Part 12 (1/2)
”You don't think they'd mind?”
”I think they would be very glad to know that the rings they intended to be used at a wedding today were indeed used at a wedding today.”
”Sort of a good luck road test,” I joked.
”An omen of happiness to come for all four of us,” Armando put it more gracefully. ”So, Cara. Will you marry me?”
Fourteen.
So it came to pa.s.s that two days after Christmas, surrounded by friends and family, two cats, my ex-husband, and a lot of complete strangers, Armando and I ate, drank-and were married. After all the complications of the preceding week in other areas, there was only one minor hitch in these proceedings, and we all agreed later that it was well worth it.
When Julie got to the point in the ceremony where she asked the a.s.semblage if anyone present knew any reason why Armando and I should not be legally wed, I whispered in Armando's ear, ”This is where I'd expect Strutter to make some smart-a.s.s remark.” Then I stared at him, stricken. ”Strutter!” I blurted to Margo and Emma, who stood close by.
They both got it immediately, as did Armando. Julie was understandably bemused. ”Just a minute, please,” I begged her. ”This is so important.”
”No problem,” she a.s.sured me and stood waiting calmly.
In one smooth movement, Emma fished her cell phone out of her blazer pocket and handed it to Margo. She punched in Strutter's phone number and pa.s.sed the phone to me.
”Putnam's House of Germs,” Strutter answered dully. ”Plenty for everyone, no waiting.”
”Try to pay attention,” I pleaded with her, ”or you're going to miss the whole thing, and trust me, this is one wedding you don't want to miss.”
”Kate? I'm sure your nephew and his fiancee are as cute as they can be, but I've never even met them.”
”Not Jeff and Donna,” I hissed. ”Armando and I. The kids both got sick with the same thing you have, and we have all this food and champagne, and everyone's here. We've been talking about getting married for more than a year now, and today, it just feels right somehow.” Armando nudged me, and I became aware of sixty pairs of ears hanging on my every word. ”It's a long story, too long to go into at the moment,” I concluded hastily. ”The point is, we're standing in the living room getting married right now, but I just can't do it without you.”
There was a moment of silence as Strutter tried to decide if I was playing a joke on her. Then, ”Where are you exactly?”
”In front of the fireplace. Well, in front of Julie, who's the Justice of the Peace, but she's in front of the fireplace.”
”Who's there besides Julie?”
I looked around, smiling. ”Emma and Joey, Justine, Margo and John, Michael and Sheila and Sheila's mother Mitzi, our neighbor Mary ...”
”Hi, Strutter,” each one called out in turn.
”Michael is there?” she gasped.
”Well, of course,” I confirmed. ”It's his nephew's wedding, or at least, it was supposed to be.”
I heard Strutter sigh. ”Only you could get married with your ex-husband standing in the room. Never mind. Go on.”
I named all the names I knew for the faces in the crowd, ending with, ”and of course, Henry Kozlowski and his staff.”
”You mean Henri from the gala? That's amazing,” Strutter murmured. ”Okay, I'm up to speed. Give the phone to Margo, and let's do this.”
I complied happily and took Armando's arm.
”Okay now?” Julie asked.
”Good to go,” I a.s.sured her. Relieved laughter rippled through the room, and half a minute later, Armando and I each said, ”I do,” while Margo held the phone up in the air so Strutter could hear us. It wasn't the same as having her there in person, but it was way better than not having her there at all.
After five minutes of hugs and kisses, I insisted that luncheon be served. To Henry's great relief, his menu had held up beautifully despite the protracted delay, and the cheerful clink of silverware on china replaced much of the conversation as hungry guests dug in.
I hadn't seen him arrive, but Margo a.s.sured me that John had made it in time to see the ceremony. As soon as I decently could, I b.u.t.tonholed him in the front hall to see how things had gone with James O'Halloran.
”Okay, I think. Margo put Mary in touch with an attorney who specializes in involuntary manslaughter cases, and from what I know of this case, it definitely qualifies. James might have to do a little time in a minimum security facility, but I really doubt it. He'll also get some help from a professional therapist who can help him deal with the consequences of his actions over the years.”
”What about Mary? How's she doing?”
