The Wedding Letters

by Jason F. Wright

  “How’s Jake?” Noah asked Angela.

  “He’s good. Tired and worked up over all the rumors about layoffs. But he’s good.”

  “Layoffs?”

  “He’s been trying to get into a management job for a while at the distribution warehouse. He’s stuck between being too qualified to work the floor and drive the pallet thing, but too low on the ladder for a desk job. Everyone says the company is cutting people, and he could be one of them.”

  “That just stinks,” Noah said, and his mind cataloged another family misfortune in the midst of his personally exciting summer.

  After small talk, lunch, and the dishes being cleared, Angela unbuckled Taylor from her carrier and asked Rachel if she wanted to hold her.

  “No. Oh no. For sure no. I am so not ready to hold a baby.”

  “Not ready?” Angela was curious. “Haven’t you ever held a baby?”

  “I’m not sure, actually. It would have been a while.”

  Noah was amused by the exchange and rested his chin on his hand.

  “What better time than with your almost-cousin-in-law, or second-cousin-twice-removed, or whatever she’ll be to you.” Angela stood up and handed the baby to Rachel. “Just cradle her. You’ll be fine.”

  Rachel’s heart raced as the baby nestled into her arms. “Oh my gosh. So little. Look at her fingers. So teeny tiny. Look, Noah.”

  “She’s really beautiful, Angie,” Noah said, and he meant it. He thought the baby looked one step removed from heaven.

  A plate crashing in the kitchen startled the dozing baby and she scratched her own cheek. Cries and leg wiggles followed.

  “Sorry, sorry. Here she is.” It was more of a plea than anything.

  Angela returned Taylor to her car seat and reassured Rachel the baby was fine. “Babies do that all the time, I’m learning. I have some little gloves to protect her hands from scratching like that but I must have left them at Mom’s.”

  The conversation turned to Angela’s husband, Jake, life in St. Louis, and as they always do, right back to the baby.

  “How did she get her name?” Rachel asked, and though she wouldn’t be asking to hold her again anytime soon, she found she couldn’t take her eyes off her.

  “It’s a long story. Let’s just say Jake and I are both Taylor Swift fans.”

  “I wondered,” Rachel said.

  “How about you guys? Kids in the future?”

  Noah and Rachel spoke at exactly the same instant.

  “Definitely.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Alrighty then,” Angela chirped. “That was so fast I’m not even sure who said what.”

  The couple looked at one another and Noah spoke first. “Yeah, we’ll have kids. Maybe not right away, but we will.”

  “Maybe so,” Rachel countered, and they continued what appeared to Angela to be a middle school cafeteria stare down.

  “We’ve talked about this, right?” Noah turned his chair slightly. “We’ve discussed having children at some point?”

  “Of course, but in hypothetical planning, pros and cons, not in fixed terms.”

  “Fixed terms?”

  For a minute Angela wondered if she was auditing a sociology class.

  Rachel pivoted back to Angela. “Yes, we’ve talked about having children. And we may well. But who knows, right? And who knows when?” She gestured at Taylor. “I mean you waited until you were older.”

  Angela’s expression collapsed.

  Rachel felt sick. “I just meant that you were a bit older when you had your first, that’s all. And look how happy you both are.”

  Angela rearranged a pink-and-white blanket over Taylor that didn’t need rearranging. She spoke to her baby. “If I could have had you ten years ago I would have. But I wanted a husband first and that proved tougher than I thought. But we’re lucky now, aren’t we, baby girl?”

  A cart with dishes rolled by and Rachel considered climbing on it.

  Noah steered them to talk about his graduation, wedding planning, the sale of the Inn, one of the manuscripts he was working on, and A&P’s Wedding Letters project. When the conversation ran dry, Noah stood and headed toward the register to pay the bill.

  “I’m really sorry,” Rachel said. “I honestly didn’t mean a thing by it. I’m just scared, as if that isn’t obvious enough.”

