Heartwood (19 page)

Tears streamed down Dan’s face, and I heard Molly sniff next to me. Dan took a second to wipe his eyes.

“When she introduced me to Joe, I knew right away there was something special about him. They meshed like they were meant to be. And I thought ‘Thank goodness. My beautiful friend finally found her other half.’“

Dan turned to us and raised his wineglass. In my peripheral vision, I saw the crowd following his lead.

“To Molly and Joe. I wish you long lives filled with love and laughter.”

Molly stood and swept to Dan like she wore floor length gowns on a daily basis. She hugged Dan as the crowd applauded.

She sat beside me again and I kissed her cheek. The clinking began again and I turned to the crowd.

“Alright, alright. Voyeurs.” I called to them with mocked annoyance and kissed Molly again with extra flourish.

My father gave a stilted toast and Molly’s mom recited a quick poem. Her brothers dropped a couple of embarrassing stories about both of us onto the crowd, who greedily ate it up. The guests finally dove back into their food and we had some down time. Glad to be done with the champagne, I nursed my beer. My belly was full and I was contented as I looked over at my beautiful bride. She turned and told me it was almost time for us to have our first dance.

The DJ cued up our song, Amazed by Lone Star, and I swept Molly into my arms. Though we had slow danced many times, I had another surprise for her. I had taken some ballroom classes with Jess in preparation for our first dance, so that I wouldn’t embarrass her in front of everyone. I busted a few moves out, figuring it was a shame to let them go to waste. As I swept Molly around the floor, her eyes flashed with delight as she gamely moved her feet to try to keep up with me.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” She laughed, and I dipped her and kissed her. When the music died, there was a moment of pure silence before everyone cheered.

Moving back to our table we caught our breath and had some water. I was thinking of trying to sneak her out early when the DJ came back on the mic.

“All right everyone it is time for the bride to dance with her father. Can the bride and her father please make their way to the floor?”

Molly stiffened and I saw tears begin to well in her eyes. Someone had fucked up by not cluing in the DJ that this particular tradition was not on our itinerary. Anger blossomed in my breast and I swiveled my head to look over at the man. The guy must have finally realized that something was up because he went deathly pale. He opened and closed his mouth a few times but nothing came out.

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor interrupted the moment. A shadow fell in front of us and suddenly Mac was there. Holding out his hand to a stunned looking Molly, he pulled her up out of her chair and gave a thumb’s up to the befuddled DJ. I watched as her brother led her over to the dance floor and for the first time all day her resolve finally crumbled and she began to cry. They danced slowly and I could see the two of them talking, but I couldn’t make out a word of what they said. Soon Francis and Kelly joined them on the dance floor, along with my parents. I was about to make a break for the cake table when Granny Hildebrandt appeared in front of me.

“Alright, Fred Astair.” She purred. “Let’s do this.”

“Who can refuse an offer like that?” I drawled, and took her for a spin.

The song ended, and I saw Molly hug Mac. When he returned her to me, I was shocked to see a tear running down his cheek. Molly was practically glowing she looked so happy, and Mac nodded to me as he turned to claim Kelly from her dad.

Grabbing my hand, Molly pulled me close and whispered in my ear.

“Let’s go find the twins. I want to give them a thousand kisses before we go.”

WHEN WE WERE kids, my cousins planned for their weddings like they were coronations. Sleepovers revolved around notebooks stuffed with clippings from bridal magazines and elaborate plans scrawled in purple ink. Horse drawn carriages, twenty tiered cakes, groomsmen in tails, and scads of bridesmaids, none of whom were
nearly
as pretty as the bride. Me? I’d just yawn and wander out to the back yard to play fetch with their dog. I didn’t care about any of that crap, at least not until I met Joe.

After that, even through my tomboy colored goggles, I could finally relate to my giggling peers. I’d lie in my bed every night and daydream about riding off into the sunset with Joe. As I grew a bit older and my hormones took control of the wheel, my adolescent dreams turned from marriage to more...embarrassing fantasies. The night I tried to cuddle up to him and he called me jailbait, I realized just how ridiculous my feelings were. That was the moment when I realized exactly what the term “crush” really meant. To Joe, I would always be a silly little girl with braces and birth control glasses.

