The oversized red clock hanging above the front door had no time, just the word LATE in bold caps. Rachel’s father was late getting home from work again that night. He walked in, took off a tool belt he lugged to a job site every day, and climbed onto the center of the kitchen table. From there he shouted for Rachel and Stephanie to enter for the reading of the list.
Stephanie entered first, as she always did in the dream, and shouted back at him that he was late with the list—again. Then she joined him on the round wooden table.
He ignored her, even though she faced him from just inches away. He pulled a parchment scroll from one of his pockets, and the scroll unfurled until it hit the tabletop, fell off onto the floor, and rolled out of the kitchen and down the hallway to the bedroom.
Then Rachel arrived in the room and waved secretly at her mother. She crawled on the floor under the kitchen table and sat with her legs crossed. She looked up at the underside of the table and listened as her father began reading a long list of grocery and household items. He read the list deliberately and dramatically with one arm gesturing above his head. He enunciated every word like a Shakespearean actor on stage.
“Paper towels, lightbulbs, hammer, eggs.”
Stephanie stopped him and lodged a complaint about his tardiness.
He continued reading the list. “Raisins, candles, batteries, detergent.”
“The list is late,” Stephanie said. “You were late. You were late with the list. We do not like you to be late with the list. The list. The list.”
He ignored her and continued reading. “Lotion, bananas, flat-head screwdriver—”
“The list. The list. The list—”
“Thumbtacks, dog food, milk—”
“The list—”
“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” He screamed the words, the sound starting in his feet and rising up and exploding from his mouth. The table began to vibrate and Rachel watched its legs begin to wobble beside her.
Then with one hand Rachel’s father launched her mother off the table into the air and across the kitchen. She flew like a doll through the air, her hair covering her eyes. When she landed, she was lying on the bed at the end of the narrow hall.
Rachel hadn’t walked there, nor had she been thrown, but somehow she was there, too, watching from the doorway. Her father pushed past her, swearing and gathering the scroll from the floor and around Rachel’s feet.
Without speaking he began wrapping Stephanie on the bed in the white paper list. He turned her over and over, covering first her feet, then her legs and her yellow and pale green sundress. Last he covered her face and head, wrapping and wrapping until every strand of hair and every sliver of flesh was covered.
Then he turned, picked up Rachel in the doorway and carried her to the couch. He sat next to her. A honey sandwich appeared on a plate on his lap. He handed half to her. They watched a cartoon Rachel did not recognize. When the program ended, the picture shrunk into a dot that eventually disappeared in the middle of the screen.
Then the dream ended, too.
Chapter 20
48 Days to the Wedding
A&P wasn’t on the schedule to speak, but with the wedding fast approaching and the Wedding Letters coming in slower than she’d expected, she decided she had little choice. “I’m going to crash Rotary Club today.”
“Um, what?” Malcolm said as the two stood in the kitchen at Domus Jefferson.
“I’m going to Rotary Club today. They meet on Wednesdays, yes?”
“Yes, but they probably have a program already lined up. They schedule speakers weeks ahead of time.”
“Don’t they have some kind of time for members to speak?”
“Sure they do, but you’re not a member, Anna Belle.”
Rain arrived but decided to stay in the doorway and enjoy the joust.
“Will they arrest me?” A&P asked.
“They could,” Malcolm teased.
“Will Samantha be there?”
“Probably, yes. As sheriff, she’s a member and she makes it to most of the meetings.”
“Then I feel extremely confident that my rights will be protected.”
“Oh, come on.” Malcolm laughed and turned to face Rain. He held his hands out and pled, “A little help here, please?”
“I don’t think so, Mr. Cooper. You’re on your own.” She took a sip of her coffee and hid a smile behind the cup.
“Why can’t I mention something for you? Save you the drive and the harassment? I’d be happy to, really.”
A&P put her hands on her healthy hips and though she stood at least four inches shorter than Malcolm, she still managed to lower her eyes and look down at him. “Are you going to make me drive myself there? Are you going to do that to me? After all I’ve done for you, Malcolm Cooper? Are you?”
He sighed and looked at his watch. “We leave at 11:45. Meeting starts at noon.”
A&P blew him a kiss and said, “I’ll wear a dress.”
Rotary began exactly on the hour with a catered lunch at the American Legion in Woodstock. The one-hundred-plus members ate lunch, exchanged local gossip and business cards, and socialized at long banquet tables. Malcolm sat with his usual crowd, and Samantha, dressed smartly in her Shenandoah County sheriff’s uniform, sat across the table next to A&P.
A bell called the meeting to order and, after the usual business and recitals, the president asked if any of the Rotarians had visitors to introduce. Malcolm stood first.
“Good afternoon, everyone.”
A chorus of friendly replies followed.
“I’m happy to have a guest with me today. This is my neighbor on the hill, Anna Belle Prestwich—A&P to her friends. Many of you know her already. She’s been a friend of the Coopers since my mother and father ran Domus Jefferson, and she remains a dear friend today.”
They greeted her in unison.
“If you’re going to say something,” Malcolm whispered in A&P’s ear, “just stand here and say it quickly. That’s how it’s done.”
