Speak Now

by Chautona Havig

  “Good idea. In one word, describe your dress.”

  “Cara.”

  “What?”

  “I want,” she explained patiently, “anyone to be able to look at my dress and know immediately that it is perfect for me.”

  “Okay, what color?”

  “Well, I don’t want a true ivory, but if I could find something between ivory and white, I’d look better in it than a stark white.” It seemed surreal to begin planning a wedding without a proposal.

  “What colors for the wedding?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve got to get to work now, Mom. I’ll call you later.”

  ~*~*~*~

  Verna nearly jumped out of her skin when she walked into Jonathan’s bedroom to vacuum and found him sitting in his chair. Jonathan Lyman just didn’t spend the afternoon sitting in his bedroom when he had work to do. “What’re you doin’ home, young man? I’ve got things to do and so do you.”

  “Kids sleeping?”

  “It’s nap time, what do you think, boy?”

  “You’re in a feisty mood.”

  Hands on hips, Verna gave him one of her trademarked looks. “When I come into a room that I expect to find empty and get a year scared off my life, I get a mite riled. Now what’re you doin’ home?”

  “I miss her.”

  Interesting words. “Cara?”

  “Yes.”

  He would get into one of his silent moods after a bombshell like that. “Gonna marry her?”

  “Unless something happens during her visit that tells us no, yeah, I think I am.”

  “Mmm hmmm.”

  “What?”

  “You’re messin’ with your own head, boy, not mine. You’ll be engaged before the weekend’s out, and you know it. Got a ring?”

  Jonathan pulled his cellphone from his pocket and clicked open a picture. “Think it’ll work?”

  “I’ll tell you when I meet her. Do yourself a favor, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  His faithful nanny and friend held his face in her hands and bent so her eyes were level with his, as if he was a little boy. “Don’t let her know it’s an investment.”

  “It’s not. I’m probably paying more than it’s worth.”

  Verna straightened, stretched her back, and reached for the vacuum cord. “Good. Make sure she knows that.”

  Jonathan jogged downstairs and left Verna to her afternoon housework. In his office, he looked over papers and then set them aside when he realized he didn’t know anything more about them than he had when he’d started. He started to call his mother and changed his mind. He punched Cara’s number and then closed his phone. Unsettled in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time, he changed into swim trunks and went to swim laps in the pool.

  On his fifth pass across the pool, he jumped out, grabbed his cellphone, and sent Cara a text message. WHAT IS THE EARLIEST DATE? The words said so little and yet so much. Waiting any longer for what seemed a given would kill him.

  Cara’s reply came within less than a minute. If only the weeks would pass so swiftly. SEPT 26 BUT ITS TIGHT. BETTER OCT 3

  Before he could respond, Bryson and Riley raced from the house to greet him. “Daddy! You’re home ‘specially early!”

  “I am at that.”

  A curious expression stole over Bryson’s face. “Daddy, is something wrong? You’re sad.”

  “Daddy’s not sad! He’s home with us!” Riley’s indignation showed from the tip of her ponytailed head to the polished toes of her little feet.

  “I’d say you’re both right.”

  “Did you have fun with Miss Cara?” As always, Bryson brought the discussion to the crux of the matter.

  “I did.”

  “You didn’t want to leave her, though.”

  “Bryson! Daddy wanted to come home to us!”

  Jonathan noticed insecurity in Riley’s response and pulled himself from the pool. “Yes, I did want to come home to both of you, and no, I didn’t want to leave her.”

  “If we lived in Rockland—”

  “In Rockland, we’d never see Daddy!”

  The words stunned him. “Why do you say that, Ry?”

  “‘Cause when we went to Rockland, you were always gone.”

  Wrapping a towel around him, Jonathan sank into one of the patio chairs and leaned forward to talk eye to eye with his daughter. “You do know that if we lived there, I wouldn’t be gone from home all the time, don’t you? That was a vacation, and we were only there for a week after the wedding.”

  “I thought you liked Miss Cara.” Bryson’s words sounded almost like an accusation.