  “I know,” Angela said.

  “So it is that obvious?”

  “You look like you could have upchucked that pulled pork sandwich and slaw.”

  Rachel laughed and put her hand on her stomach. “I may yet.” She watched as Noah stopped at a table near the register and shook hands with two elderly men. “I love him,” she said to Angela but with her eyes on Noah.

  “That’s obvious, too,” Angela said.

  “I really do. Like no one else in my life.” She shifted her gaze to Angela and met her eyes. “I’ve never known a man like him. Or like his dad.”

  “That’s because they’re good men, Rachel. They are who they are, and they are what you see.”

  Rachel looked again at Noah. He’d arrived at the register and had his back to them. When he turned around, they saw he’d unwrapped two mini peppermint patties, placed them over his eyes, and was squeezing them into place with his bushy eyebrows. Above his head he held two unwrapped straws like antennae.

  “Like I said,” Angela laughed. “They are who they are.”

  Chapter 16

  Rachel fought it, but the feeling had grown from just a consideration to the undeniable truth: She needed to tell her mother in person. She tried to share the news on the telephone, but the conversation quickly morphed into her mother’s complaints about the oppressive Phoenix heat.

  “Mother, you knew Arizona would be hot. That was the number one item on your list of negatives about moving there.”

  Stephanie grumbled something unintelligible and from nowhere asked Rachel if she could research online local spas that offered a very specific type of mud bath.

  “Of course, Mother.”

  Rachel had given up on a marriage between her mother and technology years ago. During a visit when her mother was living in San Diego, Rachel had taken her to the mall and signed her up for the most basic cell phone plan. By the end of the weekend, her mother had tossed the phone in a swimming pool. Rachel fished it out, went back to the store alone, and canceled the agreement.

  They had similar experiences with e-mail, social media, and video chatting. Rachel didn’t know if her mother simply wasn’t capable of adapting to the technology or whether she simply didn’t have enough patience to let it happen. In the end it didn’t matter; Stephanie survived with a landline in whatever home she was living in at the time and the occasional handwritten letter.

  Stephanie had, at times, been a frustrating force in her daughter’s life. But Rachel felt tremendous loyalty toward Stephanie and her appreciation for her mother’s ability to endure was undeniable. Rachel would never forget that when others came and went, when she’d been hurt and broken, her mother was always near.

  How then, with the most exciting day of her life approaching, could she possibly pass the engagement news along on the phone like a weather forecast or a funny anecdote from school?

  She used those words and explanations when telling Noah she needed to visit her mother in Arizona for a long weekend. He offered to come along, just as she’d expected he would. She politely declined and said she needed to go alone. He’d expected that, too.

  Rachel’s long flight departed from Reagan National and landed ten minutes late. Late enough, she predicted, for her mother to be annoyed. She met Rachel curbside in a red 2011 Ford Taurus SHO with a temporary tag.

  “You’re late,” Stephanie said through the passenger’s open window.

  Rachel ignored her and tossed her bag in the backseat. “Mother, when did you get this?”

  “Recently,” her mother said.

  “When?” Rachel kissed her mother’s cheek and complimented her earri
ngs.

  “Thank you. And this week, I guess it was.”

  “A new car? Why in the world? I didn’t think you were driving anymore.”

  “I don’t very often. Not outside of my community.”

  Her mother hit the gas and the powerful car jolted into the steady stream of cars passing alongside the terminal. “Furthermore, I told you I wanted to pick you up myself.”

  “Oh, Mom, I thought that meant you’d ride along in a cab or with a friend.”

  Stephanie gunned it again, and they nearly rear-ended a shuttle exiting the airport access road.

  “I wouldn’t mind driving, you know. If you’d like.” Rachel gripped the door handle and her knuckles popped.

  Stephanie declined and they sped along toward her posh planned community in Mesa. Rachel asked a rapid-fire series of questions to avoid focusing on the likelihood that she would throw up in her mother’s new $45,000 car.

