Caressa's Knees (30 page)

Kyle collapsed in the rocking chair opposite him. “You have the ring? You’re sure?”

Jeremy leaned back and shoved his hand in his lapel pocket. “I’m pretty sure I do, but hell, I’ll check for the twenty-fifth time if it makes you feel better. Yeah, it’s still there.”

“I’m just nervous. I want this to be perfect for her.
Her dream wedding.”

Jeremy looked at him for a long moment. “I think her dreams have already come true. But I can understand wanting everything to be perfect.”

“Did you feel like this on your wedding day? Your wedding was even bigger.”

“Yeah, but I passed all the responsibility off on you and the wedding planner,” he said with a laugh. “All I did was put all my energy into enjoying the day.
Which is what I would suggest you do.
Everything’s going to go fine.” He sat back and waved a hand toward the tree line. “At least you don’t have fucking helicopters hovering over and paparazzi hanging from the rafters.”

“If we did, I think my uncle Ray and my cousins would have had a blast shooting them down.”

Jeremy narrowed his eyes. “I think I remember your uncle Ray.”

“He’s kind of hard to forget, once you’ve met him.”

Kyle closed his eyes and tried to stop obsessing, but there had been so much planning to do. His mother, aunts, and sisters had been cooking for a week now, and a grandiose five-tier wedding cake had just been delivered from Dallas.
All this in addition to the hospitable contributions of neighbors and friends, none of whom would ever come to a Spur wedding without food and spirits in hand.
The reception tables over in Burger’s Field were undoubtedly groaning under the weight of the feast.

The house was full of gifts, from the overly-generous cash tributes of Jeremy and some of Kyle’s other show business friends, down to the burnt-orange and green pot holders Great-Grandma had painstakingly knitted and presented to a tearful Caressa the night before.

Caressa.
Kyle loved her so much he ached with it, and he never loved her more than when she was here in Spur. He would gaze at her in abject adoration as she chatted with his loopy Great-Grandma, or rocked in
companiable
silence with his mom on the porch. Caressa was as comfortable here now as she was sitting in front of a full orchestra, which she still did—on a slightly less frenetic performance schedule. As for meltdowns, he couldn’t remember the last time she’d had one.

No, he was the one in meltdown mode now. Caressa asked for a Spur wedding and Kyle had been happy to oblige, electing himself head wedding planner. Now she was off relaxing and getting dressed with her aunt while he was sweating the details in his tux on the porch.

“It’ll cool off when the sun goes down,” Kyle said, as Jeremy swiped his tea glass across his forehead. He followed Jeremy’s gaze to Nell and little Rhiannon under the big oak tree. The active toddler was barreling around with an army of other kids under the shady shelter, and their laughter carried up to the house.

“God,
it’s
nice here, Kyle,” Jeremy said. “It’s a fine day for a wedding.”

“Oh! The cello! The cellist—”

“Is already down by the pond, ready to play the wedding march.
Relax, Kyle. It’s all done.”

The men were silent for a moment, their chairs creaking in the late afternoon heat. Then Jeremy looked at Kyle with a curious tilt to his brow.

“So what’s next for Kyle Winchell? Somehow I imagine you’re not going to want to put in personal assistant hours anymore. Not with
la Caressa
waiting for you back home.”

Kyle smiled.
“Yeah.
I’ve been thinking about what to do next. I might just devote myself completely to
la
Caressa
’s
happiness. I could plan a much better tour than that dolt who worked on the last one.”

Jeremy looked meditative, rocking with one leg lazily propped on the other. “There’s nothing more precious to an artist than a true, trusted partner and friend. If the only job you do is being there for her…” He glanced up again at Nell with a brooding expression.
“Being someone who loves her as she is, whether she’s on top or slowly sliding down into obscurity…that will be your most important job.
It doesn’t pay well, but…” Jeremy was rarely serious, but he was now. “Kyle, it’s the most important job you could do for her, you know?”

