The Christmas Wedding Read online

  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. W
ho 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 leg
s 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.”