George, Anne (3 page)

"Oh, my, what wonderful-looking food, Mrs. Hol-lowell," Kelly said. "I think I'll have to go get some before I faint dead away. I'm famished. You want me to bring you a plate, Fred?"

"No thanks," Fred smirked, remembering to move his leg just in time. "I'll get something after a while."

"I'll see you later, then." She gave us a little wave.

"What does she sell?" I asked. Fred owns a small metal fabricating plant, not the kind of place where Two you would picture a pretty and flirty Kelly.

"Nuts and bolts. You know." At least he had the decency to look sheepish.

"You want some food?" I asked, taking pity.

He reached over and took a quiche from my plate. "That's good."

"Why don't we go sit on the wall? We can share."

"Do you mind if we sit at one of the tables?" Meg asked. "Heights bother me."

"Sure." Several of the wrought iron tables were empty, since most of the guests were still milling about. We settled at one of them and relaxed in the sun.

"This is some fancy reception," Fred said.

"Sister says she may have to get married again to pay for it."

Fred and I laughed comfortably, but I realized that Meg Bryan didn't know why.

"She's had three husbands," I explained. "All of them were at least twenty-eight years older than she was and rich as Croesus. She has to worry about money like she does a hole in her head."

"And Debbie's father?"

"He was the middle one, Philip Nachman. She had a child by each one. Marilyn, the oldest, is Will Alec Sullivan's child. And Ray belongs to Roger Crane. Ray's not here today. He's in Bora Bora or Pago Pago, one of those double-named places. He just bought a dive ship. That's why Philip Nachman gave Debbie away. Not the daddy Philip, but the nephew. Cousin. Am I confusing you?"

"No."

"You're confusing me," Fred said.

"Meg keeps up with names professionally," I said. "She's a genealogist."

"Is that right? I'd like to look up my family tree someday," Fred said, surprising me. I'd never heard him mention it before. He reached over and helped himself to a cantaloupe cube from my plate.

"Birmingham is a good place to do it." Meg looked animated. "There's a special collection at both Samford and the public library."

"I might do that," Fred declared.

"Mary Alice has been kind enough to invite me to stay over for a few days while I do some research. I'd be happy to show you how to get started."

"I know the names as far back as my great great grandfather on my father's side," Fred said.

"Then you're well on your way. Some people who come to me don't even know who their grandparents were."

The plate that was on the table between Fred and me was almost empty. I got up and announced I was going for a refill and asked if I could bring them anything.

"My great grandmother was born in Madison, Georgia. I know that much," Fred said.

I don't even think they knew when I left.

Inside the ballroom, the crowd was standing in a circle around the dance floor. The combo was playing "Wind Beneath My Wings," and Debbie and Henry were dancing. I scooted back out and got Fred and Meg. "You don't want to miss this," I said.

The looks on the newlyweds' faces said it all. Henry held Debbie lightly as they moved around the dance floor, and neither took their eyes off the other. It was possible, I thought, that this was the real moment of marriage. And then Richardena Tucker, the twins' nanny, stepped onto the floor holding a toddler with each hand. Debbie took one little girl and Henry the other. And they danced, first separately, each holding a child, and then together with Fay and May held between them. It was, as Sister said later, a Kleenex moment.

And then the whole wedding party moved onto the dance floor. Haley was dancing with Dr. Nachman and seemed to be enjoying herself immensely. I tried to remember what Sister had told me about him. Widowed. Mid-fifties.

"What kind of doctor is Philip Nachman?" I asked Fred.

"Philip Nachman?"

"The nephew. Dancing with Haley."

"Don't know anything about him, honey."

"Look at them. I think we're going to find out."

"Then let him be a sinus doctor. Please, God, let my daughter bring home a sinus doctor."

I laughed, but only at his tone of voice. Knock on any door in Birmingham, Alabama, and a sinus sufferer will answer. Maybe it's the warmth, the humidity, the lush foliage. Who knows? But a good ENT (Ears, Nose, and Throat) is worth his weight in gold here. Literally after a few years' practice. People in other parts of the country say we talk through our noses. Well, yes.

The dance ended, everyone clapped, and there was a general rush to the food.

"This would be a good time to speak to Debbie and Henry," I said. I looked around and saw Meg Bryan talking to Mary Alice. I caught her eye and motioned that we were going over to see the bride and groom. She nodded fine.

Debbie and Henry still stood holding the two-year-old twins, Fay and May. Neither Sister nor I can tell the girls apart, though Sister swears she can. She also is sure Henry is their father, because he was a donor at the sperm bank when he was in college. Today I wasn't sure she was wrong. Henry's face was bent toward the twin he was holding and she was looking up at him, and the resemblance was eerie.

"Aunt Pat! Uncle Fred!" Debbie greeted us. "I wondered where you were."

We hugged her, admired her dress, and wished for her, with all our hearts, supreme joy.

"We'll have you over for dinner soon as we get back," Henry promised, shaking Fred's hand.

"We'll hold you to that."

A final hug and we moved to make room for some other well-wishers. As we started off, Fred said, "Wait a minute," and ran back and whispered something in Debbie's ear. As he came back toward me, he was beaming. "ENT!"

The next hour passed quickly. The cake was cut, the top tier saved for the wedding couple's first anniversary. At one point we saw Mary Alice in animated conversation with a man who looked like Father Time with a brunette rug. Ninety, at least, he wasn't doing much of the animated conversing, but he did look interested in what Sister was saying.

"By George," Fred said, "I think she's done it."

"Could be," I agreed. "I think Bill better hurry back from Florida." Bill Adams has been Sister's "boyfriend" for several months. A nice, handsome man of seventy-two, strong enough to dip Sister when they dance, he was spending the winter months, as he always did, in St. Petersburg. Absence was not making Sister's heart grow fonder. Even the Valentine roses and the card, "Come on down. With love, Your Snowbird," had not appeased her. "Whoever heard of a snowbird from Alabama!" she snorted. His ab-

sence from Debbie's wedding was probably the death knell for that romance.

