Help Wanted (25 page)

"Aw, that's a shame. Well, I understand. Listen, we'll talk Monday, huh?"

"Definitely. Hey, thanks again for inviting me. Drive safe." 

He turned and was about to head toward the bar, when Nina cried, "Don't you dare leave without saying good-bye."

I was this close.

She shot her arms on either side of Paul and hugged him hard.

"Thank you so much for everything. You have no idea."

Before he could say anything, she squeezed him even harder.

Hugging her back, he grinned and said, "I'm the one who should be thanking you."

*   *   *

Checking herself in the bathroom mirror, Claire did a double take. Her hair up, more makeup than she was used to, lovely gown. The dark circles under her eyes were gone, as were the frumpy clothes. Try as she might, she couldn't find a trace of the burned-out breadwinner she had been.

Good riddance.

Still, a sadness fell over. As good as she felt about the job offer Lester had just delivered, it didn't mean anything until she could tell Paul.

She yanked up her bodice that was determined to show off more cleavage than she was willing to let it.

Telling him while wearing this dress would certainly help
.

As other women squeezed in next to her to touch up their lipstick or fix their hair, she edged herself out of the ladies room only to see Paul, not thirty feet away, locked in a bear hug with a blond in a white dress.

Nina?

She stepped behind a column and watched as he released her and stood up straight.

He was in a traditional black tuxedo that fit him like a glove. Her heart thumped heavily in her chest.

I couldn't even get him to suit up, and here his is in a tux.

Stunned, she wrestled with the thought of confronting him. She would have done, too, if Kate hadn't sidled up next to her and grabbed her hand.

"It's not what you think, Claire-bear."

"What do I think?" Claire asked, shooting her a quick glance while pushing back a sob.

"The worst."

"Isn't it?" She watched him smiling broadly at Nina and then sucked in a breath when she saw Nina wrap her hand behind his neck and kiss him on the cheek.

Her confusion turning to anger, Claire yanked her hand from sister's.

"That does it."

*   *   *

 "Oh, here. Let me get that," Nina offered as she took an unused napkin from a nearby table to wipe her lipstick off of his cheek.

"Thanks," Paul whispered as he took the napkin from her. "I got it."

With the dinner portion of the evening over, he wanted to find Claire fast before she and Kate decided to leave. He checked the napkin to make sure he completely swiped the bright red lipstick Nina was wearing off of his cheek. When he was satisfied, he tossed it on the table and pulled out his phone.

I knew I should've told Kate I was coming.

His thumbs started flying over the keypad.

"Paul?"

Claire.

He snapped his head up. She was standing five feet in front of him. He felt his mouth drop open.

Wow.

That dress. The hair, the makeup.

That dress…

Now that he finally got a good look at her, he could appreciate how gorgeous she looked and told her as much.

As if she didn't even hear him, she asked, "What are you doing here?"

Her expression gave little away, but the glistening in her eyes tugged at his gut. As she stood there, her chest heaving, he froze, unable to tell whether she was about to storm out, slap him, or leap into his arms.

"Imp, I—"

Oof.

Thankfully, it was the latter.

As she clung to his neck, he held her tight and nuzzled her ear, whispering, "I already told you, Imp. I have a job."

"The pain of parting is nothing to the joy of meeting again." —Charles Dickens

The next morning, Claire rolled out of bed with barely enough time to check on the boys and take a quick shower before making her way to her doctor's appointment. As she edged out of bed, she saw Paul's tux neatly reassembled on a hanger in the closet next to her gown. A crease formed between her eyebrows as she remembered the heap they had left everything in as soon as they confirmed the boys were all asleep.

As she got dressed, she replayed the events of the previous night, feeling nothing short of transformed and wildly happy. She floated downstairs, certain that nothing could burst her bubble.

Luke greeted her in the kitchen. "Mom, you've got to help me. I can't find my black pants, and I'm the lector at five o'clock Mass tonight."