Kyle was touched, as he always was when Jeremy spoke from the heart. He looked at his former employer with an equal level of gravity. “I’ll always be that friend to you too, Jeremy.”

“I know,” he said, making another big show of mopping the perspiration off his forehead. He flashed Kyle his trademark dashing grin. “Why the hell else would I be sweating my ass off in Texas at this time of year?”

* * * * *

The clearing above Burger’s Pond had been transformed into a wedding wonderland. The knee-high grass had been razed and a series of tents erected to hold all the food, guests, and bands so people could dance. The biggest tent held the cake and the bride and groom’s table. It seemed all of Spur had congregated there, socializing and waiting for the wedding to begin.

Kyle saw faces he hadn’t seen in years, and other faces that were endearingly familiar. He chased Rhiannon and made her scream with laughter while Nell followed, chastising Kyle for winding her up right before the ceremony. Great-Grandma Winchell was holding court by the dessert buffet, yelling orders about the best way to arrange the gelatin molds. His mom was serene as ever, kissing cheeks and distributing hugs to all the guests as if she hadn’t spent the entire past week slaving in the kitchen.

Just at dusk Jeremy came to him. “They’re ready.”

They’re ready. They’re ready.
Word spread through the waiting guests and they departed in one big group down the hill to Burger’s Pond. Kyle took his place at the edge of the water beside the reverend, the same man who’d
sermoned
him to walk a straight path when he was a child. For what it was worth, Kyle thought he hadn’t walked a very straight path in
life.
But if it brought him here, it could only be good.

Jeremy stood at his shoulder, patting his lapel to reassure him one last time that,
yes,
he had the ring close and ready. The sea of loved, familiar faces stood around in a semi-circle, and then the circle parted, and Caressa was coming toward him on her aunt’s arm. She wore a simple, sleeveless white gown and a broad, contented smile. Her wild hair fell loose across her shoulders and down her back. She clutched a handful of impatiens from his mother’s garden, peaches and pinks to match her blush.
His lovely spitfire.
God.
For a moment he almost wept at the picture she made. She was so beautiful, so beautiful…

He was saved from the ignominy of shedding manly tears when Great-Grandma boomed “
Ain’t
she
purtyful
?” loud enough to be heard over the strains of the cello’s wedding
march
. Everyone laughed, and
Caressa’s
eyes fixed on his, and then he couldn’t think of anything but the beauty of her smile. Like most men, he’d never
daydreamed
about his perfect wedding, but he knew this was it.
This day, this hour.
This minute, as Denise placed
Caressa’s
hand in his.

They made public vows, none they hadn’t already whispered to each other long ago.
I’ll love you forever. I’ll live to make you happy, because you make me so happy too.
Then, as Jeremy handed him the ring to slip onto her finger, the first
ooh
sounded in the gathering dusk.

Kyle could see the blinking from the corner of his eye. A few children broke from their parents to run closer to the pond, eager to take in the burgeoning, flickering display. Caressa looked too, then back at him with a crooked, happy smile. Kyle didn’t have to turn and look. All the wonder he needed was there, right there in front of him.

As the voices of the assembled guests rose and the spectacle of the fireflies drew their attention, Kyle took
Caressa’s
chin in his hand and sealed their vows with a kiss.

* * * * *

When Caressa had asked for a Spur wedding, she’d never imagined how lovely it would actually be. They stayed down at the pond until the fireflies were nearly blinked out, stealing kisses between the congratulations of their guests. Once the reception line was done, she gave up on pomp and circumstance and ran after the fireflies with the children, managing to catch a good number, even hampered by her long silk gown. Kyle just watched her, shaking his head in mock disapproval until he gave up and joined her. Then they sat to rest on his favorite boulder, just watching the creatures flit and blink around them.

Caressa nestled back against her new husband and took his hand. “Thank you,” she said.

