Part 25 (2/2)
”Try.” Theodore sits back and makes a pyramid out of the tiny half-and-half containers.
”I love Jack MacChesney because . . . he loves me.”
”Is that all?”
I don't think Theodore understands how big that statement is, how loaded it is to me. n.o.body ever loved me; yes, Mama did and some friends, but n.o.body Loved me. I was chosen. And for once, I wasn't afraid, I just let it in. How silly my fears seem now. Why did I wait so long to let go? Even Mrs. Mac knew how scared I was. She kept trying to a.s.sure me that I would be safe with her son.
”Isn't that enough?” I fire back. Theodore nods.
”Ave, I'm going to take the job at UT.”
”You are?” I'm instantly disappointed, and just as quickly I am thrilled for him. ”Congratulations!”
”I think it's time to move on. I need a new challenge. I need to look at myself, where I'm going, you know?”
Theodore! Don't go! I want my life to be perfect. I want to be in love with Jack MacChesney and have you, my best friend, in my life forever. I don't want anything to change! Instead, I say, ”You may go. But I'm not going to let you off the hook. We'll be long-distance best friends. Okay?”
”That's what I was thinking. Knoxville isn't so far. You'll come down.”
”We can talk on the phone,” I say, so upbeat.
”Every day. Just like now.” Theodore looks at me. ”Tell me I'm doing the right thing,” he implores.
”You are doing the right thing. The only thing. Sometimes you have to strip away everything to find what you were in the first place.”
”I guess that's what you did, too, isn't it? Who would have thought our lives were going to change like this?”
”Chinese face-reading.”
”Really? Can face-reading predict what I have planned after lunch?”
”I have to bring Edna and Ledna Tuckett their pie dish.”
”They can wait. We're going to Cudjo's Caverns.”
As we drive to the Caverns, I think of my friends.h.i.+p with Theodore, what comfort it brought me all these years, how it grew as we grew. I just know he will always be a big part of my life. How could he not? He's the only person I know who likes caves.
Ray takes us up the dark path with his flashlight.
”Can we go to the lake?” I ask him.
”I got something better to show you,” he promises. Theodore and I look at each other and follow him.
For ten years Theodore and I have come into this cave to explore, and every so often Ray has something new to show us. How is this possible? Does he keep things from us? Or does he make discoveries all the time and share them with us when he's ready? Is this old mountain so full of riches that they cannot be discovered in one lifetime or even two? The path narrows; I keep my hand on the wall as we climb into a new place. As we move in, I can feel the cool stream of mountain water that flows down the rocks to form the stalact.i.tes. It takes the water generations to change the rocks. And yet it is so gentle on the stones, barely a gray mist.
”There it is,” Ray says. ”Y'all, look.”
There is a small alcove, a grotto, the back wall jagged rock that forms a canopy overhead. Moss grows up the sides where the water trickles. The guide s.h.i.+nes his flashlight on the ground. It is covered in lavender sand, fine-grained like spun sugar. The light beam plays over the sand, making it s.h.i.+mmer.
”How did this happen?” Theodore wants to know. We cannot believe the beauty of the sand.
”I ain't so sure,” Ray begins. ”This was an ugly black pool of gunk for the longest time. I didn't go near it, because I didn't know what was in it. You never do know inside the mountain. But over the winter, it started to drain out, so I kept an eye on it. And when all the water done drained off, this is what was at the bottom. It wasn't something ugly. It was this.” Ray steadies the beam on the lavender sand; the light makes a bright circle that burns hot in the center and fades out to the edges until it falls away in a soft gloomy blue.
Ray, Theodore, and I stay for a very long time.
”I've worked in here all my life. Sometimes you just can't explain things.”
Jack Mac gets home from work at seven o'clock sharp. I'm making spaghetti when he comes in. Bessie's hamburger wore off hours ago, and I'm hungry. He calls to me from the front hall and walks back to the kitchen. He puts his lunch pail down on the table and his boots on the floor. Then he looks at me.
”I called the priest.”
”You turning Catholic?” I tease.
”No.”
”What, then?”
”I told him I wanted him to marry us.”
”I don't want to marry the priest, too. Can't it just be the two of us?”
Jack Mac laughs. ”Is that a yes?”
I nod. ”Isn't this too quick, though?” Old Ave Maria is back, questioning everything.
Jack Mac gives me a you've-got-to-be-kidding look that stops me from blabbering on further and ruining a very precious moment.
”I learned that it's best not to let you think about things too much,” he says, and he goes to wash up.
Never put Iva Lou Wade Makin in charge of a simple wedding. In two seconds she's convinced me to wear a dress that's too tight, a hat that's too broad, and too much makeup. We argue about the blush (I don't need it; humiliation gives me the only rose hue I need), lipstick versus lip gloss (my lips are so s.h.i.+ny I may slide off the groom), and powder finish (I think I look chalky).
As I look at my vivid face in the mirror, it reminds me of the glamorous women of the Ice Capades, who need a lot of makeup to be seen from six hundred feet in an arena. I don't need this kind of definition in a chapel that holds twenty people tops, so I slip into the bathroom to wash my face and start over. The corals, blues, and browns of my clown face disappear in the bubbles as I scrub. It's my wedding day. Better a few hurt feelings than Jack Mac taking one look at me and sprinting from the church in horror.
While I'm in the bathroom, I realize this fiasco is all my fault. I should have planned this better. I should have had some idea of what I wanted. I never dreamt of my wedding day. Not once. Not a single fantasy. I never imagined my bridesmaids in sherbet colors lined up at the altar, my very own ladies-in-waiting. I never saw the church festooned with flowers, heard the organ music, or thought about what color sugar Nellie Goodloe's mints should be dipped in. I never thought I'd get married. But believe me, there are plenty of women who have six, seven, eight scenarios mapped out in their minds, every detail of the nuptials planned, and they're all too happy to take over your big day and turn it into a monster of lace, ribbons, and flouncy details. Iva Lou Makin is the consummate romantic.
Once I arrive at the church, I forget all the prenuptial distress. For Jack and me, this is a simple ceremony, where we will have the great honor of promising, in front of our loved ones, to be true. This thought calms me. We are having a private ma.s.s with Jack's Aunt Cecelia and our closest friends. There will be no hoo-ha down the aisle or any other grand touches. Jack and I will enter together. The witnesses are Theodore, Iva Lou and Lyle, Aunt Cecelia, Pearl, Leah, Rick and Sherry, Fleeta and Portly, Otto and Worley, Lew and Inez Eisenberg, Zackie, and Spec.
Jack Mac pulls up in his truck and jumps out. He runs up the walkway and meets me in the vestibule.
”You're beautiful,” he tells me. You wouldn't think so if you'd seen me an hour ago with four pounds of Max Factor heaped on my face. I smile at my groom.
It's the strangest thing-no one cries. There is just joy, simple and unadorned, in this little chapel with the quiet priest. Tomorrow, April 29, 1979, is my thirty-sixth birthday. How did I get to this place? Who knew?
After church, we've planned a dinner for everyone in town at the Coach House (yes, we're having the same fried chicken, 'taters, and slaw combo that was served on Elizabeth Taylor Night).
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