So being the runt of the bad ass Hildebrandt clan, I stubbornly shrugged it off and moved on to boys my own age. I got my first taste of what relationships between males and females are actually like. Oh...the disappointment. I went through guys like a frat house goes through red solo cups. None of them stuck, which in retrospect was a good thing. I was kind of a bad kid, and my decisions were all manner of unfortunate. I snuck out constantly, dated older boys, and pulled some shit that makes me cringe even to this day. It’s a ginormous wonder I made it to adulthood at all.

When I graduated and went out into the world to make my own way, I’d buried those old fantasies of epic romance deep in a box marked ‘Fat Chance’ and left it in my parents’ attic along with my baby book and finger paintings from the third grade.

When I married Draven, the ceremony was just like the marriage. Disappointing on every level. At the time, I told myself that the union was more important than the quickie wedding...that it didn’t matter where and how we did it. The little girl inside me-the one with the knobby knees and braces who remembered what it felt like to be head over heels-threw a tantrum. And I ignored her. I dismissed her like Joe had dismissed me. That had been a nearly fatal mistake. I should have listened to my instincts and run the other way. I
should
have paid more attention.

When Joe and I ran into each other again, the last thing on my mind was marriage. Even after the two of us became a couple, a small voice kept telling me it would never last. He couldn’t possibly want me. This was all going to unravel like a beautiful dream, from which I would wake up hung over and alone.

When we found out I was pregnant, I thought it was the beginning of the end for us. The night he asked me to marry him, I finally let myself accept that he meant what he said. He was really mine. The way he looked surrounded by the drifts of glittering manmade snow...and the way he looked at me...I will never forget it. That perfect moment will be the last thing I think about on my deathbed.

Every second of my wedding day mattered. Planning it and making everything right was critical. Not in a bridezilla kind of way. I wanted Joe involved in every decision because I wanted the ceremony and the party to reflect both of us. I wanted it to tell the tale of our courtship so we could share it with our family and friends. From the music to the location, each decision we made held special significance. Each detail mattered, because it was the beginning of our story, not the beginning of the end.

So, yes. I refused to cry during my wedding, because it was the culmination of the happiest era of my life. We’d been through our separate hells and our reward was each other. We’d paid our dues. Now it was time to celebrate.

And celebrate we had. I kept the tears at bay all the way through Dan’s speech, but when Mac of all people stepped forward to save me during the father/daughter dance debacle, I was too stunned to react any other way.

His eyes made it clear I would dance with him, and it had been a long time since Mac had asked, let alone demanded anything from me. We’d had a mutual understanding since dad’s funeral that we had to grow the hell up and keep the family operating. It was odd that the two of us would be the ones in those roles. Mason was the oldest, with a stable marriage and established family. You’d have thought he’d be the natural patriarch. Daddy’s death weakened him, but it just pissed Mac off. So Mac had been handed the man of the house torch whether he was ready or willing to do the job.

For a few weeks after dad died, mom was struggling, I helped Mac make plans, sign papers, and basically figure out what to do. He’d left a thriving business without a captain at the helm, and I was trying hard to keep my marriage together, so moving back to run Hildebrandt’s wasn’t even something I considered. Mac threw that in my face a couple of times over the years. I have a lot of regrets about my decisions regarding staying away, but at the time I thought I was making the grown up choices I had to make.

Mac and I hadn’t been able to get to a comfortable place since, so I took his offer to step into dad’s shoes during the dance as a concession in our ongoing war. Still, the tension of the day had finally caught up to me. In that single moment, his gesture pushed me over the edge. When the tears started to fall, the flabbergasted look Mac wore nearly made me laugh. He pulled me into a tight hug, then and there. All I could do was pat him on the back and sniff like a helpless idiot.

Thankfully, he was more prepared than I was, and pulled a clean handkerchief from his suit pocket. I was astounded that he even had one, but I took it after a second’s hesitation. So there I stood wiping my nose as we moved in slow, awkward circles on the dance floor.

“He would have loved this, you know?” Mac’s gruff voice sounded strained as he leaned down so I could hear him over the painfully sentimental tune blaring from the sound system.

“What?” I asked, knowing exactly who he meant. He was filling in for him, after all.

“Dad would have loved you and Joe. He always said how much he liked him.” He looked at me uncomfortably, and I saw tears standing in his eyes. It touched me. I’d rarely seen Mac cry. Not even at my father’s funeral. It was a disturbing and oddly beautiful thing to behold.

“And Wrapgasmic.” He chuckled, but I saw a tear streak down his cheek. He ignored it. “He would have eaten that shit up.”