Our son, Alan, and his wife, Lisa, stopped to chat for a moment. They were staying with us, so we would have a good visit later. Right now, Lisa was bubbling about the cake and Debbie's dress and had we noticed how well Haley and Philip Nachman seemed to be getting along.

"He's an ENT," Fred said. "Pray, children. Pray."

"He's at least twenty years older than she is," Alan said.

"At the pinnacle of his profession. Pray, children."

They left, laughing, and Bonnie Blue took their place with the announcement that her feet no longer had feeling in them and she would be on the terrace with her shoes off when we got ready to go.

A loud noise outside made the combo's ineffective drumroll even more ineffective.

"What on God's earth?" Fred asked.

I knew the surprise Sister had planned. I grabbed Fred's hand and started toward the terrace. "Come on, Bonnie Blue."

We rushed outside to see a helicopter hovering over The Club. As we watched, it settled on the helipad on the roof.

"Is that the LifeSaver from Carraway Hospital?" Bonnie Blue asked.

"Of course not," I said. But her question was also answered by the bride and groom, who came from the ballroom followed by the members of the wedding as well as most of the guests. Debbie had changed into a short, pale-blue suit, but Henry was still in his formal wear.

"Good-bye!" everybody shouted as the newly weds climbed the spiral stairs to the helicopter. "Good luck! Happy honeymoon!"

Debbie turned, looked, and threw her bouquet directly to Haley. Then they disappeared over the rooftop, and in a moment the helicopter rose into the air. We watched as it headed toward the airport across the valley.

"Wow," was all Bonnie Blue could say.

"Haley caught the bouquet," Fred said happily.

But I didn't say anything. I was too busy wiping the tears from my eyes so I could see the helicopter becoming smaller and smaller in the distance. Be happy, children. Be happy.

We dropped Bonnie Blue off at the church and headed home. I was tired, but pleasantly so. I reached over and patted Fred's leg. "You're a handsome man."

"Thank-you, ma'am. What brings this on?"

"Just thinking. And you're supposed to say, 'You're pretty good-looking yourself.' "

Fred covered my hand with his. "You are. You know I think so."

"I don't want any bottled blonde named Kelly bringing you food." I moved my hand farther up his leg and squeezed harder.

"Absolutely not. Scout's honor."

"Or selling you nuts and bolts." Farther and harder.

"Nuts and bolts are scratched."

"Or even smiling at you."

"No smiles! No smiles!" Fred was laughing and pushing against my hand, which had hit pay dirt. "For God's sake, Patricia Anne, you're going to make me have a wreck."

"Just remember," I said, giving him a good squeeze.

"I promise!"

"Cross your heart."

"Move your hand, woman. The guy in that pickup can see right in here."

"We're so old, he'll just think his eyes are deceiving him." I gave him another tweak. "Don't be so self-conscious, Fred."

"Self-conscious? My God, Patricia Anne, you're groping me on the Red Mountain Expressway!"

"When you think about this later, and you will, be kind." I removed my hand slowly. "Now, what is this about you wanting to look up your family history?"

"What?" Fred looked confused.

"You told Meg Bryan you wanted to look up your family history."

"Oh, that." Fred turned on the right turn signal for our exit. "I think it would be nice to know something about my family. Wouldn't you like to know where you came from?"

"I came from Mama and Daddy and Nanna and Granddaddy. And Grandmama Alice. That's enough."

"But think of all the people whose genes we carry. For instance, where did Haley get her olive skin? Strawberry-blond hair and olive complexion. Not your usual combination."

"But beautiful."

"Of course it is. But where did it come from?"

' The hair came from me. And Sister has olive skin. I'm sure you're in there somewhere, though."

"She was having a great time, wasn't she?"

The conversation had taken another ninety degree turn. After forty years, it's no problem following. "Great."

Haley is our youngest child and has been widowed for over two years. She and her husband, Tom, had married right out of college, but put off having a family while they established careers. Haley is a nurse and works in cardiac surgery; Tom was heading up the corporate ladder at one of Birmingham's largest engineering firms. At thirty-two, they were just beginning to think about a baby when a drunk driver put an end to everything. For a long time Haley was so immersed in grief, we wondered if we would ever see our laughing, happy daughter again. But in the past few months, she had been more like her old self. When we saw her enjoying herself like she had been today at the wedding, it did our hearts good.

We turned onto our street, a nice old neighborhood with sidewalks and porches. Leaves on the trees, just emerging, cast a green glow.

"Alan and Lisa aren't back, yet," Fred said. "They probably won't be back until late." He reached over and patted my leg.

"Then you've got time to go to the grocery for me," I said. "I've already got the list made out."

Fred tightened his hold on my leg and squeezed. "I don't want that produce man saving you those special grapefruits." Farther up my leg and a good squeeze.

We went into the house laughing.

Later, when I took our old dog Woofer for his afternoon walk, I thought about Debbie and Henry, how much they would learn about each other. How much they would never know about each other. But maybe that's the secret of a happy marriage, depths still there to plumb. Surprises. And a whole lot of luck. I shared this with Mitzi Phizer, a neighbor and old friend, who was out in her yard picking a bouquet of tulips.

"Nope," she said. "I plumbed all Arthur's depths at least thirty years ago and I'm still fond of the old fellow. The luck part I agree with, though." She handed me three red tulips. "Here. For your kitchen table. Now tell me about the wedding. I can't believe Barbara chose today to move, and I had to keep the baby." She pointed to the monitor beside her on the walk and smiled. "Listen to him snoring. He's so precious."