The Christmas Wedding

by James Patterson

  He bent forward over the laundry basket and kissed me lightly on the lips.

  “Merry Christmas, Gaby.”

  I pulled back a little, surprised. “Marty,” I said. “Why do we have tears in our eyes?”

  “You’re the expert on human nature. I’m just here to wash the napkins. See you later,” he said, and walked out the barn door.

  Folks were finishing up breakfast. Emily and Bart were washing dishes. Claire was running around with a cloth and a spray dispenser of detergent, rubbing stains out of the tablecloths. Tom had a couple of wastebaskets.

  I watched as he gently asked an older lady to please leave the centerpiece on the table. Then he removed a single white rose and handed it to her.

  As I walked toward the griddle to clean it, I was cut off by Benny.

  I didn’t actually recall Benny ever having a last name. He was always “Benny at the gas station,” the guy who pumped gas, swept the sidewalk, washed windshields. One thing I did know about Benny was this: He didn’t have a single tooth in his head. And he’d happily verify that for you by opening his mouth wide and laughing.

  “Gaby,” he said. “No one knows who you’re marrying, do they?”

  “That’s not true. I know.”

  “You’re a smart-mouth,” he said. Then he looked into my eyes, pretending that he was about to cry.

  “Damn it, Gaby. All these years I thought that I was the one you loved.”

  Chapter 49

  AFTER BREAKFAST WAS out of the way, I retreated to the house. Several hours later, I was desperately trying to make my way through the million and one things I still had to do. A knock came on my bedroom door.

  “You want some help getting dressed, Mom?” It was Claire.

  “No, thanks. I’m really good at dressing myself. Been doing it for years.”

  “Okay, wise girl. Yell if you need me. Ninety minutes till takeoff.”

  Ninety minutes, ninety minutes till the wedding, ninety minutes till the vows, ninety minutes till I did what I had done once upon a time with Peter. Honestly, I couldn’t wait, and I had never been more certain that I was absolutely making the right choice for a partner, difficult as that choice had been.

  I looked over at the bed, where Stacey Lee had laid out my wedding dress for me. It was only a month before that she and I had driven into Boston to buy it. We had planned on spending the day there, and possibly spending the night with Andie and Seth if we needed another day for more dress or accessories shopping.

  Our first stop was the designer floor at Saks in the Prudential Center. The saleswoman showed us a dress designed by Carolina Herrera and made of a purple chiffon so pale that you had to study the cloth to see the purple tint. I remembered hearing a British actress playing a royal role say that when she put on the crown and the robe, she felt she was the queen. That morning at Saks I slipped into the chiffon dress and…well, I felt exactly like a bride. I clearly saw the wedding reception, the children, the decorated tables, and the man I was going to marry. I was a bride.

  When I walked out of the dressing room, Stacey Lee looked as amazed, and delighted, as I felt.

  “You look incredible,” she said. “Who would have thought that the first dress you tried on would be the perfect one?”

  Now that perfect dress lay on my bed, waiting for me to put it on and become a bride.

  I slipped it over my head, very, very carefully. It slid down and around my shoulders as if it were made of air. The fashion magic worked. There I was. The bride on her wedding day. I loved the feeling, everything about it.

  Oh, yeah. I needed some makeup, especially around my eyes. And I needed some styling gel in my hair, especially on the cowlick that had dogged me all my life. And I needed to change from my New Balance sneaks into something a touch more formal.

  I kicked off the sneakers.

  I looked in the mirror, and then I turned around. Yes, ma’am. This dress is perfect. You just might pull this wedding off.

  I practiced taking small steps—not too fast, but not ridiculously slow either. God, I was excited.

  I walked barefoot from my reading chair, past the StairMaster, and ended up at the far bedroom window, which overlooked the little stone footbridge that led into the woods, a bridge Peter and I had built years before. Probably on account of my nervousness and happiness, the winter light seemed springtime bright. I wished I could decorate the bare branches of all the trees.

  Then I glanced farther down, below the branches. Oh, dear.