He chuckled. ”She's a real bulldog, that one. It sounds like a funny thing to say, under the present circ.u.mstances, but O'Halloran is one lucky guy.”
”So are you, you know. Margo might kill you herself one of these days, but she will also move heaven and earth to keep anyone else from hurting you.”
He grinned at me. ”As you would for Armando and as Strutter would for her husband. It's called love, Lady.”
Late in the afternoon, most of the young people drifted out the front door and back to their lives, after a.s.suring Armando and me that the unexpected subst.i.tution of bride and groom had been, as one of them put it, ”a real hoot.” As Henry/Henri refilled my champagne gla.s.s, I looked around at the eclectic group of family and friends who still mingled contentedly in the living room. Armando had put a match to the logs in the fireplace, and Emma and Margo had set out every candle they could find in the house. Added to the glow of the Christmas tree, the effect was warm and mellow.
Across the way stood my brand new husband, holding a gla.s.s of champagne in one hand and a plate of wedding cake in the other. Emma and Joey, friends again, kidded each other good naturedly over who would be next to take vows. Full of shrimp, Jasmine dozed by the fire, blessed yet again by the deafness that allowed her to enjoy this moment without alarm, since Gracie still preferred the safety of Armando's bedroom.
In a corner of the dining room, my ex-husband and his new wife chatted easily with the remaining guests, all of whom seemed perfectly at ease with the surprising turn of events. Even Sheila's ditzy mother had found the perfect companion in our crazy neighbor Mary. The two cackled gleefully as they swapped stories on the couch near the fireplace.
Armando caught my eye and raised his gla.s.s. I blew him a kiss in return. Today's extended family, I thought. Welcome to suburban America in the new millennium. It might not work for everyone, but against all odds, it seemed to work for us. Throughout this bizarre holiday week, we had been with the people we cared about and who cared about us in return.
Images from the past few days chased each other through my mind. Sister Marguerite and the good folks at the UCC struggling to tend to those in need ... Margo and Strutter dropping everything to help out at the gala ... Armando appearing on Christmas eve with a stray cat under his coat ... the swelling organ music in the cathedral ... dear John guiding us through the O'Halloran situation ... the coyotes feasting on our ruined turkey ... Strutter's mom flying straight to her daughter's side in her time of need ... James O'Halloran, willing to vanish into exile to spare his wife one more moment's pain ... Mary O'Halloran standing on tiptoe to cuss out her husband and then hug him ... the burly truck driver who stopped traffic to allow a goose to cross the road ... Emma and Joey squabbling, then making up ... and now this surprising gift of a new beginning with a man I adored.
John Harkness had been absolutely right, I decided as I gazed at the dilapidated angel atop our tree. She had seen us all through half a century of good years and bad, and still she perched on the topmost twig, a little the worse for wear but still hopeful. Christmas wasn't always wrapped in holiday carols and tinsel. It didn't have to be roast goose and chestnuts on an open fire, however that worked anyway. It was about love in its many varieties, all of them wonderful and life affirming, and that spelled Christmas to me.
Epilogue.
Sat.u.r.day, March 20th.
No matter how long you live in New England, spring always comes as a delightful surprise. January seems to last forever, but suddenly it's mid-February, and you're not driving home from work in the dark anymore. March comes howling in, usually accompanied by a big, wet snowstorm. Then one morning, there's a softness in the breeze, and you notice that the robins are back. You can smell damp earth, and yes, the crocuses are pus.h.i.+ng up on the sheltered side of the front porch. You find yourself smiling at strangers for no particular reason. Made it through another one, we say as we turn our faces toward the sun.
In precisely that frame of mind, Margo, Strutter and I sprawled luxuriously on the benches grouped to the side of the Keeney Memorial Cultural Center on Old Main Street. We all sipped at cups of hot coffee Margo had picked up at the diner for us. Baby Olivia staggered along next to her mother's bench, holding on for dear life and drunk with the power of being vertical. Rhett Butler, Margo's adoring chocolate Lab, looked on with appropriate avuncular attentiveness.
”For once, the first day of spring actually feels like it,” Margo observed. Her eyes were closed as she basked in the promising warmth.
”Mmmm,” Strutter agreed, ”but I have more reasons than that to be happy this spring.”