The Wedding(26)
Author: Nicholas Sparks

I pulled away reluctantly to light the candles and reached for the champagne.

“Would you like a glass?”

At first, I wasn’t sure she’d heard me. She was staring out over the river, her dress fluttering slightly in the breeze.

“I’d love one.”

I removed the bottle from the wine bucket, held the cork steady, and twisted. It opened with a pop. After pouring two glasses, I waited for the fizz to settle, and then topped them both off. Jane moved closer to me.

“How long have you been planning this?” she asked me.

“Since last year. It was the least I could do after forgetting the last one.”

She shook her head and turned my face to hers. “I couldn’t have dreamed of anything better than what you did tonight.” She hesitated. “I mean, when I found the album and the letter and all those passages you wrote . . . well, that’s the most remarkable thing you’ve ever done for me.”

I started making more noises about it being the least I could do, but she interrupted me.

“I mean it,” she said quietly. “I can’t even put it into words how much this means to me.” Then, with a sly wink, she fingered my lapel. “You look awfully handsome in that tux, stranger.”

I laughed beneath my breath, feeling the tension break slightly, and put my hand on hers and squeezed it. “On that note, I hate to have to leave you . . .”

“But?”

“But I’ve got to check on dinner.”

She nodded, looking sensual, looking beautiful. “Need any help?”

“No. It’s just about done.”

“Would you mind if I stayed outside, then? It’s so peaceful out here.”

“Not at all.”

In the kitchen, I saw that the asparagus I had steamed had cooled, so I turned on the burner to reheat them. The hollandaise had congealed a bit, but after I stirred it, it seemed fine. Then I turned my attention to the sole, opening the oven to test it with a fork. It needed just another couple of minutes.

The station I’d tuned the kitchen radio to was playing music from the big band era, and I was reaching for the knob when I heard Jane’s voice behind me.

“Leave it on,” she said.

I looked up. “I thought you were going to enjoy the evening.”

“I was, but it’s not the same without you,” she said. She leaned against the counter and struck her usual pose. “Did you specifically request this music for tonight, too?” she teased.

“This program has been on for the past couple of hours. I guess it’s their special theme for the night.”

“It sure brings back memories,” she said. “Daddy used to listen to big band all the time.” She ran a hand slowly through her hair, lost in reminiscence. “Did you know that he and Mom used to dance in the kitchen? One minute, they’d be washing dishes, and the next minute, they’d have their arms around each other and be swaying to the music. The first time I saw them, I guess I was around six and didn’t think anything of it. When I got a little older, Kate and I used to giggle when we saw them. We’d point and snicker, but they’d just laugh and keep right on dancing, like they were the only two people in the world.”

“I never knew that.”

“The last time I ever saw them do it was about a week before they moved to Creekside. I was coming over to see how they were doing. I saw them through the kitchen window when I was parking, and I just started to cry. I knew it was the last time I’d ever see them do it here, and it felt like my heart broke in two.” She paused, lost in thought. Then she shook her head. “Sorry. That’s kind of a mood spoiler, isn’t it?”

“It’s okay,” I said. “They’re a part of our lives, and this is their house. To be honest, I’d be shocked if you didn’t think about them. Besides, it’s a wonderful way to remember them.”

She seemed to consider my words for a moment. In the silence, I removed the sole from the oven and set it on the stove.

“Wilson?” she asked softly.

I turned.

“When you said in your letter that from this point on, you were going to try to be more romantic, did you mean that?”

“Yes.”

“Does that mean I can expect more nights like tonight?”

“If that’s what you want.”

She brought a finger to her chin. “It’ll be tougher to surprise me, though. You’ll have to come up with something new.”

“I don’t think it’ll be as hard as you think.”

“No?”

“I could probably come up with something right now, if I had to.”

“Like what?”

I met her appraising stare and was suddenly determined not to fail. After a brief hesitation, I reached over to shut off the burner and set the asparagus to the side. Jane’s gaze followed me with interest. I adjusted my jacket before crossing the kitchen and holding out my hand.

“Would you care to dance?”

Jane blushed as she took my hand, twining her other arm around my back. Pulling her firmly to me, I felt her body press against mine. We began to turn in slow circles as music filled the room around us. I could smell the lavender shampoo she’d used and feel her legs brush against my own.

“You’re beautiful,” I whispered, and Jane responded by tracing her thumb against the back of my hand.

When the song ended, we continued to hold each other until the next began, dancing slowly, the subtle movement intoxicating. When Jane pulled back to look at me, her smile was tender, and she brought a hand to my face. Her touch was light, and like an old habit rediscovered, I leaned toward her, our faces drawing nearer.

Her kiss was almost breathlike, and we gave in then to everything we were feeling, everything we wanted. I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her again, sensing her desire and sensing my own. I buried my hand in her hair and she moaned slightly, the sound both familiar and electric, new and old, a miracle in the way all miracles should be.

Without a word, I pulled back and simply stared at her before leading her from the kitchen. I felt her thumb tracing the back of my hand as we moved among the tables, blowing out one candle after the next.

In the welcoming darkness, I escorted her upstairs. In her old bedroom, moonlight streamed through the window, and we held each other, bathed in milky light and shadow. We kissed again and again, and Jane ran her hands over my chest as I reached for the zipper on the back of her dress. She sighed softly when I began to slide it open.

My lips slid over her cheek and neck, and I tasted the curve of her shoulder. She tugged at my jacket and it slipped to the floor, along with the dress she was wearing. Her skin was hot to the touch as we collapsed on the bed.

