The Wedding Letters Read online

  Noah fell asleep fantasizing about his honeymoon and life with Rachel.

  Rachel fell asleep terrified about those same things.

  Matthew also stayed at the Inn but left early to catch a flight and return home. He left behind a promise to keep in touch and yet another offer of whatever assistance was needed.

  Noah and Rachel ate a breakfast fit for an inn full of paying guests. As they finished, A&P knocked on the back door.

  Rain unlocked it and welcomed her in. “Can you believe it?” she said, wrapping her arms around A&P’s broad shoulders.

  “Yes, Reindeer, I can.”

  Noah laughed at the nickname. “I haven’t heard that in so long. I’ve missed you, A&P.”

  Noah explained to Rachel how “Rain, dear” had become “Reindeer” one Christmas about ten years earlier.

  Rachel reveled in the comfort of the inside joke.

  “Let’s talk Wedding Letters,” A&P said. “Normally they’d be a surprise, but I know Reindeer over there has already spilled her beans that we’ve done them. So no use messing around; there’s no time to waste. You want them, right?” She looked at Rain across the table. “Of course they want them.”

  Rain motioned to Rachel. “It’s her wedding.”

  Rachel placed her hand atop A&P’s. “Why do you think I said yes to the proposal?”

  “My Land-a-Goshen I do like this one, son. I do like this one! You finally got it right.”

  “Uhh, thanks?” Noah said with raised eyebrows.

  “Wedding Letters.” A&P put both palms flat on the table. “You want them, good. May I handle that?”

  “Who else would?” Rain said. “They are your creation. Just tell me what you need. Names, addresses—whatever I can do to help.”

  “All right then. And Rachel, sweetheart, can you give me numbers for your parents?”

  “Um, I guess, yes. Maybe I’ll tell my mother about it, if you don’t mind. And I have my stepdad’s cell phone number, but he rarely answers it and he could be anywhere right now.”

  “Does he have a voice mail thing?”

  “Yes,” Rachel grinned. “He has a voice mail thing.”

  “Good. Then he’ll call me back.”

  Rachel didn’t know A&P well, but she knew enough to know that wasn’t a question.

  “How would you like the letters? In a loose folder? Three-ring binder? I can go as simple or elegant as you wish. Leather cover? Do you want them collected and professionally bound in a book? Engraved cover?”

  “That sounds gr—”

  “And a website,” A&P cruised on. “I’ll have that boy in town do it. What do you think? RachelandNoah.com. We’ll put on my mailing address for the letters, date, menu, gift registry—everything.”

  Rachel didn’t have time to object before they were making a mile-long list. They continued until Noah yawned and his eyes rolled back in his head. When Rachel didn’t notice right away, he did it again with more flair.

  “Go,” she said.

  He thanked her with a kiss and went hunting for his father.

  When Rain heard the front door close, she leaned in and practically sang, “So, Rachel, speaking of Wedding Letters, want to read more of mine?”

  Her smile said yes.

  • • •

  Dear Mr. and Mrs. Cooper,

  Congratulations on your nuptials.

  When Mrs. Prestwich called and asked me to write this letter, Malcolm, I told her she was calling the wrong person. I mean, really, who asks for marriage advice from someone who’s been married three times?

  I’m sure you’ll receive a lot of very valuable advice from Mrs. Prestwich’s project. And maybe if she’s smart, she’ll change her mind and this letter will never make it into the book. If by some misfortune you are reading it anyway, just remember this wasn’t my idea.

  I’ve never put this in writing. Let’s see if I can articulate why my three marriages failed.

  My first marriage was to a woman I met in college. It ended because she wouldn’t follow me to graduate school. I wanted an MBA. She wanted to live closer to her parents in Harrisburg. I begged her to come with me to the West Coast for a different life. She was upset and we fought. Then we fought some more and I used words I still can’t believe I ever said to a woman. I packed up my car in a huff and told her she had ten days to change her mind and meet me in California.

  She did not meet me in California.

  We talked on the phone a few times, and her parents tried to convince me to return to Virginia and work on an MBA at a school closer to home. But it was not to be. After a couple of months living in East LA, I finally convinced her to come meet me for a weekend.

  I hoped the city would change her mind. I was sure that we would see things and experience things she’d never seen or experienced before and that she would never want to get back on the plane.

  We saw and experienced some things all right—like a mugging on the street where we parked our car outside the Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. It was all I could do to keep her in town two more days until her flight left. We said good-bye at the airport and that was that. We were married fourteen months. It’s not easy being twenty-five and divorced.

  My second marriage ended because I did things I’m not proud of on a business trip to Toronto. We’d been married nearly ten years. And to think, I was so proud of myself for surviving the seven-year itch.

  A coworker and I had gotten very close, too close emotionally, in hindsight, though we’d never crossed any other lines. But on this trip we got caught up in one too many drinks and one too many flirts in a hotel neither of us had been to and neither of us would ever return to. Then it happened.

  The next morning I woke up and made a commitment to tell my wife as soon as I landed in San Francisco.

  When I walked in the front door, I quickly hugged my two boys and sent them outside to play. I sat by her on the couch and told her what had happened. I don’t know if I expected her to be proud of me for being honest or not. She wasn’t.

