The Christmas Wedding

Chapter 48

MERRY CHRISTMAS. I just hoped I would live through this day.

A wedding happened to be coming up in several hours, with two hundred or so people attending. I had a farmhouse so full of guests that two of the cousins slept on blow-up mattresses on the kitchen floor.

Well, I must have thought we didn’t have enough to do. So, since it was Christmas, it seemed only fair that we have our traditional breakfast for the homeless that morning. I just couldn’t say no.

“Mom, a slight planning problem,” Seth announced. “The tables in the barn are all set for the wedding dinner. Where will the folks sit? What will they eat with?”

“Seth, a planning solution,” I answered. “Let them sit at the beautifully set tables. It’s Christmas.”

“If Stacey Lee finds out, she’ll kill us,” he said.

“No, she won’t. Because as soon as breakfast is over we’re going to wash the china and silver, launder the linen napkins, and get everything back on the tables before the first pig in a blanket is swallowed. Even if I have to do it myself.”

Seth nodded as if I had just made perfect sense. He gave me a peck on the cheek and started helping the morning diners find their seats. “As you wish, madame. No one cares for the masses quite like you. Actually, that’s true.”

Instead of just the regular helpers, my family was pitching in, and certainly not for the first time.

This breakfast was intentionally fancier than most we served. Not the usual oatmeal, fruit, and toast. No, this Christmas morn there were buttermilk pancakes with real maple syrup. Also, scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese and scallions. And every table had a big bowl of sliced strawberries.

I turned and headed toward the big griddle, where Jacob, dapper and handsome, even at this early hour, was flipping pancakes like a short-order cook.

“You’re here bright and early,” I said. “Slow day at the temple?” He pretended not to realize I was joking. His expression was wide-eyed, and his jaw dropped a bit.

“Gaby, Christmas is not a big day on the Jewish calendar,” he said.

As we laughed, Emily walked over, picked up a platter of pancakes, and took off, quick and efficient as ever. “This is crazy, Mom,” she mumbled, “but kind of fun.” Tom was already at the table with a second platter.

“Thanks for bringing Amy last night,” I said to Jacob.

“No problem,” he said. “I hope it helped make everyone even more confused. Deepened the mystery. Heated up the plot.”

“Oh, I think it did, Jacob. Just the way we planned.”

By now, some of the breakfast folks were finishing up. A few regulars stopped by to thank me and wish me a merry Christmas. Almost all of them knew about the wedding that afternoon. In fact, most of Stockbridge knew.

Old Adele Gould came up to me. Miz Gould, as she always demanded to be called, claimed to be eighty, but she was at least ninety. She gave me a feeble hug and said, “God bless you, Gaby. I got married four times, and I loved it.”

“You give me great hope and encouragement,” I said.

“Miz Gould,” I heard a familiar voice say. “I’m in charge of collecting the dirty napkins.” It was Marty with a big laundry basket. I hadn’t even seen him arrive.

“Fine, go get mine. Right over there.” Adele pointed to her near-empty table. She winked at me and departed.

“I guess she knows who the hired help is,” Marty said. We shook our heads and smiled.

“Merry Christmas, Marty,” I said.

He bent forward over the laundry basket and kissed me lightly on the lips.

“Merry Christmas, Gaby.”

I pulled back a little, surprised. “Marty,” I said. “Why do we have tears in our eyes?”

“You’re the expert on human nature. I’m just here to wash the napkins. See you later,” he said, and walked out the barn door.

Folks were finishing up breakfast. Emily and Bart were washing dishes. Claire was running around with a cloth and a spray dispenser of detergent, rubbing stains out of the tablecloths. Tom had a couple of wastebaskets.

I watched as he gently asked an older lady to please leave the centerpiece on the table. Then he removed a single white rose and handed it to her.

As I walked toward the griddle to clean it, I was cut off by Benny.

I didn’t actually recall Benny ever having a last name. He was always “Benny at the gas station,” the guy who pumped gas, swept the sidewalk, washed windshields. One thing I did know about Benny was this: He didn’t have a single tooth in his head. And he’d happily verify that for you by opening his mouth wide and laughing.

“Gaby,” he said. “No one knows who you’re marrying, do they?”

“That’s not true. I know.”

“You’re a smart-mouth,” he said. Then he looked into my eyes, pretending that he was about to cry.

“Damn it, Gaby. All these years I thought that I was the one you loved.”

Chapter 49

AFTER BREAKFAST WAS out of the way, I retreated to the house. Several hours later, I was desperately trying to make my way through the million and one things I still had to do. A knock came on my bedroom door.

“You want some help getting dressed, Mom?” It was Claire.

“No, thanks. I’m really good at dressing myself. Been doing it for years.”

“Okay, wise girl. Yell if you need me. Ninety minutes till takeoff.”

Ninety minutes, ninety minutes till the wedding, ninety minutes till the vows, ninety minutes till I did what I had done once upon a time with Peter. Honestly, I couldn’t wait, and I had never been more certain that I was absolutely making the right choice for a partner, difficult as that choice had been.

I looked over at the bed, where Stacey Lee had laid out my wedding dress for me. It was only a month before that she and I had driven into Boston to buy it. We had planned on spending the day there, and possibly spending the night with Andie and Seth if we needed another day for more dress or accessories shopping.

