Sydney's Song (38 page)

“As long as the wedding car is discreet, Eve,” Pete put in, eyes dancing. “I don't want the driver to see us necking.”

Eve and I gaped. And he laughed. “Don't worry about every little thing, Eve… Thanks so much for all your hard work.”

Pete and I managed the invitations from his sick room. He personally phoned our friends and relatives, and I sent the specifics via emails. Every one heartily accepted. Probably because of Pete's suffering, they were delighted his healing would culminate in a joyous celebration.

Apart from his grouchy Mom, nobody had voiced objection. Many did curiously question whether I knew what I was doing marrying a handicapped man. And to get married so young, at that. But nobody interfered or tried to change my mind.

“Think of how low the telephone bill is going to be!” Callum had even teased. “Pete will be just by your side as you fall asleep or wake up.”

I screamed when I opened my apartment door the morning of my wedding day. With joy.

“WOW! LUCY! BRENNA! What the?! How?”

And the girls—who had written saying they could not afford the airfare—were all over me, laughing, shrieking “SYDNEEY!”

Down the hallway my neighbours opened the doors and popped their heads out, unaccustomed to early Sunday noise.

“Morning Lee, Simon, sorry! Too excited. Big surprise.” I waved at them, hauled my big surprises inside, and closed my door.

All at once it became a very noisy morning. “We're here courtesy of your mum as a surprise to complete your happiness…” “Arrived yesterday morning…” “Staying at Gilang's with your cousins…”“Spent the whole of yesterday with Lance's gang…” “Last night ate clam chowder, watched people, and bought cheap souvenirs at Faneuil Hall's Quincy Market…”

“And you didn't think to see me first?” I yelled in a royal snit.“Whose friends are you?”

“Chill out, you twit, it's called a surprise!” Lucy shrugged off her stylish winter coat.

“I'm hungry and we can catch up—or better yet tell me about your cute neighbour, the one in the red tracksuit—while eating breakfast,”Brenna marched to the table. “We've bought doughnuts. Lots of ‘em.Which one do you want first?”

“Hey, backtrack a bit. My neighbour? What happened to your darling pianist?”

“Who? The selfish, control freak? I'm single again. Close your jaw, Sydney. Yup. That's more becoming a bride. You heard it right.The world's still turning too. Aren't these doughnuts sinful?Welcome to America!”

My beloved was released after ten-month's convalescence at the hospital.

It was a freezing-cold winter day. The Sydneysider in me had cringed at the thought of getting married in a closed room, but Dad had thoughtfully asked Eve for a venue within walls of glass to bring in the outdoors. It was warm inside. And it showcased the spectacular view of the river, the city's skyline, and the clear blue sky.

But nothing! Nothing of that mattered when I saw my handsome groom, his arm in a sling, his ponytail replaced by a stylish haircut, his magnificent shoulders encased in wedding finery. Because his eyes lit up
so
happily when he looked at me.

“Happy birthday Sydney,” he whispered as I came to his side. “I love you
so
much!”

“Love you too.”

“You look amazing! I love it that you wear your hair down, so long and beautiful. And it's so clever to have this wreath of tiny fragrant roses for your veil. This is very you.”

“Thanks. Kirsten created this Maid Marion style.” My cousin had flown to Boston from her cruise ship which was currently docked in New York. “She said I shouldn't try to look older and be somebody else.”

He laughed, the beautiful sound of it filling my ears and my heart with so much warmth.

“She cut my hair this morning. And then she said she was running late for you and would need to wave her magic wand. Love the result, though.”

We chatted happily and had a bit of a laugh. We were missing each other so much because we had been banned from talking on the phone last night (“The bride has to sleep!” Mum's austere command).

“Have I told you I like your cute little jacket? You look classy.”Then his eyes widened and he did a double take. Now Pete might forget recent events, but he remembered the past in minute detail.The moment he realised what I had done, he shook his head at me, eyes gleaming dangerously. “Do I see what I see?”

“You'll have to make sure a bit later,” I smiled.

“I can't believe you're pulling this on me,” he put his forehead on mine, laughing.

“It's Mum's fault. She couldn't think of what to get me. Well I remembered the favourite LBD. So I said, ‘Get the dressmaker to copy that one, Mum, just pretty it up a bit for a wedding.' So they made it full length in the whitest chiffon, with matching bridal jacket‘cause it's winter. Thought you'd appreciate the joke.”

“Love your sense of humour, but gosh… it's gonna be torture waiting. But I'll get my revenge!”

Lance the best man nudged him. “Can private jokes wait for later?The whole room is waiting. You two want to get married or not?”

Everybody was smiling, my instant bridesmaids grinning ear to ear.Our family and close friends were there. His cousins. Musician friends. Grandpa Stuart and Nanna Véronique. Grandad Geoff. Aunt Olivia and her husband. Cousin Kirsten and her cruise-ship engineer husband. Cousin Stephen the pilot and his Pommy fiancée. Kate, Craig, Brent and their families. Lots of the hospital staff who, after so many months, now felt like family.

Pete's loving eyes smiled into mine. But when I said my vows his gaze changed, overcome by deep emotions.
This is it
…Overwhelming feelings swamped us. As soon as we had said the vows we flew into a tight, wordless embrace, oblivious to the world.

