Stand-In Groom (31 page)

She needed to go to her office and get her planning calendar. She hadn’t picked it up yesterday morning as she didn’t need it for the engagement party. But for her meeting with Alicia in an hour, she’d need it. So much for a leisurely shower.

She hopped in and out, put a little bit of makeup on so she didn’t look like death warmed over, and drove to the office with the
convertible top down so her naturally straight hair would be dry enough to pull into a clip at the back of her head.

She deactivated the alarm at the keypad just inside the back door. She didn’t bother turning the lights on and passed through the dark hall into the front office, lightened enough to see from the bright sunshine outside. Shadows passed in front of the windows.
Lots of people out shopping today.

She grabbed the leather planner and glanced out onto the sidewalk. Several people stood outside her storefront. People with huge cameras strung around their necks. Good thing they didn’t have the back entrance covered.

She slipped out the back door and speed-dialed George as she drove down the alley.

“Good morning, Anne.” His voice had an early morning, gravelly quality that sent shivers down her spine.

“You sound like you just woke up.”

“Not exactly. I have to keep regular hours when I’m with Mr. Ballantine. Early morning is the only time I get to myself to read the Bible and spend time in prayer.” He yawned and begged her pardon. “Did you get plenty of rest this morning?”

“Not exactly. Jenn, Meredith, and Forbes practically beat down my door at seven forty-five, wanting to make sure I was all right, waving the newspaper under my nose. I couldn’t go back to sleep after that.”

“You need to get away somewhere they can’t find you.”

“No kidding. Hey, speaking of not being found—I had to run up to the office to grab something for a meeting, and there were photographers hanging out on my front porch.”

“At home?”

“No, at the office. They didn’t see me. I went in and out the back. But I think you and I need to sit down with Tracie and come up with a game plan for how I’m supposed to handle the phone calls and paparazzi on my front stoop.”

“Yes, we do. They’ll lose interest as soon as Cliff leaves for New
York Tuesday. Or if not lose interest, all you’ll have to deal with is the phone calls, as the photographers will follow him.”

“Pictures of me aren’t worth much, I gather.”

“Not without either Cliff or Courtney with you. But that’s good, yes?”

“Definitely.” She turned into the hotel parking lot. “I’m at my appointment, so I’d better go.”

“You’re working?”

“Remember Alicia Humphrey? She wanted to sit down before she leaves for California this afternoon.”

“Oh. Good for you. I’ll talk to you later.”

He sounded less than enthusiastic, but she didn’t have time to ask why.

Toodles? You, too? No, I love you….

She went with “Toodles” as if she were an old school friend. Oh well. She’d known going in that she needed to take this slowly. And, although empirically she’d thought forgiving Cliff would come easily, seeing him last night sent her back to square one without passing Go or collecting two hundred dollars.

An hour later, she dialed George as the elevator doors shut.

“How’d your meeting go?” he asked by way of greeting.

“Why didn’t you forewarn me?”

“Didn’t want you to think I’m a spoilsport.”

“Her third engagement in less than two months? Is she trying to beat out Elizabeth Taylor for a most-broken-relationships award?”

George chuckled. “You never know. He could be ‘the one.’ You know how it is with those Hollywood types. So quick to move on to greener pastures…”

“Is that going to happen to Courtney? Is she ‘the one’ for Cliff, or is she just ‘the one for now’?” She climbed into the car and started for home.

“Do you mean, is he using her to gain something? I’m not certain. If he were just looking for a token wife to, say, give him a more serious image, there are a lot of other women out there he
could have chosen. He’s opened himself up for some fierce criticism from the public by announcing he’s engaged to a woman half his age.” He sighed. “You know better than I how people marry for many reasons other than love. I do believe he cares for her. I know she cares for him.”

“Will caring be enough, though?”

“Let me pose this: What’s more important in a marriage? Being madly in love or having a strong friendship based on mutual respect and admiration?”

Anne had the funny feeling he wasn’t talking about Courtney and Cliff anymore. “I’m not married. I can’t answer that.”

“Oh, you know the answer. You surprise me, Anne. I thought after so many years of working with couples—especially with as much counsel as you provide them—you’d have lost some of your ideals of romanticism.”

