The Wedding Letters Page 10

  Chapter 17

  Domus Jefferson was everything but quiet on Saturday morning. The Inn was near full capacity with guests from up and down the East Coast filling the guest rooms. Beginning at dawn, Rain made omelets to order, scratch biscuits, and prepared a fresh berry fruit cup for each place setting.

  Malcolm sat in his office off the main hallway. The energy and lively conversation coming from the kitchen and dining room lifted his otherwise monotonous work. He ran credit cards through their online terminal for the previous night’s stays, he ran reports in their accounting software, he checked his schedule for the coming week.

  He leaned back in his chair and listened to a familiar voice take over the morning chatter. A&P had walked in and was surveying the guests on their stay and their experience in the valley. Her frequent morning visits had become her personalized focus groups, and she took great pride in selling the benefit of the Inn. Malcolm wondered whether she would remain a fixture in the dining room after the new owners took over.

  After another quick pass through his calendar, he spun around in his chair and saw A&P standing in the doorway.

  “You the owner of this establishment?” A&P said.

  “I am, my lady, at least for another few fortnights. May I help you with something? Was there a problem with your breakfast?”

  “There was. The proprietor was not present to enjoy it with me. Why do you think I stay in your humble B&B if not to enjoy your company?”

  “Ma’am, you know I’m married, don’t you?” He looked into the hallway and amplified his faux embarrassment.

  They continued the harmless banter another few lines until A&P motioned for the couch. “May I sit?”

  “You may, of course.”

  “May I also ask you a question?”

  “Is this a real question, Anna Belle, or should I be prepared to fall back into character?”

  A&P allowed a slight grin and studied his eyes.

  “Why didn’t you ask me for help?”

  It was a conversation Malcolm and Rain had anticipated and he felt prepared. “You know how much you’ve done for us through the years.”

  “No more than you and your family have done for me.”

  “I think you know what I mean. The nights you’ve stayed, the tips that are really not tips at all but are more like endowments. Even your morning infomercials where you make guests pinkie promise to return. You have done more for the Inn and for my family than we could ever repay, obviously in more ways than one.”

  “Now, Malcolm, I don’t believe for one second that I have done anything for you or for this place that you wouldn’t have done for me in the same situation.”

  Still on script, Malcolm thought. “I would love nothing more than to think that is true. I think Rain would agree that we would sleep better and no doubt feel better about ourselves if we sincerely thought that was the case. But the truth is, it probably isn’t. I doubt we could have done for you anything near what you’ve done for us. That’s what makes you so unique, such a gem. That is what your husband saw in you.”

  A&P reached deep into her handbag. Malcolm fought a feeling of instant smugness because he knew what she would soon produce: the infamous checkbook.

  Instead, a tattered and discolored brochure appeared.

  “What’s that?” He hoped his surprise wasn’t evident in his voice.

  “It’s the reason I’m here. . . . When my Alan died, I went through his things and, because we had been married but a few years and he had lived a very long and interesting life before me, I found out things I never knew. He was more like an onion than I thought.” A&P appeared amused by the comparison.

  “Malcolm, have I ever told you he had a drug problem before we met? Not a serious one and nothing that should have put him behind bars, nothing like that, but he experimented a fair bit—more than most—and he worked hard to get past it. One of the things he did to help that process was to find a hobby, something to distract him from urges and temptations that I would imagine did not quickly go away. So he did what all recovering addicts do: he became a history buff.”

  Malcolm chuckled. “I do remember that, in fact.”

  “He loved history. Loved it. Got into some Civil War reenactment, too.” A&P handed him the brochure for the Civil War Reenactment Association.

  “That’s neat,” Malcolm said.

  “And that’s how we found this place.” She readjusted herself on the couch and removed a throw pillow from behind her lower back. “I have always thought that if Alan’s plane hadn’t fallen from the sky, we would have ended up here. Who knows—could be we’d have ended up in the very same house I’m in today.”

  “I like to think that too, Anna Belle. And why not?”