  “I do!” The childish retort seemed a bit exaggerated, even to Jonathan’s ears.

  “Is something wrong, Riley?” He hoped his daughter hadn’t taken a sudden dislike to Cara. “Do you still want Cara to come see us next month?”

  “Oh, yes! She’s going to go swimming with us, and paint my fingernails, and we’re going shopping.”

  “Girl stuff,” Bryson pronounced with disgust.

  “Fun stuff! Daddy, make him stop!”

  Before Jonathan could tell either child to stop being so petty, Bryson apologized. “Sorry. I just want Miss Cara to come and want to stay.”

  “Stay? Can she, Daddy?”

  “Would you like that?” Maybe things wouldn’t be as awkward as he thought.

  “Yes! I like Miss Cara.” The child’s voice grew very small. “I wish she was my mommy since my own mommy isn’t here.”

  “Me too.”

  Jonathan’s quiet voice surprised his children. “Me three.”

  “Can you hire her?” Riley’s hands clapped excitedly at the thought.

  “You don’t hire mommies, Riley, you marry them.” The air of mature superiority in Bryson’s voice nearly ruined all of Jonathan’s forced composure.

  “With a wedding? Like when we saw Miss Cara?”

  “Would you like that, Riley?”

  Something in Jonathan’s question seemed to answer something in Bryson’s mind. “You want to marry Miss Cara, don’t you, Daddy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you ask her?”

  Riley watched the conversation, her eyes wide with excitement, and her tongue uncharacteristically quiet. Jonathan shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “Why not? Her birthday would have been a nice day—”

  “I wasn’t sure then.” Even to his own ears, his excuse sounded lame.

  “You didn’t know if we wanted a mommy again, did you?”

  “Well, son, it’s not that simple. If I decided to marry Cara, I would do it even if you guys didn’t think you wanted me to. It’s my job as daddy to do what is best for you, even if you don’t like it.”

  “But we do like it, Daddy!” Riley insisted. “Can you get married when she comes?”

  “She might not say yes, Riley.” Bryson, wise beyond his years, knew that not every woman said yes to an offer of marriage.

  “Of course she will. He’s our Daddy! She thinks he’s the han’som—” The child’s face flushed. “I wasn’t ‘posed to tell!”

  “Bryson already did, remember?”

  Without warning, Riley’s foot shot out and kicked Bryson’s shin. “That’s for telling.”

  “Daddy!”

  Frustrated, Jonathan dragged his squabbling children into the house to deal with the situation. Hours later, he sat, rolling the ring between his thumb and forefinger, wondering if he was crazy to do something so soon. Decision made, he pushed the ring into the jeweler’s box, snapped the lid closed, and locked it in his bedroom safe. Seconds later, he sent Cara another text message. SEPT 26. DEFINITELY. I LOVE YOU.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Diane looked at the list of venue options and put them in order of preference. “Okay, so first, the upper floor of the Oakes. Second choice, the Peterson Garden at the Botanical Gardens, and third choice is the Lyman estate.”

  Cara typed quickly as her mother dictated their list. “
Are you sure we shouldn’t have a third choice and then the Lyman estate as back-up?”

  “You didn’t like anything else but the Chesterfield Greenhouse, and we didn’t think there was enough space.”

  “Well, but Trenna would know. It’d give her another option to work with. I think I’ll put it down as three and then Lyman as fourth. It can’t hurt.”

  “Fine. Let’s just get this done. What’s next?”

  “She wants colors. I don’t know what to do about that. I don’t know what Jonathan will want.”

  “Can you ask him what colors are out?” Diane glanced at Cara’s cellphone meaningfully.

  “Oh, I missed a text. He’s saying the twenty-sixth as a definite. Eek!” Marking that down in her Word document, Cara sent a quick text asking about colors and prayed that he was still awake. A reply shot back almost immediately. Cara read aloud. NO YELLOW AND I DON’T CARE FOR RED MYSELF BUT IT’S FINE IF YOU WANT IT.