Her heart thudded in her chest. What did he mean? Could he just be playing devil’s advocate, as he did so often? “I think the best marriages are built on love that grows out of that strong friendship and mutual attraction.” She’d seen the failure of too many couples’ marriages because they’d fallen madly in love but never taken the time to get to really know one another. “But I want to be madly in love with the man I respect and admire when I get married.”

His pause grew so long she checked to make sure she hadn’t lost the connection.

“Well, how does a romantic dinner at a restaurant overlooking the lake sound as a start?”

A
nne watched Meredith over the rim of her iced-tea glass as she took a sip. She’d just finished spewing all the shock, anger, hurt, confusion, excitement, and flutterings of the past forty-eight hours. Fortunately, the second-story veranda at the Plantation House restaurant was empty except for the two of them. The sound of the river below and the light breeze rustling the ancient oak trees worked in tandem with Meredith’s calm presence to soothe Anne’s spirit.

“It sounds like George really is in love with you.” Meredith pushed a chunk of tomato to the edge of her salad. “I know he would have told you about Cliff if he could have. I admire him for being a man of his word.”

Warmth wrapped around Anne. “I do, too. And there’s one other thing. That’s one of the reasons why I wanted to have lunch with you before I see him again tonight.” She put her glass down. “I’ve asked George to become my business partner. Now, I know I’ve always told you that I want you to be my partner—”

Meredith held up her free hand, a smile playing about her lips. “And there was always something in my heart that kept me from saying yes. It’s not that I don’t trust your ability as a businesswoman. And we’ve always enjoyed working together. But every time I would get to the point of agreeing, something held me back. Don’t you see, Annie? God knew I wasn’t the right partner for you.”

“I hadn’t looked at it that way.” She smiled, skin tingling. “It’s
always so much easier for us to see how God works in others’ lives than it is in our own, isn’t it?”

Meredith grinned. “You know the family is expecting him to come to lunch tomorrow, right?”

“I’ll have to find out his schedule now that his employer”— Anne cleared her throat and winked—“is in town. Who knows what all Cliff will have him doing.”

“Speaking of, are you going to try to talk to Cliff about—well, about what happened between the two of you?”

The euphoria from thinking about George vanished. “I know I need to, but every time I think about it, I start feeling sick to my stomach. I don’t want to dredge up the past if it’s going to make him resent me and possibly fire me as the wedding planner. I can’t do that to Courtney.”

“Do you think he’s told Courtney about y’all’s relationship? I mean, really, she was only eight or nine years old when that happened, so it’s not like she’s a contemporary who would know that the two of you even dated.”

“And now that the media knows about their engagement, they’re bound to start digging into Cliff ’s history for dirt about past relationships. All it takes is one or two people outside of our family to mention we dated, and the reporters will be beating down my door wanting all the details. Can’t you just see the headlines?” Anne held her hands up as if framing the words on a marquee. “ ‘Movie star Cliff Ballantine hires ex-fiancée to plan his wedding.’ Wouldn’t that make great publicity?”

“You can’t worry about what some reporters might or might not do. You just have to make sure that your life is straightened out. If you don’t talk with him, if you don’t forgive him, how will you ever be happy moving forward in a relationship with George? That bitterness you hold inside of you toward Cliff will always be there, keeping you from fully giving your heart to George. Cliff will own you more fully than he did when you went into debt to support him back then.”

“I know. I’ve gone through all of the arguments in my head. I know I have to talk to him.”

“Knowing in your head isn’t enough.” Meredith set down her fork and reached across the table to grasp Anne’s hand. “You have to know it in your heart, too. You have to ask God to break through those walls you’ve built up—whether from the teasing you got in school about being an orphan or losing your parents or finding out Cliff never really wanted to marry you. God can heal your hurts, but He can only do so if you choose to trust Him and forgive.”

Tears burned the rims of Anne’s eyes. No sermon could have come to a more laser-honed point. All her life, Anne had allowed every hurtful thing that happened to pile up like so much garbage in her soul. Then whenever someone came along and tried to get through to her vulnerabilities, she assumed she would be hurt again and turned away, isolating herself and blaming those who’d hurt her in the past.

“I’m not sure how to start,” she whispered.

“You just did.” Meredith squeezed her hand. “If you really want my opinion, I think that before you talk to Cliff, you should start with forgiving your parents.”

“My parents?” Anne shook her head. “What do they have to do with George and me?”