Except laundry.

Looking around the empty house, she asked, "Where's Dad?"
"He took the other guys to the movies. Double feature someplace. Said he'd take them to Mass in the morning."

"Uh, ok. Did you check the hamper?"

"Yep."

"Marc's room?"

"Uh-huh."

Trying not to get exasperated, she asked, "Did you check the dryer or lend them to a friend?"

Her son just shook his head.

"Ok, did you check the hamper in my room?"

While he went to investigate, she noticed the kitchen was not only clean—it was gleaming. In fact, the entire first floor was spotless.

Nice.

She dug out a package of crackers from the pantry and started nibbling on a few while she waited for her son.

"You're a genius," Luke announced. "Think we can clean them in time?"

Shaking her head with a smile, she replied, "No, we can't, but you can. Come on. I'll show you."

They went downstairs where she watched as he started a small load and set the cycle to "quick wash."

"Then you can throw them in the dryer, and they should be done in plenty of time."

"Thanks, Mom." And then Luke hugged her—a rare event that she relished.

"Listen, I've got a doctor's appointment. It shouldn't take too long. Get your homework done, ok?"

"Already did it," he sang over his shoulder as he headed back to his room.

Twenty minutes later, she was in the doctor's office, waiting for her turn and jotting future column ideas in her ever-present notebook.

"Claire Mendez?"

She followed the nurse back to the examination room.

"So, what's going on with you today?" the young woman in purple scrubs asked.

While she checked Claire's temperature, pulse, and blood pressure, Claire told her about her recent concussion and the heightened emotions, fog brain, and nausea she had experienced since.

"Ok, Dr. Miller should be right in."

With that, she left Claire alone with nothing to look at but the cross section of the human digestive system hanging on the wall.

A few minutes later, there was a wrap at the door, and the doctor burst in with the nurse trailing behind her.

She extended her hand. "Claire. How are we today?"

"As I told"—she stopped and squinted at the embroidered name on the nurse's top before continuing—"Vanessa, I haven't felt right since my concussion, and I wanted to make sure everything was all right."

The doctor checked her online chart and then gave Claire a quick exam. When she was done, she stood back and said, "Well, it could be a lot of things. Why don't we run a few tests just to be on the safe side?"

Claire swallowed. "For what?"

"Oh, thyroid, anemia. Nothing serious."

She didn't make it back home until 4:30. Hoping Luke remembered to put his pants in the dryer, she called up to him, "Sweetie, we ought to get going if we're going to get a decent parking space."

"I know, Mom," he called down from the bathroom. "I'm just getting out of the shower. I'll be right there."

Claire waited impatiently for him in the kitchen. Not even the trip to the doctor's had burst her bubble. If anything, it made it bigger.

Looking for something to do, her eyes fell on her backpack in the mudroom. She unzipped all of the pockets, getting rid of used tissues and empty gum wrappers.

Hello.

Crammed at the bottom of the biggest outside pocket was the letter she'd picked up at the
Gazette
on Thursday afternoon. She brought it into the kitchen and sliced it open with a steak knife. Unfolding the typed page, she read:

"Dear Plate Spinner, I need your help. After college, I had a plan for my life. It started out great—got married, bought a house, started a family, but as soon as I hit a wall in my career, I bailed. I stayed home to take care of my kids and used them as an excuse for giving up on my dream. Worse, my wife had to bail on hers so she could keep us in the black, all because I lost faith in myself. But by some miracle, she never did. No matter what, she always saw me as the man I wanted to be, not the man I'd become. I feel good that I've been there for my kids, but tell me, have I failed them by demonstrating that dreams aren't worth fighting for? I also feel good that I am still so in love my wife, but tell me, have I failed her by not letting her know that I'd also be madly in love with and so proud of the woman she wanted to be?"

It was signed, "One Sorry Spouse."

She picked up the envelope with a trembling hand and held it over her heart.

