Speak Now

by Chautona Havig

  “Is it a bad idea?” Cara prayed he’d say no. The pictures of the rooms at The Oakes were gorgeous, and onsite catering made everything easier.

  “No, not at all. I’m glad you got it.”

  They spread out the invitations and immediately discarded two. After looking over them again, Cara pointed at three more. “I really like those, but I like these better.”

  “I concur, except that I don’t like that one much either.” Jonathan pointed to one of Cara’s favorites.

  “Then out it goes. That leaves three. Which is your least favorite of those three?”

  They each looked over the cards, weighed their features, and finally both pointed to the center one. “That one.”

  With two cards left, Cara jumped up and grabbed a zip lock bag. “I’ll tell Trenna to pick between them as far as our colors go and such. I don’t know if we have enough contrast for this one.”

  “What are the colors?”

  “Champagne for the girls’ gowns, pale pink for flowers and Riley.” She looked apologetic. “Sorry, I just couldn’t think of anything else that would look good on everyone.”

  “I forgot to tell you. I have a cousin, Chloe, who should probably be a bridesmaid, if possible.”

  “I have three—possibly four, and told Trenna four to six, so we’re good. If there are more, let me know.” She sank back into the overstuffed couch and frowned. “Is this all too much to deal with? I mean, you’ve already been through all of it. We could just go get a license and talk to Vince after church—”

  “As wonderful as that sounds, no. We’d regret not having a memorable celebration.” Jonathan allowed his finger to trace the large square solitaire on Cara’s left hand. “This is your wedding, Cara. Enjoy it.”

  “What can we ask your mom to do in order to make her feel more a part of it?”

  “Is Trenna’s photographer available?”

  Cara shook her head. “Krista is booked that day.”

  “Let Mom handle it. She’ll love securing the best at the last second. It’s a hobby with her.”

  “Mom is shopping for fabric tomorrow.”

  “For your gown?”

  She nodded. “Yep. I couldn’t decide between two, so I combined them. I expect by the time I get back from Atlanta, Mom’ll be ready to poke me within an inch of my life.” Cara looked at him curiously. “What will your children say?”

  “They’ll be relieved. Riley wanted me to hire you as a mommy.”

  “Hire, hmmmmm.” She glanced down at her ring. “This is some payment for a job I’d do free.”

  “Oh, and I am under orders from Verna to make sure you know that the ring is not an investment.”

  “Of course it is. It’s an investment into our relationship.” She fingered the stone absently. “The funny thing is; I think I would have assumed I wouldn’t like something like this, but it’s perfect.” She glanced at his face and smiled at his pleasure. Jonathan looked tired. How long they sat there, speaking nothing and allowing their hearts to interweave new threads to their relationship, neither ever remembered.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Carly and Tina pounced the next morning when Cara arrived, her ring feeling like an anvil on her hand. She’d been tempted to hide it but realized how foolish she’d be to do something so futile. Her engagement would be in Sunday’s paper. She swallowed hard. Sunday’s paper. Wow.

  “I knew it! I knew something like this was coming. You’ve been making all those calls behind closed doors and everything—”

  Odd glances from over cubicle partitions told her she couldn’t hide it anymore. “Okay, I have an announcement, everyone, so listen up. I am engaged to Jonathan Lyman. Yes, he’s one of those Lymans, for those who care about such things. Furthermore, we’re getting married quickly—September twenty-sixth, so before more speculation begins, the answer is no. I am not pregnant.”

  “Doesn’t he live in Atlanta?” Robin’s voice came from the corner of the room where he stood filling his coffee mug with hot water.

  “Yes.”

  “So you’ll be moving?” Tina sounded ready to cry.

  “We haven’t talked about it, but since he’s been planning a move to Rockland anyway, I imagine he’ll be moving here.” Cara glanced around her. “Any other questions?”

  “Are we all invited?” Derek’s voice behind her sent a wave of uncertainty over her.

  “Definitely. So, if you want an invite, get your mailing address to my inbox by Friday. The invitations go out in a week and a half.”