  She did not yell at me, she did not cry, she did not slap me or scratch me or throw me out of the house in anger.

  Instead she went into the backyard, gathered the boys, got into her SUV, and drove off.

  A day later she returned and asked me for a divorce. What stung me most was how she looked at me. She said she would’ve been less hurt if I’d stabbed her with a knife. She said there were things she could forgive me of but this was not one of them. She wouldn’t have me raising our children if I could not be faithful.

  The third marriage ended when my money, the new house in Oakland, the apartment in Manhattan, the cabin in Park City, and the four or five trips on a leased private jet every year were no longer enough for the woman who’d once been my assistant. She left me for a younger man who made a bigger fortune than I had.

  Three marriages. More mistakes than I can count.

  As I write this today I am dating a woman whom I’m quite fond of. She works for Microsoft in Washington. If this woman has any sense at all she’ll break it off with me.

  What have I learned from these marriages? I suppose it’s pretty obvious. For certain I was decent at being a boyfriend and lousy at being a husband.

  Will you do it differently? Knowing your mother, I suspect you will.

  Sincerely,

  Drew McConnell

  • • •

  My sweet Rain and my darling Malcolm,

  Never in my life have I been so excited at the reunion of two people. OK, with the exception of my man Alan. But you get the point.

  I don’t know if you’ll read my Wedding Letter first. I don’t suppose it matters much; you are both smart kids, you’ll figure it out. If you’re curious, just know the inspiration for these letters came from a late night of loneliness in my study. Alan and I were not married very long, but I did receive a few cards and letters in our short love affair. I have saved them in a very special place that only I know about. I do not read them every day, or eve
ry week or even every month, but I used to. Lately I read them on the days that would’ve been his birthday, on my birthday, on our anniversary, and on a few other private select days he and I shared together.

  As you already know, I lived alone until meeting Alan. I had a few casual relationships with men but they never went very far. I was always everyone’s buddy. Whether I like it or not, I accept that my struggle with weight was one of the reasons that I always had more friends than dates. It bothered me when I was younger, but I grew up, and I grew confident, and when I met Alan, I had never been at a greater peace in my life. Perhaps we worked out so well because I was finally being me.

  But this letter—my very first Wedding Letter—is about you and your miraculous marriage. I prayed many nights when Malcolm was in Brazil that he would return and that somehow, someway, this day would occur. It is a special feeling when two people you love so much for their own unique personalities and talents come together. Just thinking of it makes me smile here at my desk.

  What kind of advice can a woman married for just a few years give to a young couple with thirty or forty or fifty years of marriage ahead of them? How about just one little A&P secret?

  Learn to listen. That’s it. Learn to listen to one another. Whether you’re happy, sad, mourning, depressed, or just need to sit and let thoughts become words and words become a conversation, listen. Always remember that what your spouse is saying to you is very likely something they couldn’t or shouldn’t say to any other living soul. Just you!

  The more you do it the better you’ll get. The better you get the more you’ll love it. The more you love it the more you’ll do it. So listen!

  I hope you enjoy these letters as much as I have enjoyed gathering them. They are yours to share or not share. That is up to you.

  Thank you for being the best friends in the best family I’ve ever had.

  Enjoy your day!

  Love,

  Anna Belle Prestwich, A&P

  • • •

  Dear Malcolm and Rain,

  The answer is: “The game show host your father Jack Cooper most wanted to meet.”

  The question: “Who is Alex Trebek?”

  Correct! I am honored to send this note of congratulations on your marriage.

  Sincerely,

  Alex Trebek

  • • •

  “Is this real?” Rachel asked.

  A&P took the book from her. “Of course it’s real, darling,” she said as she gingerly removed the typed letter on production company letterhead. “It even has Mr. Trebek’s signature right there in real life ink.”

  “The truth is,” said Rain, “it was really a toss-up between Trebek and Jack Barry as my father-in-law’s favorite game show host. But Mr. Barry had passed away before Mal and I got married, so A&P went after Trebek. It was a fun nod to Jack to have it included, and Malcolm loves to tell people the story.”

  A&P returned the book to Rachel and she skimmed a few more letters. “They’re all so different. Unique voices, histories, perspectives. What a treasure.” When Rachel reached the back of the book, she found a series of letters that didn’t fit in. “Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t think these are part of the same set.”

  “May I?” Rain reached out for the book and removed several letters in sheet protectors from the very end of the collection. “You’re right. These are not part of our wedding letters. I have just kept these here for safekeeping. These are from Noah’s grandpa to each of his children. Would you like to read them?”

  “I’m not sure I should. They must be very personal.”

  “They are personal. He wrote them to be read after he and Noah’s grandmother died. But in no time at all you’re going to be one of us, a Cooper, and I know Jack wouldn’t mind you reading them. Not one bit. They are part of our family history.”

  “Has everyone else read them?”

  “Yes. Everyone in the family who has wanted to read them has read them.”

  Rachel took the letters from Rain and held them like they were the most fragile thing she’d ever touched.

  “Sweetheart, there’s nothing in those letters you don’t already know.”