  She looked past him through the window. “I do love my walks. I have walked the hill between my house and yours and along the bank of the river just about every day that I’ve lived here. It’s where I hear him. It’s where I hear both of them.”

  “Both?”

  “The two most important men in my life. Alan and God.”

  Malcolm saw no tears in A&P’s eyes, but he knew they were coming. He joined her on the small couch.

  “I just wish I’d known. I wish I’d known you were in trouble.” She took the brochure from Malcolm and returned it to her purse. “I wish you had trusted me.”

  The tears did not arrive in streams or buckets. She did not sob, for which Malcolm was grateful, and she remained remarkably composed. But indeed they came, tiny drops one at a time.

  “We are sorry, we are. Is there anything we can do for you?”

  “You could tell me that it’s not too late. That this change isn’t coming.”

  “I wish I could. But our lives are all about to change. The time feels right.”

  Malcolm could tell A&P’s idea wheel was spinning again. “Make me a promise?” he said.

  “Maybe.”

  “Anna Belle?”

  “Fine, what?”

  “You won’t do something crazy? You won’t spend a penny to try to undo what’s happening? You won’t make some mystery deposit into my bank account?”

  One of the overnight guests, a woman from Palmyra, New York, appeared in the office doorway. “I’m sorry to disturb you but your wife said I could poke my head in and say good-bye. We so enjoyed our night here. We needed this.” A horn honked from outside the Inn and the woman whispered, “I think he needed it more than I did.” Then she said thank you again and left.

  Malcolm put his hand on A&P’s back and rubbed it tenderly. “Promise?”

  “I was sure you’d forgotten,” she said with a sly grin.

  “Anna Belle? Promise me.”

  “I won’t make a mystery deposit.”

  “You won’t make some hair-brained plan? You won’t try to buy the Inn, or buy the town? Or have the buyers killed?”

  “I won’t promise on the last one.”

  “Thank you. . . . Now listen to me, my friend. Haven’t you ever felt like the timing was just right in your life? Almost that it’s beyond your control, like it’s just the way someone above has meant for things to unfold for you? That’s now. The time feels right. Matthew’s life is changing dramatically, as you probably heard. Sammy is sheriff; Noah and Rachel are getting married. I have been dusting off that manuscript. It’s all happening now.” He waited for A&P to respond.

  She did not.

  “We probably should have told you. We chose not to tell anyone—not even our own son—because we wanted this to be our decision and a final one. Our financial situation isn’t what it was a year ago, and we found a buyer who wants to keep the legacy of Domus Jefferson alive.” Malcolm cocked his head downward and sideways and tried to look into her eyes. “I know it’s hard. It will be hard to leave this behind. But we’re not selling our friendship. We’re not running back to Brazil. We’re just moving across town and selling our home.”

  “No, you’re not.” She looked at him. “You’re selling our home.
”

  Chapter 18

  The time change and Rachel’s body clock meant she awoke Saturday morning well before her mother. She was grateful for the quiet time and decided to enjoy it by walking one of the many pea gravel paths that snaked throughout the community. She took pictures of cacti on her phone and texted a few to Noah.

  After circling her mother’s section of the community, she ventured into an area that appeared older with more mature landscaping and spots of faded paint on the awnings. There she settled in an Adirondack chair and realized she was actually sweating at 7:00 a.m.

  This heat really is oppressive, she thought.

  She watched an elderly couple across the courtyard walking a toy poodle. They sat on a white wooden bench and, on a hand command, the poodle leaped onto the woman’s lap. Rachel couldn’t hear the couple’s conversation, but from where she sat, it seemed as though they were taking turns asking the dog questions. In between each question, the dog would yip and yap and they’d rub its head and the man would give it a treat from his pocket.

  Rachel tried to imagine Noah and her on that same bench in forty or fifty years. She also wondered what her mother and father would have looked like had life unfolded differently. It pained her that her mother would not likely have another opportunity to sit on a bench like that with a male companion.