“Everything if you’re going to have a healthy relationship with him. Annie, every time we’re with any of our relatives who have kids, I can see the hurt in your eyes. You think you hide it, but I know you better than most.”

Not wanting to have an emotional breakdown in the middle of a restaurant, Anne gathered her wits—and defenses—took a deep breath, and dabbed the corners of her eyes with her napkin. “How did you get so smart?”

“Well, I do have a master’s degree in art history, even though I don’t use it most of the time. That’s almost as good as a professional therapist, right?” Meredith grinned and took out some cash and
laid it on top of the tray with the check. “I know this is a lot to handle over lunch on a sunny Saturday afternoon. And I didn’t mean to push you so hard. But I also don’t want to see you lose the best thing that could ever happen to you. So please, if you need help with any of this, come talk to me. You know I’m at your disposal twenty-four-seven.”

“I know. Thanks.” Anne put her money down, too. She hugged Meredith and kept her arm around her cousin as they left the restaurant.

Half an hour later, alone in her apartment, Anne pulled several storage boxes out of the large hall closet until she found the particular one she sought. Stacking the rest neatly in place, she heaved the large plastic bin into the living room, set it in front of the ottoman, and sat with it between her feet.

She stared at the blue plastic. Could she do this? She hadn’t looked in this box since she’d given up hope on Cliff. Steeling herself—and rising to pull a box of tissues closer—she popped the clasps and laid the lid aside.

Like wild creatures released from captivity, memories ravished her as she recognized the items at the top of the container. The notebook she’d put together for the very first wedding she’d ever completely planned—her own. Inside the plastic front cover, a photo of her with Cliff—she smiling and looking like nothing would ever go wrong, and he practicing the smile that would grace the front of every entertainment magazine and supermarket tabloid for the next ten years.

Today wasn’t the day to deal with that particular part of her past. She put it aside, along with the album of photos of the two of them during their nearly six-year relationship—well, more pictures of him in his various stage roles through those years than actual shots of them together. The one in the front of the notebook was one of the few when he wasn’t hamming it up.

Next, she pulled out the scrapbook Meredith had created for her college graduation. Nostalgia and regret mingled as she set it
down on the floor. The high school graduation scrapbook went on top of that.

Now she was getting down to it. She pulled out a red photo album with a brass spiral spine and gingerly lifted the cover. In her bad teenaged penmanship on the title page she read,
Trip to Baton Rouge and State Capitol Building. Anne Elaine Hawthorne, Freshman Civics Class, Acadiana High School
. One of the better memories from her earlier years. She closed it and added it to the stack beside her right foot.

Three more albums joined it until she finally got to what she was looking for. The padded cover had a faux wood-grain finish with a large script
H
engraved in a metal plate shaped like a shield in the middle. Her skin tingled when she opened it to see her mother’s handwriting on the first page.
Hawthorne Family Photos. Copyright Lilly Guidry-Hawthorne and Albert Michael Hawthorne
.
Amateur photos by Anne Elaine Hawthorne.

Her mother had written the beginning date—Anne’s fifth birthday. Anne had written the ending date—the one-year anniversary of the plane crash four years later. Her throat tightened. She hadn’t looked at these pictures since then, as her grandmother had become visibly upset every time she caught Anne looking at photographs of her parents the year she’d lived with them. And she hadn’t wanted Aunt Maggie and Uncle Errol to think her ungrateful by making herself sad looking at them.

Like an old-fashioned television warming up, Anne’s memory slowly faded in as she flipped through the album. She remembered her mother and father with cameras in front of their faces most of the time. Not little ones, but big black monstrous ones that made the most wonderful whirring and clicking noises. Her gaze rested on a photo of her father teaching her all the different parts of the camera. She couldn’t have been more than six years old but knew all of the terminology—from f-stop to parallax to field flattener. Her first few attempts at taking pictures with the cameras she could barely lift followed on the next few pages. She’d helped her mother
develop them in the converted-garage darkroom. For her birthday that year, she’d received her mother’s first camera—a 1958 Kodak Signet 35mm—and twenty rolls of film. Her grandmother had taken a picture of her with her parents at the New Orleans airport before they left for some exotic locale like Bora-Bora, Nepal, or Taureg. Their parting instructions were to use all twenty rolls of film in the four months they’d be gone.