  • • •

  To Matthew, my oldest,

  You were first for a reason, my son. Your mind and your drive are inspirational. Do you know that? Do you know how much I respect you and am awed by your talents? You were the man given the talents who chose to double them. You have made Him proud. You have made me proud. I cannot wait to see you become a father. You will be a wonder.

  Matthew, love your wife. Love her like she’s the only one you’ll ever have. And she will be.

  I love you.

  Dad

  • • •

  To Samantha, my Broadway star,

  On long days, when I tired of the monotony of the University and the men that did not like to work, I thought of you. I drove home those days, wondering what scene you had prepared for me, what part you would have me play. It never mattered, as long as I could be in the same show with you.

  Get back on stage. It’s time. Find your light.

  I have said it in the flesh dozens of times, and now again in death I say it once more: Sammie, let my beautiful granddaughter know her father. He is not a perfect father, but he is her father.

  You shine, Sammie. I would share the stage with you any day.

  I love you.

  Dad

  • • •

  To Malcolm, my writer, my son,

  I have always wondered how angry you would be today. I have cried at night and had dreams of you. I have dreamt of your fury. I pray I’m wrong. I’ll understand if I’m not.

  I tell you, son, that your discovery is not about who you think your father is. That is unchanged. Since the first time I held you on my lap after your mother’s revelation—the day I returned from your grandmother’s in Chicago—from that day on, from that day forward, I saw my son. I saw a son who belonged to me and was part of me the same way Matthew was. I saw a gift from God bestowed on me. There was no reason for you to ever know of the night your mother’s life changed.

  What was true yesterday is true today. I am your father. Your mother forgave. I forgave. Your Lord forgave. So must you.

  Malcolm, if you haven’t already, please finish your book. Please? Then write another and another. Know that I expect to see you again. And your mother and I cannot wait to see your children. We think they’ll look like Rain. You read that right, young man, we’ve always known what you two have not yet seen. You are meant to be one.

  I love you.

  Your Father

  Chapter 15

  67 Days to the Wedding

  After weeks of waiting and worrying that her job offer at the Department of Justice had been a giant bureaucratic mistake, a certified letter arrived in Rachel’s mailbox. They celebrated her start date, September 5, with lunch at Red Robin.

  To keep from losing her mind in the meantime, and because she wanted to hit the ground running, Rachel spent hours every day reading and researching online. She’d already written a policy paper for her new boss and been to the DOJ twice to fill out stacks of paperwork with Tyler’s eager assistance. She also began the process of getting a background check required for her low-level clearance. Her interview with the investigator was more personal than she expected and though she expected to win the clearance she needed, the discussion left her shaken.

  Noah had been sleeping in and enjoying a summer of no classes, no job, and no responsibilities besides what most men do in the wedding planning process. He drew or painted every day and spent one day at the Inn alone working on a charcoal drawing of the B&B as a gift for his parents. He also had four or five children’s manuscripts in the works and was committed to selecting and polishing one to begin illustrating by the end of August.

  Noah and Rachel’s next trip home together came three weeks after their engagement.

  Noah’s cousin Angela and her baby girl were returning to St. Louis soon, som
ething his mother reminded him of regularly.

  They met for lunch at Ben’s Diner in Woodstock.

  “When’s the last time you ate at an old-fashioned diner?” Noah asked, holding the door for Rachel.

  “Does today count?”

  Noah spotted Angela immediately from behind and shouted, “Cuz!” He zigzagged through the tables, put his arms around her waist, and lifted her off the ground.

  “Noah! I’m an old lady, put me down.” Noah did, but not before planting a wet kiss on her cheek.

  Angela tried her best to act offended, but the gleam in her eye was obvious. She’d missed him. “You are such a strange little cousin of mine.” She gently slapped his cheek. “Are you going to introduce me to this lovely woman standing behind you?”

  “Oh, her?” Noah turned and made room. “Of course I am. Angie, meet my fiancée, Rachel Kaplan.”

  Rachel stepped toward Angela for a hug, but Noah put out his arm and stopped her. “Better not,” he mumbled.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Her face flushed. “I’m so used to the others hugging all the time.”

  Noah shifted his eyes dramatically left and right between the two women. “Well, well, well. This has gotten a bit awkward, hasn’t it, ladies?”

  But Angela was already laughing and taking a big step forward with open arms toward Rachel. After the embrace, Rachel slugged Noah in the stomach with a strong left fist.

  “Ooh,” he groaned. “Well placed.”

  They sat and the proud new mother immediately lifted little Taylor onto the table in her car seat carrier.

  “She’s not ugly at all,” Noah said. “Your mom said she looked a little bit like an alien.”

  “Hey, Noah, just checking, but does Rachel know that I changed your diapers and potty trained you when you were—”

  “Aren’t you such a precious angel?” He cooed and tickled the bottom of Taylor’s sock-covered feet.

  After ordering lunch, Noah gave both women a quick history of the Ben Franklin, their recent closure, and the decision to section off the diner and keep it operating under the name Ben’s Diner. Neither woman bothered to appear interested in Noah’s trivia; they were watching and enjoying the attention Taylor was receiving from nearby diners.