  There were Tallulah and Gus, crossing the bridge.

  An eight-year-old and a fourteen-year-old sneaking into the woods. This was not good. Tallulah looked around nervously behind her. Gus motioned her forward. Then they disappeared.

  I took a deep breath. Then I ran down the back stairs and out the side door. This could ruin everything.

  Chapter 50

  THIS WILL SOUND stupid because it was stupid: I was in such a hurry to follow Gus and Tallulah that I didn’t think about being shoeless until I crossed the stone footbridge. Once I was on the other side I stepped into a pile of icy twigs. I let go with the traditional woodland cheer of “Oh, shit,” but I wasn’t about to turn back. I was sure, however, that in my chiffon wedding dress, a bedroom quilt wrapped around me, and barefoot, I looked like something out of The Blair Witch Project.

  I had been in these woods a thousand times. So I knew the layout like a local mapmaker. But it was anyone’s guess where those two kids had gone.

  I jogged through the orchard of crab apple trees and across the brook overflow. That area was a mess of mud and wet sand in summer. Today it could have been an ice-skating rink.

  I turned onto a dirt path where we often took the dogs for a run, and then…something in the air. The unmistakable, never-forgotten scent of marijuana.

  Following my nose, hobbling on half-frozen feet, I soon saw Tallulah and Gus sitting on a log.

  I watched Tallulah take a hit and then cough like crazy. Her mentor, master-class professor Gus, seemed to be giving her directions on how long to hold the smoke in her mouth, how to properly inhale it, and, finally, how to exhale.

  “What in hell are you two doing?” I said. “Are you both nuts?”

  I was willing to bet that the last time anyone had looked this frightened on Christmas was when Ebenezer Scrooge saw Marley’s ghost.

  “Gaby!” Tallulah shouted. “What are you doing here?”

  “I always like to walk through the frozen woods just before I get married.”

  “Oh, man,” Gus said. “We’re fucked.”

  I walked over to him and pushed him so hard that he fell backward off the log.

  “Do you mind? Your cousin is eight years old. Do you mind not using lousy language on Christmas? Do you mind not teaching her how to get stoned? Do you mind not acting like a little punk for once in your life?”

  Their joint had fallen to the ground. I saw Gus glance at it.

  “Don’t you dare touch that thing,” I said. “You know, Gus, I covered for you once. I thought you owed me for that. But I guess not. I guess you want to show up at my wedding stoned out of your mind. You don’t care if you spoil everything. All you think about is yourself.”

  “Gaby, that’s not it. I just wanted to be mellow for the service.”

  “And you wanted your eight-year-old cousin to be mellow also?”

  He didn’t reply. He looked away, and Tallulah looked down at the ground. After a few seconds Gus spoke again.

  “Can I tell you something without you getting angry?”

  “Of course you can,” I said.

  “I just…well, let me put it simply: I just love weed.”

  “You ‘love’ it?” I asked. There was no anger in me. Probably because Gus was trying to be honest.

  “Yeah, when I’m not stoned I think about being stoned. When I’m straight, like in class, I think about when I’m going to be out of class, and then…” His voice trailed off.

  I waited about half
a minute before saying anything. Then I told him, “You know the thing about a love affair? You can end it. It’s not always easy. And you don’t always want to do it. But you can do it. And that’s what you have to do.”

  He nodded. He knew me well enough to know that I was a talker, but I wasn’t a lecture giver. There was really nothing left for me to say, except “Gus, you’re strong. I know you are. You’re strong. Stay strong.”

  Tallulah was still looking at the ground. She seemed like she might burst into tears, which was okay with me. Her cheeks were already wet.

  “And you, young lady. Stick to Skittles and the Jonas Brothers or whoever. And don’t hang out with bums like your cousin here.” I reached over and hugged her.

  “Gaby, watch your dress. It’s so beautiful. Don’t get it dirty,” Tallulah said.

  “Come on, you two little criminals. Let’s get back to the house. Before long it’ll be turning dark. That’s all we need to do, get lost in the woods.”