Our first stop was the designer floor at Saks in the Prudential Center. The saleswoman showed us a dress designed by Carolina Herrera and made of a purple chiffon so pale that you had to study the cloth to see the purple tint. I remembered hearing a British actress playing a royal role say that when she put on the crown and the robe, she felt she was the queen. That morning at Saks I slipped into the chiffon dress and…well, I felt exactly like a bride. I clearly saw the wedding reception, the children, the decorated tables, and the man I was going to marry. I was a bride.

When I walked out of the dressing room, Stacey Lee looked as amazed, and delighted, as I felt.

“You look incredible,” she said. “Who would have thought that the first dress you tried on would be the perfect one?”

Now that perfect dress lay on my bed, waiting for me to put it on and become a bride.

I slipped it over my head, very, very carefully. It slid down and around my shoulders as if it were made of air. The fashion magic worked. There I was. The bride on her wedding day. I loved the feeling, everything about it.

Oh, yeah. I needed some makeup, especially around my eyes. And I needed some styling gel in my hair, especially on the cowlick that had dogged me all my life. And I needed to change from my New Balance sneaks into something a touch more formal.

I kicked off the sneakers.

I looked in the mirror, and then I turned around. Yes, ma’am. This dress is perfect. You just might pull this wedding off.

I practiced taking small steps—not too fast, but not ridiculously slow either. God, I was excited.

I walked barefoot from my reading chair, past the StairMaster, and ended up at the far bedroom window, which overlooked the little stone footbridge that led into the woods, a bridge Peter and I had built years before. Probably on account of my nervousness and happiness, the winter light seemed springtime bright. I wished I could decorate the bare branches of all the trees.

Then I glanced farther down, below the branches. Oh, dear.

There were Tallulah and Gus, crossing the bridge.

An eight-year-old and a fourteen-year-old sneaking into the woods. This was not good. Tallulah looked around nervously behind her. Gus motioned her forward. Then they disappeared.

I took a deep breath. Then I ran down the back stairs and out the side door. This could ruin everything.

Chapter 50

THIS WILL SOUND stupid because it was stupid: I was in such a hurry to follow Gus and Tallulah that I didn’t think about being shoeless until I crossed the stone footbridge. Once I was on the other side I stepped into a pile of icy twigs. I let go with the traditional woodland cheer of “Oh, shit,” but I wasn’t about to turn back. I was sure, however, that in my chiffon wedding dress, a bedroom quilt wrapped around me, and barefoot, I looked like something out of The Blair Witch Project.

I had been in these woods a thousand times. So I knew the layout like a local mapmaker. But it was anyone’s guess where those two kids had gone.

I jogged through the orchard of crab apple trees and across the brook overflow. That area was a mess of mud and wet sand in summer. Today it could have been an ice-skating rink.

I turned onto a dirt path where we often took the dogs for a run, and then…something in the air. The unmistakable, never-forgotten scent of marijuana.

Following my nose, hobbling on half-frozen feet, I soon saw Tallulah and Gus sitting on a log.

I watched Tallulah take a hit and then cough like crazy. Her mentor, master-class professor Gus, seemed to be giving her directions on how long to hold the smoke in her mouth, how to properly inhale it, and, finally, how to exhale.

“What in hell are you two doing?” I said. “Are you both nuts?”

I was willing to bet that the last time anyone had looked this frightened on Christmas was when Ebenezer Scrooge saw Marley’s ghost.

“Gaby!” Tallulah shouted. “What are you doing here?”

“I always like to walk through the frozen woods just before I get married.”

“Oh, man,” Gus said. “We’re fucked.”

I walked over to him and pushed him so hard that he fell backward off the log.

“Do you mind? Your cousin is eight years old. Do you mind not using lousy language on Christmas? Do you mind not teaching her how to get stoned? Do you mind not acting like a little punk for once in your life?”

Their joint had fallen to the ground. I saw Gus glance at it.

“Don’t you dare touch that thing,” I said. “You know, Gus, I covered for you once. I thought you owed me for that. But I guess not. I guess you want to show up at my wedding stoned out of your mind. You don’t care if you spoil everything. All you think about is yourself.”

“Gaby, that’s not it. I just wanted to be mellow for the service.”

“And you wanted your eight-year-old cousin to be mellow also?”

He didn’t reply. He looked away, and Tallulah looked down at the ground. After a few seconds Gus spoke again.

“Can I tell you something without you getting angry?”

“Of course you can,” I said.

“I just…well, let me put it simply: I just love weed.”

“You ‘love’ it?” I asked. There was no anger in me. Probably because Gus was trying to be honest.

“Yeah, when I’m not stoned I think about being stoned. When I’m straight, like in class, I think about when I’m going to be out of class, and then…” His voice trailed off.

I waited about half a minute before saying anything. Then I told him, “You know the thing about a love affair? You can end it. It’s not always easy. And you don’t always want to do it. But you can do it. And that’s what you have to do.”

He nodded. He knew me well enough to know that I was a talker, but I wasn’t a lecture giver. There was really nothing left for me to say, except “Gus, you’re strong. I know you are. You’re strong. Stay strong.”

Tallulah was still looking at the ground. She seemed like she might burst into tears, which was okay with me. Her cheeks were already wet.

“And you, young lady. Stick to Skittles and the Jonas Brothers or whoever. And don’t hang out with bums like your cousin here.” I reached over and hugged her.

“Gaby, watch your dress. It’s so beautiful. Don’t get it dirty,” Tallulah said.

“Come on, you two little criminals. Let’s get back to the house. Before long it’ll be turning dark. That’s all we need to do, get lost in the woods.”

