Bygones (22 page)

“Sometimes a tough woman is best. Same goes for friends. If you had tougher ones who demanded more of you maybe you'd be right for Maryann.”

“You don't think I am?”

Lisa studied him awhile, then shrugged and reached for the nightstand. “I think you could be but it'll take some work.” She handed him the Fritos and the iced tea. “Go get some sleep, and your eyes better not look like guts when you walk down that aisle tomorrow, okay?”

He smiled sheepishly. “Okay.” He rose from the bed and shuffled toward the door.

“Hey,” she said quietly, “c'mere.” She raised her arms. He came around the bed and plopped into them. They rocked and hugged a moment with the crackly Fritos bag and the cold tea jar against her back.

“I love you, little brother.”

Randy squeezed his eyes shut hard against the sting. He really believed her and wished himself more worthy.

“I love you, too.”

“You've got to end this thing with Dad.”

“I know,” he admitted.

“Tomorrow would be a good time.”

He had to get out of there or he'd be bawling. “Yeah,” he muttered and fled the room.

* * *

The day Bess had predicted would be relaxed was anything but. There was her own hair appointment in the morning, followed by nails. There were two calls from Heather with questions from the store. There were the white satin bows to be hung on the pews at St. Mary's, and the caterers to be contacted with notice of three late RSVPs, and a slotted box to be prepared for guests to drop their wedding cards into, and some odds and ends to be carted over to the reception hall, and the hall itself needed checking to make sure the cake had arrived and the table arrangements were the right color, and the guest register was set up and—how had she forgotten!—a wedding card to buy! And nylons—lord, why hadn't she thought to check her nylons earlier in the week?

By quarter to four Bess was frazzled. Lisa wasn't home yet and she was worried about the limo. Randy kept asking for things—an emery board, some mouthwash, a clean handkerchief, a shoehorn.

“A shoehorn!” she shouted over the railing. “Use a knife!”

Lisa returned, the calmest one of the trio, and hummed while putting on her makeup and donning her gown. She dropped her shoes and makeup into her overnight bag, collected her veil and arranged everything in the front hall for removal to the car when her father came.

He rang the bell at precisely 4:45.

Upstairs, Bess was crossing her bedroom and inserting a pierced earring when she heard it ring. Her footsteps halted. Her stomach went fluttery. She hurried to a window and held back the curtain. There in the street were two white limousines, and downstairs, Michael was entering the house for the first time since he'd collected his power tools and left for good.

Bess dropped the curtain, pressed a hand to her rib cage and forced herself to take one deep breath, then collected her purse and hurried out. At the top of the stairs her footsteps were arrested by the sight below. Michael, smiling, handsome, dressed in an ivory tuxedo and apricot bow tie, was hugging Lisa in the front entry, his trouser legs lost in the billows of her white lace. The door was open; the late afternoon sun slanted across the two of them and for that moment, it seemed Bess was looking down at herself. The familiar dress, the handsome man, the two of them smiling and elated as his hug curled Lisa's feet off the floor.

“Oh, Daddy,
really?”
she was squealing. “Are you serious?”

Michael was laughing. “Of course. You didn't think we'd let you ride to church in a pumpkin, did you?”

“But two of them!” Lisa wriggled from his embrace and danced outside, beyond Bess's sight.

“Your mother had the same idea, so they're really from both of us.” Through the open door and the fanlight above it, the westering sun spread gold radiance into the house and upon Michael as he watched his daughter, then turned to look back inside at the place he'd once called home. From overhead, Bess watched his gaze take in the familiar terrain—the potted palm in the corner beside the door, the mirror and credenza, the limited view of the living room to the left of the entry, partially obscured by Lisa's bridal veil, which hung on the doorframe, and the family room straight ahead. He took three steps farther inside and stopped almost directly below Bess. She remained motionless, gazing at his wide shoulders in the exquisitely tailored tuxedo, at his thick hair, the tops of his dark eyebrows, his nose, the silk stripe down his right trouser leg, his cream-colored patent-leather shoes. He, too, stood motionless, taking in his surroundings like a man who's missed them very much. What memories called to him while he stood there so still? What pictures of his children returned? Of her? Himself? In those few moments while she observed him she felt his yearning for this place as keenly as she had many times felt his kiss.

Two things happened at once: Lisa came in from outside and Randy arrived from downstairs, coming to an abrupt halt at the sight of his father standing in the front hall.

Michael spoke first. “Hello, Randy.”

“Hi.”

Neither of them moved toward the other. Lisa stood watching, just inside the front door. Bess remained where she was. After a pause, Michael said, “You're looking pretty sharp.”

“Thanks. So are you.”

An awkward pause ensued and Lisa stepped in to breach it. “Hey, Randy, look what Mom and Dad ordered—two limos!”

Bess continued down the stairs and Lisa smiled up at her. “Mom, this is just great! Does Mark know?”

“Not yet,” Bess answered. “And he won't till he gets to the church. Grooms aren't supposed to see their brides before the service.”

Michael looked up and followed Bess's descent, taking in her pale peach suit and matching silk pumps, the pearls gleaming at her ears and throat, her hair flaring back and touching her collar, the soft smile on her lips. She stopped on the second to the last step, her hand on the newel post. The town idiot could have detected the magnetism between them. Their gazes met and riveted while Michael touched his apricot cummerbund in the unconscious preening gesture men make at such times.

“Hello, Michael,” Bess said quietly.

“Bess . . . you look sensational.”

“I was thinking the same thing about you.”

He smiled at her for interminable seconds before becoming aware that his children were observing. “Well, I'd say we all look great.” He stepped back to include the two. “Randy . . . and Lisa, our beautiful bride.”

