blurted, “I’m here for a week. Most of the family leaves tonight. I promised to go to my grandmother’s house for breakfast on Thursday, and of course, I want to see my aunt some, but—” He swallowed hard. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Perhaps—

  “I hope I’ll see you.”

  Jonathan quit staring at his hands as though they’d give him the answers he desired. Eyes met and held one another. Heartstrings sent out tremulous tentacles that curled in similar directions as though waiting for permission to intertwine at the perfect place and time. Cara smiled; Jonathan nodded.

  “You will.” He moved to her side, sitting cross-legged beside her. “Is it wise?”

  Cara sat up as well, “Do we care?”

  “You don’t know anything about me.”

  Her gaze moved from their hands as they fidgeted mere inches from each other, to his eyes once more. “But I want to know everything. Tell me about your wife. What was her name?”

  “How did you know I felt like talking?”

  Her laughter echoed around them. It was the first time he’d heard it and it surprised him. Rather than a gentle laugh that fit her persona, or a musical one that fit her deep, throaty voice, it was loud and erupted like a volcano from deep within her. If it hadn’t been so infectious or delighted, he might have found it raucous.

  “Jonathan, you’re talking. If you talk, you obviously must feel like it. You’re not shy, and you don’t have trouble formulating your thoughts. You just usually don’t care to talk, so when you do, you do.”

  His index finger stroked the back of her hand with one long, slow movement. “How is it you can understand in twenty-four hours what my own mother is just starting to grasp?”

  “Because I don’t feel responsible for your ability or inability to relate in society. I don’t care if people understand you; I only care that I do.”

  His eyes twinkled charmingly. “You do care or you care about whether or not you understand me?”

  She placed both hands on her knees as though for support. “All three.”

  “But I only gave two options.”

  “But I also understand you, so that’s three.”

  For several more minutes, they sat in silence, once again their eyes communicating without words, but the conversation remained deep and full of understanding. At last, he spoke again. “My wife didn’t understand me. We married young. I loved her, so I tried to be someone she could understand. People said she brought me out of my shell, but…”

  “But trying to be someone you weren’t drove you deeper into yourself than ever before?”

  His hands squeezed into fists instinctively. “I really tried, but I realized that by trying to become more extroverted, I was really pulling away from her.” Jonathan dropped his head. “I eventually had to explain it all to her.

  “She tried to understand, but she didn’t, did she?”

  With an almost imperceptible shake of his head, he sighed. “No.”

  “She loved you.”

  Jonathan’s head snapped up, and his eyes bored back into hers once more. “Do you think so? How could she? She never knew me. I didn’t let her choose whether to marry me or not. She married a fraud.”

  Cara seemed to choose her words carefully. “She married you. Just like any marriage, there were parts of you that she didn’t fully understand, just as you didn’t understand parts of her. Yes, you tried to be something you weren’t, but not to deceive her. You did it to please her. That’s an admirable motive, not a despicable one.” She paused, allowing her words to sink in before she continued. “How did she die? What was her name? What do you miss most about her? What did you miss in your marriage that you hope for in the future? Tell me about you.” Then, with a saucy grin, she added, “I have to get all the information out of you while you’re willing to talk, you know.”

  “Lily was tall, slender, and shy. She talked a mile a minute if she knew you well, but otherwise she was your proverbial wallflower—happy to blend into the background if it meant protection from notice.”

  “How did you two ever get to know one another?”

  He smiled at the sigh his rumbling laugh produced. Lily had been like that. She had loved his laughter—considered it one of his best assets. Cara’s reaction inferred that it hadn’t just been prejudice. “I met her in a group study in college. We were working on a project. There were six of us, and three didn’t show. The other guy was disgusted and said to reschedule, but Lily and I decided to do a lot of the research so we wouldn’t be behind. I think the fact that I kept quiet made her comfortable, because she started talking.”

  He paused and took a deep breath. “Something about her—she seemed delicate, almost fragile. She was so kind. I wanted to know her, and for the first time in my life, I was willing to do something about it.”

  “For the first time? I don’t understand.”

  A blush stole over his face, reddening his neck and giving him a slight rugged look that completely changed his appearance. “There were girls in high school and my fir
st years at college. I’d meet one and be interested. I’d want to get to know them, but never enough to force myself to talk. I talk when I have something to say, not when someone has something they want to hear. So, I never got to know them, and eventually, each one stepped back out of my life.”

  A question formed in Cara’s eyes. Jonathan saw it and nodded. “I had a million ways of telling her how much I loved her,” he paused, a twinkle in his eye. “And some of them used words.”

  Cara glanced at her phone and her shoulders drooped. “We have to go. They’re closing in ten minutes.”

  “Do you mind if I get the children before we head back to the hotel?”

  “Only if I get to help.”

  ~*~*~*~

  At the Rockland Towers, Cara carried Riley to the elevator, up three floors, and into the Lyman’s suite while Jonathan carried Bryson. As she laid the child on the bed she murmured, “Do you need help with PJ’s or anything?”

  Before Jonathan and Cara could help them out of their clothes, both children curled into fetal position, facing one another on the bed. Jonathan shook his head. “I’ve got it, thanks.”

  He walked her to the door and let himself out behind her. “I’d walk—” Jonathan swallowed the lump that formed in his throat and gave up any attempt to finish what he’d intended to say.

  With their eyes engaged in a more intimate conversation, Jonathan and Cara made plans for dinner the following evening. “I asked Aunt Jeannie, and she said someone would be available to watch the kids anytime.”

  “You could bring them with you, too.”

  “Maybe later in the week.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow then. Thank you for today, I can’t remember ever having a more wonderful time.”

  His hand moved to cup her cheek, but he pulled back slightly before he reached it. “And if I don’t talk—”

  “I think we communicate beautifully with or without words. I want to spend time with you, Jonathan, not write a dictionary.”

  Ever so lightly, his thumb crossed the final few centimeters of air and lightly trailed across her cheek. “I like thesauruses more. Or should that be thesauri?”