“You’re certainly welcome,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “But for what?”

She squeezed his fingers, tracing the contours of his platinum wedding band.
“For everything.
For this day.
For loving me.
Mostly for putting up with me when no one else would have had the patience.”

His other hand drifted up the side of her bodice to furtively stroke the underside of her breasts. “It wasn’t only patience that sustained me through the difficult times, I have to admit.”

She laughed, snuggling closer to him. “Whatever it was, I’m glad. And now we’re married. I almost can’t believe it.”

“Not having second thoughts already?”

She looked up at the last of the fireflies, the blinks growing lighter and more intermittent.
“No,
not
second thoughts.
Only one thought. How much I love you.” Her stomach growled in the still darkness.
“Oh, yeah.
And how hungry I am.”

Kyle pulled her up and they made their way through the field to the reception tents. People were eating and drinking, calling out congratulations. Jeremy Gray winked at her, and his wife waved from his side. Now that Caressa had gotten to know Nell, she didn’t hate her anymore, even though she’d probably never get over the fact that her husband had once tattooed her name on his chest.

When he managed to draw her away, Kyle led her to the cake table, and Caressa giggled over the tiny cellist and conductor up on top of the massive white confection.

“I suppose that’s you,” she said, pointing to the pompous-looking, tuxedoed figurine.

“Yes, with my orchestra of one,” he replied, poking her in the side. “Mom looked everywhere for those to put on top of the cake, so don’t knock them in front of her.”

“I think they’re awesome. Look, I even have brown hair. Where did she find them?”

“It’s probably better not to ask.”

As if on cue, Melanie Winchell swept up to the couple and enfolded them in a joint hug. “Oh, my dears,” she drawled. “Could it have been any more beautiful? Did y’all steal some kisses before the fireflies blinked off?” Caressa blushed as her new mother-in-law hugged her once more and moved back into the fray of guests. She turned the other way to see her Aunt Denise being twirled around the dance floor by one of Kyle’s brothers.

She soon found herself swept up in the noise and jubilant dancing too. She danced with every one of Kyle’s relatives, and twice with Jeremy, who still seemed like a down-to-earth guy no matter how famous he was. She got some wedding night pointers from Great-Grandma Winchell that made her toes curl, and then to her relief, Kyle pulled her away and led her to another, quieter tent.
Guests
relaxed and chatted in muted tones as a string quartet played. Caressa noticed the cellist from the ceremony in the corner with his instrument propped against his leg. Kyle led her over with a strange, secretive smile on his face.

“Caressa, allow me to introduce David Gordon. He flew here all the way from Denmark, where he plays with the Copenhagen Orchestra.”

Caressa thanked the dark-haired, middle-aged musician for coming to play at the wedding, but she was a little confused that Kyle hadn’t just hired a more local cellist.
Copenhagen?
Mr. Gordon complimented Caressa effusively, explaining that he’d seen her play in her last tour through Europe. Then Kyle gestured toward the man’s cello. “Mr. Gordon plays a
Peresson
too. This particular one is on loan to him.” He paused. “It belonged to Jacqueline, Cara.”

Caressa blinked,
then
blinked again.
David Gordon.
Copenhagen Orchestra.
Now she remembered the name, and the shock of Kyle’s surprise hit her.

“Oh, Kyle.”
It was all she could think to say. She reached for the instrument, tracing lightly down the side of the fingerboard.
“Oh, Kyle.
Really?
Really?
”
And then: “Please, may I play it? Please?”

At first she played with the quartet, and then, as spectators filled the room, the quartet dispersed, leaving only Caressa and the new-old cello she cradled between her knees. The cello surprised her, its tone close and yet not exactly alike to her own instrument. She became acquainted with it as an hour passed, and then another. She played for Jacqueline, gone too soon, and for love and taking chances.
For passion and fear, and longing.
For twinkling, blinking bugs, orange potholders and happy children.
For storms and for shelter.