“Absolutely beautiful,” Bess agreed, moving toward her. Lisa's hair was drawn back by two combs and fell in glossy ringlets behind. Bess turned her by an arm. “Your hair turned out just lovely. Do you like it?”

“Yes, miracle of miracles, I do.”

“Good. Well, we should go. Pictures at five on the dot.”

Michael said, “May I get your coat, Bess?”

“Yes, it's in the closet behind you, and Lisa's, too.”

Lisa said, “No, I'm not going to wear mine. It'll only wrinkle my dress. Besides, it feels like spring out there.”

Michael opened the closet door as he'd done hundreds of times, got out Bess's coat while Lisa took her veil from the living-room doorway and Randy picked up her overnight bag.

“How are we doing this?” Randy asked as they headed outside toward the two waiting cars with their liveried drivers standing beside them.

Michael was the last one out of the house and closed the front door. “Your mother and I thought we'd ride in one, and Randy, you can escort Lisa . . . if that's okay with you.”

The limousine drivers smiled, and one tipped his visored hat and extended his hand as Lisa approached.

“Right this way, miss, and congratulations. You've got a beautiful day for a wedding.”

Lisa put one foot into the car, then changed her mind and leaned back out as Bess was preparing to step into the second car.

“Hey, Mom and Dad,” she called. Bess and Michael both looked over. “Tell Randy not to pick his nose while we're in church. This time the whole congregation will be watching.”

Everyone laughed while Randy threatened to push Lisa face-first into the limo as he would have when they were children.

The limo doors closed everyone inside and in the lead car, Lisa reached over and patted Randy's cheek. “Nice job back there, little brother. And your eyes look better today, too.”

He said, “Something's going on between those two.”

Lisa said, “Oh, I hope so.”

In the trailing car, Michael and Bess sat on the white leather seat a careful space apart, employing discipline to keep their eyes off each other. They felt resplendent, wondrous, radiant! Not only in solo but in duet, down to their color-coordinated clothing.

When the temptation became too great, he turned his gaze on her and said, “That felt just like when we used to leave for church on Sunday mornings.”

She allowed herself to look at him, too. “I know what you mean.”

The limo pulled away from the curb while their eyes lingered. It turned a corner and the driver said, “The bride is your daughter?”

“Yes, she is,” Michael answered, glancing up front.

“Happy day, then,” the driver ventured.

“Very happy,” Michael replied, returning his gaze to Bess while the day became charged with possibilities. The driver closed a glass partition and they were alone. The climate was right, seductive even, and the trappings romantic. Neither of them denied that the past and the present were both at work, wooing and weakening them.

In a while Michael said, “You changed the carpet in the entry hall.”

“Yes.”

“And the wallpaper.”

“Yes.”

“I like it.”

She looked away in a vain attempt to recall common sense. His image remained in her mind's eye, alluring in his wedding finery of apricot and cream.

“Bess?” Michael covered her hand on the seat between them. It took a great deal of self-restraint for her to withdraw it.

“Let's be sensible, Michael. We're going to be bumping up against nostalgic feelings all day long but that doesn't change what is.”

“What is?” he asked.

“Michael, don't. It's just not smart.”

He studied her awhile, with a pleasant expression on his face. “All right,” he decided. “If that's the way you want it.”

They rode the remainder of the distance without speaking but she felt his eyes on her a lot and her own pulse so close to the surface of her throat she thought it must show. It felt exhilarating, and bewildering, and oh so threatening.

At the church the Padgett family had already arrived. The appearance of the limousines set off an excited reaction. Mark, dressed in a tux identical to Michael's and Randy's, saw his bride arriving and smiled disbelievingly as he opened the back door and stuck his head inside.

“Where
did you get this?”

“Mom and Dad rented it for us. Isn't it great?”

There were hugs and thanks and exuberations exchanged on the church steps before the entire party went inside, where the photographer was setting up his equipment and the personal flowers were waiting in flat white boxes in the bride's changing room. A full-length mirror hung on the wall there, too, and before it, Bess helped Lisa don her veil while the Padgett ladies fussed with their own last-minute adjustments. Bess secured the hidden combs in Lisa's hair and added two bobby pins for good measure.

“Is it straight?” Bess asked.

“It's straight,” Lisa approved. “Now my bouquet. Would you get it, Mom?”

Bess opened one of the boxes. The green tissue paper whispered back and her hands became still. There, nestled in the waxy green nest was a bouquet of apricot roses and creamy white freesias that exactly duplicated the one Bess had carried at her wedding in 1968.

She turned to Lisa, who stood with her back to the mirror, watching Bess.

“No fair, darling,” Bess said emotionally.

“All's fair in love and war, and I believe this is both.”

Bess looked down at the flowers and felt her composure giving way, along with her will to keep things sensible between herself and Michael.

“What a cunning young woman you've become.”

“Thank you.”

Sentiment welled up within Bess, bringing the faint blur of tears.

“And if you make me cry and ruin my makeup before the ceremony even begins I'll never forgive you.” She lifted the bouquet from the waxy green paper. “You took our wedding pictures to the florist, of course.”

“Of course.” Lisa approached her mother and lifted Bess's chin, smiling into her glistening eyes. “It's working, I think.”

Bess said with a quavery smile, “You naughty, conniving, conscienceless girl.”

Lisa laughed and said, “There's one in there for Daddy, too. Go pin it on him, will you?” To the other women in the room, she said, “Everybody, take the men's boutonnieres out and make them stand still while you pin them on, will you? Maryann, would you do Randy's?”