  Daniel is a good man, she thought. A fine man, in fact.

  It was unclear to Rachel whether her mother fully accepted that the relationship had dissolved. It wasn’t bitter, hateful, or prolonged. Neither Rachel nor her stepfather wanted to hurt Stephanie, and the notion he might return permanently to her side gave her stability when her mind increasingly needed it. Though he’d long ago fallen out of love with Stephanie and her quirks, Daniel didn’t seem to mind that she pined for him still. He acknowledged that his feelings had gone from pity to love and back to pity again. “I care for her,” he told Rachel when he left for a new home and she left for college. “But I do not love her anymore.”

  Rachel watched the poodle jump to the ground and begin dancing in a circle at the woman’s feet. This evidently pleased her companion because he laughed in booming cackles that filled the courtyard. He gave the dog another treat and kissed the back of the woman’s hand. The couple casually waved when they realized Rachel was enjoying the show. Rachel responded with a wave and a playful, petite clap for the dog. The family of three stood and continued their walk; Rachel watched them until they’d rounded the corner.

  Nearly three years had passed since Rachel determined she could never tell her mother that Daniel was seriously seeing another woman. He’d offered that they had no plans to marry and that it was a relationship of traveling companionship and shared interests more than a love affair.

  As long as he continued to be kind and support her mother, Rachel supported his decisions. She would have appreciated more emotional support, but that had always been the case, and she knew most men wouldn’t have rescued them in the first place. Nor would they have tolerated her mother’s oddities for nearly as long.

  It’s time he knows, Rachel thought, and she sent Noah a text promising to call Daniel and share the wedding news as soon as she returned to Virginia. The details of his participation in the wedding and necessary interactions with her mother would wait. But telling him should not. She also resolved to thank him for the visit and for his continued support.

  Her mother was up and eating a snack-sized granola bar when Rachel returned.

  “Where were you?” Stephanie asked.

  “Just enjoying the morning. It’s warm but pretty comfortable out there.”

  “It won’t be later. Trust me.”

  Rachel helped herself to a bottle of Fiji water and took a long drink. “I thought I could buy you breakfast and visit, would that be all right?”

  “But I’m eating now,” her mother said, taking another bite.

  “That’s not breakfast. That’s not even a snack.”

  Stephanie pulled a menu from the magazine rack and handed it to her daughter. “You could order something. There’s a bagel shop that delivers to the main gate. We walk there and meet them all the time.”

  Rachel sighed and took the menu from her. “Fine. But we’re going out later for a meal, my treat, deal?”

  “We’ll see.”

  Rachel called in the order and showered quickly while her mother waited.

  “You’re going outside like that?” Stephanie was horrified when Rachel said that with wet hair and no makeup she was ready to leave.

  “Sure I am.”

  “Like that?”

  “It’s just wet hair, Mother. It’s not as if I’ll catch the flu. Let’s go.”

  “Well, I never . . .” Stephanie said as if uncovering some scandal. “Only if you must.”

  Bagels and juice arrived on schedule. Rachel paid and tipped the delivery driver and suggested to her mother they sit outside while it was still cool enough to enjoy.

  “It hasn’t been cool enough to enjoy since I lived in Sacramento.”

  They spread out at a picnic table in another of the many common areas and Rachel enjoyed an oversized bite of a whole-grain bagel with strawberry cream cheese.

  “So, Mom, I have something pretty exciting to share.”

  “All right.” Stephanie put a leaf-thin layer of cream cheese on half a bagel.

  “I wanted to see you, of course, and to see your new place here. But there’s another reason this trip was important to me.”

  Suddenly Stephanie seemed to engage and she looked up at her daughter. “Is it about your stepfather?”

  “No, Mom. No, it’s not.”

  Stephanie’s eyes returned to her bagel and she cut it into four pieces with a white plastic knife.

  “But it’s really amazing news, Mom. It’s life-changing news.”

  “And?”