We made love slowly and tenderly, and the passion we felt for each other was a dizzying rediscovery, tantalizing in its newness. I wanted it to last forever, and I kissed her again and again while whispering words of love. Afterward, we lay in each other’s arms, exhausted. I traced her skin with my fingertips as she fell asleep by my side, trying to hold on to the still perfection of the moment.

Just after midnight, Jane woke and noticed me watching her. In the darkness, I could just make out her mischievous expression, as if she were simultaneously scandalized and thrilled by what had happened.

“Jane?” I asked.

“Yes?”

“I want to know something.”

She smiled contentedly, waiting.

I hesitated before drawing a long breath. “If you had to do it all over—and knowing how everything would turn out with us—would you marry me again?”

She was quiet for a long time, giving the question careful thought. Then, patting my chest, she looked up, her expression softened.

“Yes,” she said simply, “I would.”

These were the words I’d longed to hear most of all, and I pulled her close. I kissed her hair and neck, wanting the moment to last forever.

“I love you more than you’ll ever know,” I said.

She kissed my chest. “I know,” she said. “And I love you, too.”

Chapter Seventeen

When the morning sunlight began pouring through the window, we woke in each other’s arms and made love one more time before pulling apart and getting ready for the long day ahead.

After breakfast, we went through the house, getting it ready for the wedding on Saturday. The candles on the tables were replaced, the table on the porch was cleaned of its settings and stored in the barn, and with a bit of disappointment, the dinner I’d prepared was tossed into the garbage.

When we were satisfied with everything, we headed back home. Leslie was supposed to arrive around four; Joseph had been able to book an earlier flight and would be coming in around five. On the answering machine, there was a message from Anna, saying that she was going to go over the last minute preparations with Keith, which—other than making sure her dress was ready—mainly entailed checking to see that no one we’d hired had canceled at the last minute. She also promised to pick up Jane’s dress and bring it with her when she came by with Keith for dinner later that night.

In the kitchen, Jane and I threw the makings of a beef stew into the Crock-Pot, where it would slow-cook the rest of the afternoon. As we worked, we discussed the logistical arrangements for the wedding, but every now and then, Jane’s secret smile told me she was remembering the night before.

Knowing it would only get busier as the day wore on, we drove downtown for a quiet lunch together. We grabbed a couple of sandwiches from the Pollock Street Deli and strolled to the Episcopal church, where we ate in the shade of the magnolia trees that covered the grounds.

After lunch, we walked hand in hand to Union Point, where we gazed out over the Neuse River. The swells were mild and the water was crowded with boats of all types as kids enjoyed the last days of summer before heading back to school. For the first time in a week, Jane seemed completely relaxed, and as I put my arm around her, it felt strangely as if we were a couple just starting out in the world. It was the most perfect day we’d spent together in years, and I reveled in the feeling until we returned home and listened to the message on the answering machine.

It was Kate, calling about Noah.

“You’d better get down here,” she said. “I don’t know what to do.”

Kate was standing in the corridor when we arrived at Creekside.

“He won’t talk about it,” she said anxiously. “Right now, he’s just staring out at the pond. He even snapped at me when I tried to talk to him, saying that since I didn’t believe in it anyway, I wouldn’t understand. He kept insisting that he wanted to be alone, and he finally shooed me away.”

“But physically, he’s okay?” Jane asked.

“I think so. He refused to eat his lunch—even seemed angry about it—but other than that, he seems fine. But he’s really upset. The last time I peeked in his room, he actually shouted at me to go away.”

I glanced at the closed door. In all our years, I’d never heard Noah raise his voice.

Kate twisted her silk scarf nervously. “He wouldn’t talk to Jeff or David—they just left a few minutes ago. I think they were a little hurt by the way he was acting.”

“And he doesn’t want to talk to me, either?” Jane asked.

“No,” Kate answered. She gave a helpless shrug. “Like I said on the message, I’m not sure that he’ll talk to anyone. The only one I think he might talk to is you.” She looked at me skeptically.

I nodded. Though I worried that Jane would be upset—as she had been when Noah had asked to see me in the hospital—she gave my hand a squeeze of support and looked up at me.

“I guess you’d better see how he’s doing.”

“I suppose so.”

“I’ll wait out here with Kate. See if you can get him to eat something.”

“I will.”

I found Noah’s door, knocked twice, and pushed it partly open.

“Noah? It’s me, Wilson. May I come in?”

In his chair by the window, Noah made no response. I waited a moment before stepping into his room. On the bed, I saw the uneaten tray of food, and after closing the door, I brought my hands together.

“Kate and Jane thought you might want to talk to me.”

I saw his shoulders rise as he drew a long breath, then fall again. With his white hair spilling over the top of his sweater, he looked diminutive in the rocker.

“Are they out there now?”

His voice was so soft that I barely heard it.

“Yes.”

Noah said nothing more. In the silence, I crossed the room and sat on the bed. I could see the lines of strain on his face, though he refused to look at me.

“I’d like to hear what happened,” I said tentatively.

He dropped his chin before his gaze rose again. He stared out the window.

“She’s gone,” he said. “When I went out this morning, she wasn’t there.”

I knew immediately whom he was referring to.

“She might have been in another part of the pond. Maybe she didn’t know you were there,” I suggested.

“She’s gone,” he said, his voice flat and emotionless. “I knew it as soon as I woke up. Don’t ask me how, but I knew. I could sense that she was gone, and when I started toward the pond, the feeling just got stronger and stronger. I didn’t want to believe it, though, and I tried calling for her for an hour. But she never showed.” Wincing, he straightened in the chair, continuing to stare through the window. “Finally, I just gave up.”

Beyond the window, the pond was glistening in the sun. “Do you want to go back and check to see if she’s there now?”

“She isn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I do,” he said. “The same way I knew she was gone this morning.”