  Marla called out from her cubicle, “So what’s the rush?”

  “Have you ever seen Jonathan Lyman?” Carly stood with hands on hips, waiting for Marla’s reply.

  “Well, yeah, who hasn’t?”

  Carly shook her head. “You’ve seen him—probably waiting for Cara in the daily office huddle last spring—and you can ask that question?”

  The room erupted in snickers as Cara rolled her eyes at her friend and stepped into her office. She had a lot of work to do to be prepared to be gone for two weeks—wherever Jonathan would take her. Her inbox flooded with emails as she booted up her laptop. She stared, stunned, as nine hundred fourteen emails loaded—thirteen of them into her spam folder. She scrolled through them and saw repeated subjects welcoming her to all kinds of mailing lists. Everything from daily horoscopes to coupons for dog food stared back at her, mocking.

  “Tina!” Cara knew she sounded panicked. Forget that, she was panicked.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I need a new email address immediately. Get Rod in tech to give me one as Cara Lyman—” She paused. “Wait. Um, on second thought, go through my email, unsubscribe from everything you know doesn’t fit me, and forward the stuff I need to deal with today to my gmail account. I’ll talk to Jonathan before I go with the email change.”

  “What happened?”

  “Check my email. You’ll see.”

  Jonathan’s phone went to voice mail. She hesitated, not wanting to blow the thing out of proportion, and then decided to text it after all. EMAIL COMPROMISED. NEED A NEW ONE. SHOULD I CHANGE NAME ON IT NOW OR DO AGAIN IN 6 WEEKS? Even as she reread it, she knew what he’d say, and that knowledge made her feel even more ridiculous. Even so, if anyone questioned, she’d be able to say truthfully that he’d suggested it.

  Her phone sang Jonathan’s ringtone and she read his message eagerly. IF I SAY NOW DO I GET THE PRIVILEGES OF THE OFFICE? JK. DO IT. IT’S A HASSLE FOR EVERYONE INCLUDING YOU. SAVE EVERYONE THE TROUBLE. Now, that was the kind of answer Cara liked to hear. Before she could tell Tina to order the new email, she got another message. WHAT HAPPENED?

  Her fingers flew over her Blackberry keys as she described the flood of emails. SOMEONE MUST HAVE SIGNED ME UP FOR EVERY EMAIL LIST IN THE COUNTRY.

  Several minutes passed, but by the time she had Tina on the phone with tech support, Jonathan had replied to her text. DELLA?

  Her heart sank. She hadn’t even considered that possibility. In fact, she would have guessed Jacob first. Before she could text a response, Tina ducked her head in Cara’s office and asked, “Are you sure you want to unsubscribe from Madame Giuliani’s Psychic reading, the Chippendale man of the day calendar, and Alcoholics Anonymous’ daily encouragement email? You wouldn’t want to fall off the wagon again…”

  “Well, fine, keep the chips, but the rest have to go.”

  “If I didn’t know you were kidding,” Tina quipped, “I’d do it just to spite you.”

  Laughing, Cara slid her phone across the desk. “You answer to Jonathan for it then.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s why I came in. Rod made you cara.lyman@mayflowertrust.com. He said he’d switch all internal address books, but you’ll have to notify anyone outside the company.”

  Her fingers flew across the keyboard, composing an apologetic letter regarding the change in email. For a moment, they hovered over the keys, as she contemplated how to request that people not give out her email without permissio
n. There had to be a way to do it without sounding demanding or paranoid. Before she could finish, the calls and responsibilities of the day attacked from all sides. Email, though essential to her job, wasn’t as important as the acquisitions fiscal reports and the restructuring data.

  ~*~*~*~

  “Sorry, Jonathan, you’re going to have to talk wedding with me. I don’t want to inadvertently offend your family by choosing chicken over fish or mushrooms over truffles.”

  “I can talk. I’ve learned to dislike it more than I ever did, but I can do it. What do you need to know?”

  “Why you like it less is a good start.” Jonathan’s words unsettled her. She didn’t need him to fill her conversational needs. She had friends, the children would likely talk with her, she had her mother, and if things kept going the way they were, probably Jonathan’s mother as well. She had no reason to rely on him for conversation, but it still bothered her slightly to think that he had less interest in talking now.