  “Mom.” Rachel reached across and took her mother’s hand. “I’m getting married.”

  “You’re what?” she said, reflexively squeezing her daughter’s hands.

  “I’m engaged. I met a wonderful man out at school and we’re getting married in September. That’s why I’m here.”

  Stephanie leaned down and rested her forehead on her daughter’s hands.

  “Are you all right, Mom?”

  Stephanie nodded. When Rachel realized her mother was dripping tears on her hands, she stood and walked around the table.

  “Mother?”

  Stephanie’s breathing calmed and she sat up. Rachel smiled when her mother opened her arms wide and the two held one another.

  “You’re happy about this, Mother?”

  “Are you happy?” Stephanie said, her head resting on Rachel’s shoulder.

  “I am.”

  “Then I’m happy, too.”

  The women exchanged kisses, Rachel believed, for the first time since leaving home. “No ring yet?” her mother said, examining her hand.

  “Not yet. Well, I did have one, but it was a napkin ring. Long story.”

  Her mother grinned. “You will get a ring though, right, dear?”

  “I will. When the time is right and everything is perfect, he’ll give me a ring.”

  Stephanie’s eyes suddenly became narrow and serious. “Are you in love?”

  “Of course I’m in love. Why would we get married if we weren’t?”

  Rachel explained how they’d met, what Noah had been studying and where he was from.

  “Has he ever gotten angry with you? Does he have a temper?”

  “No.” Rachel was appalled. “Not ever.”

  “That’s good, that’s all. You know how I feel about that.”

  Rachel described the beauty of the Shenandoah Valley and the uniqueness of Noah having been raised at a full-time, year-round, bed-and-breakfast.

  “Have you told Daniel?”

  Rachel held up a finger and finished taking a drink of orange juice. “Not yet. I wanted you to know first.”

  Stephanie was moved by this and g
athered herself with a drink of her own and a deliberate wipe of her mouth. “That was so kind of you, dear.”

  Rachel described with excitement the Wedding Letters tradition and A&P’s close-knit relationship with the Coopers. “She’s like another aunt, I guess. And you’ll write a letter for the book, right? It wouldn’t be anything without one from you.”

  “I will. How about Daniel?”

  “A&P—she’s really the one in charge of this—she’ll call him after I’ve given him the news.”

  “I’ll mention it too, if I see him before then.”

  “That would be fine.” Rachel knew Daniel’s visits only came a few times a year and wasn’t concerned Stephanie might tell him first. Plus, she hadn’t seen her mother this alive in a long time and would do anything to keep her mother’s mood so light and agreeable.

  They finished breakfast and discussed Rachel’s upcoming job at the Department of Justice. Stephanie said she was proud of her daughter and would like to see her office someday.

  As they strolled along the path back to the building, Rachel slipped her arms inside her mother’s and said, “I only wish I could tell my dad. I think he’d be happy, don’t you?”

  Stephanie did not answer and as they continued walking Rachel seemed to speak more to herself than to her mother.

  “Last card I got was about a year ago. He was in London.”

  “That’s nice,” Stephanie said.

  “I still search online now and then, more lately I guess, hoping to find something about him somewhere. But nothing.”

  They arrived back at the apartment and Stephanie stopped her at the door. “Rachel, dear, I am convinced he’s proud of you.” She put both hands on Rachel’s face and rubbed her cheeks lightly. “I like to think he knows. Somehow, he knows. And it’s best left at that.”

  Rachel hugged her mother once more and recalled the oft-repeated saying of her childhood. “I know, Mother. We’re different; he’s different.”

  Stephanie completed it. “We’re better; he’s better.”

  Chapter 19

  Rachel had the dream again on her second night in her mother’s condo. She fell asleep in a comfortable bed in a safe community with her mother sleeping peacefully in the bedroom down the hall. But when she awoke, she was in an apartment with broken windows, no front door, and only one bed that fit snugly in the only bedroom of the tiny home. They were in Kansas City, Missouri. Rachel was seven.