Tallulah and Gus stood up, and Gus glanced down at the lonely dead joint.

“Don’t you even think about it,” I said.

We walked back in complete silence. Tallulah and Gus kept their heads tilted downward. My feet were burning from the cold. The soles were scratched. The toes were numb.

As we got closer to the footbridge, Gus looked down at my feet and almost shouted: “Gaby, how come you’re not wearing any shoes?”

“I’m not?” I said. “I hadn’t even noticed.”

Chapter 51

MY POOR FEET were frozen and on fire. If I needed any reminder, there were blotches of blood on the carpet.

I took off my gorgeous dress and examined it for damage and dirt. God was looking down on the bride: The dress was still perfect. But my ripped feet were ready to ruin everything. So I did what I was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to do for possible frostbite and bloody cuts—I filled the tub with hot water, sat myself on the edge, closed my eyes,  and plopped my feet into the water. It was certainly dramatic.

So dramatic that I let out a yell that brought both Emily and Claire running to the door.

A great deal of banging ensued.

“Mom, are you okay in there?” asked Emily.

“What’s wrong? Why did you scream?” asked Claire.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Go get dressed.”

“What happened? Unlock the door,” Claire said.

I noticed little rivulets of blood, a definite pink cast to the bathwater, but I didn’t want their help. The fact was, I had one hour until the wedding, and I could barely stand. I should have let those two thoughtless kids get stoned out of their minds. But I couldn’t, I just couldn’t.

“If you two don’t go away immediately,” I shouted, “I will not let you come to my wedding.”

“But are you…?” asked Emily.

“Immediately.”

“You’re impossible,” said Claire.

“Okay, Claire. Now you can’t come to the wedding.”

“You’re impossible,” I heard her say again, but my x-ray vision could see her smile through the door. Emily’s too.

I took my feet out of the water and patted them dry with a towel.

Blood was still oozing from the ball of my right foot, and the rest of the skin was significantly scratched. By “significantly” I mean red and raw and bloody and hurting. I covered my feet with medicated powder (I wanted to scream again, but fought the urge). Then I stuck Band-Aids on a few particularly ragged wounds.

Uh-oh. Walking barefoot to my closet was painful.

I took down the box that contained my new Christian Louboutin shoes. I opened the carton, pushed my feet into the shoes, saw stars, and began to cry. If I knew nothing else about what would happen at the wedding, I knew this: I would not be standing in Christian Louboutin heels when I said “I do.”

“Mom, are you ready yet?” Seth shouted at the bedroom door.

“Almost,” I said. “Leave me alone. I’m collecting my thoughts. Deciding whom to marry.” That line almost made me smile.

“Well, come on downstairs as soon as you can. Remember, we’re going to have the family toast. Bart’s ready to pop the champagne. The kids are in the barn driving Stacey Lee crazy. Come on down.”

“Give me two minutes. Make it three.”

“Mom, c’mon!”

I grabbed a pair of white ankle socks from a drawer. I was thinking that my ankle-length dress was practically floor-length. If I walked slowly enough, and I hadn’t much choice because of the pain, chances were that no one would see my feet.

So I slipped into a pair of white Nikes with purple swooshes on the side.

Purple swooshes. Now, would you look at that? The sneakers actually matched my dress.

Chapter 52

I LOOKED GREAT.

There. I said it. I know it’s inappropriate and a little egocentric, but I did have a mirror in my bedroom, and I…looked…pretty terrific. The dress, of course, was one of a kind, just right, and my butt still appeared to be on vacation. For once my hair and the brush and the blow-dryer formed a nice relationship, so my curls had the right amount of wave and shine to them. The only piece of jewelry I wore was a small diamond solitaire on a gold chain. I’d had it made from the engagement ring Peter had given me many years before.

If the oohs and aahs from my family were any indication, I wasn’t completely delusional. I think I’ll say it one more time: I looked great.

“You look exactly the way they describe brides,” Lizzie said. “Radiant and beautiful and…”

Emily jumped in. “…And young and in love.”

Honestly, that was exactly how I felt, and I can’t recommend the experience highly enough.

Bart opened the champagne. If ever there was a sound effect for good times, it was the sound of a champagne cork flying off, then bonking against the ceiling.

“Hurry up,” said Claire. “Only a half hour to takeoff.”

“Why do you keep using that expression, ‘takeoff’? It sounds like I’m about to fly to another planet.”

“You are,” Mike said. “By the way, who’s your copilot?”

“Did you really think that trick was going to work?” I asked.

By now all the champagne flutes were filled. Emily lifted hers and looked at me.

“I’m in charge of the family toast,” she said. “So, here goes. To Mom. Who spent so much time and effort loving and caring for us. May you now take some of that love and effort and use it for yourself. Good luck. God bless. We love you more than you’ll ever know.”

A lot of cheering from the home crowd. Smiles all around the room.

“Damn it,” I said. “I knew this would happen. I’m going to have to do my mascara all over again.”

Then Claire spoke.

“Can I say something?” she asked quietly. Her arm extended into the toasting position, but Claire shook her head as everyone looked her way.

“No, this isn’t a toast,” she said. “I have an announcement to make. I cleared it with Mom, and she said it was all right to share it with everybody today.”

My other children traded confused looks. Claire continued.

“I wanted everyone to know that Hank and I are divorcing,” she said.

There were about five seconds of silence. Then an amazing thing happened. Everyone started to cheer and applaud.