  “Okay, so we’re pretty good on just about anything. Pick a color.”

  Cara closed her eyes, tried to imagine Kirky, Carly, and Julia wearing the same color, and failed. “None of them look good in the same thing.”

  “What about a champagne colored silk like we used for that cocktail dress last winter?” Diane jumped up to grab a scrap from her scrapbook of designs.

  “How would that look with pale pink?”

  Diane held several swatches from one of her books up to the scrap for comparison. “Pale pink for what?”

  “Flowers… and maybe a sash for Riley.” Cara stared at the list again. “Okay, so we have champagne dresses, three girls—”

  “Well, except you don’t want to forget his family. He may have more.”

  “I was thinking Lisa Lanzo has been such a good friend…”

  Diane pointed to the laptop. “I’d put down four to six. That way, she has a ballpark, but you don’t sound committed yet.”

  Finally, Cara tore out the two dresses she’d chosen from two different magazines, cut the torso of one, and taped it to the other. “There. That’s just perfect.”

  “I need that back.”

  “I’m just taking a picture!”

  While Cara typed out the last instructions, Diane fussed about dress fabrics. Her finger hesitated over the print button before she slid it across the touch pad and clicked her inbox. The email whizzed through cyberspace before Cara turned to Diane. “Mom, I’ll make you a deal. Pick four fabrics and I promise I’ll choose one, or I’ll go with you to every fabric store in the Rockland area anytime you ask me for a year.”

  “No way. You’ll settle for something you don’t like just to get out of shopping. I’ll find something.”

  Cara kissed her mother on her way out the front door. “You always do and it’s always perfect.”

  ~*~*~*~

  Tired, disheveled after a trip through the grocery store that resulted in chasing her shopping cart across the parking lot, and ready for a long soak in her tub, Cara fumbled with her keys, nearly screaming when the door opened at her touch. “Wha—Jonathan!”

  “Miss me?” He took the bags from her arms and set them on the counter. Ignoring every warning bell in his mind, weeks of hands-off promises to himself, and the look of shock in her eyes, Jonathan wrapped his arms around Cara, lifting her off her feet. “I missed you.”

  The instant magnetism that formed sparked a wordless discussion. She forced herself to step back as Jonathan apologized—and then apologized for his apology. “What can I say,” he asked as his hands gripped the counter to steady himself. “I just—”

  “I know.”

  Jonathan took a steadying breath and murmured, “I really—I just missed you.”

  “Me too. What are you doing here! Not that I’m complaining,” she hastened to add, “I’m just stunned. You only left the day before yesterday.”

  “I was craving a good filet and thought I’d share it with you, if you don’t mind.”

  A knock on her door startled her. “Who—oh, hi, Frank. Thanks.” She waved the packet at Jonathan. “Invitation samples. Do you want to see?”

  “How about after dinner? It should be here in about half an hour they said. Why don’t you go soak in your tub, relax, and I’ll wait for the food.”

  “I can wait with you.” Cara unconsciously kneaded her neck even as she spoke.

  “Go ahead and take a long bath. I know you; you were planning it before you got in the door. I’m just going to put away your food and then rest my eyes a bit while I wait. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  Upstairs, Cara went into action. His visit meant more than a, “I missed you so I’m here to have dinner with you.” While the tub filled with her favorite bath salts dissolving in the steamy water, she ran downstairs to plow through her closets, but Jonathan stood on the bottom step, leaning against the wall, and holding the most provocative outfit she owned on one finger.

  Rolling her eyes, she asked, “May I pass to get shoe—”

  His other hand rose from his side holding her highest heeled slides. “I come prepared.”

  “That you do. Go rest those eyes, mister.”

  Upstairs, she set her minute timer for fifteen minutes, climbed into the tub, and forced herself to relax. This would likely be one of the top nights of her life, and she didn’t want it marred by anxiety. Every ounce of strain and frustration seemed to dissolve along with her bath salts until she heard the irritating zing of the timer.