  “So you like the new place?”

  “It’s fine. I’ve lived in better but the people pretty much leave me alone, which I do enjoy.”

  “That’s good then.” Rachel leaned over and peeked at the digital odometer. “Mother, this car has over four hundred miles on it. I thought it was brand-new?”

  “I didn’t say it was new. You did.”

  “So who else has driven it?”

  Her mother smiled but kept her eyes on the road. “A woman in my building needed a ride Monday and I took her.”

  “Watch the truck!” Rachel slammed both feet against the floor.

  Stephanie swerved to avoid a semi. “Idiot,” she said. “I might have given him the bird if you weren’t in the car.”

  “I would hope not, Mother. That gets people killed.”

  Stephanie mumbled a moment while Rachel’s heartbeat eased. “So you gave a friend a ride. Who?”

  “Her name is Arianna.”

  “Arianna what?”

  “Something.”

  “Should I ask where you drove her?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Uh-oh. Where?”

  “To an Indian reservation.”

  “Arianna is an Indian?”

  Stephanie looked at her daughter and shook her head. “No, but the money she lost is definitely all Indian now.”

  Rachel’s eyes flashed wide. “Gambling, Mother? Are you kidding me?”

  “Relax, I am the mother, yes?”

  Rachel leaned back against the headrest and let the silence change the subject. “So where did you buy this? It’s a beautiful car.”

  “Someplace in Mesa.”

  “How did you find it?”

  “Arianna.”

  “What? So you bought a—”

  “Here we go.” Stephanie cut her off and signaled with her finger at the exit. “I think this is it.”

  After a long series of turns that Rachel insisted had sent them in a gigantic loop, her mother pulled through a gate and into her private community. She steered them into a numbered space and overshot the front, stopping with the license plate holder scratched and resting on the curb. “I hate driving,” she said, climbing out of the car and leaving the key in the ignition.

  Rachel removed it and seriously considered whether she’d ever let her mother have it back.

  Along the winding, landscaped path between the car and Stephanie’s front door three elderly neighbors called out friendly hellos. Stephanie ignored each one.

  “You don’t greet people, Mother?”

  Stephanie fished through her purse for a house key. “Of course I do, sometimes, when I’m not preoccupied.” She kept digging and when she’d discovered the key she held it up proudly. “Now I’m not preoccupied.”

  Rachel was pleasantly surprised at how lived-in her mother’s home looked. She immediately spotted pictures on the wall, books in a bookcase, and a high stack of DVDs in a vertical tower rack. “This looks so homey, Mom. I love it.”

  Her mother excused herself to freshen up, so Rachel gave herself a tour of the rest of the spacious three-bedroom condo. The kitchen was outfitted with state-of-the-art appliances, expensive pots and pans she recognized as being from Williams-Sonoma, and china she didn’t recognize at all. The refrigerator held little of substance, but a stand-up magazine rack on the counter by the phone boasted at least fifty restaurant menus.

  In the bedrooms Rachel found complete furniture sets and queen beds beautifully made and decorated with various sizes of matching pillows. Each room also featured a small entertainment center with flat-screen TVs and Dish Network receivers. The living room was designed around an expensive leather sectional and recliner. A large plasma television hung snug against the wall.

  “You expecting company?” Rachel asked when her mother appeared in the living room.

  “Just you.”

  Stephanie eased into the recliner, and Rachel kicked off her shoes before making herself comfortable on the couch.

  “It’s gorgeous, Mom. But why so big?”

  She held her hands out like a real estate agent showing a million-dollar home. “I just like the roominess. It’s comfortable. I’ve always appreciated extra space.”

  Rachel knew what would come next.

  “And you never know about Daniel. I like to have room in case he stops by.”

  She resisted the urge to say what she’d said many, many times before: He’s not coming back to stay, Mother.