Paul had told her about the letter the night before, but she asked him not to divulge the contents. She wanted to read it for herself.

Reaching for a tissue, she dabbed her eyes and checked the clock again. It read 4:50.

"Luke, honey, come on. It's ten to. We're gonna be late. Aren't you lector tonight?"

At that, he came tearing down the stairs carrying his shoes. "Sorry. I couldn't find my one shoe. Let's go."

On the way there, Claire told him that she'd drop him off before parking the car. By the time she found a spot and made it into the church, Mass had already begun, and the only seat she could find was in one of the back pews. She squeezed in, climbing over three people to sit in the vacant space. Dressed in jeans, she didn't mind sitting near the back. She always felt a little self-conscious not dressing up for Mass on Saturday evenings and kept her jacket on.

A few minutes later, everyone sat while Luke approached the altar and began the first reading. Following along in the missal, Claire looked up, feeling embarrassed for him when the words he was reading about the creation of Adam and Eve didn't match those on the page.

When he finished, he returned to his seat. No one else in the congregation seemed to notice the error.

After the responsorial psalm, Luke stood again and began the second reading with, "From the first letter of St. Paul to the Corinthians."

Again, it didn't match the prayer book. Since no one else seemed the least bit bothered by it, she sat back and listened to the reading. On hearing "Love is patient, love is kind," she immediately recognized it as one of the readings she and Paul chose for their wedding. By the time he read the last line, "Love never fails," she wished she had brought some tissues with her.

After Father Steve read the Gospel, everyone settled in to hear his sermon. As he usually did, he walked down in front of the altar and stood right in the middle of the aisle before he began speaking. Claire watched as he looked out over the crowd, smiling.

"Tonight, as you may have noticed from the readings, we are here to celebrate love, and not just any love. The love that is shared between a man and a woman in the union of marriage. Tonight, instead of a sermon, you are going to be witness to a renewal of vows between two very special people."

Oh, well, that explains it then
.

Smiling broadly, the priest scanned the faces in the congregation before continuing. "Now, Claire Mendez, I can't see you, but would you please come up here?"

Oh God. I completely forgot our anniversary.

Claire sat frozen, certain that the name she had just heard was not hers. As people began looking around, some recognized her, and by the looks on their faces, Claire knew that he did indeed say her name.

Cautiously, she stood up, took her coat off, and handed it blindly to the woman sitting next to her.

"Ah. There you are." The priest motioned for her to join him.

This could be a bubble burster.

Wearing her faded jeans and a tailored, untucked white dress shirt, she slowly made her way up the aisle. The very long aisle.

Everyone was looking at her and smiling as she passed by. Her heart started thumping wildly in her chest.

As she approached the altar, she caught her breath when she saw Paul, wearing the same black tuxedo from the night before, stand up in the front pew to her right.

He stood next to Father Steve, but he turned to face her, eyes bright and crinkling in the corners.

She continued tentatively moving forward, watching as Paul drew a deep breath—as if he was about to jump off a high dive. Then he smiled the warmest of smiles at her, held out his hand, and leveled her with a devilish glint in his eye.

"Let's do this."

She closed the gap between them, letting him take her right hand in his and intertwine their fingers.

Glancing back at the front row, she saw all four of their boys seated next to her parents, Kate and Jake, Paul's father, and Mattie and Nick. In the row behind them were all of Paul's cousins, their wives, and several other members of their extended family and wedding party. All were wearing party clothes and broad smiles.

As a warm glow came over her, her eyes rested on her handsome husband. "Movies, huh?" she whispered.

He grinned. "Shhh."

On Father Steve's prompting, they faced each other and repeated their vows. When they were finished, he recited a blessing. "May the Lord in His goodness strengthen your consent and fill you both with His blessings." 

He smiled and nodded at Paul who, on cue, removed Claire's plain gold wedding band and put it in his vest pocket. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he took out a small black velvet box.