She patted his cheek and immediately stood and began walking to the tabletop podium at the head of the room. The president stood aside when she arrived; he shrugged his shoulders at the curious members. Two other leaders at the head table began frantically whispering back and forth.
“Thank you for that introduction, Malcolm.” A&P yanked the microphone down closer to her mouth. “I’d like to take just a minute to tell you all about a special project I’m working on and to chastise you for not participating.”
She heard scattered laughs from around the room, the loudest coming from the sheriff.
“How many of you have heard of the Wedding Letters?”
A smattering of hands went up.
“How many of you with your hands up have submitted your letters already?”
All but three hands went down.
A&P looked at Malcolm, still standing by his chair, and pointed at them. “You see?”
Malcolm nodded, smiled big, and sat for the show.
“All right, folks. How many of you knew, or at least knew of, Jack and Laurel Cooper?”
All but a few hands shot into the air.
“Of course you did. They were anchors in this community for a long time, weren’t they? Now, how many of you know Malcolm?”
Every hand was raised.
“Some of you even like him, don’t you?” Even Malcolm laughed that time.
“How many of you Rotary Club members—”
“Rotarians,” the president corrected from his seat right next to her.
“Excuse me, your honor. How many of you Rotacentarians know Malcolm and Rain’s boy, Noah?”
Again the majority of the hands were raised.
“So it looks to me like most of you know them. And I suspect if you like his parents, you like Noah even better. He’s quite the young man.”
“Yes he is,” someone said from the crowd.
“That young man, now a college grad in case you hadn’t heard, is gett
ing married on September 27 at the Inn to an angel of a girl he’s met at school. Most of you have heard that, I’m guessing. And in a town this small, you also know all the details about the Inn being sold to some Northern Virginia carpetbaggers.”
A playful “boo” came from somewhere in the middle of the room.
“So this is it. The last hurrah for this special family at a special place that’s been important to this valley. What I’m asking from you—and this is the second or third time I’m having to ask some of you; yes, I’m looking at you, Steve Shaffer—is to take a few minutes and write a letter to the bride and groom. A word of encouragement, some advice. Be sweet, sentimental, funny—whatever strikes your fancy. I don’t care how well you know the family, and I especially don’t care if you’ve been married fifty years or fifty times. Share what you’ve learned. Or if you’re lazy at least share your short congratulations and a wish for a long and healthy marriage. The letters mean a lot, I promise you. They are cherished. Isn’t that right, Samantha?”
Samantha nodded and blew A&P a kiss.
“Malcolm?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“Yes indeed,” she continued. “By my count we have forty-eight days until the wedding. Six weeks and a bit. That’s plenty of time for each and every one of you Rotaryites to get me a letter and for me to get them arranged in the album. So drop them by the Inn, mail it to me, whatever you’d like. I’ll even come get it from you if I have to.” She looked down at the president. “Any questions?”
He shook his head.
“Anyone else?” She saw more headshakes and heard a couple of “No, ma’ams.”
“Lovely. Well then, would everyone please raise your hand if you plan on contributing to the Coopers’ very special Wedding Letters?”
All but a few hands went up high and A&P stared down the holdouts. “Sheriff, step in here if you feel obliged.”
The crowd laughed and the remaining hands shot up, even the three who’d already submitted letters.
“Thank you very much.” A&P stepped away from the pulpit, and the president stood and shook her hand. Everyone in the room watched A&P hand him an envelope, but only those at the head table heard her say softly, “Thank you. Here’s $2,500 for your Christmas coats project. God bless.”
The Rotary president’s mouth dropped open and he shook her hand again.
By dinnertime that evening, A&P had fourteen letters waiting for her at Domus Jefferson.
Chapter 21
45 Days to the Wedding
Noah had made the walk between his apartment and Rachel’s with a pedometer five times and driven it at least twice just to calculate the distance. He couldn’t avoid the truth: The halfway point was exactly in a Giant Food parking lot on Braddock Road.
After a day they’d decided to spend apart doing laundry, paying bills, and cleaning up around their respective apartments, Noah called Rachel and asked if she’d like to grocery shop with him. “I’ll cook when we’re done.”
“Ramen?” she asked.
“Only the best for you, babe.”
“Gag.”
He picked her up just after dark and drove to the Giant he’d reluctantly accepted as the spot. As they walked through the automatic doors, he saw a long bank of gumball machines and an idea sprang up and slapped him. Might as well make the best of it, he thought.
Noah and Rachel took their time browsing the aisles and picking up the usual items. Rachel filled the cart with granola, organic bananas, soymilk, whole-grain bread, honey, and hummus. Noah added Lucky Charms, Pop-Tarts, 2% milk, Skippy, and gummy bears.
Noah took enough pictures in his mind to fill ten photo albums, careful to capture every vivid detail. While Rachel sorted through brilliant red tomatoes, Noah stood back and considered sketching that exact scene later that evening in pastels.
He admired her gorgeous tan legs and matching tan shorts, her baby-blue flip-flops, the green Property of George Mason Athletic Department T-shirt that used to be his. He knew she’d lament later at not being better prepared, but he also knew it couldn’t happen any other way.