  Tallulah and Gus stood up, and Gus glanced down at the lonely dead joint.

  “Don’t you even think about it,” I said.

  We walked back in complete silence. Tallulah and Gus kept their heads tilted downward. My feet were burning from the cold. The soles were scratched. The toes were numb.

  As we got closer to the footbridge, Gus looked down at my feet and almost shouted: “Gaby, how come you’re not wearing any shoes?”

  “I’m not?” I said. “I hadn’t even noticed.”

  Chapter 51

  MY POOR FEET were frozen and on fire. If I needed any reminder, there were blotches of blood on the carpet.

  I took off my gorgeous dress and examined it for damage and dirt. God was looking down on the bride: The dress was still perfect. But my ripped feet were ready to ruin everything. So I did what I was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to do for possible frostbite and bloody cuts—I filled the tub with hot water, sat myself on the edge, closed my eyes, and plopped my feet into the water. It was certainly dramatic.

  So dramatic that I let out a yell that brought both Emily and Claire running to the door.

  A great deal of banging ensued.

  “Mom, are you okay in there?” asked Emily.

  “What’s wrong? Why did you scream?” asked Claire.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Go get dressed.”

  “What happened? Unlock the door,” Claire said.

  I noticed little rivulets of blood, a definite pink cast to the bathwater, but I didn’t want their help. The fact was, I had one hour until the wedding, and I could barely stand. I should have let those two thoughtless kids get stoned out of their minds. But I couldn’t, I just couldn’t.

  “If you two don’t go away immediately,” I shouted, “I will not let you come to my wedding.”

  “But are you…?” asked Emily.

  “Immediately.”

  “You’re impossible,” said Claire.

  “Okay, Claire. Now you can’t come to the wedding.”

  “You’re impossible,” I heard her say again, but my x-ray vision could see her smile through the door. Emily’s too.

  I took my feet out of the water and patted them dry with a towel.

  Blood was still oozing from the ball of my right foot, and the rest of the skin was significantly scratched. By “significantly” I mean red and raw and bloody and hurting. I covered my feet with medicated powder (I wanted to scream again, but fought the urge). Then I stuck Band-Aids on a few particularly ragged wounds.

  Uh-oh. Walking barefoot to my closet was painful.

  I took down the box that contained my new Christian Louboutin shoes. I opened the carton, pushed my feet into the shoes, saw stars, and began to cry. If I knew nothing else about what would happen at the wedding, I knew this: I would not be standing in Christian Louboutin heels when I said “I do.”

  “Mom, are you ready yet?” Seth shouted at the bedroom door.

  “Almost,” I said. “Leave me alone. I’m collecting my thoughts. Deciding whom to marry.” That line almost made me smile.

  “Well, come on downstairs as soon as you can. Remember, we’re going to have the family toast. Bart’s ready to pop the champagne. The kids are in the barn driving Stacey Lee crazy. Come on down.”

  “Give me two minutes. Make it three.”

  “Mom, c’mon!”

  I grabbed a pair of white ankle socks from a drawer. I was thinking that my ankle-length dress was practically floor-length. If I walked slowly enough, and I hadn’t much choice because of the pain, chances were that no one would see my feet.

  So I slipped into a pair of white Nikes with purple swooshes on the side.

  Purple swooshes. Now, would you look at that? The sneakers actually matched my dress.

  Chapter 52

  I LOOKED GREAT.

  There. I said it. I know it’s inappropriate and a little egocentric, but I did have a mirror in my bedroom, and I…looked…pretty terrific. The dress, of course, was one of a kind, just right, and my butt still appeared to be on vacation. For once my hair and the brush and the blow-dryer formed a nice relationship, so my curls had the right amount of wave and shine to them. The only piece of jewelry I wore was a small diamond solitaire on a gold chain. I’d had it made from the engagement ring Peter had given me many years before.

  If the oohs and aahs from my family were any indication, I wasn’t completely delusional. I think I’ll say it one more time: I looked great.