  “I like to hear you talk. I like to sit in a room with you, not say a word, and enjoy the sense of satisfaction I get when you know what I’m thinking even when I didn’t say it. I love our wordless conversations, hearing you talk about your day, and that you don’t pressure me to be someone I’m not. I like it.” Silence followed for a few seconds before he lowered his voice and added, “I crave it.”

  “If you were here, I’d tell you to shut up and enjoy the silence, but we have things to discuss, so how about next Friday we do that on the way to your home?”

  “Sounds great. Hit me with your first question.”

  “Did your mom find a photographer? I have a call in to her, but if you know the answer, then I won’t start panicking if she can’t get back to me before my meter runs low.”

  “Meter?”

  “Panic-o-meter.”

  “Mom got a new photographer from Marshfield. He came highly recommended and with an impressive portfolio. I’ll bet she sent the information to your old email. I’ll give her the new one.”

  “So, photographer, check?”

  “Check.” Jonathan’s laughter made Cara wish the week away so she could watch him. Watching Jonathan laugh was one of her secret delights. He could say more with a snicker, a chuckle, or a hearty laugh than most men say with a twenty-minute discourse.

  “Okay, the Oakes menu options that we like are halibut, chicken breast, pork tenderloin, or the beef tenderloin. We tried to swing the filets, but we just can’t.”

  “I could—”

  “No, Jonathan, unless the other options are a problem, we’d rather you just picked two and left it at that.”

  “Take the halibut and the beef tenderloin then, but promise if there’s even a hint of a wince when you get the bill, that you’ll just forward it to me.”

  “I promise. Next, does your mother have a guest list? Trenna needs it by tomorrow.”

  She heard keys clicking and surmised that he probably was checking or sending an email. “Well, there isn’t one in my inbox, but I sent Mom an email, and I’ll work on getting a list of everyone that I can think of so it’ll at least help.”

  “Trenna said the easiest way to start is with your Christmas card list, if you have one.”

  “Well, that’ll make it easy. I’ll send Mom another email.” A muffled sound interrupted them, and then Jonathan said, “Just a minute, Riley had a bad dream.”

  As she waited for him to return, Cara prayed for peaceful sleep and pleasanter dreams to envelop Riley for that night and the rest of the nights in her life. Time crawled past as she made out lists of things to pack for a honeymoon, pictures she wanted taken, bridesmaid accessories, and similar things. She prayed for Bryce, Jonathan, their adjustment to the move, and for Verna whom she prayed would consider relocating with them. As almost a substitute grandmother, Cara didn’t want to see her stripped from the children because of her.

  “Whew. She hasn’t had one of those in a while…”

  “I didn’t know she was prone to bad dreams.”

  “Ever since a twit at church told her that she killed her mother by being born, yeah, it’s been a doozy now and then.”

  “Seriously? What kind of low-down…”

  “I think he was parroting what his parents said. Riley made him mad, so he lashed back. It makes me mad, but I doubt he was unprovoked.”

  “What does she dream about?” To Cara, the whole thing sounded like the kind of thing a bully does.

  “This time it was about leaving here and not having a place to live. She thought you wouldn’t want to live with us if we didn’t have our nice home.”

  “Oh, no! That’s terrible! How do you calm her down?”

  “I just talk to her.” He chuckled. “Stop laughing, it’s something a father has to do sometimes. I counter her mind’s fallacies with truth. We will have a home, no matter where we live, you’re coming to live with us, not with our house, and even if something terrible happened, like our house burning down or something, you’d still stay with us.”

  “And it works?”

  “Well, either that, I’m a good hypnotist, or I’m really boring, because she’s out like a light already.”

  “Okay, so back to decisions. Did you decide if Riley can make it down the aisle?”

  “Flower girl. Definitely. I got an earful from Mom for even hinting otherwise.”

  “If you don’t want—”

  “Oh, I want her to; I just started to wonder about her age and everything. Bryce says he’ll force her down if he has to drag her by her dress.”