The following few hours flowed with tremendous peace, joy, and—nervousness. At any given moment I was acutely aware of my dashing husband.

“You can buy our Sydney home,” Dad told Pete as I linked arms with Grandad Geoff and Aunt Olivia.

“Son-in-law discount?” Pete bargained.

“Sure. I'll throw in the car and the Harley too. But I warn you I'll visit very often.”

“You're most welcome. Stay anytime.”

And oh, even though several world-class musicians were in attendance, it was Lance's gang—
my
pals—who brightened the day with the instruments from Gilang's sophisticated music room.

When Ashleigh crooned a heartfelt “It Had to Be You”, Pete and I turned to each other.

“I'm thinking of our last dance on board the Valentine-dinner cruise,” he laced our fingers together.

“I know.”

“So glad we've come through the last year unscathed.”

“Me too.” Then I looked pointedly at his arm.

“
Well
, sort of,” he conceded.

I laughed. “Pete, after surviving 2000, I'm up for whatever comes next.”

“On to the next challenge? Super. It's called putting up with me.”He smiled. Endless challenges and exquisite promises were swimming in his eyes. I didn't know how long I was lost in them.

Beaming guests, and teary-eyed Mum, shooed us into the wedding car which took us to a romantic honeymoon resort outside Boston.

Now, you respect our privacy, don't you? Pete and I sure didn't invite anyone to our amorous moments.

And no, I'm not about to tell you how to do it if you don't know.

Suffice to say, the beauty of this level of intimacy was a revelation.Nobody—nobody!—could be more wonderful than Pete.

“Pete, will you ever forget tonight?” I asked my memory-problem husband as we drifted to sleep in each other's arms for the very first time. He had been humming a beautiful melody softly, but faltered sleepily.

“Mmm, better remind me again and again my love…”

It snowed the whole week. Who cared? We lived in each other's hearts, where storm or sunshine was always welcomed. We were not bystanders, and we weren't miserably standing on the porch.

The glorious physical blended our hearts and souls indescribably closer. We lived in the clouds, where Pete, not angels, sang to me. The intoxicating bliss sure dispelled all the grief and suffering of the past year. And we found a home in each other.

One fine morning I stood sipping my tea by the window, gazing at the resort's white fairy landscape outside.

“Darling,” Pete came up behind me and pulled me to him. “You had a dream last night.”

“Did I?
You remember
?”

“Oh yes! This one I'm not gonna forget, ever, in my life. Made a note to remind me.”

The smile in his voice aroused suspicion in me. I tried to twist around but his arms held me in place and he buried his face on my neck. He
was
laughing. Or trying hard not to.

“What is it? Did I talk in my sleep?”

“Better than that!” He took away my teacup and produced his phone with a cheeky grin. Abruptly I felt my heart beat in suspense.

He chose the “recording” option and pressed “play”. And there was my voice…
I was singing in my sleep!

“Ohmygod!” I shrieked, “Gimme that!”

“No way! You can't delete it. It's the first time I've heard you sing!”

“Pete, I'm going to die!” I fought to wrestle it from him.

“Careful my arm!” he turned and twisted.

“Then stop being cruel!”

“Cruel? But I love your voice. I'll treasure this always. Besides, nobody sings properly in sleep anyway.” He held me again. Too mortified to look at him, I buried my face in his shoulder. “Sydney, darling, you should keep singing. I always think people who sing while they work are people who appreciate life.”

“You call that—
that
—singing? I'm tone-deaf!” I broke free and ran away to hide in embarrassment.

A moment later he opened the wardrobe… where I was hugging my knees on the floor.

“Nobody's tone-deaf, baby,” he crouched in front of me. “I love your singing. But if
you
wanna sing better, I can teach you, you know.” He lifted my chin, “Sing with me, darling.”

Slowly I looked at him.

“Promise not to laugh?”

His beautiful eyes gleamed with a naughty glint, “That depends…”

“So how's married life, sparkling new bride?” teased a smiling Sister Orton, who was normally very strict and businesslike, when I visited the nurse's station.

After Pete's birthday we returned to Boston and lived in my nearby studio to complete his physiotherapy and tests. This morning they were doing some tests that I didn't need to attend. Time to catch up with my hospital friends.

“Managed to get some sleep yet?” Nurse Eigenheusen nudged me.

“And how are you today?” I asked back with a straight face.

“Sydney…” Sister Fleming hugged me. “You're blushing!”

“I've been so in love with Pete for months, yet he never came home to my place!” complained Rowe. “But then, I haven't guarded him tenaciously like a mother tiger.” And she lifted her pretty brow teasingly, “How's Pete at home?”

“He's fine, thank you,” I skirted around their insinuation. “As long as he remembers to walk properly, he can walk without a limp.Premeditative walk, we call it. He does limp when he runs spontaneously, like when we play ball games in the park. Only his arm—the pain shooting through his arm has been persistent. He can only play his violin ten to fifteen minutes at the most. If he persists, the pain becomes so severe that he loses control over his hand movements. So yeah, since he's right-handed he can't play his violin well.”

My phone rang as we chatted.

“Darling, how much, how much do you love me?” Pete asked in an agitated voice which was so unlike him. At once my whole attention reverted to him.

“Darling,” I asked very slowly, very calmly, though my heart thudded with terror. “What's happened?”