“Now, that’s wonderful news,” said Emily.

“I couldn’t stand that surly sonofabitch from the first day he showed up,” said Lizzie.

Even Mike had something to say: “You all know me. I like everybody. But I didn’t like Hank.”

“Enough,” I said. “Only good thoughts.”

Mike shrugged. “I think dumping Hank was a really good thought.”

“You people,” I said. “Well, listen. I can’t stand around drinking champagne all day. I’ve got to go fix my eye makeup and then go get married.” I paused for just a moment and then spoke directly to Claire. “You made the right decision.” My girl smiled at me.

I was walking toward the staircase when I heard Andie’s voice. I turned around. She was wearing a gorgeous simple silk dress. A blue hue so pale that you almost had to study it to notice that it even was a color. I could hear my late mother’s voice in my head: “There are only three things that you have to be to wear a dress like that—young, beautiful, and a size two.”

“Gaby,” Andie said. “Seth and I want to talk to you.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked, feeling a sudden rumble in my stomach that had nothing to do with wedding jitters.

Seth looked at me all too seriously. “Let’s go up to your room and talk.”

Chapter 53

ANDIE AND SETH were huddled together on the sofa near my makeup table. I sat in my reading chair. This was their meeting. But why were we having it now?

“Mom, you know how all my life I’ve been waiting for something wonderful to happen to me?” Seth said.

“Oh, honey,” I said. “If you want to talk about not making the Stockbridge middle-school lacrosse team, let’s do it after the wedding.”

“Mom. Be serious.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I don’t want to hear any bad news right now. Go ahead.”

“Well, you know how I said we stopped in Worcester on our way up, and how we had dinner—the whole Taco Bell thing? Well, we did stop in Worcester. But we didn’t go to Taco Bell.”

My matrimonial clock was ticking. “Get to the point, please,” I said to Seth.

“Let me tell it,” Andie said. “We had made arrangements beforehand to stop at the city clerk’s. She promised to wait for us. And she did. We got a Massachusetts marriage license. And, well…”

“We were wondering if we could…” Seth broke off and started chewing on his lower lip.

Andie jumped in again. “We were wondering if we could get married today too. Reverend Browning knows about it. We told him we had to ask you. Gaby, we don’t want to mess things up.”

Why was I even trying to wear mascara today? The tears started all over again.

“Oh, you two. Did I hear the phrase ‘bad news’ come from somebody’s mouth during all that explanation? This is the polar opposite of bad news.”

We all stood and hugged. And I’ll tell you, hugging is a good thing to do on your wedding day. And on Christmas too.

“Who knows about this? Your sisters?” I asked. “Am I the last…”

“No. No one. Just you, us, and the minister,” Seth said.

“Good. Then let’s make it a surprise. Let me do something with my eyes, and then…well…then we’ll all get married.”

Chapter 54

SOMETIMES YOU TALK to a bride a few years or even a few weeks after her wedding, and she says, “I remember nothing. It’s all a blur. There was a church, a big reception, and the next thing I knew we were on a beach in Barbados.”

Well, it sure wasn’t that way for me.

I remember everything, every candle, every flower, every wineglass, every song, every toast, every person who came to the farm. It was as if my brain and my eyes had come together to form the perfect human video camera.

I walked slowly and alone down the aisle. Friends and family waved. Some shouted out. Photographs later revealed that I looked ecstatic, bordering on goofy—a big grin stretched across my face, my eyes as big as apples.

About fifty of my students—past and present—were stationed toward the rear. It was funny what I thought about as I watched them: Janie Creed, whose mother objected so strenuously when I assigned Portnoy’s Complaint twenty-five years earlier to my senior class. Keshan Saunders, a senior, who never read one of the assignments yet in creative writing submitted an incredibly beautiful sonnet about the death of his grandfather.

Betsey Greenwood, the school principal who’d hired me right out of college, the woman who had said, “You’re a fresh one, but you’ll calm down. They always do.” Now she stood for the second time at one of my weddings, with the aid of a cane.

As I continued my walk I saw folks I’d seen only hours before at the breakfast. Benny blew me a kiss. Adele Gould nodded knowingly. Right next to Adele, the Kuehn twins—Hazel and Suzanne—in their early forties now and still dressing alike. Steve Miller, the pharmacist. Billy, my buddy from the hardware store. And I didn’t know who could be waiting tables at the Red Lion Inn—because it looked like every waitress and busboy had taken time off to be here.

Seth was in charge of the music. My only request was that it not be predictable. No Bach cantatas, no “Ave Maria.” Then I worried that it might be nothing but Dr. Dre and Eminem. It was neither. Seth had hired a mandolin player and a harpsichordist to play hit songs from the seventies, my high school and college years.

So my slow and easy entrance was accompanied by an exquisitely delicate version of “Seasons in the Sun” and a soft, relaxed rendition of Aretha’s “Until You Come Back to Me.”

I had almost made it to the makeshift altar. Reverend Browning was standing a few yards ahead, beaming. On one side of him was my family; on the other side were my boys: Tom, Jacob, Marty. If I was going to cry, it was going to be now. But they all looked so pleased, so calm, that I remained absolutely buoyant.

That is, until I caught sight of Gus. That boy was impeccably groomed, impeccably dressed too. Where had he gotten that beautiful suit?

Then I remembered. The soft gray cashmere suit had belonged to Peter. It was his favorite. Now Gus was wearing it. And I couldn’t help it when my eyes filled with tears. Gus looked as handsome as his grandfather, and he was every bit as tall.