  Forcing herself to move slowly and deliberately, she slathered her skin in body crème, put on her nicest undergarments, and then laughed at herself for being so ridiculous. He wouldn’t see them! Regardless, she felt better knowing they were there—more confident, if underwear can inspire such a thing as confidence. The dress slipped over her head easily and zipped without a catch. She hooked the halter straps around her neck and surveyed the results in the mirror.

  Originally, the dress had plunged too deeply for decency, but Diane had found a way to stitch the folds of crimson chiffon to cover most of her cleavage. It had been one of Cara’s mother’s few failures. The skirt hit just above the knee and was flirty enough to look perfect for a night of clubbing—not exactly the look Cara tried to achieve in any of her wardrobe choices. However, the dress flattered her more than anything else she owned, the fabric had been expensive, and neither Cara nor Diane had been willing to part with it. It had hung, unworn, in the closet for over a year. Though it felt strange to wear it for an evening at home, Cara refused not to wear it now that she had the chance.

  Next, she put on her key pendant and her diamond earrings. Her hair looked best up with the dress, but she let it hang in its customary waves. Shoes, perfume, and touched up makeup and she was ready for anything—or so she hoped. The doorbell rang just as she was ready to go back downstairs. Unwilling to be under scrutiny, she waited until the door shut and then reached for her doorknob. After one last glance in the mirror, one last adjustment to the bodice, the skirt, and one last check to make sure her toenails were not chipped, she opened the door.

  Jonathan looked up from where he loaded plates with food and swallowed. Twice. “Take your plate before I do something really stupid.”

  “I take it you approve.”

  “You know I do. I’ll be there in a minute. Just have to find your hot pads—want to protect your table.”

  “Drawer next to the stove, at the back.” Cara took the plate and carried it to the couch.

  The silence of the meal surprised neither of them. Without even the familiar glances that so often spoke volumes, they somehow communicated as they ate, allowing themselves to revel in the realization of what the night would mean for them. It felt juvenile, but Cara wondered if he’d kiss her. Jonathan wondered how he’d manage not to. Both of them wondered if waiting for a wedding wouldn’t prove to be foolish in the end.

  Jonathan carried their empty plates into the kitchen and grabbed the water carafe to refill their glasses. When he returned, instead of resuming his place
on the opposite corner of the couch, he hunkered down on his heels in front of her, pulling a handkerchief from his slacks. He untied it, slipped the ring from the twisted fabric, and held it between his thumb and index fingers.

  “Last night, I held this, wondering if you’d like it, praying you’d really accept it, hoping I didn’t go crazy before the first.” He swallowed again, took a sip of wine, and his eyes fell on the key around her neck. He smiled as he struggled to speak, when all he wanted to do was hold her and know everything was settled.

  “Jonafan?”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t need a big speech.”

  He smiled at all she didn’t say. “Marry me?”

  “September twenty-sixth?”

  He nodded. “Unless you think we can pull off the nineteenth.

  “Do you promise to make it to the right church?”

  “Hey, I made it to the right one last time,” he laughed. “Eventually.”

  “I’ll marry you under one condition then.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You fork over that ring.” She held out her hand for him to slip it onto her finger.

  “Who knew she was so mercenary?”

  Cara shook her head. “I’m not. I’d be happy with a piece of string as long as you were attached, but no one is going to believe it without that ring, so I want it.”

  “You do not know how badly I want to kiss you.”

  “And you do know what a very bad idea that’d be, so thank you for resisting. I couldn’t if you tried.” She pointed to the packet on her breakfast bar. “How about you get those invitations before we discover we’re not as self-controlled as we think.”

  “Deal.”

  As he retrieved the package, Jonathan asked, “So what do we know about this wedding?”

  “According to Trenna, Westbury Fellowship and Rockland Congregational are both available that day. She says RC allows outside ministers to perform ceremonies, so we can have whoever we want.”

  “Okay, that’s good. I’m fine with either, but I think Rockland Congregational is larger. What about reception?”

  “She has The Oakes upper floor reserved for us.”

  “Lily considered that,” he mused as he handed her the envelope. “They weren’t available on our day.”