When they paid for their groceries Noah asked the clerk for an extra bag and five dollars back in quarters.
“Washer broken?” Rachel asked.
“No, I’m going shopping.”
“Um, OK.”
They walked back toward the automatic doors and Noah stopped at a twenty-five-cent machine with plastic bubbles holding an odd variety of toys. He got on both knees and inserted a quarter. Turning the silver handle and lifting the metal door yielded one plastic bubble with a Scooby-Doo tattoo. “Sweet,” he said. “This is going on one of my guns.” He flexed his right arm and she gave his bicep a squeeze.
“Will the tattoo even fit?” she jabbed.
Another quarter produced a slimy hand with an equally slimy string attached. Then came a glow-in-the-dark plastic ghost, stick-on earrings, a decal with an invitation to scratch-and-sniff, but with no hint as to what the sniff actually was, and a yellow smiley sticker. “Those are free at Walmart, you know,” said Rachel.
Noah kept feeding quarters into the machine until an adjustable plastic gold ring with a purple stone dropped into his hand. “That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout,” he said, and he shoved it into his pocket. The rest of the toys he collected in the bottom of a grocery bag, which he handed off to a mother and her young son. He captured that detail in his mind too, especially the electric smile on the boy’s face.
Noah loaded the groceries in the backseat of his Dakota while Rachel rolled the cart into a rack. When she returned to the truck, she noticed Noah had walked toward the back of the lot and stopped by something on the pavement. “What the heck are you doing?” she yelled.
“Come here,” he answered with an accompanying overdramatic wave.
“This boy is not right,” she mumbled to herself as she bypassed the truck to join him. “Am I going to have to start holding your hand in parking lots?” she called.
As she got closer she could tell he was standing on a white X someone had spray painted on the asphalt. “What in the world?” she said.
Noah looked down and tapped the X with one of his feet. “This is the spot.”
“Yeah.” Rachel didn’t bother masking her confusion. “I don’t get it.”
“This is exactly halfway from my place to yours.”
Rachel looked left and right. “And?”
“Isn’t that interesting? That this spot is in a parking lot?”
“Noah, honey, you know those paints of yours are for art, not sniffing?”
“Ha, ha, and ha.”
“I got three this time!” Rachel thrust a fist in the air.
Noah would not be deterred. “This spot on the ground marks exactly halfway from me to you. It’s symbolic.”
“So you spray painted on the lot? Isn’t that a crime? You know I could probably have someone at DOJ arrest you, right?”
“This place is important to me, Rach. It means something. It means I come to you and you come to me. We meet in the middle on everything. It’s beautiful, right?”
“I get it, and it’s sweet, yes.”
Noah got on one knee at the center of the X and pulled the plastic ring from his pocket. “Your hand, please.”
Rachel laughed. “Are you kidding me?”
“Your left hand, please.”
She extended it and he slipped the twenty-five-cent ring onto her finger. “I have a very important question for you, Rachel Kaplan. Is this ring better than the last one?”
Rachel laughed even harder. “No! It certainly isn’t, and I most certainly will not marry you. First a napkin ring and now this?” She took it off and dropped it back into his palm. “What kind of girl do you think I am? The wedding is off.”
Noah, still on one knee, dropped his head and plunged both hands into his pockets. “I was afraid you’d say that.” Then he removed both hands and said, “Give me a do-over.”
He took her hand
again and slipped onto her ring finger a one-carat, princess-cut, diamond solitaire engagement ring he was sure he’d be paying for until it was time for a thirtieth-anniversary upgrade. “How’s that?”
Both of Rachel’s hands shot up. Her right covered her mouth and her left was directly in front of her eyes. “Noah!”
“Better?”
She nodded. First slowly, then quickly, then she began to bop up and down almost as quickly as her head.
“I need your hand back for this to be legit.”
She giggled-cried and put her left hand in his.
“Yes, yes, yes!” she shouted.
Chapter 22
39 Days to the Wedding
Rachel and Noah drove to Dulles International Airport and picked up Stephanie during the late afternoon on August 19. It was her first trip East since meeting the family at the graduation dinner and her first trip ever to the Shenandoah Valley. Noah and Rachel both insisted she ride up front, but she flatly refused, first politely, then much less so.
Noah played tour guide as they worked their way out of the city sprawl and into the quiet country. They took a pit stop for gas and a snack at a Sheetz in Gainesville.
“Just something small, Mother. We’re having a family dinner at the Inn tonight.”
Noah and Rachel used the restroom and Stephanie browsed the aisles until becoming fascinated by the automated ordering system. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” she said, tapping her finger on a Made-to-Order computer touch screen. By the time she’d finished and a lengthy white receipt appeared from an attached printer, she’d ordered five chili cheese dogs, a caramel latte, two slices of deluxe pizza, and eight bags of sliced apples. “Have you ever seen such a thing?” she said to Rachel.
They resumed the peaceful drive with Noah proudly ticking off facts and anecdotes about the area’s history. Rachel texted Rain with updated ETAs and in the backseat Stephanie sipped a Lo-Carb Monster Energy Drink and munched on Goldfish crackers.
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