By now I was at the front of the assembly of family and friends. I took a deep, quick breath. Then I turned around and spoke.

“Well, so far, so good.”

Chapter 55

“I KNOW YOU ALL came here for a wedding, but never let it be said the Summerhills don’t try to give everybody their money’s worth. Rather than just one wedding, we’re having two weddings this Christmas Day.”

A little gasp went up from the crowd.

Seth, wearing a white linen suit and yellow tie, walked from the family group to my side.

Some people looked confused. A few figured it out. Claire whistled, and then Lizzie started everybody clapping.

“Turn and face back toward the house and you will see the most beautiful bride:  my soon-to-be daughter-in-law, Andie.”

Andie—her long brown hair flowing over her shoulders—began her own walk down the aisle.

The audience continued to applaud at the surprise.

Andie looked as gorgeous as I had promised. She was wearing what was essentially a sundress—a bright yellow cotton dress with even brighter red poppies, a halter top, tan sandals. She smiled delicately, radiantly.

And in the time it took her to make it to the front of the barn, a cold Christmas Day had turned warm and sweet and full of hope.

When I looked at my daughter-in-law-to-be, I thought: Andie has a family now, a family who’ll love her always. She’ll never be alone again. Andie smiled at me. Maybe she was thinking the same thing.

I took Seth’s hands as he passed me on the way to meet Andie. I kissed my son and then I stepped out of the way.

You could barely hear their voices as they exchanged vows. But they held hands, and nuzzled each other once, and it was just so simple and right. Seth and Andie had known this was the time and the place. When they kissed, everyone started to cheer again. They finally broke apart, and Seth said “We did it” and his voice was cracking, the way it did when he was twelve or thirteen. People say they grow up so fast, in the blink of an eye, and it’s so true, isn’t it?

The band played a traditional version of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” as Seth and Andie moved back to join the family group. They were still holding hands.

Now it was my turn, my Christmas wedding—with the perfect man for me.

Chapter 56

HOW MANY TIMES had I been inside this old barn? No exaggeration, a few thousand. All those breakfasts with gallons of oatmeal, all those eggs and all that toast and juice. How many times did Peter and I climb the rickety ladders to the lofts to retrieve Christmas gifts hidden from our children? How many times had I gone to one of the lofts and found one of my breakfast friends camping out there?

I was always at peace on this farm, and it made me happy that I was at peace here on this Christmas, my wedding day. A thousand white lights sparkled. Smiles and tears and laughter and music and flowers were everywhere I looked.

I didn’t want any more drama. Now I just wanted to get married. So I walked directly to Stacey Lee and took both her hands in mine.

I turned and faced the guests. “No, I’m not marrying Stacey Lee. She’s just giving me away!” Laughter followed. Some wise guy in the band played two quick beats on the drum.

Stacey Lee and I walked over and stopped before Jacob, Tom, and Marty. In those few seconds my mind took a photograph I knew I would hold on to forever.

My beloved brother-in-law, Marty, handsome, sturdy, my friend since before I met his brother. Jacob, with his carelessly chic stubble and wrinkled black suit, the gentlest, kindest man I knew. And Tom, whom I never tired of talking to, not in all the time we’d known each other, going back to high school in Stockbridge and before. Good guys, every one of them, all good sports.

I gave Tom a kiss on the cheek, whispered “Love you,” and then I moved on down the line.

Only Jacob and Marty were left now. At that point, they were both looking a little nervous. Me too, I was quite sure. My hands were quivering, my knees beginning to knock.

I kissed Jacob, whispered “Love you,” and then I took Marty’s hand in mine. “I love you,” I whispered. “I love you so much, Marty. Of course I’ll marry you. Who wouldn’t?”

A chorus of awwws erupted. Then applause. Smiles, laughter, even more applause. Tom and Jacob were clapping too. As I said, great guys, true friends.

But it was Marty I would marry. Who in that barn didn’t know and love him? Marty, who plowed snow for everybody who needed his help. Marty, who filled out Medicare forms for widows and widowers. Marty, who didn’t know that I knew he was the five-thousand-dollar anonymous donor to the Friends Breakfast fund-raiser every year. Bird-watcher, whale watcher, people watcher—even pretty-girl watcher. The same guy who once punched a drug dealer in Housatonic so hard the thug had to have his jaw wired.

“Take good care of our girl,” Stacey Lee said. Then she stepped forward and became my matron of honor.

And Reverend Browning grinned and said, “Well, how about we get these two kids married?”

Chapter 57

THIS WAS MY VOW to Marty that Christmas afternoon:

“Marty, my mother used to say, ‘Never get greedy with God.’ I think what she meant was ‘Don’t dare ask for more if you already have what you need.’

“I’ve thought about this a lot. Life has been generous to me. I’ve been given a wonderful family, as you can see here today. I had Peter for many wonderful years. I have my health. And this farm. And now I have you. Yay.

“Marty, when you and I talked about getting married, I wondered, ‘Am I getting greedy with God?’ And I thought about it, and then I decided, if you’re given a blessing and you refuse it, that’s just as wrong as asking for something you don’t deserve. It’s also a little dumb, in my humble opinion.

“I love you so much, Marty. I’m so incredibly happy today.”

And then Marty said:

“Gaby, I have lived more than half my life. I don’t want to waste another minute. I want to be with you. Let’s get married.”

“Let’s get married, Marty.”

