The Ex's Confession
Page 40
When Rebecca emerged sixty seconds later, as instructed, the faint sounds of Debussy’s ‘Clair de Lune’ floated up the stairs. She had to blink a few times to clear her eyes, and when she looked down the staircase, she saw Elliot waiting for her at the bottom.
He caught his breath and then smiled at her, holding out his hand like he had done the night before in Cassie’s spare bedroom. When she reached the bottom stair, she kissed him lightly on the cheek.
“You remembered my mother’s song,” she said, trying not to cry. “I can’t believe you found a way for her to be here.”
“Every girl needs her mother at her wedding,” he said softly, wiping an errant tear from her cheek. “Besides, I’d like to think she would have approved of me.”
“Oh, she would have.” They walked down the hall hand in hand, and Rebecca gasped when they entered the library. The windows were thrown open, allowing the afternoon sunshine to stream in and showing off the views. The lake on one side and the trees in their full autumn glory on the other. The sofas and chairs had been pushed back against the wall, and all the seats were occupied. Cassie and Michael on the love seat, Jen and Scott on the sofa, Haley in the stuffed armchair next to the window, and Locke at the piano, with a man Rebecca assumed was the minister standing beside him. Locke’s eyes met hers as she entered, and he half smiled before turning back to the music in front of him.
The ceremony itself was a blur for Rebecca; all she was really aware of was Elliot’s hand in hers, his intense, unwavering gaze, and their friends around them. Somehow she managed to say the right words when necessary, and after what only seemed a few minutes the minister had pronounced them man and wife. Elliot didn’t wait for permission to kiss his bride, hugging her so tightly that between his embrace and his kiss, she couldn’t breathe. She laughed and squeezed him back, just as hard.
“I love you, Mrs. Elliot,” he murmured in her ear before everyone else gathered around them to offer their congratulations. Elliot didn’t give up her hand even when Locke pretended to pry them apart with an imaginary crowbar, and finally the entire party converged in Locke’s dining room, where dinner was ready. Rebecca suspected Cassie had found a caterer, but she didn’t ask.
They laughed and chatted through several courses, and if anyone noticed when Elliot and Rebecca sat quietly at their end of the table, smiling foolish smiles at each other, they had the tact not to say anything. Finally, though, Locke took pity on them and started shooing the rest of their guests from the house.
“I’ll stop by in a few days,” he told them as he got ready to leave. “I can’t tell you how happy I am for you.” A shadow crossed his face momentarily, and Rebecca knew he was thinking of his own lost love.
“Tell Melissa I said hello the next time you talk to her,” she said gently, kissing him on the cheek. “And thank you. For everything.”
His face clear again, Locke grinned at them one last time before walking jauntily down the stairs to the road. They stood there for a moment and watched his retreating figure, their arms around each other’s waist.
“I still can’t believe I’m married,” Rebecca said after he’d disappeared from view and the stars were beginning to emerge. “I seems like it’s all been a wonderful dream.”
Elliot’s arm tightened around her, and he met her upturned lips with a kiss that hinted of magnificent things still to come. “Come with me, Mrs. Elliot,” he whispered, picking her up and carrying her into the foyer. “We have our whole lives ahead of us. Let’s not waste any more time on dreams.”
He kicked the door shut behind him, and their laughter echoed through the empty house.
Three mornings later, there was a knock at the door at an absurd hour, and when Elliot opened it several minutes later with his hair standing up all over, the only thing there was a copy of the previous day’s Tribune. It had sticky tabs marking two different pages, and Elliot flipped open the first to see his and Rebecca’s wedding picture on the front page of the society section.
He smiled to himself and touched it lightly with his finger before turning to the other marked page. His eyes widened when he saw the space where his column usually sat. He sat down on the floor in front of the door to read, a grin spreading across his face as his eyes traveled down the page.
The End
by Rebecca Winters
After the entire city heard me yell at Elliot for writing about me in the paper, after asking him not to, I suppose I could be accused of gross hypocrisy. But before anyone gets out the tar and feathers, let me tell you what has happened over the past four months, and then, maybe, you’ll understand why you find my name at the top of this page instead of my husband’s.
Elliot and I broke up seven years ago, as he’s told you, and to be quite honest I don’t regret that decision. The past seven years have been tough for many reasons, and I found myself second-guessing my decision, wondering if I’d done the right thing. But it was only after I left home and went away to college that I really understood why I had done it.
They say college is a place of learning, and I did learn many useful things. But for me, one of the most important lessons I gained was about my own self-worth.
It was only after I moved out of my father’s house and lived on my own that I started to develop a backbone. I’d like to think that some of the kindness factor that Elliot accuses me of remains intact somewhere inside my stubborn soul, but I have my doubts. The fact that I slapped him hard enough to leave finger marks for writing that last, wonderful column says a great deal, and I’m not sure he’s recovered from the shock. I hope he has.
As I sit here and watch him sleep, his head almost covered by the pillows, I can’t help but marvel at all that’s happened since that fateful day in June when he first started writing for this paper. We were like a pair of frogs, jumping to conclusions whenever there was a loud noise. Only after we learned to finally trust ourselves enough to calm down and enjoy the ride, were we able to see things a bit clearer.
So here I am, writing Elliot’s column without his knowledge. Elliot, you told me not too long ago that I could write about you any time I wanted, and when this opportunity presented itself, it seemed like the perfect end to our not-so-private courtship that ended with a marriage just three days ago.
They say that the words ‘the end’ signify that something is complete and unchanging. But this, the end of our public, one-sided romance, feels more like a beginning. A beginning where we can walk hand in hand along the beach toward the proverbial sunset, always changing and allowing life to mold us as it will.
Just don’t expect to read about it here.