  “Well, there you go. Okay, so you’ve got measurements coming from the groomsmen?”

  “Tuxes are already ordered by all but Trevor, who assures me that he will take care of it tomorrow or Monday at the latest.”

  “Okay then,” she said finally. “All that’s left is registration. I had no less than twelve calls in the first thirty-six hours of engagement asking where we’re registered. So, I need names of places your family will expect to shop, and oh—” she hesitated. Did she really want to open that can of worms? Carly had made her promise to ask, so she continued. “Carly wants to know if we want a couple’s shower or if we’d prefer she went with a traditional bridal shower. We have until morning and then she’s going to go with a couple’s lingerie shower to teach us a lesson.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know.” Cara frowned. “I suppose whenever you’d be available.”

  “Unless it’s really important to you, I think you’d better go with bridal. Going back and forth is going to be very old by the time this wedding hits. I’d rather save a trip for when I can just spend it with you and not with fifty of our closest friend couples.”

  “Sounds good to me. I’d decline all together, but it’d crush Carly. I’m guessing she’ll go with personal since you’re not there.”

  “Maybe I will show up…”

  “Goodnight, Jonafan.”

  His laughter sent the most unruly butterflies fluttering in her heart. “Goodnight, Cara mia.”

  Chapter Thirty

  A wall of heat and humidity slammed into Cara’s chest as she stepped out of the airport. “Oh, wow! I thought I knew what humidity is, but…”

  “It gets pretty intense, but you’ll get used to it.”

  “I feel my face melting, and my hair is either going to go completely flat or frizz like there’s no tomorrow. How do Georgian women look so put together all the time?” Cara forced herself not to whine. The heat stifled her.

  “I don’t know, but I bet Verna can help you with that.” After exactly fourteen minutes and thirty-two seconds of Cara’s presence, Jonathan couldn’t take it any longer. His hands reached for her. There, in the middle of a parking row too far from his car for comfort, he dropped the handle to her suitcase, wrapped his arms around her, and held her. “I can’t believe you’re here. This was the slowest week of my life.”

  Laughing, she stepped back before they held up a line of cars and moved to one side of the ais
le. “Just wait until the week of the nineteenth and see how this compares.”

  “I’m just relieved that we talked Trenna into that week. I wouldn’t make it another.”

  Desperate to control himself, Jonathan grabbed the suitcase and resumed walking. His free hand refused to show any self-restraint, so he stuffed it in his pocket and switched the subject to safer topics. “How’s the dress coming?”

  “The muslin fits well, so I bet Mom will have half of the basic sewing done before I get home.”

  “What does a Muslim have to do with it?”

  Cara switched her overnight case to her other hand and Jonathan took it. “Oh, I can get it—”

  “Well, let’s just say I need the distraction for my hands and leave it at that. Tell me about what Muslims have to do with your dress. If you’re wearing a burka, so help me…”

  “Oh, stuff it. A muslin is just some sewing term for a mockup of the final thing out of cheaper fabric so you know it’ll fit right. Mom always does it out of something wearable so that it’s not wasted. She finds stuff marked down to a dollar and uses that.”

  “Sounds complicated,” Jonathan popped the back of his SUV open from six cars away and added, “Why didn’t you just buy your dress again?”

  “Well, first because you can’t get one that fast. Second, remember the short waist?”

  As he opened the door for her, Jonathan paused, gazing in to her eyes for what seemed like a muggy age. “You’re really here.”

  “That’s the second time you’ve said that. You sound like a girl who expected to get stood up for the prom.”

  He brushed a tendril from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. “That’s exactly what I expected. I kept thinking of a million things that could and probably would go wrong. The stress alone—”

  “Not to seem vain or crass, but my face is pooling into my bra, and I can’t breathe in this heat. Could we continue this with the car running?”

  With a heart lighter than he’d felt in the last twelve days, Jonathan jogged to his side of the car, jumped in, blasted the air conditioner, and pulled his sticky shirt away from his body as he did. “You have a point…”