Chapter 58

THEN SUDDENLY, it seemed, we heard the bandleader’s voice over a microphone: “Ladies and gentlemen, for the first time as man and wife, here are Gaby and Martin Summerhill.” A one-two-three beat exploded, and a song we both loved, “The Way You Look Tonight,” filled the room. And we danced.

I loved hearing the applause, and the laughter too. When Marty twirled me, there was an eruption of ohhhs. When he dipped me back, there was another exclamation of wonder. People pointed at my sneakers, always good for a laugh. A little more than halfway through our song, Marty leaned in close. “Seth and Andie,” he said.

What a sweet, thoughtful man I had married. We slowed down our dancing, like a couple on top of an unwinding music box. Marty held up his hands to stop the applause.

“Ladies and gentlemen, for the first time as man and wife, Andie and Seth Summerhill.”

Then the most beautiful newlyweds in the room walked onto the dance floor. They bumped each other like athletes after a victory. Then they stood next to each other and moved their hips and legs and butts in perfect unison as fast electronic music and wacko sound effects filled the barn.

“What song are they dancing to?” Marty asked with a huge grin.

“‘Beeper,’” I said. “By the Count and Sinden.”

“You know this song?” Marty was completely amazed.

As I nodded, I failed to add that I knew it only because Andie and Seth had told me about it earlier when we kind of planned to share the dance floor—even before Marty thought of it. As my mother used to say, “Don’t tell your husband everything, only the important things.”

Chapter 59

THE MOST FAMILIAR wedding rituals can transform themselves into meaningful traditions when it’s your wedding. The tossing of the bouquet, dancing with relatives you haven’t seen in years, the achingly embarrassing toasts…I wanted it all, and I loved every minute of this Christmas wedding.

It was time for the bride and groom to dance with everyone else—in a sort of descending royal order.

So, after Andie and Seth finished amazing the crowd, after the bandleader announced that they could next be seen on Dancing with the Stars, after the music changed into a Cole Porter–Billy Joel recital, the dancing continued. I danced with Seth. Marty fox-trotted Andie around the floor.

Then Marty and Claire danced. Then Marty and Lizzie.

By the time I was swaying to “Time After Time” in the arms of Jacob, Marty was holding little Gabrielle on one strong arm and Tallulah on the other. Quite the memorable image.

I danced with Toby, who hugged my legs. I danced with Tom, then with Jacob, and they both told me I was forgiven, and even that I’d made the best choice.

A few minutes later, when Marty and I were walking back to our table, someone tapped him on the shoulder and said, “May I have this dance with your wife?”

We turned around. It was Gus.

“Okay, but I’ll be watching you, mister,” Marty said. “Don’t think you’re going to try any smooth country-boy moves on my girl.”

Gus and I found a place on the floor up near the band. I was astonished: The boy really knew how to dance—right hand on my back, left hand slightly extended and holding mine. My left hand rested on Gus’s shoulder, on the plush cashmere of Peter’s old suit. I brushed it gently. I moved my face an inch or so closer to the material. Then I whispered, “Thank you.”

Gus looked confused. “Do you want to stop dancing?” he asked.

“Stop?” I said. “Gus, I’ve just begun.”

Chapter 60

I WAS SO DISTRACTED and happy that I didn’t even notice the stabbing pains in my feet. But I did feel relieved when Marty and I sat down. Most of us at our table—Marty, myself, Andie, Seth, Jacob, Tom, Stacey Lee—hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I practically vacuumed down the salmon and caviar appetizer. Totally delicious.

“Have you seen the final menu?” Stacey Lee asked, leaning over my shoulder.

After our food-testing session, where our crack team of gourmets hadn’t been able to eliminate a single one of the choices, I had given Stacey Lee total freedom in planning the wedding dinner. Why not? She knew a lot more about party planning than I did, and I had enough other things to worry about. I guessed that with the first course through, I might as well look at the menu.

I picked up the heavy vellum card next to my water glass and read:

Hors d’Oeuvres Variés

Smoked Scottish Salmon with Beluga Flan

Wild Mushroom Bisque

Salad of Lamb’s Lettuce and Heirloom Tomatoes

Choice of

Crazy Tuna Hash

or

Crazy Chicken Hash

Assorted Petits Fours

Wedding Cake

As you might imagine, the main-course choices came leaping out at me. “Are you crazy?” I said to Stacey Lee. I showed the menu to Marty, who started laughing.

As if on cue, a waiter placed in front of us the most beautifully composed plates I’d ever seen—an elegant pyramid of pieces of fresh tuna resting on a bed of fingerling potatoes, all of it topped by a cream sauce with shallots and toasted almonds.

“Enjoy,” Stacey Lee said as she returned to her seat.

Chapter 61

“I DON’T WANT one of those cliché wedding photos where the bride puts way too much cake in the groom’s mouth,” Marty said. It was time to cut the wedding cake, a huge chocolate creation shaped like a barn.

“Maybe a slice that’s just a bit too large,” I said. “That’d be okay, right?”

“Gaby,” he said, a note of warning in his voice.

We were leaving the family table when Claire shouted out, “Not too big a piece, Mom. You don’t want him to choke.”

“Just what I said,” Marty called back.

Then my eyes went to Lizzie and Mike. Mike’s head was bowed, and Lizzie was massaging the back of his neck. Something wasn’t quite right.

By the time I walked the few feet over to them, Bart was standing next to Mike. He was taking his pulse. Suddenly I saw that Mike was beginning to shake.