  “You look exactly the way they describe brides,” Lizzie said. “Radiant and beautiful and…”

  Emily jumped in. “…And young and in love.”

  Honestly, that was exactly how I felt, and I can’t recommend the experience highly enough.

  Bart opened the champagne. If ever there was a sound effect for good times, it was the sound of a champagne cork flying off, then bonking against the ceiling.

  “Hurry up,” said Claire. “Only a half hour to takeoff.”

  “Why do you keep using that expression, ‘takeoff’? It sounds like I’m about to fly to another planet.”

  “You are,” Mike said. “By the way, who’s your copilot?”

  “Did you really think that trick was going to work?” I asked.

  By now all the champagne flutes were filled. Emily lifted hers and looked at me.

  “I’m in charge of the family toast,” she said. “So, here goes. To Mom. Who spent so much time and effort loving and caring for us. May you now take some of that love and effort and use it for yourself. Good luck. God bless. We love you more than you’ll ever know.”

  A lot of cheering from the home crowd. Smiles all around the room.

  “Damn it,” I said. “I knew this would happen. I’m going to have to do my mascara all over again.”

  Then Claire spoke.

  “Can I say something?” she asked quietly. Her arm extended into the toasting position, but Claire shook her head as everyone looked her way.

  “No, this isn’t a toast,” she said. “I have an announcement to make. I cleared it with Mom, and she said it was all right to share it with everybody today.”

  My other children traded confused looks. Claire continued.

  “I wanted everyone to know that Hank and I are divorcing,” she said.

  There were about five seconds of silence. Then an amazing thing happened. Everyone started to cheer and applaud.

  “Now, that’s wonderful news,” said Emily.

  “I couldn’t stand that surly sonofabitch from the first day he showed up,” said Lizzie.

  Even Mike had something to say: “You all know me. I like everybody. But I didn’t like Hank.”

  “Enough,” I said. “Only good thoughts.”

  Mike shrugged. “I think dumping Hank was a really good thought.”

  “You people,” I said. “Well, listen. I can’t stand around drinking champagne all day. I’ve got to go fix my eye makeup and then go get married.” I paused for just a moment and then spoke directly to Claire. “You made the r
ight decision.” My girl smiled at me.

  I was walking toward the staircase when I heard Andie’s voice. I turned around. She was wearing a gorgeous simple silk dress. A blue hue so pale that you almost had to study it to notice that it even was a color. I could hear my late mother’s voice in my head: “There are only three things that you have to be to wear a dress like that—young, beautiful, and a size two.”

  “Gaby,” Andie said. “Seth and I want to talk to you.”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, feeling a sudden rumble in my stomach that had nothing to do with wedding jitters.

  Seth looked at me all too seriously. “Let’s go up to your room and talk.”

  Chapter 53

  ANDIE AND SETH were huddled together on the sofa near my makeup table. I sat in my reading chair. This was their meeting. But why were we having it now?

  “Mom, you know how all my life I’ve been waiting for something wonderful to happen to me?” Seth said.

  “Oh, honey,” I said. “If you want to talk about not making the Stockbridge middle-school lacrosse team, let’s do it after the wedding.”

  “Mom. Be serious.”

  “I’m sorry. I guess I don’t want to hear any bad news right now. Go ahead.”

  “Well, you know how I said we stopped in Worcester on our way up, and how we had dinner—the whole Taco Bell thing? Well, we did stop in Worcester. But we didn’t go to Taco Bell.”

  My matrimonial clock was ticking. “Get to the point, please,” I said to Seth.

  “Let me tell it,” Andie said. “We had made arrangements beforehand to stop at the city clerk’s. She promised to wait for us. And she did. We got a Massachusetts marriage license. And, well…”

  “We were wondering if we could…” Seth broke off and started chewing on his lower lip.

  Andie jumped in again. “We were wondering if we could get married today too. Reverend Browning knows about it. We told him we had to ask you. Gaby, we don’t want to mess things up.”