  Stephanie folded her arms, reclined, and closed her eyes. But just when Rachel thought she might have dozed off, her mother said peacefully, “He visited last week.”

  “Daniel?”

  “Of course.”

  “How long?”

  “An hour, maybe two.” Stephanie’s eyes remained closed.

  “That was nice of him. How is he?”

  Stephanie sighed long and peacefully. “He’s good. Looks so healthy. . . . He was heading to Albuquerque. Yes, I believe it was Albuquerque.” She pointed to a display case on the wall. “He brought me five more thimbles.”

  Rachel stood and admired the collection. “May I open it?”

  “Of course you may. The new ones are on the bottom.”

  She turned the brass knob and one by one removed the five new additions. “Buffalo, Toronto, Helsinki, St. Andrews—”

  “Daniel says that’s a very old golf course.”

  “I’ve heard that.” Rachel smiled even though her mother couldn’t see it. “The last is from Tampere.”

  “Wasn’t that sweet of your stepfather?”

  Rachel returned each thimble and rotated them so the images and locations faced out, exactly like the others.

  “It certainly was, Mother.”

  Rachel was just nine years old when Daniel Kaplan met her mother. Stephanie had been a single mother for two years, struggling to keep her little family afloat financially and emotionally. It was impossible to get help from her first husband, and Stephanie and Rachel moved from apartment to apartment as her mother became expert at taking advantage of exclusive move-in deals, free first-month promotions and other loopholes that made it difficult for landlords to say no.

  Stephanie discovered she didn’t mind working as a waitress, but only took jobs in diners that allowed her daughter to sit in a booth or at the counter for long stretches during her shifts. Stephanie met Daniel on such a shift one Friday afternoon when he ducked into the diner to escape a torrential rainstorm that baptized downtown Denver.

  Daniel was a business nomad who’d made a fortune internationally by using his keen intellect and an ability to learn and speak languages. He craved opportunities to invest in struggling companies and revive failing ideas.

  Stephanie learned that Daniel had few friends and fewer roots. He enjoyed high-rise apartments in key cities and had friendly acquaintances at luxury hotels and restaurants that he frequented.

  Something about Stephanie Ryman and her young daughter captured him. He knew very little about her background except that her first husband had been emotionally uneven and that he
never provided well for his family.

  Within two months of meeting Stephanie and Rachel for the first time, Daniel saved them from possible eviction and moved them into a townhouse he’d leased in a safe suburb. Just four more months passed and he moved them into his home in the gated community of Castle Pines, south of Denver.

  Stephanie dreamed one day they would marry, but they rarely talked about it. He was so kind to them, so loving, giving, and generous, that both Stephanie and Rachel gladly accepted the unusual family dynamic. Daniel didn’t even object when Stephanie changed their last names from Ryman to Kaplan because he knew she needed distance from her troubled first marriage. More than anything he enjoyed being their anchor, even when thousands of miles away closing deals.

  Rachel liked Daniel immensely but continued to miss her father as the years flipped by. The more rough and jagged memories of her early childhood had been polished into something smoother by time and innocence. She remembered her father the way she remembered everyone from her life in St. Louis. He’d been flawed, but always trying to be better.

  Rachel was overjoyed when a postcard from her father found her not long after her mother moved in with Daniel. It came from Italy and promised that someday, somehow, he would become the kind of father she could be proud of. Most important, in just a few measured words, he’d written something she didn’t think she’d ever heard from him before: I’m sorry.

  The new family traveled extensively during the early years. Mother and daughter accompanied Daniel to markets in Peru, museums in France, and the Great Wall of China. They toured the Outback in a dune buggy. He liked the companionship and he truly loved the experiences he was able to create for Stephanie and Rachel.

  The trips abroad with Daniel and the number of nights the family spent under the same roof began to decline about the time Rachel entered high school. When she graduated and left for George Mason University in northern Virginia, Daniel suggested it was time for him move on, too.

  Stephanie did not agree, but Daniel moved on anyway.