Marty, Lizzie, Bart, and I gathered around Mike. The people in the barn quieted. Whispers. Questions. The music stopped.

Mike’s right arm shot up and out of Bart’s grip. Then his legs went stiff.

“Help me lay him down on the floor,” Bart said to Marty.

They did that, and I shoved a bunch of crumpled napkins under his head. Now both Mike’s legs were lifted a few inches above the floor. The big barn was almost completely silent now.

“Okay, buddy. It’s going to be okay,” Bart said. It was the first time I’d ever seen his bedside manner, and it was pretty impressive. “Just stay alert. Stay with me here. That’s great, Mike. You’re fine. Hold on to me.”

Mike’s eyes rolled up and back. His eyelids closed. His right leg shot up and down like an automated lever that had been broken.

Then calm came over Mike, and that was even scarier.

“Let him just stay here for a few minutes,” Bart said. “He’s doing fine. The storm’s passed.”

Lizzie rubbed Mike’s shoulder gently. Tallulah knelt at her father’s head. Then Mike finally opened his eyes, as if he’d just been sleeping there in the middle of the wedding reception.

“What the hell did you put in that champagne, Gaby?” he said, and he tried hard to laugh.

After another five minutes or so, Marty and Bart got Mike up and into a chair.

“How you feeling, Big Mike?” Marty asked.

“I’ll make it through the dessert course,” he said.

“I think we should get you to the hospital. Are you strong enough to walk?” Bart asked.

“I can walk. But no fast dancing. A waltz would probably be okay.”

Marty and Bart hoisted Mike to his feet. Then they walked him slowly toward the barn doors.

“I’ll go with you,” Lizzie said.

“No need to,” said Marty.

“Yeah, no need to, sweetie,” said Mike. “I know how much you love wedding cake. Have a piece for me.”

They continued to walk to the door. When they got there, Bart turned to the crowd and called out, “Enjoy the party. Mike’s going to be fine.”

Chapter 62

SUDDENLY I FELT uncomfortable in my wedding dress. The thousands of white lights looked overdone. The band played, but no one was dancing. I was sitting at the family table, holding Lizzie’s hand. So was Tallulah.

“What are you thinking?” I asked her. “Talk to me, Lizzie.”

“I’m thinking that Mike’s going to be so embarrassed that he caused this big commotion,” she said.

“If I hear an apology, from you or Mike, I’m going to do something I never did when you were a child.”

“Hit me?” she asked.

“Very hard,” I added. Lizzie smiled and said, “I’ll be right back. Stay with Tallulah.”

As Lizzie walked toward the barn door, a waiter asked me if I wanted more coffee. “Only if you put a stiff shot in it,” I replied.

“Whatever you say. You’re the bride.”

In a moment, Lizzie returned.

“Uncle Marty’s car is still there,” she said. “I can’t find anybody.”

“Maybe they went to the hospital in Bart’s car. I’m sure that’s it.”

I drank my brandy-spiked coffee. It warmed me. I thought how glad I was that Marty was with Mike and Bart. And then—

A crash of cymbals. A loud staccato beat of drums. A trumpet blare. Then suddenly the band was playing “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.”

I spun around, and to my amazement I was looking at Marty, Bart, and Mike walking back into the barn. All three of them were smiling.

Mike gave a small wave to the crowd. Lizzie and I practically ran a race to his side.

“Didn’t you go to the hospital?” Lizzie asked.

“Apparently not,” Mike said as he kissed his wife and then leaned in to receive a hug from Tallulah, who had joined us.

“There’s nothing they could do for him at the hospital that we couldn’t do here,” Bart said.

“Like what?” I asked.

“Like have him relax a little, rest a little, and have a nice big glass of Coke.”

By this time several more members of the family had gathered around Mike. He was clearly touched by everyone’s concern. How did I know that? The tears in Mike’s eyes were a dead giveaway. Also—no jokes for the moment.

“I knew you couldn’t stay away from our weddings,” Seth said as he gave Mike a hug. Then Andie put her arms around her new brother-in-law, and as I watched the warmth in her eyes and the tenderness in her touch, I knew she was now officially a part of the family.

“I’m sorry for stealing the limelight, Gaby,” Mike said. “But—that’s what I do.”

The band was striking up “The Bride Cuts the Cake.” I had forgotten all about the crazy ritual.

“I think we’re wanted back at the cake stand,” Marty said to me, “unfortunately. Nice try, Mike.”

Mike put his hand on Marty’s shoulder. “Thank you for everything. I don’t know what I would have done without you and Bart.”

Marty and I took each other’s hands and walked to the center of the barn. I purposely cut a huge hunk of cake and slid the silver cake server under it.

“Don’t you dare do that, Gaby.”

So I cut a much smaller piece. I held his chin with one hand and put a perfectly sized portion of cake in his mouth. Marty returned the favor, and as I was savoring Stacey Lee’s magnificent concoction of chocolate cake, mousse, and chocolate ganache, the crowd applauded. The band played on.

And I watched Gus and Tallulah slip out the side door of the barn. Oh, I just couldn’t believe it.

Chapter 63

I MOVED VERY quickly toward the side door. This time I was lucky enough to be wearing sneakers. I made it to the footbridge in really good time. Plenty of moonlight. But there was no sign of Tallulah and Gus.

I finally turned back toward the house, and I heard voices. But the voices weren’t coming from outside, and they weren’t coming from the woods. In fact, they seemed to be coming from inside the main house. Maybe somebody had wanted to get away from the noise of the party. Maybe somebody wanted to rest on a sofa. But maybe it was Gus and Tallulah.

I stepped onto the back porch. No voices now. I ventured into the empty kitchen. Still no voices. The mystery deepened. In the hallway I could hear stage whispers from upstairs. Gus and Tallulah. Damn them.

The stairs creaked with age. My brilliant solution? I took them two at a time.

When I got to the landing I heard the voices clearly: They were coming from the little room next to the master bedroom, the room I used as an office.

Instead of rushing in like a crazy person, yelling “Aha!,” I slowly, softly, and carefully opened the door. Tallulah and Gus were at my desk. The printer on the nearby table was churning out pages. To my surprise, there was no smoke in the air, no sweet smell of pot.

Tallulah saw me first. “Oh, my God!” she shouted. “It’s Gaby!”

Gus spun around and positioned himself in front of the printer, the printer that was turning out a small mountain of papers.

“Hey, shouldn’t you be with your guests?” he asked. “With Marty?”

I threw him a suspicious glance, ignored the questions, and said, “What exactly are you two doing?”

“Bet you thought we were in here smoking dope,” Gus said. “Am I right?”

“Don’t you want to be surprised?” Tallulah asked.

“I’m sure that, whatever it is, I’ll be surprised,” I said, and Gus finally handed me a sheet of paper.

“It’s something we’re giving to every guest when they leave,” Tallulah said.

What they’d handed me was testimony to computer creativity and Photoshop. There I was with my arms extended. Holding on to one arm were Lizzie, Claire, Seth, Emily, Bart, Mike, and Andie. On the other arm was Marty. At the top of the page was the headline “JUST ONE MORE TO LOVE!”

It was incredible—touching and real (although why they used a photo of me in a turquoise T-shirt I’d never understand).

“This is sweet,” I said. “But why’d you wait until the last minute?”

“Duh, maybe because we didn’t know who to put on your left arm,” Tallulah said.

“Yeah,” said Gus, as he handed me two other sheets of paper. “We had to be prepared for anything. Maybe even Benny at the gas station. Ha ha.”

On these two sheets the picture of me and the children remained the same, but one had Tom as my marriage partner and the other Jacob.

Marty appeared at the door. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Look at this wonderful photograph,” I said, making sure to hand him the sheet that featured him.

“Incredible,” he said. Then he grabbed my hand and said, “We should get back to our wedding.”

“Thank you both,” I said, hugging Tallulah and Gus.

At the door, Marty turned and asked, “How’d you know I was going to be the groom?”

Tallulah shrugged, but with Gus there was always a comeback.

“Lucky guess.”

Chapter 64

FOR MARTY AND ME, and Andie and Seth, it was like no other wedding ever. Still, the celebration ended just like any other. The musicians slipped their instruments into their cases. The caterers collected stray glasses and napkins. Guys in jumpsuits folded up the wooden tables. The old barn was becoming the old barn again. Except for all those twinkling white lights.

Tom left early but not before he came and gave both Marty and me high-fives and congratulations. “I was second, right?” he said.

“Tied for second.”

Lizzie and Mike waited for the crowd to disperse before they walked over to Marty and me. I was pleased to see color in Mike’s face, and while I couldn’t say that there was a spring in his step, he seemed to be walking okay and definitely to be feeling better. Leave it to Emily to know we needed a doctor in the family, her Bart.

“Thank you both for everything,” Marty said.

“I didn’t do much,” said Mike with a shrug. “All I really did was stay alive.”

Lizzie gave him a slap and said, “How long can I stand this gallows humor?”

“A long time, I hope,” said Mike.

“We’ll come by tomorrow to pick up Tallulah—late morning,” Mike said.

“Make that early afternoon,” said Marty.

“Oh, you crazy newlyweds!”

Seth and Andie stood talking to Claire and Jacob. Then they all walked over to say their good-nights.

“It was a nearly perfect wedding,” Jacob said with a grin. “You missed by some whiskers.” Damn, he was funny. I hoped this wouldn’t change anything between us. I didn’t think it would. Jacob was a big-picture guy, after all.

Finally Andie and Seth were the only ones left besides Marty and me—the four newlyweds.

Andie took my hands in hers. “Thank you so, so, so, so much, Gaby. You’re always so generous.”

I laughed. “What’s an extra wedding or two?”

“I’m going to grab our knapsacks, and then we’re heading back to Boston,” Seth said.

“Don’t drive all that way now,” Marty said. “Stay the night.”

“No,” said Andie. “We’re so hyper we couldn’t possibly go to sleep.”

Then Seth said in a loud whisper, “Plus, I reserved a suite at the Copley Plaza.”

“You didn’t,” shouted Andie.

“I did.” A pause. Then Seth said, “I love you, Mom.”

I nodded. “I love you too. My favorite son.”

Moments later Marty and I turned and surveyed the empty barn. A chicken squawked. An owl landed on a rafter. Everything was as it had been—except it was still Christmas, and Marty and I were married.

He took my hand. Then he kissed me softly on the lips, and he was a really terrific kisser. Gentle and firm and just right. Part of his charm, part of the attraction.

“You know, it’s late,” he said.

“I know.” But we didn’t head for the house right away. Instead, I rested my head on his chest and Marty started to hum our song, “The Way You Look Tonight.”

And we danced in the magical glow of the twinkling lights, and I couldn’t have been happier. Believe it or not, that happens sometimes.